Run to You

by Susan May Warren

  He glanced down at his bleeding shin. Back up at her. She smiled.

  “I’m taking you someplace where you’ll be safe while I hunt down Elena and while you’re waiting for Roman to come and get you.”

  Her smile vanished.

  Taichung looked like every other Taiwanese town, with scooters cramming the streets and bright neon signs littering the thoroughfare, turning the pavement red or blue, orange and yellow against the night sky. He’d ditched the stolen ride and rented a bright red scooter. Yanna climbed on behind him, not afraid, apparently, to wrap her arms around his waist as they zigged in and out of traffic. Driving in Taiwan reminded him of surfing—he just had to let the traffic wave take him along. They drove through downtown, and he glanced at a KFC and a TGI Fridays. He bet there wasn’t one frog leg on the menu.

  This late at night, the shops were gated, and now musicians and teenagers roamed the streets, their music loud. Men with leggy women riding behind them in short skirts and helmets glanced over at her, smiling. Apparently, Yanna caught more than a few eyes.

  Then again, he’d never been able to take his eyes off her either. Distracting…that just might be the understatement of the century. Which was why, with her pressed close to him, her arms around his waist, he had to think of anything but how much he longed to simply keep driving into the night, away from all this.

  With Yanna.

  But well, that wouldn’t solve any problems. In fact, it would only create a giant, unsolvable mess. He’d walked over that line, nearly trampled it once before, and it had taken years for him to earn his way back into her life.

  No, her friendship, her trust meant too much to risk it again by taking her in his arms. What he really wanted, more than her friendship, even more than her arms around him, was her arms around God. Letting Him love her past all those hurts she buried so deep. So deep, in fact, she thought no one remembered them.

  David motored through another light.

  But he did. Remembered the stories she’d told him over email, the sketchy tales of abuse and neglect, and everything inside him hurt at her words and imagining what she left out. Sometimes, after their emails, he sat in the darkness of his apartment back in the States, stared out the window, and simply prayed that God wouldn’t let her be alone.

  “I’m wondering if you’re going to feed a girl,” she said into his ear at the next light.

  “I’m wondering if the girl is buying,” he said over his shoulder. “Because this fella has no cash left.”

  “She might, if he took her someplace.”

  “And not run away?”

  She tightened her hold on him. O-kay, he’d take that as a yes. He got into the right lane, turned onto a side street. In fact, he knew just the place.

  They drove through the neighborhood streets of three-story apartment buildings and homes, past gated entrances to tiny courtyards and little garages that held shrines to Buddha and other gods. Worshippers had left flowers and jewelry and food. Burning incense evidenced their prayers.

  He turned left at a 7-Eleven, and Yanna covered her nose at the smell seeping from the building. “What is that? It smells like rotten eggs soaked in gasoline.”

  “Tea eggs,” David said, pulling up next to a sweet potato stand and turning off the bike. “They’re a specialty, and all the 7-Elevens here sell them. They boil the eggs in soy sauce all day. They’re supposed to be delicious, but I can’t get past the smell.”

  Yanna climbed off the back of the bike while he parked it. “I might have lost my appetite.”

  “You’ll find it again in a second.” He reached out for her, grabbed her hand. She looked startled.

  “Just so you won’t be tempted to go on your own private excursion.”

  “Why, Sea Dog, don’t you trust me?” She grinned, and he narrowed his eyes at her, trying to stifle a smile.

  They wove in and around vendors, people selling fruit and riding bicycles and buying fresh-made dumplings. It seemed the city never slowed, regardless of the hour, and the hum had long invaded his pores, become a part of him.

  He pulled Yanna toward an open-air stir-fry café. Around a horseshoe-shaped counter, patrons sat, watching the cook in the center fry their food on a giant wok the size of a kettledrum.

  Yanna settled on the wooden stool. “I don’t know how to order.” She looked at the menu glued to the countertop. “It’s all in Mandarin, and well, I’m not fluent in cuisine.”

  “Look at the picture and point to the item you want. They’ll figure it out.” David caught the chef’s attention and pointed to item three. Shrimp in fish sauce.

  Yanna ordered the same and watched with a sad smile as the chef flipped her food with a flourish. “Elena would love this.” She put her hands on the counter. They were dirty and chapped from the seawater. David resisted the urge to cover one with his. But she wasn’t his captive at the moment. “She loves to travel.” She ran her hands through her long hair, closing her eyes when she caught on a snarl. “Why did she think she had to be married?”

  David had no answer to that. He’d never even considered marriage—his career, his commitments to his job left little room for relationships. But sometimes when he returned home from an assignment to an empty apartment with dead plants, he wished for more.

  Even his partner, Chet had a girlfriend. He didn’t know who, but it certainly hadn’t hurt his will to live.

  Maybe if Chet could figure it out, David could too.

  He lifted his hand to put it on Yanna’s. Put it down. Had he lost his mind? Yanna and he could never be together.

  And not just because they lived on different sides of the world.

  The chef served up their bowls of shrimp, noodles, and bok choy. Handed them each a set of chopsticks.

  Yanna stared at them. “Uh, and how am I supposed to work these?”

  David peeled the paper off. “Hold one chopstick stationary against your thumb, the other moves against your pointer finger.” He demonstrated.

  She stared at him. “I’m too tired for this.”

  He gave her a sad smile. Then motioned to the chef. Thankfully, they kept forks below the counter.

  “Vakoosna,” she said halfway into her meal. The next time he looked over at her, she’d finished.

  “Did you inhale it?”

  Yanna held up her bowl, looking at it longingly.

  “Don’t lick it.”

  She put it down. “Thanks. That was delicious. I guess you’re not entirely a jerk.”

  “Oh, yes I am. But I’m a jerk who feeds you.” He finished the last of his noodles. “Let’s get you to the safe house. And don’t forget, you have the money for dinner.”

  He refrained from holding her hand on the return to the scooter but kept her close enough to grab if she should decide to make a dash for it.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t, and even wrapped her arms back around him when they got on the bike.

  They rode in silence through the streets, David’s mind churning on Kwan and his whereabouts. He knew of Kwan’s contact on Taichung—he’d start there and see if he could find out where Kwan had holed up.

  David had no doubt he had a target on his head. But perhaps that could work in his favor. Like Yanna said, if Kwan had taken Elena, then perhaps eventually he would lead them to her.

  And he meant to keep his promise to Yanna. He would find Elena.

  He reached down, clasped her hand, and squeezed.

  Cutting off the main road, they drove back through the alleys and streets of a neighborhood. The safe house sat back from the street, a three-story apartment once used by missionaries. The office building acted as camouflage for the various people who moved in and out of the complex.

  David drove around back and secreted the scooter in a garage.

  A palm tree cast blades of shadow over the courtyard. Overhead the sky was clear, stars bright, the moon full and way too illuminating. David grabbed Yanna’s hand, pulled her into the embrace of the palm tree. “Wait.”


  She stood there, quiet beside him as he watched the house. Lights in the second-story windows reflected in elongated squares on the grass. The outside lights bathed the front walk and the opposite street. “They know we’re coming. They’ll turn the lights out, then we’ll go in.”

  Yanna tucked herself in close to him, her hand behind him propped on the scaly bark of the tree. “How do they know?”

  David scanned the windows, looking for movement. Strange. When he had spoken with Bruce, he’d said he’d have the lights off by ten.

  David pulled out a cell phone from his pocket. “Bartered for it on the way up.”

  “Bartered—is that what you’re calling it?”

  David slipped it back into his pocket. “They’ll be reimbursed.” He knew his job demanded creativity, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he might be losing his footing. Ever since he had shot Chet it seemed as if his moral lines had blurred, smudged by frustration and urgency.

  Instead of wanting to see Kwan and his operation taken down, the web of weapons smugglers and suppliers destroyed, he just…he just wanted to see Kwan dead.

  And he didn’t like that feeling, not at all. Or rather didn’t like the fact that yes, he did.

  Sometimes, David longed not to be him. Not to be the guy who lived by an invisible set of rules that seemed foreign to the rest of the world.

  Not to be the guy who wouldn’t put his arm around the intoxicating woman beside him and kiss her like he had ten years ago…only this time, not stop.

  Sometimes it felt…and he hated to say it, hated to think it, hated that it felt like betraying everything he stood for, but…sometimes it felt, indeed, like good guys finished last.

  How could one man, by doing what was right, have even a smidgen of hope to slow the rampage of evil in the world?

  So maybe he hadn’t always done what was right.

  He blew out a breath.

  “You okay?”

  David ran a hand through his long, grimy hair, over his beard, wishing all that gone too.

  The lights flickered off in the upstairs windows.

  “Yeah. Let’s go—”

  “Someone’s coming,” Yanna whispered.

  He leaned back against the tree, his breath low. He reached for his weapon, which of course, he didn’t have.

  So he snaked his arm in front of Yanna, put her behind him.

  A man appeared from around the side of the house, out the darkened side entrance. It didn’t take David long to figure out that this man wasn’t Bruce’s contact. Maybe it was the clothes—all black, and dressed for stealth. Maybe it was the way he stopped on the edge of the house, looking back, checking for a shadow.

  Or the way he then edged out into the lawn and vaulted the fence.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, David.”

  “Me too,” David said in a barely audible voice. “Stay put, I’m going to check on—”

  “Nyet. I’m on your tail like glue, like you said before.”

  Of course she was. “Quickly, then.” He went to the gate, punched in the four-channel code, and it opened. Sliding through, he left it ajar and beelined for the house. Yanna, true to her word, stayed one step behind him. He reached the back door, opened it, and went in first, pulling Yanna behind him as he froze in the entry, listening.

  The moon filtered in through bamboo window slats, across a terracotta tile floor and wicker furniture. Beyond this room, he spotted the kitchen and, even farther, stairs.

  He pointed to the stairs. Yanna nodded.

  They were across the room in seconds, and he took the stairs on his toes, crouching at the top.

  Moonlight streamed out of one of the upper bedrooms. The other, on the opposite side of the hall, only contained darkness.

  He glanced at Yanna.

  She wore her fight face, the one that said, Don’t mess with me, or someone’s getting hurt.

  He should have heeded that warning long, long ago.

  David stood, crept down the hall toward the moonlight-bathed bedroom, the one they’d been watching when the lights went out.

  He froze at the door, a word he rarely used on his lips. Their contact lay on the floor, hands bound, throat slit from ear to ear.

  David turned, grabbed Yanna by the elbow. “Go. Go!”

  “What—?”

  He was pushing her now. “Go!”

  Yanna whirled and made for the stairs, her feet thundering as she ran down. David took the steps two at a time, then pushed her toward the front door, grabbing her up before she could run out into the lawn.

  Whoever was lying in wait must have anticipated their rapid exit.

  David yanked Yanna back just as a form launched at her. David caught a dark flash of light right before the assailant took him down onto the tile floor.

  “What do you mean there was no driver?” Mae’s voice could be heard through the cotton sheet walls of the emergency room and Gracie flinched more at her tone that the stitch the male intern applied to forearm, where she’d hit a beer bottle at the bottom of the stairs. All that glass and metal from the car trying to run her down, and she’d been injured by some rummy’s leftovers.

  “The car was rigged, the gas pedal jimmied to stay floored. I’m not sure you were even a target.”

  Gracie recognized the calm, doubting-Thomas voice of Officer Williams. Great. She watched the intern tie the last of the stitches. “Almost done?”

  “Just need to bandage it, and we’re set.” He looked up at her, a nice looking man with black hair and kind eyes. “I think you need a bandage on that scrape on your forehead.” He made a face, as if in pain, and Gracie instantly liked him. Reminded her of when Vicktor had tried to bandage her scrapes and bruises after she’d been nearly killed in Russia. In fact, he’d been attempting to bandage them ever since.

  And, after a night like tonight, well, she just might let him. Her cell phone lay tucked in her coat pocket, but they made her turn it off as soon as Mae got done leaving a voice mail with her boyfriend Chet, with whom she’d missed an online date.

  Sometimes, she had to wonder if all these long-distance games were worth it. Gracie wanted Vicktor here, now, those arms around her, that voice in her ear that told her no one would hurt her. That yes, he’d find Ina and put everything right in the world.

  She closed her eyes, sighing as the intern bandaged her.

  “That hurt?” he asked.

  “No.” Yes. Being this far from Vicktor hurt more than she could bear, sometimes. And perhaps all this tough-girl, I don’t need your help was just a defense mechanism.

  Next time he suggested setting the wedding date, she’d respond with a vigorous, Tomorrow!

  Mae appeared from behind the sheet, her expression set on annoyed. She crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t escaped a few bangs as they’d tumbled down the stars, but athlete that she was, she mostly kept her feet and only ended up with a doozy of a bump on her cheek. Still, it looked swollen, like someone had given her a slap with a two-by-four. Ow.

  “You heard that, I suppose,” Mae said, nodding toward unseen unhelpful Officer Williams.

  “There was a driver. He just bailed before the car hit the doorway.”

  “I agree. The question is—was he aiming at us?”

  “At me, you mean.”

  Mae lifted a shoulder. “At this point, I think I’m in this neck deep with you.”

  Gracie made a face. “Sorry, Mae.” She rolled her torn sleeve down over the bandage as the intern gathered his supplies.

  “I’ll mend. Besides, someone’s got to fill in.”

  “For Vicktor, you mean?”

  “For your common sense. Which, I’m not so sure is that skewed at the moment. I’m starting to wonder just exactly what you walked into, and why suddenly, someone want you –”

  “Us—”

  “—erased from the map.”

  Gracie hopped off the table. Smoothed her jeans, now hopelessly splotched with her blood. “I’d like to pay
another visit to the Ludukos. Maybe if they know we’re on their side in a very meaningful way, they’ll trust us.”

  Gracie found Luba Luduko curled up on the brown padded chairs in the ICU waiting area. A large room, with magazines overflowing tables, and long sofas pressed against the outside walls and chairs arranged in tiny circles for worrying, only the dim lights evidenced that daylight crept in on them. Fatigue bore into her as Gracie inched toward her, not wanting to wake her, but—

  Luba roused, her eyes opening. Fear crossed her face, but Gracie reached out, touched her arm, speaking in Russian. “It’s okay. Yakov is okay. I just wanted to check on you.”

  Luba pushed herself up. Her brown hair had fallen out of the ponytail holder, and in her green floral polyester shirt, faded jeans, and lines of worry across her face, she looked about twenty years older than her age. “Spaceeba,” she said, only her face didn’t really betray gratefulness. Still, she attempted a smile.

  Gracie sat down opposite her. Mae stayed standing.

  “I did what you said, Luba. I tried to find her, and I think I did. So why would she come after you and her father? I don’t understand. I know you didn’t tell the police anything, but I can promise you, I just want to…to help.”

  Luba’s gaze went to the scrape on Gracie’s head. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I think it has to do with your daughter.”

  Fear flashed again across Luba’s face. She shook her head, looking away. “I knew something was wrong. I knew…”

  Gracie touched her knee. “What?”

  Luba’s voice dropped, and she didn’t look at Gracie. “Ina came to me, told me she had a new job, one her boyfriend found for her. She wanted to be a model, and he told her she would have a nice home, cars. Clothing.”

  Out of her peripheral, Gracie saw Mae shake her head.

  “We told her no, that she had to finish school. Get a job. But she got angry, and ran away.”

  “With Jorge?”

  “Yes. Only, we saw him the next day—he lives in our neighborhood. I just wanted to talk to Ina, to tell her that we love her, that she could come home. And Jorge said she was gone and…” Luba cleared her throat, took a breath, “was never coming home.”