Runaway Heart

by Saranne Dawson

  “Summers said he was going to get me fired if it was the last thing he did, and I told him to butt out of it or it just might be the last thing he did.”

  A week later, Zach’s caution proved to have been correct when another young man was brought in for questioning and confessed. And just days after that, Summers called Zach and asked him to meet him at Summers’s hunting camp outside town that evening. Zach went, figuring Summers wanted to make peace. He didn’t question Summers’s choice of a meeting place because it was on Zach’s way home.

  “When I got there,” Zach continued, “the place was dark and there was no sign of Summers. I figured he was just playing games—making me wait. So I got out of my Cherokee and was just standing there, waiting for him to show up, when someone took a shot at me—and barely missed me.

  “At that point, I was too busy trying to save my hide to give much thought to who it might be. It was just after dark, and I couldn’t see who it was. He fired again, and this time, I figured out where he was and went after him and shot him, but only after I’d warned him. I aimed for his gun arm, and that’s where I got him, in the shoulder.

  “Then, just as I was going to see who it was, headlights came up the road and suddenly someone was yelling, ‘Police! Drop it!’ It was Colby, my deputy, and Summers was the one who’d shot me.”

  Zach paused, sipping his coffee as he stared into the fire. “The rest you can probably guess. Summers denied he’d set up the meeting with me and that he’d shot at me. He claimed I must have known he’d be there for his regular weekly poker game. Colby backed up everything he said. He was one of the regulars at the game.

  “At the trial, they had plenty of witnesses who said that I’d threatened Summers when he said he was going to get me fired, and Colby threw in some lies to add to it.

  “The jury was out for a long time, but in the end, they convicted me. My attorney said my biggest problem was that I hadn’t fit into the community yet. People didn’t know me well, and of course they all know Summers and Colby. He tried to get a change of venue, but the judge wouldn’t go for it. He’s still appealing, but he doesn’t expect to get anywhere.”

  “And you have no idea why the two of them would frame you?” C.Z. asked. She knew both men, though not well. Colby had worked for her father, too, and she could recall her dad complaining about him a few times, saying he was incompetent.

  Harvey Summers was another matter altogether. Her father had liked him, as did everyone else, apparently. She could remember how kind he’d been at the time of her father’s death. He’d even offered to help her clear out her father’s house, though in the end, she’d done it herself, with the assistance of her father’s attorney and close friend.

  Zach shook his head. “Like I said, he let me know from the beginning that he disapproved of my being hired. I know he wanted Colby to get the job, but there has to be more to it than that.”

  “Colby is the chief now, isn’t he?” she asked.

  Zach nodded, then smiled the kind of smile that reminded her of just how dangerous this man could be. “Those two aren’t going to be sleeping too well when they find out I’m on the loose.”

  C.Z. frowned. “It would make a lot more sense if Colby was the one who shot at you. After all, he had something to gain if you were arrested—or dead.”

  “Right, but the really weird thing is that I don’t think Colby expected me to be there. I can’t be sure, but there was something in the way he reacted when he saw it was me that told me he wasn’t part of it at that point.”

  “And yet you said that he backed up Summers’s story?”

  “He did—and even added to it. Colby’s incompetent. The guy couldn’t catch a criminal if he had a smoking gun in his hand and was standing over the body—but there’s a big difference between being incompetent and being an outright liar. He knew Summers had a gun. It was lying there where he dropped it when I shot him. But he lied about it.”

  “Maybe he was just being opportunistic. Harvey Summers probably told him your job could be his if he went along with the lie.”

  Zach nodded. “That’s the obvious explanation, but I don’t know. I never really got the impression Colby wanted the chief’s job all that much. In his own way, I think he knew he couldn’t handle it. He even said as much to me once.”

  “Could Harvey have some hold over Colby that he used to blackmail him into going along with it?”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking, but even if it’s true, it doesn’t answer the more important question—why Summers tried to kill me in the first place. I keep thinking there must be something Summers was worried I’d find out about. If he’d gotten Colby appointed, he could have kept it under wraps—but I was a loose cannon.”

  Zach heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what it could be, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Official corruption of some kind is the most obvious possibility, but Summers is only one of three commissioners and he can’t act alone. I got to know the other two pretty well, and I can’t see either of them going along with anything illegal.”

  “Is Mary Williams still a commissioner?” C.Z. asked.

  Zach nodded. “You know her?”

  “Slightly. She and her family lived next door when I was little. Her husband died a few years before Dad died, and she said something at his funeral that made me think they might have been seeing each other, even though Dad never mentioned it.”

  “I think they were,” Zach said. “I heard about it somewhere, though I don’t think it had been going on for very long. She’s a nice person. She came to see me in jail before the trial.”

  He stared silently into the fire for a moment, then abruptly stood and turned to her. “We both need some sleep, and then you’ve got to go home. It isn’t likely anyone will be coming to your home to ask you questions, but you need to be prepared for that.”

  He gestured toward the loft. “You take the bed. I’ll sack out on the sofa.”

  She got to her feet, too, surprised at his abrupt tone. But before she could say anything, he had gathered their mugs and carried them to the kitchen. After that, he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him without another word to her.

  He was right, of course. It was three o’clock. They were both tired. But his abrupt dismissal still rankled. Each time she felt she was getting close to him, he backed off—and he wasn’t subtle about it.

  Nevertheless, she knew that now was not the time for her to criticize his shortcomings. He was both a cop and a fugitive, and she guessed that the two parts of him were almost certainly at war with each other. So she climbed the spiral staircase to the loft—only to find that she, too, was at war with herself.

  The big bed filled most of the space—and filled her mind with the fantasies she’d managed to set aside for a time downstairs. If only she didn’t remember those moments in his hospital room so well! If only his kisses hadn’t lived up to her fantasies—and then some!

  “If there’s an extra blanket up there, toss it down,” he called from below. In truth, his tone was matter-of-fact, but what she heard was a taunt.

  She opened the closet and found several neatly folded blankets on the shelf. Was he waiting for her to make the first move? Should she do that? Fantasies were so simple—and reality was so complicated. She thought it surpassingly strange that she should be feeling such hesitance considering what she’d done to get them to this place.

  She took a blanket from the shelf and walked to the railing that overlooked the main room. He was standing there, his face raised to her. But in the dim, flickering light, she couldn’t read his expression.

  For one long moment, she didn’t move. She was achingly aware of the man below her and the big bed behind her. Then she threw the blanket to him—and with that gesture, a decision had been made. She was retreating behind the barrier of the railing just as she had once stayed safely behind her desk.

  SUNLIGHT FLOODED the A-frame, pouring in through the tall windows that filled
most of the front wall. They had dealt with the issue of where and when she should pick up his money. They had discussed the possibility of her being questioned. They seemed to have little else to say to each other as they drank more coffee and ate the package of crackers he’d found in the cupboard.

  C.Z. thought he seemed as wary as she felt. She would sneak glances at him when he wasn’t looking, then avoid his gaze. She was sure he was doing the same. The silences seemed to be filled with questions not asked and with the silent clamor of needs unfulfilled. Everything seemed brittle, fragile—ready to shatter or explode.

  She picked up her purse and announced that she was leaving and would return before dark, since even with Scott’s map, she feared she might not be able to find the place again. He nodded and followed her to the door.

  It felt as though she was the one escaping. She didn’t know what it was she wanted from him, but whatever it was, she knew she wasn’t going to get it. He’d built a wall between them, though she had to admit she’d contributed a few bricks.

  She turned when she reached her car. He was standing on the small deck, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans as he watched her. The breeze ruffled his thick, black hair. The lower half of his battered face was shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. He looked just like what he was—a tough, dangerous fugitive from the law—the kind of man her normal self would have given a very wide berth.

  But instead, she found herself drawing in a sharp, quavering breath as she fought a wave of desire so powerful that, for a moment, she simply could not move. Her hand rested on the door handle as she struggled against that desire—and finally won. She climbed into the car and drove away quickly.

  Chapter Three

  Stop it! C.Z. ordered herself. You’re being paranoid. Then she smiled grimly, recalling the old joke about even paranoiacs being right sometimes.

  There was no police car in the lot when she returned to her condo, and there were no messages on her machine demanding that she account for herself. She’d seen only one police car during her journey home from the cabin—not the swarm of them she’d expected.

  There had been mention of Zach’s escape on the local radio news, but the announcer’s laconic tones had ascribed no more importance to it than to the item that followed, about the governor’s latest battle with the state legislature.

  The clerk handed her her driver’s license after writing down the number, then gave her a form to sign. Then he proceeded to count out more money than she’d ever seen at one time. Unable to shake her paranoia, C.Z. kept expecting the man to question her, even though transferring cash across the country was their business.

  With the bulging envelope weighing down her purse more than it should, C.Z. forced herself to walk to her car without looking around to see if anyone was watching her. Then she set off to do her shopping.

  When she arrived at her condo, she closed the door behind her and sighed with relief. No police. No questions. No one following her. She was safe, after all—just as Zach had said.

  Then the phone rang, driving out the image of him standing on the deck of the cabin. She debated letting the machine pick it up, then hurried to the kitchen to grab it. It was Jack Sanford, her boss. Not exactly the police, but not a call she wanted, either.

  “Hollis escaped from the hospital last night,” he informed her.

  “Yes. I just heard about it on the radio.” Could he have been asked to call her?

  “Did you see him yesterday?”

  C.Z. confirmed that she had. “He was really worried about going back to the prison. He told me they were planning to discharge all of them today.”

  “I can’t say I blame him for escaping, under the circumstances,” Jack said. “I just thought you’d better be prepared to answer some questions when they find out you visited him. He didn’t hint at any plans to escape, did he?”

  “No, of course not. But I guess I’m not really surprised,” she added hastily. “He’s very determined to clear his name and he struck me as being very resourceful. He was with the Army’s Special Forces, you know, and I think they’re trained for all sorts of things.”

  “Do you think he’s innocent?” Jack asked curiously.

  C.Z. hesitated. If she said yes and he passed that on to anyone, it could cast suspicion on her. But she could not bring herself to lie any more than she already had.

  “I don’t know, but based on what I’ve read in his file and what he told me, I think there’s a very good chance that he is.”

  It wasn’t exactly a ringing defense of Zach, but it was honest. She’d replayed his story endlessly, and still she wasn’t completely sure.

  “Well, if he is, then I wish him luck. It happens sometimes. The jury system’s far from perfect. I only interviewed him that one time, but he impressed me as being the classic cop type, not a killer—and very bright, besides. At times, I wasn’t sure just who was conducting the interview. I’ll see you on Tuesday, then. If anyone questions you and you need my help, I’ll be home all weekend.”

  C.Z. thanked him and hung up, thinking about what he’d said—especially his last comment. It was one of the things that troubled her about Zach. According to him, he’d never taken a single course in psychology, and yet he seemed to have an instinctive understanding of human motivations and weaknesses. And she couldn’t help wondering if he had put that understanding to good use when it came to her.

  He’d said at one point that she’d helped him because helping people was her business. Had he counted on that—plus her attraction to him? Was she kidding herself when she thought he was attracted to her?

  Suddenly, she was very glad she’d gotten into her car and left when every fiber of her being was screaming out at her to go back to him. But it was only a temporary reprieve. The battle between a body that wanted him and a mind that told her he was dangerous was far from over.

  She put away her groceries, separating the things she would be taking to the cabin, then went upstairs to pack a bag. She would be spending two days—and two nights—with him. Surely in that time, she could come to some conclusions.

  She had already loaded the car when she started to run back for her father’s gun. She hesitated, wondering if she should. She was uneasy about him having a gun. If they somehow found Zach, she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone being harmed.

  Then she thought about what he’d said, that giving up his gun was worse than being confined to a cell. She didn’t understand that on an intellectual level, but she did understand it on a deeper level because of her father. She went inside and got a kitchen stool, then carried it upstairs to the trapdoor that led to her attic storage space.

  Standing at the top of the ladder, she grabbed the pull chain that switched on the single light bulb. Then she winced. Her storage space was a mess, a case of out of sight, out of mind plus a dose of pack-rat mentality. The small space was nearly filled with boxes of notes and mementos from college, clothes she should have discarded long ago and four sealed boxes of her father’s belongings—boxes that had been packed for her by his attorney after he’d gotten the financial records he needed to settle the estate.

  She could no longer recall which box contained the gun, though she remembered well her reluctance to sell it as the attorney had suggested. Instead, she’d stuffed it into a box he’d already packed. The shock of her father’s sudden death in the midst of her grueling graduate program had resulted in C.Z.’s failure to be her usual organized self.

  The first box she opened contained only files, so she resealed it and turned to the next one, wondering guiltily how many times she’d promised herself she was going to come up here and go through the boxes to see if there was anything worth saving. But perhaps that time hadn’t yet come. Seeing her father’s bold but neat handwriting brought tears to her eyes. She had neglected him during what had turned out to be the last year of his life. But at the time, she’d thought she would be able to make it up to him when her graduate work was finished.


  Naturally, the gun was in the last box, together with a heavy box of ammunition and the gun-cleaning kit. The gun was still in the holster attached to the shoulder harness her father had worn since he’d been promoted from uniform to detective.

  She picked it up, thinking about the accident that had cost him his life and wishing he could be here now to advise her. Of course, if he were here now, Zach would have stayed with the NYPD or gone somewhere else, and none of this would have happened.

  She slung the harness across her shoulder, picked up the box of ammunition and the cleaning kit and made her way down the ladder, her thoughts on her father.

  He’d said very little about Zach that day he’d walked her out to the car after breakfast, but she remembered thinking he’d seemed to like him a lot. Still, would he agree with what Zach had done—even if he was innocent?

  C.Z. knew that among the complex reasons she’d decided to help Zach was that her father had liked him—and the two of them were much alike. She’d neglected her father for the last year of his life—was this her way of making up for that?

  She grimaced. It was the kind of question only a psychologist would ask, but she suspected there just might be some truth there.

  Lost in thought, she started for the front door, stopping only when she realized that she was, as it were, armed to the teeth. She put the gun into a plastic bag, then smiled and greeted a neighbor as she walked out with her deadly cargo.

  As she drove to the cabin, each mile seemed to be filling her with an eagerness to be with him again. It was obvious that she simply could not be rational where Zach was concerned. He had turned her world upside down and inside out and had drawn her into another place altogether, a strange world of danger and eroticism where she scarcely recognized herself.

  She was less than five miles from the turnoff to the cabin when she saw the police car. Her eagerness to see Zach vanished beneath an onslaught of icy fear. The car was sitting at an intersection, and when she drove past, it pulled out behind her. She thought about the clothing she’d bought for Zach, about the thousands of dollars in her purse—and about the gun in the plastic bag.