Christmas on the Run

by Shirlee McCoy

  Dallas could have taken him out. A warning, a gunshot, and the guy would be done, but he seemed more frantic than threatening as he headed back into the thicket of old orchard trees.

  Seconds later, Boone stepped out of the darkness. Not there and then there, moving so silently Dallas wouldn’t have known he’d appeared if Boone hadn’t spoken.

  “Should we go after him?”

  “I think he’s heading for the barn or the house. He’s sure not going back to his car, and he can’t stay out in the cold for much longer.”

  “He can do just about anything he wants, but a lot of what he might be planning could get him killed,” Boone responded. “I parked at the church, took a look in his vehicle.”

  “See anything interesting?”

  “A few papers sitting on the passenger seat. They might have blown out of the car when I opened the door, and I might have had to pick them up and stuck them in my pocket to get a better look at later.”

  “It’s a good story, Boone. You planning on sticking to that if those papers are something you’ll need to turn in to the police?” Dallas reached for Carly’s hand and pulled her upright.

  “Probably not. Lying isn’t something I make a habit of. Since the guy left his car door unlocked, I might argue that he was asking to be robbed and leave it at that.”

  “What was on the papers? Did you see anything?” Carly asked, her teeth chattering. Her cheeks had been ice-cold to the touch, her entire body shaking. She shouldn’t have left the car, but telling her that wasn’t going to change the fact that she had.

  He slid out of his thick parka, dropping it around her shoulders as Boone shrugged and responded. “I took a quick look. One was a kid’s drawing. The other looked like photos of some fancy-looking jewelry. Not sure about the third. Looked like a list of names, but I didn’t recognize any of them.”

  “Jewelry?” Carly asked. “Old stuff?”

  “Ma’am, you are asking the wrong person,” Boone responded. “The only time I can tell the difference between old and new is when we’re talking about batches of chocolate chip cookies or home-baked bread. So—” he met Dallas’s eyes “—what’s the plan?”

  “We find him, figure out who he is, who sent him and why,” Dallas said.

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind,” Carly said. Even with his coat on, she was still shivering, her hair covered with snow that was melting and sliding down her face and neck.

  He brushed some of it away, and she scowled.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “You were going to.”

  “I was also going to say that you were supposed to stay in the car, but I didn’t. You have the Maglite I keep in the duffel?” he asked, and her scowl deepened.

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you’re not the kind of person who likes to go into anything unprepared. Can I have it?”

  She fished it out of her pocket and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “You can thank me by taking your coat and going after that guy. I’ll stay here and wait for you so that I won’t distract either of you from the hunt.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. He ignored it and the parka that she tried to shove into his hands.

  “We’re sticking together this time.”

  “Because you don’t think I’ll follow orders?”

  “Because I think that the only way you’re going to keep from freezing is by moving, and because until this guy is cuffed and in a patrol car, I don’t want you by yourself out here.” He dropped the coat around her shoulders again.

  “You freezing isn’t going to make me feel any better about the mess I’ve gotten myself into,” she muttered.

  “I’m in layers, boots and a fleece-lined shirt. You’re not. And you didn’t get into this mess. Someone threw you here. So how about we stop talking and get moving?” He grabbed her hand, pulling her along at a pace he hoped was quick enough to get her blood flowing.

  Boone stayed beside them until they reached the edge of the orchard, then he motioned toward the house and the cars’ headlights that were shining there. Two sets. No emergency lights, but Dallas was still almost certain they were police cruisers.

  He signaled for Boone to check things out, then waited at the edge of the orchard. Carly stood beside him. Silent. Still. Having her with him was a risk. But leaving her alone was a bigger one.

  He eyed the barn that stood a couple of hundred yards away. The door hung crookedly, swinging rhythmically. As if someone had entered or exited recently.

  There were no windows on this side of the structure, no way for the perp to scan for trouble except through the cracks in the walls and doors.

  The barrel of a gun could fit through any one of those openings.

  To the left, the remains of an old Ford truck sat on crumbling concrete, the wheels on one side gone, the vehicle listing heavily.

  If he were on the run and hiding, he wouldn’t take shelter in the most obvious place. He’d hide in a place like that truck. He’d wait until the people who were pursuing him went into the barn, and then he’d slip out and disappear.

  He crouched, pulling Carly down with him.

  “I’m going to check the truck,” he said. “It should only take me a couple of minutes. I want you to stay here. Just like this. Low to the ground and quiet.”

  “The barn door is moving. He’s probably in there,” she whispered, her voice so quiet he barely heard.

  “Would you hide in there?” he asked, pulling the edge of his coat together and zipping it up. She might not be shaking, but she still looked cold, her cheekbones nearly white in the dim light.

  “I...” She eyed the barn and then the truck. “I’d probably hide in the truck and hope everyone else went in the barn.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  She smiled. “Be careful, Dallas.”

  “I don’t know how to be anything else,” he joked, but her smile had fallen away, and she was studying his face, her gaze touching his cheeks, his hair, his jaw.

  “It would be easier if you looked like Josh,” she said quietly.

  He didn’t ask what she meant. He knew.

  If he’d looked like Josh, it would be easier to remind herself of the past, of the disappointments, of the heartbreaks. It would be easier to keep her distance, keep her emotions in check, guard whatever part of herself she kept hidden from the world.

  But she was right. He and Josh had been half brothers. Different hair color, different build, different jawline and cheekbones and mouth. The only physical trait they had shared were their eyes. Both of them had bluish eyes, but Josh had been fair, like his father. Dallas had been darker, like his.

  “Stay here, and stay down,” he said, skimming his gloved finger along the line of her jaw and then turning away, because he had to.

  They both needed time to figure things out, and they wouldn’t get that until Carly had her life back.

  First things first.

  He could almost hear his mother’s singsong voice ringing through the hushed winter morning. “Adoptive mother” was what people liked to say when they were talking about his relationship with Sarah Morgan, but he didn’t think of her that way.

  She was the person who’d signed him up for his first day of high school and insisted on walking into the building with him to make sure no one bothered him. He’d acted like he didn’t want her there, but he’d been secretly amused that a five-foot-nothing, ninety-pound woman was trying to protect him. Amused and pleased.

  She’d been the one to take him tux shopping for his senior prom, who’d helped him choose a corsage for his date. She’d been to every one of his sporting events from the time he was thirteen until he’d left home for college. She’d sent
him care packages when he’d been in the dorm and when he’d joined the military. She’d sat by his bed for days after the accident, and he’d never once seen her cry while she was there.

  He’d seen the tears drying on her cheeks, though, and he’d held her hand at Lila’s memorial service. He’d patted her back, told her he’d be okay and made himself be, because he couldn’t stand to break her heart again. Currently, she and his father were on an anniversary cruise, sailing around the Caribbean to celebrate their fortieth year together. They’d be back in two days, and he’d have to tell them about Zane and Carly.

  He wanted it to be good news that wasn’t tainted with anything ugly or hard.

  He wanted Zane safe and Carly happy and all of them meeting under good circumstances without several HEART members standing guard.

  First things first.

  Right now, he had a perp to catch.

  He slipped into the shelter of the old trees, moving in the deep shadow of the tree line as he headed toward the truck and whoever might be waiting for him there.

  ELEVEN

  Carly crouched in the shadow of the trees, watching as Dallas crept toward the truck. If she hadn’t been able to see him, she wouldn’t have known he was there. He moved soundlessly. No snapping twigs or rustling grass. Like a wraith, he seemed to glide across the frozen ground. Not running or jogging, just moving with a kind of graceful ease she envied.

  In the distance, a car door slammed, and voices carried through the snowstorm.

  Boone must have reached the police.

  Were they heading toward the barn?

  She thought about texting to let him know where Dallas was, but she was afraid the light on her cell phone would give her location away. Instead, she rooted herself to the ground, her feet completely numb, her legs leaden. Dallas’s coat was warm, though, and she’d tucked her knees into it so that most of her body was covered.

  Despite what he’d said, he had to be cold. The windchill was in the teens.

  He didn’t seem bothered by it, though. He moved at a slow, steady pace, walking parallel to the barn and the pickup, nothing more than one dark shadow among many.

  And then he was gone.

  Just like that.

  One minute she could see him at the edge of the tree line, the next he’d disappeared into the landscape. She looked for movement, but the entire orchard was swaying, snow billowing from branches, the few dead leaves that had still been clinging to trees flying off.

  An early-winter storm was what the meteorologist had said, a very small weather event.

  If this was small, she’d like to see big.

  Or maybe she wouldn’t.

  Like Zane, she loved the snow, but she didn’t much care for sitting in the darkness, listening to the wind howl and wondering where Dallas had gone.

  She shifted her gaze to the truck, her heart thundering as she saw movement there. The front passenger door had been closed before. Now it was cracked open, an unseen hand keeping it from slamming into a two-foot pile of stones or bricks that was just a foot away.

  It had to be the driver of the car.

  Either he’d seen the lights from the police cars, or he’d realized that no one was going into the barn. Whatever the case, it looked like he planned to run. A minute passed, and the door stayed open. Dallas didn’t reappear, and the cold seeped through the soles of Carly’s Keds, gnawing at her aching, frozen feet.

  They hadn’t been the best footwear choice, but then, she hadn’t realized she’d be crouching outdoors for an hour during a snowstorm.

  Not that it had been an hour. It felt like a lifetime, her legs cramping as she tried to stay in place, mind racing with a million things that might go wrong. Like Dallas getting hurt, getting shot, getting killed.

  Suddenly, the truck door swung wide-open, and a man jumped out. He took off running, away from the headlights that were still shining near the house. Away from the road, the church, his car. And Dallas was right behind him, appearing from what seemed like nowhere, tackling the guy with so much force they both slid across the icy ground.

  Acting without thought, Carly ran toward them, passing the truck and the pile of stones. Bricks, she realized as she grabbed one and ran toward Dallas. Halfway across the distance that separated them, she realized what she was doing, remembered his words about being a distraction and making it more dangerous for both of them.

  She skidded to a stop, watching as Dallas yanked a much smaller man to his feet.

  At least, she thought it was a man. She wasn’t close enough to see features, and she had no idea if the person was male or female.

  She thought he said something. To the perp, or maybe to her.

  “Do you need help?” she called and then realized her mistake immediately.

  Dallas glanced her way, his focus shifting for a split second, and in that tiny amount of time, the perp slammed his foot into Dallas’s bad knee. Dallas went down hard.

  Carly didn’t wait to see if he’d get up again. She was already racing forward, barreling into the guy who’d kicked him. He grabbed her arm as they both fell, tumbling in a tangle of arms and legs and flying fists, the brick slipping from her fingers.

  She’d learned to fight young, but the guy she was going against had no clue. He flailed with his right arm and then his left, never quite making contact. If he had a weapon, he didn’t pull it, and when Dallas dragged Carly back and set her on her feet, the guy was still down, lying in a heap in melted snow, his gasping breaths cutting through the silence.

  “Get up,” Dallas ordered, something sharp and hard in his voice.

  The guy didn’t respond, and Dallas leaned down, grabbing him by the front of his coat and pulling him to his feet. There was something about his size, the width of his shoulders, the way he cocked his head to the side, ran his hand over his hair, that reminded her of...

  “Michael?” she asked, so shocked she thought she had to be wrong. There was no way her friend, a man she’d known for a decade, a guy who’d put in a good word for her and gotten her a job at the Smithsonian, who’d always seemed like a perfect gentleman, a wonderful friend, a warm and loving human being, would do something like this.

  She took a step toward him, wanting to get a closer look, to prove to herself that she was mistaken, because there was no way it was Michael Raintree. Not only was he too nice of a guy to plot evil things against her, but he had too much respect for antiquities to ever steal them.

  “Don’t,” Dallas cautioned, his hand on her shoulder.

  “I would never hurt her,” Michael said, and his voice was the same soft baritone that she heard every day when he called to check on her progress on the collection, to ask if she needed anything, to tell her how wonderful it was that they finally had a chance to work together again.

  “Tell that to someone who’s going to believe it,” Dallas growled, fury oozing out of every word.

  “It’s the truth. Carly and I have been friends for years. I respect her as an antiquities expert, and I like her as a person. I wouldn’t do anything to...”

  His voice trailed off, because he obviously realized he had done something. He’d apparently done a lot of things, and she could barely wrap her mind around that.

  “It’s complicated,” he finally said, and Dallas snorted.

  “You know what isn’t complicated?” Dallas responded. “Loyalty. Friendship. Doing right by the people who trust you.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Maybe you should explain, then,” Carly said, her stomach churning, her heart sick. She didn’t want to believe it was him, but the truth was right there in front of her.

  “I...can’t.”

  “You’re going to have to, because the police are already here.” Dallas gestured to several people who were walking acros
s the field, flashlights in their hands. “And they’re going to want to know.”

  “I can’t,” he repeated, and then he turned and tried to run.

  Dallas dragged him back, yanking his arm up behind his back and holding it there.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Carly said, and Dallas met her gaze, his eyes blazing.

  “I don’t hurt people for sport or revenge. And he’s really fortunate that I don’t. What weapons are you carrying, Michael?”

  “None.”

  “Someone fired a gun from your car.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You won’t say.”

  “Right now, they’re the same thing.” He sounded weary, and Carly couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

  For a man who’d tried to kidnap Zane. Tried to set her house on fire. Hired people who’d hurt Jazz.

  She turned away, sickened by all of it, the whole mess they were in.

  She walked through the crunching, snow-covered grass, made her way past the police and Boone. She didn’t look at any of them. She was too busy trying to hold back tears and telling herself she’d be a fool to cry for someone who didn’t deserve it.

  But Michael had a wife and children. They lived in a brownstone in the same neighborhood as Carly, had dinner together every few weeks and talked shop and kids and life. He was a deacon in his church, and his wife ran the church nursery program. They were the epitome of a loving Christian couple.

  And then he’d done this and ruined it all.

  “Carly!” someone called. She ignored the summons.

  She had the key to Dallas’s car, and this time she didn’t have to crawl through the window. She opened the passenger door and climbed in, took the key from her pocket, shoved it in the ignition and started the car.

  The air blowing from the vents was still cold, but she didn’t care.

  She needed to put some distance between herself and Michael. She sure didn’t want to look in his face, listen to his voice, feel sorry for what he was going to lose because of what he’d done.