Duck and Run

by TL Schaefer

  "We did, and we need to consider that Smith is still out there."

  "Do you really think he's a threat? He's in bigger trouble from Wilson than he'd ever be from the cops, attempted murder or no."

  "I just know that we should never take our eyes off a hazard, is all."

  "Well, I certainly did that with Lori," Cris said bitterly. "I took my eye off the ball and now I've got this." She swept her arm out to indicate the piles of broken furniture, the defaced family photos, the obscenities on the walls. "She trashed my house, Nick." Her voice caught and she straightened up, trying to force some steel back into her spine. But Nick had caught it, and swooped in, tugging her into his arms.

  As they closed around her, so safe and strong and protective, she let herself lean on him, relishing the heat of his body, the way just his touch made everything go away, even if for just a moment. It was heaven. Bliss. And so not the real world. Fortified, she disengaged herself from his embrace. He held on for a moment longer, as if trying to prove something to her, then let her go, sliding his hand down her arms.

  "I'll always be here for you, Cristine," he promised, and even though the emotion in his gaze was too soon, too intense, too illogical, Cris believed him.

  Using Cristine for bait wasn’t exactly Nick’s favorite idea of the year, but it actually made sense, in a screwed-up kind of way. Lori Wright was unhinged, there was no doubt about that, and so far, she'd gone totally to ground, avoiding the BOLO like a pro. How someone that unstable could elude the entire police department and a multitude of county Sheriff's offices was a bit of a mystery to them all.

  It also explained why Cris hadn’t called him. He was still a little bitter about that, but would get over it. He had no real say in her life. Not yet anyway.

  So now, he and Cristine were setting up what all of them hoped was the crazy bitch's downfall. Which meant putting themselves on a stage neither was comfortable with, and he was pretty sure pissed Cris off like there was no tomorrow.

  It wasn’t as if he was all that thrilled about his role either. Identifying himself as an OSBI agent, and a veteran with PTSD issues wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured this going down. But the charity they’d be using as a front was real, something Cris’ mother was involved with down in Austin. So he’d do what he had to, both for Cristine and for the OSBI.

  It would have been nice to go into this with their personal relationship on a more stable background, but with this new threat, it had to take a back burner.

  His words to his father had been true. Cristine O'Connor was the "one.” It didn’t matter that he’d only known her a handful of days. That he’d told himself he’d never find a woman like her, be as happy as he was, even when they were being stalked, yet again. What was, was. And for that, he’d give it his all, including hitting the five o’clock news.

  The television anchorwoman was beautiful in that vacuous way TV seemed to promote, perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect hair. Size two in an electric blue dress.

  She looked like a scullery maid next to Cris, who'd done herself up to a level Nick hadn't yet seen. In this setting she was Christian O'Connor's daughter, without question. He felt like a spare appendage next to her, useless as teats on a boar hog.

  Her hair had been styled until it lay in a sleek blonde waterfall over one shoulder. Her slim body was encased in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt with low, matching pumps anchoring the ensemble. Her makeup was flawless, and diamonds discreetly winked at her ears, throat and wrist.

  She looked like a superstar, and one who could kick your ass at that.

  Or maybe that was just how he saw her.

  Maybe Lori Wright would see her as the society snob who'd ruined her life. It was all they could really hope for. Nick certainly hoped this was worth "outing" Cris in Oklahoma City. They both knew she'd never repossess another car after this, nor would she be able to keep the anonymity she'd so carefully cultivated here. But this was Cris’ plan, and if it made Lori Wright a bad memory, then it was worth it.

  The anchor had briefly teased Cris’ interview before the commercial break, so once they started filming, it was all about the meat of why they were there.

  "Tell me, Cristine, what made you decide on Oklahoma City? We all know your family is an Austin staple," the reporter asked, her perfect teeth blinding against the studio lighting.

  "Scott Lincoln, one of my father's oldest friends, lives here. It seemed like a great place to start over." Cris' voice was cheerful, as if she were speaking to an old friend, as she looked into the camera, barely sparing the reporter a glance. "And so far, it's been the perfect choice for me. The people of Oklahoma City are some of the nicest I've ever met. And we all know how big of a concession that is from someone born and bred in Texas." She gave a tinkling little laugh that sounded utterly fake to Nick but made the reporter and all the cameramen smile. Whatever.

  "I thought it was time to begin to work with some of my favorite causes again, and this seemed like an excellent way to start." She gestured to what would be projected on the green screen behind them for viewers to see. “The Veterans to Work initiative was just passed here in Oklahoma, but it’s been in place in Texas for years, in large part because my father was a huge proponent and put his weight behind it.”

  She wasn’t even playing at this one, Nick thought. It was something near and dear to her father, most likely her whole family.

  She glanced back at him, her look telling him it was his turn to speak. He cleared his throat. “I’m Nick McLain with the OSBI, and a former Marine. While this initiative wasn’t around when I became a civilian, it was definitely something I could have used.”

  “It’s not just job assistance,” Cris took over smoothly, and this is where she truly began to shine. “While the bill funds the actual execution of this veteran’s benefit, the service itself has been in effect here, and in Texas and Colorado, for quite a while. Now they’re simply getting state funding to help all of our returning heroes find their places.”

  She turned a brilliant smile on Nick, one he could tell wasn’t forced. He smiled in return. “Part of VtW is counseling. How to integrate back into polite society,” he laughed a bit to defuse the words, though they were one hundred percent true. “Another piece is interviewing and connecting with employers who are looking for vets.”

  “Well, it sounds wonderful,” the anchorwoman said, “and we’re lucky to have the two of you be the spokespeople for this worthy service.” She turned from them. “Up next, let’s talk about the City’s newest hotspots, and the fact one of them is America’s number one restaurant.” She smiled into the camera, waiting until the cameraman motioned that they were off air.

  The mask fell away. “Did you get what you need?” Her voice was just as sweet, but her eyes were pure professional, and Nick had to reassess his initial impression. Realized she hadn’t asked questions a sharp reporter would have. Had totally maneuvered this as a good news story instead of a favor. To be repaid in turn. And he hadn’t seen a thing. She’d been that good.

  “We did,” Cris said as she took off her lapel mic. “Just let me know when you need me, and I’ll be there for you.”

  The anchor smiled, all teeth again, a bit of calculation in her eye. “Oh, I will.”

  Well, that should have baited the trap, Cris thought, as she shrugged out of her jacket. God, she hoped so. She'd hated being on television again, hated the blank eye of the camera. Hated that she'd put Nick in the spotlight by using this cockamamie plan. Then again, it had been her cockamamie plan, and the only way she could see to get Lori Wright gone once and for all. Now they just had to finish it.

  As they left the studio, she wondered what favor the five o’clock news anchor would call in.

  The restaurant was candlelit, exclusive. Everything you'd want on a special night out with your beloved.

  Cris fidgeted in her dress, pulling just a smidge at the high neck. She hadn't worn anything this fancy in years, and while she knew it was for the
"job," it didn't lessen her discomfort a bit. It was an extension of this evening’s playacting for the camera. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Nick sat across the table from her, his face even more handsome in the candlelight.

  A great big part of her wished she and Nick were here for real, that they weren't just doing it to draw out Lori Wright.

  The waiter ghosted to their table with their wine selection cradled in his hands. He presented a glass to Nick, who took a careful sip, then nodded his approval.

  Cris didn't even want to know what favors her father and Linc had called in to set up this ambush. The wait staff acted like this was any other night, but she knew most of the other "diners" were either OCPD or OSBI.

  She and Nick had hammed it up after the TV interview, making sure Lori would know exactly what they were doing, via the Style section of the local entertainment blogger.

  After having dealt with the woman for so long, Cris knew--and Wright's shrink in Texas agreed--that the best way to draw her out was to live it up lavishly, like Wright imagined Cris had been doing every day since her husband’s death. To sit next to a handsome man. To be living the life Lori was missing out on… because of Cris.

  "Hey," Nick said softly, drawing her attention back across the table. "It'll be okay, you know. This'll work, and you'll be able to go back to your old life." He reached across the table and ran a finger over her clenched fists.

  She relaxed her hands and twined their fingers together. His hand felt good, strong, and she remembered exactly what those hands could do to her. For her.

  She cleared her throat. "I'm not so sure that's ever going to happen."

  Nick canted his head to the side. "You don't think we'll catch her?"

  She shook her head in response. "Oh, I think we'll get her. She's too crazy to keep her head down for any amount of time. No, I meant my old life is gone. I won't be going back to Rob's after this."

  "Why's that?" His voice was quiet, crushed velvet that ran through her system faster than any wine.

  "I want to start a charity for veterans," she blurted, mortified when the words came out so quickly. She'd known she was going to do it. She'd had no idea she'd tell him about it. Especially since what had happened to him was part of the reason she'd made her decision. She rushed to qualify her words. "Nothing like what we’re playing at tonight. This is more one-on-one from folks who have also been traumatized, be it through war or something else.”

  Nick gave an encouraging hum at her words, so she continued. “Working for Rob was a placeholder. I loved the work, and it was the best possible thing to get me out of Austin, get my head together. But now I want something more, and this just feels right."

  "You could go back to the Rangers, or come work for OSBI," he suggested, his voice giving nothing away now.

  "No," she shook her head. "Even as a shrink I'd have to arm up, and I'm not sure I’ll ever be comfortable wearing a weapon again."

  "Fair enough," Nick turned their twined fingers so he could run a thumb over her palm. She shivered in response. The tiny quirk of his lips said he'd felt it. "You're staying here in Oklahoma, then, not heading back south?"

  Cris cleared her throat and disengaged her fingers as their appetizer came. This felt way too much like a real date.

  "No. I've gotten used to a bit of space, my own space, and it's not that far of a drive. Plus, I've got to get the house set back to rights," she tried for a grin, knew it failed.

  And then Nick smiled and buoyed her mood. "I think you staying here fits. You've carved out your own life, regardless of what you do with your time." He leaned forward, catching her gaze. "You'll excel at whatever you do, Cristine." His tone was filled with a pride she didn't understand, but felt right down to her toes, regardless.

  Nick might be pushing too hard, too fast, even based on their dating conversation a few days ago, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Tulsa was an even shorter drive than Austin. He wondered if she’d realized that yet.

  They talked about little nothings for what seemed like forever, and all the while a room full of agents and cops watched the night around them. For nothing. And while it wore on Nick’s nerves, he knew Cris’ had to be screaming.

  Over the main course, he came to a decision. He basically had Cris at his mercy, and this was the perfect opportunity for her to get to know him better. He knew so much about her, about Austin, but all she knew about him was the fact he was an OSBI agent and that he sucked at long-term relationships. Since he was serious about fixing the second piece, now seemed like the perfect time.

  He began the process of opening his soul to her, one piece at a time, and going straight for the most uncomfortable pieces seemed like the best way to start.

  Over a ridiculously expensive dinner and candlelight, he told her of his childhood.

  “They weren’t bad parents, necessarily, at least not to me. When the fists and furniture flew, they were aiming for each other. When it came to me, they just weren’t there. She was half-baked most of the time, and he didn’t see that there was anything wrong with it. They were blue collar, salt of the earth people, and they did what it took to get by. So did I, and that’s why I joined the gang.” He realized he was defending them, yet again, when her fingers tightened in his. He hadn’t even realized she’d taken his hand. So much for not having her shrink him. Then again, she’d probably look at it as just being a friend. It wasn’t as if he had a ton of those, and he could be content with that. For now.

  His assumption on that regard was validated when Cris spoke.

  “I had another brother, once,” she said. “William. He was two years younger than me, and we all thought the sun rose and set on that boy.” Her mouth quirked in remembrance. “He was killed when I was eleven, just as Dad was starting his judicial career. Distracted driving was what they blamed it on. For the longest time, Mom shouldered it, wouldn’t let any of us help her. Said she should have known, should have seen, should have had faster reflexes. A lot of people said the sympathy vote was what got Dad the seat that first year.”

  A bitterness Nick understood all too well coated her words.

  It pissed him off and broke his heart at the same time, and so he opened up even more to the only woman who’d been this close to him since his mother’s slow but inevitable lifetime betrayal. He told her of a childhood spent in chop shops and of the time he’d been popped for Grand Theft Auto, and the Marine recruiter who’d come to his rescue that day, given him the vision of a life he would have never even imagined had he stayed with his parents, with the gang.

  And in a caveman type of way, he had to admit it was nice that he was the one doing the protecting now, instead of the other way around.

  So here they sat, waiting for crazy Lori Wright to make an appearance and try to put a bullet into Cris.

  Chapter 14

  Cris handed the keys to Nick with a bit of a smile. He’d been dying to drive the Mustang since she’d retrieved it from the Red River garage this afternoon. And after everything that had passed between them the last few eventful days, she wasn’t going to be stingy with Nick.

  Not because she owed it to him, but because she wanted to give him pleasure. To see the happiness on his face as he turned the ignition key and heard the grumble of an engine well-tuned and ready to run. As he put it in gear it slipped smoothly into drive.

  “This car is fantastic,” he said, shooting her a glance. “You put a lot of time into it, just like your house.”

  She considered waving it off, but then realized he was not only right, but it was high time to acknowledge it. “I did. I think both projects were a bit of therapy for me, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”

  He took the exit onto the freeway, taking them to the downtown hotel she’d been staying in the last few days. No way in hell she was staying in her house until Lori was in custody again.

  “You’re going to be good at it,” his voice was smooth, seeming to weave in with the hum of the highway be
neath them instead of trying to overpower it. “Your charity. You know what we’ve felt, even if you weren’t overseas or in a traditional conflict.” He looked at her again. “It makes a difference.”

  Her heart warmed. While she hadn’t needed, nor sought, his approval, having it was a sweet feeling indeed.

  She turned in her seat to face him, and then her stomach jumped into her throat as she saw the headlights slashing toward them. As she fell back into the nightmare of eighteen months ago. “Nick,” she screamed, and then the car hit them, pushed them to the side of the road, straight at the underpass. At the cement pillar. And she knew this time, she wouldn’t escape. And neither would Nick.

  She reached out in those fleeting seconds, gripped his thigh as he fought for control of the steering wheel. Wished for what might have been. What could have been. “I’m so sorry.”

  Smith watched with gleeful satisfaction as the cherry Mustang slammed into the overpass abutment. Now he’d get the chance to finish what he’d started. Killing the accountant and repo chick would get him back in Wilson’ good graces for sure.

  He activated the lights of his unmarked, a warning to passing motorists to move along. The OCPD escort that had tailed the Mustang were long gone, chasing their own tails on a “terrorist” threat call he’d made not fifteen minutes ago.

  He walked forward slowly, eyes shifting, just to make sure some good Samaritan didn’t come along and screw everything up.

  He saw the girl first, her head lolling against the window. She was clearly unconscious. Good. That would make this so much easier.

  He could see the bean counter now, too, struggling with his seatbelt. The expression on his face was more than angry. He looked desperate as he locked eyes with Smith.