Bestselling Authors Collection 2012

by Trish Morey; Day Leclaire; Natalie Anderson; Brenda Jackson; Ann Voss Peterson

  Not ideal. Maybe he could find—

  “They’re coming.” Callie’s voice was only a whisper, but it rang with alarm.

  He snapped his eyes to the shadows. They were moving. Not urgently, but purposefully.

  A voice sounded behind them, toward the front of the building. A man’s voice speaking in Russian.

  Efraim wasn’t going to stay to hear what he had to say. They were out of options. “I’m going to distract them. When I signal, run for the creek.”

  He could see the fear in her eyes. She set her chin, her nod calm, resolute.

  She really was something.

  “And keep your head low.”

  He reached down and picked up the empty beer bottle he’d noticed earlier. The glass felt cold and slick in his hand. He eyed the grizzly fence. He had only one shot at this. It had to work. He needed to buy time.

  The men kept coming, searching between and inside cars on their approach.

  He could feel Callie tense beside him. “Yes.”

  “As soon as it hits, we run.” He drew his arm back and let the beer bottle fly.

  He didn’t wait to see if it had cleared the tall fence, but he heard it hit something hard and shatter.

  They raced across the gravel and plunged down the steep bank. His heart pounded against his rib cage. Next to him, he could hear Callie gasp as she skidded, then caught herself before she fell.

  He reached out and grasped her hand. The soft earth crumbled under their feet. They slid down the bank, half running, half skidding as if on skis. The black, glistening stretch of water rushed up to meet them. They splashed into frigid water.

  Efraim’s breath shuddered in his chest. Gaining a foothold in the creek, he pushed ahead. Callie slogged alongside him. Cold water splashed over their knees and soaked their clothes.

  Shouts rose from behind them. An engine roared to life.

  They pushed faster. A large culvert yawned ahead. He pulled Callie toward it. They had to make this fast. If the men chasing them reached the other side before they did, they’d be trapped inside.

  Water rose past their knees. They reached the mouth of the culvert. Efraim released Callie’s hand and she stepped into the tube. Pressing his hands against either side of the expanse, he hefted himself up after her.

  Crouching, he made for the dim light on the other side of the highway. Current swirled around their legs, moving faster, more powerfully than it had outside. The metal was slick. He braced himself with his hands, waddled as fast as he could on the rounded floor. His feet hit something slippery. He went down.

  Callie leaned back for him, gripping his shirt, pulling him up.

  The tube rumbled, a vehicle driving on the highway overhead. Shouts from outside faded, their scrambling footsteps drowning the sound, each clunk reverberating as if they were inside an echo chamber. As they inched toward the dim light on the other end, sounds all around them gave way to the roar of rushing water.

  They reached the tube’s mouth.

  Water rushed past them and swirled around their legs. He looked over the edge. A fifteen-foot drop-off gaped in front of them. The roar of cascading water blotted out all sound, even the thrum of Efraim’s heart.

  Back. They had to go back.

  He twisted around, looking over his shoulder while still holding on to the ridged walls for balance. At first he couldn’t see the dim light on the other side of the culvert at all. Then his eyes adjusted. The other end was there all right. But it was blocked…blocked by a man, maybe two, sloshing through the water toward them.

  He’d led Callie to a dead end. And there was no way out but down.

  Chapter Eleven

  “How deep is that water?” Efraim asked.

  Callie stared down at the black water that seemed so far below. She glanced back at the men fighting their way toward them. Some local she was. They must have changed this when they had rebuilt the highway. She’d been away so long—living in Washington, traveling around the world—that she didn’t even know her own town anymore. “I didn’t even know there was a drop-off here.”

  “We’re going to have to jump.”

  She felt his words like a quake in her chest. “Okay.” She just prayed the water below was deep enough. If it wasn’t, and they hit bottom…

  She took one last glance behind them. The clang of their pursuer’s progress through the pipe grew louder, closer. Not that they would survive if they stayed here. “Let’s go.”

  “On three. One…two.”

  “Hands. Let me see your hands.”

  The Russian accent made Callie’s heart feel as if it would explode from her chest.

  “Three.”

  She and Efraim both stepped off the edge. The night air whistled past her ears. She tried to spread out her body mass, as she’d learned in swimming lessons, scissoring her legs open, spreading her arms out.

  They hit the water with a smack. She felt the surface’s slap through her feet, her jeans. Her bare arms stung. The frigid water closed over her head just as her feet hit rock.

  The force jolted up her legs. She bent her knees, taking the blow. Then pushed herself to the surface.

  When her head broke through the water, the current had already pushed her downstream farther and faster than she anticipated. She treaded water and struggled to get her bearings as the water swept her along. The bank rose like a shapeless hulk.

  Efraim. Where was Efraim?

  She couldn’t see him. She could hardly see anything. A clump of trees there. And there…

  Headlights glowed from the highway over the culvert. The silhouette of a man stood in front of the glare.

  Water swirled around her and gurgled over the rocks along the shore. Her whole body ached with the cold like an infected tooth.

  Efraim had to be here. He had to.

  Possibilities raced through her mind, each worse than the last. Efraim hitting the rocks at the bottom. Efraim seized by the frigid temperatures, his muscles locking up, current pulling him under. Efraim shot.

  She shook her head. She hadn’t heard a shot. He had to be here. He had to be alive.

  The creek kept moving, pushing her along. The dark outline of the shore moved past. So close, yet seemingly impossible to reach. She scanned one side of the bank, then the other.

  Wait.

  She saw something dark near the shore. Efraim’s hair.

  She forced her arms to stroke, her legs to kick. She swam sideways toward the bank, not fighting the current, letting it sweep her downstream. Her jaw shook, her teeth chattering. Her muscles felt stiff and sluggish from the cold, but she pushed on.

  She lost sight of Efraim in the dark water. Trying not to panic, she kept moving toward the shore, in the direction she’d last seen him. Her feet hit slippery rock, and she struggled for a foothold, half stumbling, half swimming.

  She felt his arms around her before she saw him. He brought her hard against his chest and pulled her up, and into shallow water. Then his lips were on hers. Warm, so warm. When he ended the kiss, he just looked at her, his face inches away. His taut expression collapsed into a look of relief she felt echoed in her chest.

  She clung to him for a moment, unable to speak, unable to move up the steep bank, unable to do anything but shiver. He held her tight and rubbed his hands over her arms, her back. Somewhere dogs barked.

  “We have to get out of here. Can you stand up?”

  Her whole body shook. Her muscles clenched against the cold. It seemed ridiculous. The day had been so hot. But now hours had passed since nightfall, and the sun’s heat had long since faded. “I don’t know.”

  “I have to get you warmed up.” He rubbed harder.

  “The men after us…”

  “We were swept around the bend in the creek. It should take them a while to figure out where we are.”

  “They’ll come after us.”

  “I don’t think so. Sebastian’s men, my men, they’ll be here soon. They might be here now.”

&nb
sp; “And the sheriff’s department.”

  “Yes.”

  Another shiver seized her.

  “These cold, wet clothes…I have to get you dry.” He placed her arms around his neck and struggled to his feet. Water swirled and gurgled around his boots. He splashed the remaining two feet to the shore, cradling her in his arms.

  The dogs’ barks grew louder and erupted in snarls. A light hit Callie in the face, blinding her.

  “Stop right there,” said a man’s commanding voice. “I have a rifle, and I ain’t afraid to use it.”

  Callie’s heart sank. She tried to catch Efraim’s eye, but his attention was riveted to the man behind the spotlight. The man pointing a rifle at him.

  Please, not again.

  EFRAIM SQUINTED into the bright light. He’d been held at gunpoint and blinded with spotlights twice in the past six hours. It was starting to get a little old.

  “We’re unarmed.” Efraim raised his hands to prove the point.

  “Sit and hush up,” the man ordered the dogs.

  The barking stopped.

  The relentless glare of the light didn’t. “Who are you two?”

  “My name is Callie McGuire and this is Efraim Aziz. My family owns the Seven M Ranch.”

  The man grunted. Either he hadn’t heard of Callie’s family’s ranch or he didn’t care for the McGuires. He shone the light on Efraim. “Aziz? What kind of name is that?”

  “I’m from a country called Nadar. It’s a small island nation in the Mediterranean Sea.”

  “Arab?”

  There it was. Efraim would be lucky if the man didn’t shoot him as soon as he heard the answer, but he’d be damned if he was going to lie about his proud heritage. “Yes. I am of Arab descent.”

  “So what the hell are you doing in my creek? And on this cold night?”

  “We didn’t realize it was so deep. We were swept a bit downstream,” Callie simplified. Her voice shook so badly, it was hard to decipher the words. “We didn’t mean to trespass.”

  “Well, why don’t you get out of that water, then? You’re going to freeze to death.”

  Efraim couldn’t have stated it better himself. He steadied Callie on her feet and helped her up the bank.

  One of the dogs growled.

  “Knock it off,” the man snapped.

  The dog was silent.

  Efraim felt Callie shiver. There was no wind, the air had calmed in the hours since sunset and was now as still as death. But there didn’t have to be a wind. The temperature had dropped to the fifties. Soaked to the skin, Callie and he could lapse into hypothermia if they didn’t warm up soon. “Is there somewhere we can go that is warm? Callie is freezing.”

  “Of course you’re freezing. Damn fool thing to do, swimming in the creek.”

  Now that they were out of the water and the light wasn’t shining in Efraim’s eyes, he could see the man’s face in the dim night. Lines fanned out from the outer corners of his eyes and creases bracketed his mouth. Sparkles of gray ran through brown hair. He probably wasn’t that much older than Efraim. Ten years at the most. And Efraim found it a bit amusing that he was treating them like teenagers caught skinny-dipping on a cold night.

  At least he would find it amusing if they weren’t freezing to death on the spot. “We need to get warm.” He thought of his cell phone, Callie’s BlackBerry, useless after their dip in the creek. “And we need a phone.”

  He expected the guy to raise his gun again and threaten to call the police. Instead, he gave a nod and trudged away, motioning for them to follow. The dogs fell in at the man’s heels.

  Efraim wrapped an arm around Callie’s shoulders and pulled her close as they followed behind the man and dogs. She was still shivering, her body moving in jerky spasms. His was, too, but somehow his mind could only focus on her.

  They left the taller vegetation along the creek bed and walked through a small field of scrubby grass. The man’s light beam revealed a modest ranch ahead. A rickety barn, some barbed wire fence and not much else. A trailer home sat among a scrub of low evergreens. Light glowed through curtained windows.

  “It ain’t much, but it’s home.”

  “It looks great to me, sir. What a beautiful setting.” Callie’s voice trembled in time with her chattering teeth, but her voice rang with sincerity.

  Efraim looked at the broken-down place, trying to see the beauty that Callie obviously saw.

  “It’s warm and dry at least.” The man led them to the trailer. He mounted the handful of stairs, the steel ringing with each step. Opening a ripped screen door, he motioned them inside.

  The inside of the trailer was about as luxurious as the outside. A threadbare plaid couch lined a wall of the tiny living area along with a pleather recliner. The room opened to a kitchen with cheap vinyl floors and a folding table and chairs. The only thing that was worth more than a hundred American dollars in the whole place was the flat-screen television sitting on a laminated wood stand.

  “George? What is—” A woman wearing a terry-cloth robe stopped dead in the middle of the living room. She looked to be around the same age as the man, and just as worn. But instead of shot with gray, her hair held a monochromatic reddish-brown luster that had obviously come straight from a bottle. She smoothed her palms over her hair and focused on her husband. “Why didn’t you tell me we had guests?”

  He gave a shrug.

  The dogs bounded into the house, two bundles of wagging tails and lolling tongues. Efraim couldn’t begin to guess the breed of either.

  “You’re soaking wet!” The woman sounded horrified.

  “Good reason for that, Mercy. Found them in the creek,” the man said.

  “Well, let me get you some dry clothing. Come with me, dear.” Mercy motioned to Callie. “George? You get some of your clothes for that young man.”

  George and Callie followed the woman into the bedroom.

  Efraim had to laugh. At thirty-eight, he was hardly a young man. And after the last day or so, he felt older than the sea.

  One of the dogs ambled over to him and sat on his foot. He shoved his snout under Efraim’s palm and scooped his hand onto his black head.

  Efraim scratched behind his ears. After the jump into the water, his rib cage had ached as if someone was beating his side with an ax. The cold had given him a bit of numbing relief. But now as he even started to grow marginally warmer, his side had resumed its ache.

  The man returned carrying a pair of faded jeans, a flannel shirt, a thick leather belt and tube socks. “Here you go. Afraid you’re going to have to go commando.”

  Efraim took the clothes. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

  “There’s a bathroom over there. Clean towels on the shelf. Help yourself. That is, if Bud will let you go. That’s his favorite thing, having his ears rubbed.” He clapped his hand on his thigh, and the dog reluctantly stood, releasing Efraim’s foot.

  When Efraim emerged from the airplane-size bathroom, Callie was sitting on one of the folding chairs in the kitchen. A towel wrapped her hair in a blue turban, bringing out the striking marine color of her eyes.

  The woman, Mercy, had turned on the oven and opened the door. Heat emanated through the kitchen in waves. She grabbed another metal chair and plunked it next to Callie’s. She took his wet clothing and hung it on another chair next to Callie’s wet jeans and T-shirt. “Coffee will be ready in a jif.”

  He could already smell the dark, rich scent. Seconds later Mercy took their cream-and-sugar orders and placed a big steaming mug in each of their hands.

  Efraim breathed deeply…well, as deeply as his ribs would allow. “Thank you.”

  Mercy waved his words away and bustled back to the sink. “Don’t mention it.”

  Efraim glanced at Callie. “It’s the middle of the night. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  He wasn’t being silly. He was being grateful. He hadn’t seen a lot of kindness lately. Not in America. Not even among
his own people. The kindness of Mercy and George made him feel as warm as the coffee, the clothing and the stove.

  He reached toward his soaked trousers. “Really, I can p—”

  Callie shook her head in a warning.

  He bit back the rest of his words. Too late.

  Mercy turned from the sink and scowled at him. “I sure hope you weren’t going to offer to pay. That would be ridiculous, and I won’t have that in my home. You’re our guests. Isn’t that right, George?”

  “Yep,” her husband called from the living area.

  “Thank you. I didn’t mean to offend you, though. I just wanted you to know how much we appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “No more than you would do for others, I’m sure.” Efraim stared at the glowing coils in the electric oven. He’d like to think that was true. These people had opened their home in the dead of night to strangers, clothed them, warmed them, taken care of them. All without accepting a dime, even though from the look of things, they could use it.

  “He wanted to use a phone, too,” George mumbled, still in the living room. He squinted and paced the room in circles. “Can’t find the damn receiver.”

  “Here, let me help.” Mercy bustled into the adjoining room.

  The dog shuffled over to Efraim and resumed his position under his palm.

  Callie turned to him with a tired smile. She was no longer shivering, and her cheeks were a delicate shade of pink that made her eyes twinkle even more. “See? I told you Americans aren’t all bad.”

  She was teasing, but he couldn’t ignore the stab of recognition. He’d certainly thought badly of Callie’s family, the protesters in Dumont and just about every other American who’d snagged his attention. He’d held their fear and prejudice against them. And in his mind, he’d decided they were emblematic of all Americans. He’d told himself only Callie was different. But he’d been wrong.

  He’d let his own fears, his own prejudice paint an entire country with the same brush, and he, of all people, should know better.

  Mercy didn’t know him, didn’t know Callie, and yet she opened her home to strangers her husband had fished from the river. She trusted them when she’d had no reason to trust. She’d taken care of them simply because they needed care.