BRAVE, Episode Three - the Color of Danger

by Melissa Shaw

  She traipsed along behind him, dogging his footsteps as he headed for the kitchen. The coffee had brewed, strong and hot, primed to start blood flowing and pulses beating, and he poured a mug full.

  Then Logan leaned back against the counter as if he was too weary to move. In their nearly two weeks of association, she’d never seen him so dispirited and it frightened her.

  “What is it, Logan?” she asked warily. “What’s happened?”

  “Where are you goin’, Chloe?”

  “Going? Why, what do you mean? Where would I?”

  “You left all your bank papers on the couch last night.”

  “All my—oh.” Her hand reached out, seeking the kitchen chair, and she sank blindly down onto its hard seat.

  Logan looked awful. His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, his goldy-red beard had sprouted into bristles, and his short hair was as disheveled as a wet dog’s.

  “You’re gettin’ ready to leave, aren’t you?”

  Wordlessly, miserably, she nodded. Then, in a defensive burst, “You must see that I have to, Logan. I can’t stay any longer. I’m back to normal, physically, and I’ve already been here far longer than the original week we agreed to.”

  “Have you heard me complainin’?”

  “Oh, Logan, of course you haven’t complained! But there’s no doubt that David has been hunting for me this whole time. There’s no doubt that, at this minute, he has found out who you are and where you live, and he has someone watching the building. I have to get out of town before it’s too late. Please…please understand.”

  “So Saturday night was our farewell dinner, was that it?”

  Chloe put out her open hand, piteously. “Ah, please don’t make it sound that way! I loved our dinner, I loved being with you—I told you that.”

  His eyes had gone as rock-hard and flinty as the muscle in his square jaw. “But I’m just the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, who was able to keep you safe for a little while. And now it’s bye-bye, sucker.”

  “Logan, no!” Chloe sprang up. “Never that. Never that! I simply can’t risk what else is going to happen as long as I’m here.”

  “So you’ve taken all precautions,” he said slowly, considering. Big and fine and apparently unmoved by her nearness, he treated her as if she was a bee, buzzing around. “Passports to the West and the South and the Midwest. Coverin’ all bases, aren’t we? How many times can you skip out, Chloe? How far can you go, before he finds you again?”

  “I don’t know, Logan, I don’t know,” she moaned. She clung to the knotty forearm clenched across his chest like a barrier. “Please don’t do this. Please let me leave without our fighting about it. Please let me go on friendly terms.”

  He looked down at her. “You ask a lot, don’t you, Chloe?”

  She backed up a step and lifted her chin with determination. “I do. Right now I’m asking you to help me get a plane ticket.”

  “A plane ticket. Oh, that’s rich. To where, Miss Runaway? Where are we jet-settin’ off to?”

  The sarcasm was so completely unlike his sunny nature that her blood congealed, and she turned away in despair. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. If cried, she’d never stop. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. I can go online—if you’ll allow me to use your computer—and order one, and pick it up at the airport.”

  “And take a chance on David’s trackin’ down one of your mystery credit cards? Or were you hopin’ I’d go there in person and use cash?”

  “That was my hope, I must admit.”

  “Wrong. It ain’t gonna happen.” He stood still as granite.

  “Logan, if you—if you feel anything at all for me…”

  “And that ain’t gonna work. Sit down, Chloe.” Logan motioned to the kitchen chair; defeated, she accepted his dictate and hunkered down. Immediately he turned his own around, straddling it to confront her while leaning both forearms across its back. “Chloe, the other night I told you my history for a reason. I had to stand up to my demons and face ’em down. And I wanted to prove to you that you can do the same.”

  “So I can be waylaid by David again, and attacked.”

  “So you can stand tall and proud and know that you’ve done your best. Violence is never the answer, but you gotta be willin’ to call the bluff of anyone who wants to hurt you. You gotta fight for what’s right.”

  “I tried that, Logan,” she whispered. “It almost got me killed.”

  “But you ran afterward. You were all alone, and you ran. This time you’d have me.”

  “I don’t have you, damn it! I don’t have anybody!”

  “Why won’t you accept my help?” He was baffled and angry.

  “Because—I can’t, I simply can’t—!” she flung that at him.

  She shoved back her chair, grabbed her tote bag and jacket, and dashed to the door. Before Logan could make a move to stop her, she had raced through it and away.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Logan had snatched a little sleep here and there, between the hours of paperwork and worry. He was exhausted, grainy-eyed and raspy-voiced, but he cried out to Chloe even as he sprang into action.

  Truck keys, house keys, door slammed and locked, and he was into the outer hallway and down the stairs in pursuit.

  At the street he paused, casting wildly about to see where she’d gotten to. No sign of her. How could she possibly have disappeared that quickly? Racing to the parking lot and his truck, he careened along while keeping careful watch everywhere he could.

  He passed the neighborhood park, drove around the block, idled at a light. No Chloe.

  He returned to the restaurant, zipped inside the back door, into the kitchen. No Chloe.

  Obviously she’d planned this getaway for at least a day. She must have somewhere she was prepared to stay until he gave up and stopped looking. He settled himself into the truck cab and used his phone like the computer he hated: calls to the library, which had just opened; to other restaurants; to every hotel/motel in the area.

  It was futile. No Chloe.

  Oh, God. What if the worst had happened? What if she was right, after all, and David had somehow snatched her up during that wild dash away?

  Logan’s blood ran cold. He drew in several deep relaxing breaths, steadied his nerves, and then called the friend he should’ve called at the beginning of this crazy adventure: Nick, his former Marine buddy and current police officer in Ohio, with access to all sorts of private information. Time to ask for the help Chloe had insisted she couldn’t get.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chloe sat slouched in one of the hard vinyl seats, supposedly made to conform to any passenger’s body shape, at the American Airline terminal in LaGuardia Airport, while she debated her next step. Her black tote bag was securely zipped shut and slung over one shoulder.

  It was high noon. The occasional squall of a hungry baby, the buzz of conversation, the click-click of heels on the marble floor lulled her. She didn’t attract notice with her dark sunglasses, hair tied up into a tight bun, and nondescript clothing. Chloe was an expert at the fine art of living as a chameleon.

  She could purchase a ticket in cash to anywhere she chose. Which of her false identity papers should she use? She rather liked the name of Patty Morell. And Denver would be a good start.

  Time to say her final goodbye. And, with that thought, she mourned not being able to part with Logan on better terms. He was such a good man, and she wished—no, she longed, with every fiber of her heart and soul—that she might have stayed to see where this relationship could go.

  “Hello, Cam?”

  Outside of Logan’s apartment, four hours earlier, she had hailed a cab, then stopped at a nearby electronics store. There, she’d purchased a throwaway cell phone. An untraceable cell phone. Thank God for modern technology.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m just checking in with you for a minute, and I wanted to—what? Who did what?”

 
“That’s what I said, watching the house,” said Camille, from the noisy street where she’d gone out of her office to buy a hot dog. “Some guy came by here yesterday, looking for you. He actually asked for you. Only he used the name of—um—oh, it was Jessica somebody.”

  Chloe clutched the phone with suddenly icy, nerveless fingers.

  “Chloe? Chloe, are you still there? So, anyway, I think somebody may be watching the house, waiting for you to come back.”

  “I think—” carefully Chloe cleared her throat before continuing, “—I think you may be right, Cam. It’s a good thing—I called…”

  “Sure is, hon. I hope things are going okay for you now, and I hope you still have that safe place to be. Because you’d better stay away for a while, till this is cleared up. Want me to call the cops, just to have them do a drive-by?”

  Chloe snorted. “As if that would do any good. There are too many real crimes happening. No, leave it for now, Cam. Thanks. I guess I’ll stay where I am for now, then, and I’ll give you a call again soon. Please be careful. For God’s sake, be careful!”

  Clicking shut the cell with hard sharp movements, Chloe stuffed it back into her bag and stood.

  Cold, grim determination hardened her. Logan was right. It was time to stand up for herself. She wouldn’t allow David to hurt her, or her only two friends.

  The superstore she wanted lay some distance away, many blocks to the west, accessible by cab. At this time of the day, most aisles were empty, with only a few customers scattered here and there, examining the wares, asking questions. Novices, every one of them.

  Chloe entered the secure front door and wandered for a few minutes, looking at this or that. Amazing how many items were available, how many types, how many sizes and shapes. It was bewildering, and right now she couldn’t spare the time to be bewildered.

  She marched to the counter with a new-found self-confidence, as if she owned the place, and buttonholed the clerk. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned away from stocking a nearby shelf to ask solicitously, “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Yes,” said Chloe firmly, shifting her tote. “I need some information. I want to buy a gun.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

  Want to find out what happens to Chloe when she ran away from the man she loved, and the man who wants to kill her? Will she face her fears or lose the two people she loves most in the world? Find out in…

  BRAVE. EPISODE FOUR — THE COLOR OF LOVE

  US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NE8J0RE/

  UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00NE8J0RE/

  Also by Melissa Shaw

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  Melissa Shaw lives in the land of Prince Hamlet in a gorgeous suburb of Copenhagen, and uses the surrounds to craft romances which touch on the truth behind humanity. She likes strong female characters, flawed men, and strong bourbon. When she’s not hunched over her laptop, she’s wandering the streets searching for inspiration or sipping coffee at the local shop. Mostly she’s just writing. That’s what she does best.

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  A SNEAK PEEK AT PUPPY LOVE

  Here is a sneak peek at the first chapter of the Melissa Shaw's short story Puppy Love.

  Melanie Keller is engaged to a millionaire and happy as can be, until she meets the man of her dreams.

  Liam, a local farmer with a wicked smile and muscles for days, helps her pick out the perfect Labrador puppy to take back to the penthouse she shares with her jealous fiancée, George. The only problem is, Sunshine, the puppy has a strange attachment to one of the horses on the farm and will do just about anything to get back to it. Even if it means running away from its new home.

  When Sunshine turns up on Liam’s farm, Melanie has no choice but to return, even though George has forbidden it. What follows is a tempest of emotion as Liam and Melanie fight their feelings for each other, and George fights to keep her in his grasp.

  * * * *

  PUPPY LOVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Come on, make a decision already. I’ve got a meeting in two hours, baby.” George fiddled on his phone.

  Puppies yapped and licked Mel’s ankles and she stifled a giggle. The barn floor was strewn with hay and the yellow Labs frolicked unashamedly in it. They were gorgeous, and they bounced around as if they’d been set on vibrate.

  “I have to pick the right one. There’s a trick to it, ya know. You have to really connect with ‘em.” Whenever she was in the country she switched back to loose talk. It was in her roots.

  She dropped to her knees and glanced up at George, but he hadn’t heard a word. Typical, he was always lost in some business deal or the other. He snapped his phone to his ear and snarled, “Yeah, what do you mean it’s not happening today? I specifically gave Harold the documents this morning so he could get it done.” He marched out of the barn, and the shouts faded.

  “Which one of you is the one?” Mel poked each puppy on the nose, with a grin.

  “I know.” A man spoke up beside her right shoulder, and she jumped a little.

  A strong, tanned hand reached past her and grasped one of the little lickers, and hoisted it up and out of sight.

  Mel turned and shuffled upwards. She drew in a sharp breath.

  This man was beautiful. Tan skin, short blonde hair, two-day stubble around his full lips. The Labrador wriggled in his muscular arms, scrabbling upwards to lick at his face, and he let out a throaty laugh.

  “Easy.” He ruffled its ears and lifted his blue-eyed gaze to Mel. “This one’s all yours.”

  She breathed in the tang of horse manure and fresh cut hay. “How do you know?” she whispered.

  He stepped forward, and warmth spread through her chest and into her soul.

  “You don’t,” he answered quietly, intimately even, “but I do.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  He deposited the puppy into her arms with a knowing grin, and colour spread from her cheeks down to her neck.

 
“I’m Liam.”

  Yeah, he was Liam, all right.

  Liam. The name bounced around in her mind like… well, like a Labrador puppy. He reminded her of her first love. Of balmy summer nights on the porch, drinking lemonade with her father and chatting about the cows, the feed, the horses. He reminded her of home.

  He reached out that gloriously tanned hand, covered in callouses of course, and she grasped it without a word. “And you are?”

  Oh. Shit. Her name.

  “I’m,” she started – what was her name again? She licked her lips. “I’m Mel.” There we go. Narrowly missed that small embarrassment.

  She could just imagine what Caroline, her best friend, would say about that. Girl meets handsome farmer, girl forgets own name, girl dies of humiliation. Get real, baby shoes.

  “It’s great to meet you, Mel. You from around here?” Honey. His voice was like honey.

  “We’re from the big city, cowpoke.” George was back. His cell was nowhere in sight, and his chiselled features were painted with suspicion. He sidled up to her and slid his arm around her waist, squeezing tight.

  “The big city, eh?” Liam was jovial. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “Must be nice up there. You two live in one of those apartments together?”

  “A penthouse, actually.” George squished her to his side like a barnacle. This was a strange display of emotion for him; usually he was too busy with his phone to pay her much attention.