Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3)

by Calinda B

  Is that a gun? Zed faltered. Tripped. Lost his footing. He watched, mesmerized, as his face prepared to plant itself in the dirt like a giant bulb, his body falling in slow motion, when the phone rang. The phone?

  Zed rocketed awake, grabbing the phone, yelling, “T1 transition. Got it. Finished swim. Remove googles and swim cap. Rinse feet. Take off wet suit. Dry myself. Socks on. Vaseline inside the heel of my shoe, applied before the race. Helmet on head, buckled or I’m disqualified. Grab the bike off the rack. Repair kit in place.”

  “Zed. Zed. Stop. It’s me. Jace.”

  Zed blinked at the weak, watercolor light of dawn barely dusting the room. He groaned and sat up. “What time is it?” He smoothed the sheets next to him, missing Beck. She’d gone to sleep at her house to give him prep time, saying she’d meet him at the race. Dumb idea. I think a night of sex would have been far more fun and exhilarating.

  “It’s four forty-five. Get up. We have to check in at six-thirty. Get your ass to the café. We’ll eat, go over last minute stuff.”

  “I wonder why my alarm didn’t go off.” He thumbed his phone, searching for the clock function.

  “It just did. I called.”

  “Thanks. Okay, then. I have everything packed in the truck. See you in a few.” His mouth opened in a huge, lion-sized yawn.

  On the way to Fort Marshall parkland, the place where he’d start the first leg of the race, the thousand-meter swim in fifty-degree water, he barely tracked Jace’s conversation. I brought Ricky’s gift, right? The water bottles with pictures of Murphy he drew, right? Have I trained hard enough? Too much? What if I tweak a muscle? What if I fall? Will I black-out? And what about Lawson? Beck had to get herself reassigned from his case, he was harassing her so much. And I’ve seen glimpses of him over the last few weeks, like he’s tracking me, in the distance, letting me know he’s watching me. Or else I’m fucking paranoid and seeing things. But I haven’t seen him lately. It’s been eerie. He was everywhere for a while. Now? Nada. Shit. An icy chill rippled up and down his spine.

  “I hope I didn’t push you too hard in insisting on a mid-range race. It’s your first time. Maybe we should have gone with a sprint. Better yet, an Olympic. Really test your mettle.”

  “What did you say?” Zed blinked, coming out of his mental fog.

  “I said, the weather’s not bad and there are chickens on the horizon.” Jace smirked.

  “No there aren’t,” Zed said, peering around. “It looks like a cool day with light fog. Perfect.”

  “I’ve been talking to you for fifteen minutes. I may as well have been talking to the window.”

  “No, you said something about hoping you didn’t push me too hard or wishing we’d gone for something bigger. Don’t you think I can do this race?”

  “Do you?”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Zed chewed on his lower lip.

  “Any blackouts?”

  “Not a one since San Diego.”

  “Is your brother around?”

  “Hope not. Apparently he’s on his way to Canada. A friend saw him last week in Bellingham, heading north.” Zed kept thoughts of this brother stalking him to himself. No need to share that shit.

  Jace nodded. “You’re ready, Zed. I have faith. I was only trying to get your attention. It’s go time.”

  He pulled into the parking area where support staff, racers and their crew were all getting ready to race. “Go check in. You’ve got this, Zed.”

  “I’ve got this.” Zed nodded and repeated Jace’s words. Am I really going to do this?

  Warm arms snaked around his abdomen. “Rebecca Tosetti, reporting for duty.”

  Zed brightened. “Beck! I thought I wouldn’t see you until the end of the race.”

  “What? And miss the opportunity of being one of your minions and cheering squad? No way.”

  Zed leaned over to kiss her. “Mmm,” he said, releasing her. “Thank you.”

  “Yep. Don’t you worry, champ. Jace and I have got you covered. After you take off on your bike, I’m heading over to the T2 transition with Jace to insure that’s set up. After that, you’ll see me here and there on the sidelines. Then, I’ll head to the finish line to watch your glory moment. Honey, I’m so proud of you, I could burst.” Her eyes glittered.

  “That means the world to me. Thank you. I’ve got to check in.”

  She gave him another squeeze. “Jace and I…we’re here to help. Anything you need.”

  After registering, checking his gear at least fifteen times, slathering himself with lube and donning his wetsuit, at last it was time to begin. With one final nod at Jace and Beck, he entered the cold water when his division was called.

  When the starter pistol went off, he jerked, hesitating for a moment, thinking his brother had fired a shot. But then, as he watched the others throw themselves into the water, he took off, slow and steady. Remembering Jace’s advice, he stayed to the outside of the pack. He tried to catch the draft of the guy in front of him, a strong, sure swimmer, until a swimmer to the left of him socked him in the face with her flailing arms. He moved out of her way, and continued, hoping he didn’t hit anyone along the way. He felt good as his arms stroked the water. At least I’m not in the back of the pack, he thought, lifting his head to see where he was heading. He narrowly avoided a buoy, barely missing a disqualification, and continued on.

  Seventeen minutes and one thousand meters later, his fingertips touched the shore beneath the water, and he stood, trotting toward T1, peeling off his shiny black swim cap and removing his blue goggles as he followed the path.

  Jace shouted, “Good time, Zed!”

  Beck yelled, “So proud of you, baby!”

  Zed barely tracked their comments, focused on his transition. He rinsed his feet in the kiddy pool, peeled off his wetsuit; socks, shoes, glistening orange helmet on and buckled; sunglasses, bib number in place; water and energy drinks at hand, and he was away.

  As he pedaled, he glanced at the hills above the parkland where he’d spied the suspicious lights before, weeks and weeks ago, reassuring himself. Lawless is gone. Ghosted in the wind. RIP, big brother.

  Same as with the swim, he stayed to the right, trying to conserve energy while keeping up a steady pace. He kept up an easy comradery with the other participants, cheering them on when they passed, or when he passed them. It kept his spirit up, and allowed him to ignore the shooting pain in his right knee that yelled at him on occasion, or the twinge of pain in his wrist.

  He sipped water along the way, smiling at the pictures Ricky had drawn on the water bottles. Love that kid. He passed Beck, cheering wildly, Jace, pumping his arm in the air, his wife, yelling encouragement, and later, his sister and her crew. Ricky looked like he might explode with joy.

  “Uncle Zed! Look over here!” he hollered.

  Zed lifted his hand in greeting.

  The miles rolled by as they all cruised the Pacific Northwest trail, jockeying for position. He concentrated on his breathing. On the guy ahead. On the woman to his left. On maintaining an aerodynamic state. On his legs, making the pedals go ‘round and ‘round. Occasional glances at the green trees and blue-gray water surrounding them, blue skies peeking through the lifting fog. In the zone.

  In the last three miles, passing the twenty-one-mile marker, he caught himself clenching his muscles. Doubts began to surface. Come on, you can do this, he thought. You’ve come this far. Keep it up. His legs burned, fatigue snaking through his muscles. Sweat poured down his face, dripping in his eyes like a salty stream.

  He continually lifted his sunglasses, wiped his face, and kept going. Come on. Don’t quit. He relaxed his jaw, and shook out his arms. Replenished fluids. Even congratulated himself on making it this far. No brother, no blackouts. Love in his heart for a good woman. “On your left,” he yelled to the two guys ahead of him, as he prepared to pass them.

  As he neared the finish fifty-five minutes later, he slid his feet from his shoes, the way he’d practiced,
resting his socked feet on top. Let one arm dangle loose for a moment, then, the other. And there, near the end, stood Beck, sun glinting in her fiery tresses, Jace, Zoe, Ricky, Caitlin and the rest of their crew, all enthusiastically shouting. An official stood nearby, telling them to slow it down and prepare to dismount. At one hour and two minutes later he crossed the bike segment finish line, behind about a dozen other racers. I made it this far. Fucking awesome.

  “Fantastic time, Zed!” Jace’s voice boomed over the crowd as he whooped with glee.

  Zed turned and grinned, still keeping his momentum. Once dismounted, gripping his bike by the handlebars, he jogged to the transition area in his socked feet. Placed his bike in the correct slot. Removed his helmet. Grabbed the gear out of his bag and changed into his orange, black and gray running clothes and fresh socks. Jammed his feet in his Nikes, tossed back a swig of water and an energy replacement liquid, and he was off, jogging with the masses in the last leg of his journey.

  As he moved with the other triathlon participants, an edginess stabbed at his mind like a fork searching for food. He kept glancing around for signs of a huge marine, gun in hand. What if he’s waiting for the end to finish me off? Take me down at the end? What if he misses and kills other people and it’s all my fault because I never dealt with him? What if… He stumbled, grabbing the arm of the male next to him to keep from doing a face plant.

  “Hey!” the disgruntled male shouted.

  “Sorry, man,” Zed said, as he found his stride in the 10k foot race. His mind continued to whirl, jacking up his anxiety. Maybe he never went north. This last leg is lined with trees. The jackass could position himself in the woods. Hide in branches. He gave his head a shake. Focus, man, focus.

  His mind began to regurgitate fragmented images, shook free by his feet pounding the pavement. He saw his truck speeding through twisting turns in So Cal. Lawson, on his tail. The truck wrapped around a tree-trunk. And then, there it was, the missing memory. Him, coming to on the forest floor and his brother, the psycho, thundering down the hillside.

  Lawson threw himself at Zed, straddling his body, taking his neck between his two massive hands and squeezing hard.

  Zed flailed, his arms batting Lawson, unable to breathe, stars dancing around his eyes, when his hand landed on something sharp – a piece of the bumper flung from the vehicle. He lifted it and swung it, again and again, consciousness fading, when he caught Lawson’s cheek, almost nicking his eye.

  Lawson roared, brought his fist back to pummel Zed’s face.

  Zed aimed the deadly shard at Lawson’s face again.

  The male wrenched his head to avoid the sharp metal, and Zed took advantage to wrestle free, scrambling to his feet. He picked up a rock and hurled it, the stone connecting with his brother’s skull, causing Lawson to fall to his hands and knees.

  Zed ran at Lawson like a gladiator, waving the metal fragment like a sword. With both hands, he swung it like a mighty bat, as Lawson lurched to his feet. The jagged edge tore through Lawson’s hand, and a single digit flew into the air, with both brothers tracking its graceful slow-motion seeming arc. It plopped in the dirt with a soft, innocuous rustle.

  “My fucking finger? You sliced off my fucking finger? I’m going to fucking kill you,” Lawson screamed. “I’m going to tear you limb from limb.”

  “Hello? Who’s down there? Is everything all right?”

  Zed’s rescuer. His ticket out of there. The man he’d never be able to thank.

  Lawson took off at a furious sprint.

  Zed collided with another runner, jerking him back to the moment.

  “Watch out!” the runner shot him an angry glare.

  “Sorry, man. Sorry.” Intense, ugly panic pushed through him. He glanced at the other runners, at the trees, at the road, looking for signs of his psychotic brother. He wants to kill me. He fucking wants to kill me.

  Zed ran as if Lawson was on his tail, prodding him with his devil’s pitchfork. His bowels began to twist as if someone was trying to strangle him from the inside out. Goddamn it. You are not stopping to take a shit, Farrell. His nose began dripping like a motherfucker. Run, run, sniff. Run, run, sniff. Quickly glancing behind him, he leaned over, put his fingers over his nostril and blew a snot rocket at the ground, swiping his arm under his nose to get the rest of it. Better.

  A runner ahead of him collapsed, screaming and clutching his ankle. Zed managed to not go down with him, barely leaping over his fallen form. Damn, that was close. An intense burn chafed between his thighs, where the skin kept rubbing. Fuck. Imagine a DNF due to thigh blisters. I shoulda wrapped my legs with athletic tape, like Jace suggested. No, I said. I’ll be fine, I said. Fuck. Focus on something else. Focus on…focus on finishing, for Christ’s sake. How many more miles to go?

  The constant rubbing of his shirt on his chest caused his right nipple to sting. He glanced down and spied a red blood stain.

  About twenty runners were ahead of him as he passed the halfway mark. In typical northwest fashion, a gentle mist had replaced the earlier blue skies. It cooled his skin somewhat as he ran. He glanced over to see his cheering squad, rooting for him, energizing him. Beck looked absolutely radiant. Nothing can happen to her. I can’t let Lawson get to her. Zed wondered if he looked like a wild-eyed lunatic, racing for his life.

  She waved some pink makeshift pom-poms like a cheerleader and blew kisses at him.

  At the next aid station, he whizzed through, grabbing a cup of water and pitching it on the ground with the other paper cups as he joined the melee. He kept a steady awareness of his surroundings, looking everywhere for signs of a huge marine.

  Twenty or so minutes later, he neared the end in Waterbourne State Park, a beautiful place where he’d camped, kayaked, and enjoyed many times. I’m still alive. No brother. Maybe he’s the one who’s dead. Maybe something happened to him. Maybe… He could see the finish tape. Six runners preceded him, something he never imagined. He thought he’d place last, at best. Come on, come on. He spied Ricky ahead as a wriggling dot in the distance and put on the speed, passing three of the runners. He kept up a neck and neck pace with one guy, finally inching ahead of him. Two more to go.

  The only thing he heard was his breathing and his pounding footsteps. He surged ahead of the next guy. Pulled up side by side with his only competition. The guy inched ahead of him. He heard the panting of another guy right behind him. A muscle in his thigh began to shriek. He caught his toe in the dirt and stumbled, losing his position. Goddamn it! You can do this, Farrell!

  The wide blue and yellow tape, marking the finish line loomed ahead, a colorful slash beckoning him forward. His body exhausted, blisters forming on his heels, he let two thoughts urge him onward. Do this for Beck. Do this for Ricky. Then, he added, Do this for you, Farrell. You’re a winner, not a fucking attempter.

  The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he surged forward. The end was right there…right there…so close. He ignored the pain screaming through his muscles and forced his legs faster, passing the guy in front of him. He threw up his arms like a champion and launched across the finish line in the lead, falling to his knees once he crossed, as flash bulbs went off all around him. He peeled the colorful tape from his midsection, waving it like a flag.

  “I did it! I fucking did it! I won!” He heaved himself to standing, his legs all rubbery and wobbly.

  Jace and Zoe threw their arms around him. Ricky hugged his leg. Caitlin, Jeff and their pack surrounded him. Even Mitch and his wife stood nearby, ready to offer their congratulations.

  Jace handed him a power bar.

  Ricky thrust a new water bottle in his hand, on which he’d written, “Uncle Zed is a winner!”

  He scooped the child in his arms and kissed his cheek, before tossing back his head and glugging the water.

  “Ew, Uncle Zed, put me down. You’re all sweaty.” His grin stretched the width of his face, despite his protests.

  Zed’s eyes scanned the crowd. He accepted the congratula
tions all around from family, friends, and well-wishers. Finishing his power bar, he put Ricky on the ground before his legs gave way, and said, “Jace?”

  “Yeah, man,” Jace answered, a huge smile stretching his cheeks.

  “Where’s Beck?”

  Chapter 34

  “You fucking asshole,” Beck yelled. “You motherfucking, piece of shit moron. Put me down.” She beat against his solid back with her fists. It felt like beating a concrete slab.

  Lawson assaulted her the minute she stepped from the porta-potty, still zipping up her charcoal gray, skin-tight skinny jeans. He must have been tracking her because the whole thing went down so smoothly, if an abduction could be considered smooth. He simply slipped around the corner like a ghost, picked her up, and began jogging, before she had a chance to react.

  She’d been the only one in the portable toilet service area. Everyone else was watching for the first runner to round the bend. She hadn’t seen anyone coming down the road, and had raced to relieve her aching bladder.

  Now, bouncing against his horrid back, she screamed, “Let go of me you fucking, goddamned prick! Help! Help!” She heard the crowd roar and she strained to see what happened, slung over the marine’s shoulder like a rag doll. When she saw who the crowd cheered for, she groaned. It’s Zed. My baby won the race and I’m not there to congratulate him. “Help!” she cried again. “Someone help me!”

  She tugged the marine’s shirt free from his waistband, raked her freshly manicured nails across his back and screamed for help. This kind of thing felt like business as usual, given her history with men. One more interaction with a pissed off male. But this guy had an edge – the deadly edge of being a killer.

  The bastard swung her from his grip, surprising the hell out of her, placed one huge, thick, gloved hand around her wrists, removed the camo bandana he’d wrapped around his head, and whirled her around so her back faced him.

  She bent her leg, ready to stomp the shit out of his booted foot, but he quickly wrapped one of his legs around both of hers, pinning her. She began to yell, scream, anything to draw attention. In the distance, the cries of an excited crowd, cheering on athletes, could be heard.