Dead Running (6 page)

“Answer the question.”

I sighed. A fight in the pre-dawn hours with Nana was never good, but did she have to treat me like I was sixteen? “I told you, I’m starting my marathon training today.” Yesterday, I’d done a little online research and printed out the most advanced training schedule
Runner’s World
offered. Then I took a Valium and focused on preparing for my sixteen-week stint of glory. Glory? At least the Valium worked.

“Hardly see you as it is,” she muttered, “now you’re going to be gone all the time.” She peered at me from one of her cushioned kitchen chairs, hovering over a cup of cocoa, as if I was going to arm-wrestle her for it.

Her dark gaze seared into me, daring me to say something about the cocoa. I should’ve snatched it and poured it down the sink. Being fifty pounds overweight and adoring sweets weren’t a good combination for someone with diabetes and high blood pressure.

Her childlike defiance softened my frustration. I hurried around the chair to give her a peck on the cheek. Nana’s skin was soft and warm beneath my lips. I savored her sweetbread scent before pulling away. “I’ll be ready for breakfast a little after eight,” I said.

She almost looked loving when I kissed her, but then she patted the back of her head, smooshing the dark grey fluff. “Darnit, I need to go see Maria. My hair is as flat as your chest.”

I arched my eyebrows but didn’t reply. She’d moved onto my chest. Maybe now was a good time to sneak out the back door. I made it one step in that direction.

Are you actually going to eat anything I cook for breakfast?”

I froze. “Um, what are you cooking?”

Nana straightened, puffing out her well-endowed front, a mother hen ready for a fight. “Bacon, eggs, pancakes, anything you want, girlie.
If
you’ll eat it.”

“Well, I’m in training, you know. I need to limit my fat intake.” So should you, I thought.

“In a training bra,” she grunted.

I ignored the jab. “But we can sit at the table together. I’ll eat my egg whites and banana and you can eat . . . your stuff.” I really needed to give her the riot act about what she ate instead of the other way around. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It’d be nice if I could put some real food into that body.” Nana’s arm darted out. She grabbed the skin on my waist and twisted. “No man wants to dance with a girl with skinny legs.”

“Maybe not in your day,” I muttered, bending down to slip my shoes on.

“Speak up, girlie, you talking to the floor?”

I bit my tongue one more time. Why could I mouth off to everybody but Nana? The worry of Nana having a heart attack always kept me from picking too many fights. “Gotta go, Nana. See you in a bit.”

“Be careful out there, it’s raining and too dark to run.” Nana scowled. “Do you really think you should run alone in a town where people are savagely murdered?”

I clung to my shoelaces. Why did she have to say it like that? The murder last weekend was an isolated incident. Our town was safe. I carefully looped my laces, avoiding Nana’s all-seeing glare. Just because I’d been the one to find the body didn’t mean I needed to turn into a scaredy-girl who stayed in bed all day. Though bed sounded tempting, if the horrific nightmares would stopthe faceless man, my parent’s bodies, and Panetti all rotated through my dreams.

The phone rang. Nana flinched and grabbed the cordless.
 
She turned from me and sheltered her mouth and the receiver with her hand. “About time you called. I hate getting up this early. Yes, Cassidy is fine.” Nana rushed from the room with the cordless phone.

I couldn’t hear anything else she said. It seemed she expected that call, but who would be asking about me at five-thirty in the morning? Nana’s sister maybe?

The mysterious phone call gave me a chance to get out without a fight and I took it. I finished tying my laces, plunked a baseball cap over my mass of hair, and slipped out the back door.

Forcing myself past my Nissan Altima, I walked for a few minutes to warm-up before lifting my legs into a jog. It was dark, wet, and cold on the desolate street. Maybe that was why my legs didn’t want to move and each step hurt worse than the last. I made it four blocks before changing my plan. I’d walk the rest of the way to the gym, lift on lower body, and get really warm. Then surely I’d be ready to run home. Maybe I’d even take the long route.

An hour later, I admitted defeat. I didn’t take the long route. I half-walked, half-jogged the mile home from the gym as rain pinged against my face and my legs throbbed.
26.2 miles?
I needed another Valium.

A few blocks from home, I saw
him
. Damon. Running through the very intersection I was approaching. His long legs chewed up the distance.

He passed under the streetlight. I stopped and squinted through the moisture. It was definitely Damon. All I got was a luscious profile. It was enough. He wore a navy blue shirt and gray shorts. I could imagine how that shirt matched his eyes. I could see the sinewy muscles in his biceps as his arms pumped. Ooh, baby. I wanted to race after him and demand he call me. After all, it had been two very long days since we met.

My legs were too weary to take up pursuit. Within seconds, I could only see a shadow and then that was stolen from my sight by a two-story house. I forced my legs into motion again, dragging myself towards home.

A smaller figure raced after Damon. I squinted. The runner strode under the streetlight. It was . . . oh, no. Hot Redhead in hot pursuit. The woman who’d tried to buy my marathon entry chased the man we both salivated over. Her entire body was focused on the route Damon had taken. She wouldn’t have noticed me if I was Daniel Craig. Hot Redhead disappeared from my view.

Pounding footsteps echoed from the road behind me. I jumped and swiveled to see who was coming. Maybe Damon had circled around and I would get to see him. Hidden in the darkness between street lamps, all I could tell was the figure was almost as tall as Damon but thicker. The man was catching up to me, fast.

I wished the clouds and sheet of water would part so I could feel more secure. That eerie sensation of being alone on a semi-dark street with a man pursuing didn’t sit well, especially after my Saturday morning fright. My skin prickled. There was something creepy about those footsteps and that shape. I took off at a serious run. I was only a block and a half from home. Surely the man meant me no harm, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I ran the next block faster than my finishing sprint at the race last weekend. The footsteps behind me grew louder and quicker. I risked a glance. The streetlight revealed a man in a hooded sweatshirt. He looked eerily familiar. I swear his dark gaze concentrated on me. He was less than half a block behind me now. Whether he was trying to catch me to show how cool he was or whether he meant me harm, I didn’t know. I didn’t wait around to ask.

I inhaled sharply and flew onto the neighbor’s lawn. Speeding across their grass, I convinced myself if the man got too close I could run onto the neighbor’s porch and they would help me.
Ha.
They were all a-snooze in their beds.

I had to make it home. I would run in the house, barricade myself inside Nana’s warm kitchen, and sic her on the man. It was harsh punishment but it would serve him right. I glanced at my pursuer. He was still on the street but dang he was fast. Within a few seconds, he could dart onto the grass and catch me.
 

I pumped my arms to increase leg speed. I dodged a pine tree, spitting gravel and mud into the air as I churned through our closest neighbor’s driveway. Just twenty more feet and I would be safe. I didn’t dare look and see where the man was, but he was closing in on me. My pounding heart verified what my ears suspected.

Bounding across the lawn, I hurled myself up the steps leading into the kitchen and swung open the screen door.

“Wait,” the man yelled.

Cold sweat trickled into my sports bra. I was almost there. Please let me squeeze through that door before he

“Cassidy,” the man called.

I whirled, peering through the gloom. My stalker knew my name. I couldn't decide if I was relieved or more creeped-out. I yanked the screen door against my chest, clinging to it for supposed protection and gasping for air. “Who are you?”

He took a few more steps across the grass and pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt. The porch light illuminated his face. My heart beat quickened, but in a good way.

“Dr. Tattoo?”

His eyebrows arched. “Nice to see you again too.”

I released the door handle and descended a step, obligated to gawk at him for a few more minutes. This man had rescued me on Saturday. Surely he wouldn’t hurt me now. “You scared the bejeebees out of me.”

“Forgive me.” He bowed like I was some princess from whom he begged pardon. “You were fast. I could hardly catch my breath to yell at you.”

“How’d you know my name?” I asked, the unease in my abdomen warring with my attraction to him. We hadn’t done formal introductions as he doctored me at the race or afterward when he held my hand until the police separated us for questioning.

His dark eyes warmed to creamy chocolate. “I heard the announcement that you won the St. George Marathon. Congratulations.”

I crept down one more stair. How much of a threat could he be with eyes that amazing? “Yeah, great prize.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t have minded winning it.”

“You want to train with Damon, too?”
           
“Damon?” He searched my eyes until I had to look away.
 

“Nobody.” I shivered, battling between the chill of the rainwater and the heat from his gaze.

“You’re cold," his voice softened to a caress. "You’d better head inside.”

I wished I looked cold enough that he’d wrap me in his arms the way he did on Saturday. I shoved my hands under my armpits and instead of running away as he suggested, I flirted. “Are you still intent on never seeing me again?”

His cheek crinkled. “Now that I know where you live I’m sure I can arrange more coincidental meetings.”

I shoved my fears to the back burner, where they should remain, and gave him my most brilliant smile. “Any kind of meeting sounds good to me.”

He shooed me with his hands. “Go get warm.”

Reluctantly, I started back up the stairs.

“Cassidy.”
           
I spun around. Was he going to bring up the dead guy? Please don’t let him ruin this. Seeing him again hadn’t stirred those frightening thoughts and I didn’t want it to.
 

“My name isn’t Dr. Tattoo.”

I waited, unable to hide a tremor of pleasure at the thought of hearing his name.

“It’s Jesse.”

Jesse. Like the Old West outlaw, Jesse James. The name fit him perfectly. I couldn’t imagine Jesse James being scarier or more appealing. “It’s very nice to meet you, Jesse.”

Jesse inclined his head, gave me one more breathtaking smile, and turned towards the street. I flew up the stairs, banged through the back door, and raced to the window that gave me a view of the street. Huffing for oxygen, I watched my pursuer. Jesse ran past our house looking straight ahead.

What was
that
? I deflated onto a chair. “Why didn’t he look back?” I muttered.

“One day of running and already you’re acting like a nut job,” Nana said from behind me.

Sadly, I agreed with her.

*
         
*
         
*

A hard rap on the door jolted me from my Clive Cussler novel. Could I never get a moment to relax? I sauntered to the front door, opening it to a pair of policemen. Their eyes scanned my living room. They hovered over me as if I was in danger.

My stomach clenched at the awful memories their familiar faces triggered but I gestured them into the living room, nodding, “Detective Shine. Detective Fine.”

Detective Fine grinned. “You do know that my name is Osborne and his is Johnston.”

“I've heard that before but Shine and Fine are much easier to remember.” I sucked my gum into my cheek.

“Well, I think the name you’ve given me fits just
fine
,” Detective Fine stretched out the last word, actually brushing his hand through his golden locks.

I didn’t roll my eyes, though I had every right to. At least Nana wasn’t here to not-so-quietly intone I should pursue Detective Fine.