Dead Running (4 page)

I glanced around for an escape route. If I ran now Race Lady wouldn’t be able to track me down. I scanned for gaps in the crowd. My eyes landed on Dr. Tattoo. Yum, he looked good. His own mob of feminine admirers fought for attention. He caught my eye and smiled before refocusing on the tall brunette at his left. What would Nana think if I brought him home? Doubtful the plastic surgeon bonus would overshadow the dozens of visible tattoos. I wondered if he had any hidden tattoos. Even covered in ink, his chest would be worth a peek.

I forced myself to continue my search for Race Lady’s position. She stood amidst a group of official-looking people under the bowery. Holy crackers. Was that the mayor? Race Lady nudged him, pointing in my direction. Several other members of her entourage turned to stare, obviously shocked that a girl had attempted to sell
the
marathon entry.

I couldn’t run away with the mayor looking on. He had police backup. Was there some kind of law against not accepting a Health Day’s prize? I rounded my shoulders and scratched at the entry form. Why had I been cheering a minute ago? I’d finally won something. Fabulous.

“Hey, I’m entered into the St. George Marathon too,” a male voice said.

“Whoopee for you,” I muttered, printing my identity for anyone to steal.

“Maybe we could train together,” the deep voice interrupted again.

“Maybe,” I drawled, obviously this guy was too thick to realize I wasn’t interested in him or this stupid race. “
If
you could keep up with me.”

A sharp jab in my abdomen jerked my eyes from the paper. Oh great, my sister-in-law had returned. “Ouch, wha . . .” My voice trailed off as I stared in awe. Fine Damon stood before me. I thought he was gorgeous from afar. Close up, he was tantalizing. Tall, lean, cropped strawberry-blond hair contrasting nicely with tanned skin and dark blue eyes.

“I’m, uh, really much faster than I showed today.” I jabbed a finger at my sister-in-law. “You can’t tell yet, but she’s pregnant and I was being nice and going slow for her.”

Raquel rolled her eyes. “Slowed down for me,” she muttered. “I could kick your trash nine months pregnant.” Tilting her chin, she marched over to another group of runners like an insulted debutante.

I glanced into amused blue orbs and had to admit, “She could.” I hastened to explain, “I didn’t train very well for this race, but I’ll be ready for the marathon. I’m a personal trainer and exercise scientist so I obviously know what I’m doing. I plan on qualifying for Boston.”

Qualifying for Boston
? What kind of crap was I spouting? I didn’t enjoy running. I’d only run this 5K to prove to my sister-in-law that I could keep up with her and prove to myself I wasn’t the quitter my family imagined. At least the personal trainer and exercise scientist part were true.

Damon grinned. “Why don’t we tackle St. George first?”

I reddened. He obviously saw through my bluff.

“Give me your phone number,” Damon said.

Phone number? Oh, yeah. Forget this marathon talk and get right into setting up a date. Now it was my turn to grin.

“I’ll let you know when we’re doing training runs,” he said.

Grin disappeared.

“We usually do about seven and half minute miles on our long runs,” Damon continued. “Is that a problem for you?”

“I, uh,” I stuttered, laboring to regulate my facial expression. Seven and a half minute miles? I’d done that pace on the treadmill, once, for about twenty seconds. “Seven and a half minute miles? Shouldn’t be a problem. That’s a reasonable pace.”
On a road bike.

“Great. So what’s your number?”

I rattled it off, couldn’t hurt to let him call. Maybe I could talk him into dinner instead of training runs for the Marines.
 

“Perfect, I’ll talk to you soon.” He gave me one more jaw-dropping smile and turned away.

My heart did that weird fluttering thing again. “Um, wait. Don’t you want to write my number down?”

Damon glanced back at me. “Oh, believe me. I won’t forget the number of a girl I won’t be able to keep up with.”

Raquel reappeared from flittering around like this was social hour. “Dang,” she whistled long and low, watching Damon disappear. “You are in trouble.”

I looked down at the clipboard clenched between my fingers. Was I really committing myself to a marathon? Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I envisioned. Maybe I could learn to enjoy running. I could always back out if it was too miserable. “Yeah and lucky for me, I know who can help.”

She smiled. “In exchange for lots of babysitting. Tate
and
the new baby.”

“Perfect.” That was a condition I could live with.

Raquel rubbed her stomach. “You know what? I think this marathon is going to be a great thing. You’re such a fabulous exercise scientist, maybe this will help you get back into your field. I’m proud of you, Cassie.”

I still considered running from Race Lady, even with the mayor looking on, and changing my name so she couldn’t force me to run this marathon, but Raquel’s belief in me altered the way I viewed this race. Raquel knew exactly what to say to rope me into something I didn’t want to do. She believed in me. It was worse than the nail in the coffin. She’d thrown the last bouquet of daisies on the embossed lid, shoveled in the dirt, and laid sod over my grave.

I fought it but my eyes leaked a bit. “Thanks, El.”

Raquel put an arm around my shoulder. “I think your mom and dad would be proud of you too.”

 
The words slammed into my chest like some medieval torture, spiky clubs with poison on their tips. Why would Raquel bring up my dead parents? I couldn’t think about them without breaking down. They and Raquel were the only ones who believed I was some sort of superstar. Unfortunately for me, they were all wrong.

I tried to pull from her embrace. Raquel hugged me tighter. “It’s okay to be sad about them, Cassie. It’s been almost two years and I’ve never seen you cry.”

That’s because I cried alone. I finally managed to create some distance between us, but Raquel kept her hands on my shoulders and forced me to hold eye contact. She studied me for so long I was afraid her eyes would cross.

I glared right back. “I just about cried when you told me you were proud of me. But bringing up my parents who deserted their children and grandson so they could save the world? Call me an insensitive jerk, but I don’t waste energy crying about that kind of bunk.”

Raquel didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either.

How did she always know when I was lying? “I’m going to walk so my legs aren’t sore.” I broke from her unnerving stare and unwanted touch.

I tossed the clipboard on a park bench, stalked to the fence bordering the park, and easily scaled it. Crossing the road, I came to the rickety bridge. I rushed over it, slowing my steps when I hit the trail. I headed east on the trail until I was certain no one from the park could see me. I used to love coming here with my dad when I was little, chucking rocks from our favorite spot along the bank. Dad would laugh when I splashed him.

Stop it
. I came over here to escape thoughts of my parents. I buried my longing for those who loved me the most, and picked through the underbrush down the short slope to the riverbank. My foot struck something soft. I lurched forward. Grabbing a tree branch, I prevented my second nasty spill of the day.

Pushing some limbs aside to see what I’d tripped over, the oxygen whooshed from my lungs. There was a man lying face down amongst the rotting leaves and dirt.

My heart pounded faster than during my sprint earlier this morning. “Y-you okay?”

I knelt down. It was impossible to check his pulse in this position. I climbed above him and pushed. He rolled with the incline, flopping onto his back and exposing the horror of what he’d suffered during his last moments on earth.

I stared at a man with no face. In a rush all the memories of my dad being attacked with a knife and then two years later the agony of seeing my parents bloody and dead in photos provided by the FBI came back full force. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. The only part of my body that functioned was my vocal chords. I screamed and screamed and screamed.
 
 

Strong arms surrounded me. I looked at tattooed flesh and screamed louder still.

“Shh, shh. It’s me.”

I glanced up at his face. Dr. Tattoo. My screams quieted as he continued to hold me. After a few minutes, I gained enough control to block the screams that still needed to see daylight. My rescuer pushed my forehead into his chest with one hand and wrapped the other arm underneath my legs. He easily lifted me from the ground. I closed my eyes, but the man's faceless body was imprinted in my mind.

“You’re okay," Dr. Tattoo said. "I’ve got you now. You’ll be okay.”

I leaned into his broad chest, clinging to him to stop the trembling. I didn’t scream anymore. I didn’t tell him how wrong he was. Nothing about today or any other part of my life was okay.

He glanced down at the carnage. “No need to check for a pulse.”

My stomach churned. I gulped at the acid building in my throat. Dr. Tattoo carried me up the steep embankment and set me on my feet, but kept his arm around me. I was grateful for the support as my legs wobbled. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1. I tried not to listen to his description of the body.

He finished and studied me. “Are you all right?”

Swallowing, I whispered. “No, not all right.” At least I could talk without breaking down. “I saw him and thought of my dad.” I shuddered. “I thought I’d put all of that behind me.” I glanced up at him, realizing he had no clue what I was talking about, but he nodded encouragingly so I kept going, “Four years ago my dad was attacked by a man named Panetti.” Crazy how that night elicited as many nightmares as the images of my parent’s dead bodies.

Dr. Tattoo’s eyes darkened to a dangerous glint, it was almost like he hated Panetti as much as I did.

“Do you know Panetti? He was a doctor at Logan Regional before he betrayed my dad.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard the name.”

“I can’t forget him jabbing a knife into my dad. I think he was the one that ordered my parent’s executions also.” I pulled away and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you and I’m going on and on.”

He gave me a quick smile. “When you’ve been through something like this,” he gestured to the body, “You become friends quick.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold in the tears. Friends. A friend who was there for me when I fell apart. I liked him. “Thanks.”

Sirens blared through the comforting sound of the river splashing over rocks. Dr. Tattoo offered me a smile and a hand, directing me towards the bridge. I had no desire to tell my story to the police but at least I had a friend by my side.

I sifted through an enormous salad with my fork. The metal tines clicked against bright orange stoneware. I’d already devoured everything palatable in the bowl. The only food left was the lettuce and I was sick of green.

I sat with my best friend, Tasha, at our favorite restaurant. Café Sabor was a converted train stationvibrant colors against beautiful restored wood, boisterous waiters, and the best Mexican food in Cache Valley.

Of course Tasha and I didn’t allow ourselves to eat the wonderful specialties oozing with cheese. No, we ordered chicken salads, dressing on the side, and tried to contain the drool from the sights and smells of real food so we could justify Cold Stone for dessert.

I set my fork down. Tasha had consumed enough calories to take the edge off. It was time to reveal my news.

 
“You won’t believe this,” I threw out the disclaimer first to ease the shock, “but . . .” Pause several seconds to get Tasha excited and work up my nerve, “I’m running the St. George Marathon. Woo-hoo for me, huh?” I pumped my hands up and down above my shoulders. “Woo-hoo, woo-hoo.”

Tasha’s fork halted mid-launch.
 

I stopped cheering, lowered my hands, and clutched the cloth napkin in my lap. “I won the entry at the 5K this morning,” Hopefully Nana hadn’t told her about the rest of my morning. I swallowed hard, sweat rising on my brow. “I’m so excited,” I rushed on with my story. “I’ve never won anything like this before. Well, you know, I’ve never won anything like anything before.”