Christmas on the Run

by Shirlee McCoy

  The driver’s door opened, and Dallas climbed in.

  She wanted to resent the fact that he’d come after her, that he’d felt the need to follow her, to offer—what? Comfort? Protection? Companionship? She didn’t need those things, and she shouldn’t want them. She should have told him she was fine, that he should go back to Michael and the police.

  But she wasn’t upset, resentful or even annoyed.

  She was relieved that she didn’t have to sit alone mulling over questions that had no answers.

  So maybe she did need those things he always seemed to offer.

  He lifted the blanket and tucked it around her shoulders, her knees and her feet, and he was so close she could see the stubble on his chin, smell coffee and leather on his skin. If it had been a little lighter, she would have been able to see the flecks of green and gold in his eyes, the deep, rich black of his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely and with so much compassion, her throat clogged with tears.

  “We’ve been friends since college,” she replied, a tear somehow escaping, slipping down her cheek and mixing with the icy water that was dripping from her hair. “Aside from Jazz, he’s the last person I would have suspected of something like this.”

  “He’s not admitting anything to the police,” he said. “He’s told them he wants a lawyer.”

  “So he’s not denying it, either.” Her voice was husky with emotion. She could hear it, and she knew he could.

  “No, but there would be no sense in that, would there? He’s miles from home in a stolen car—”

  “He stole the car?”

  “Someone did, and he was the one driving it. I guess you can draw your own conclusion.”

  “You know what I’d rather do?” she said, another tear slipping down her cheek. She hated crying almost as much as she hated being betrayed by people she cared about.

  “What?” He wiped moisture from her cheeks, pulled the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.

  “Go to the hospital to see Jazz, go back to your place and see Zane. Close my eyes and open them to find out all of this was a bad dream.”

  “Not a horrible nightmare?” he asked, and she found herself smiling.

  “I guess I understated things a little.”

  “Once the police give us permission, I’ll drive you to the hospital. If Jazz is awake, I’m sure she’ll be as happy to see you as you will be to see her.”

  “So you’ve got no more suspicions about her?” she asked.

  “Truth? I don’t know.”

  “Michael as good as admitted to us that he was the one blackmailing me.”

  “He admitted involvement, but this operation has required a boatload of people. Either the network Michael is involved in is huge, or he’s got a lot of money and he’s tossing it at anyone who’s willing to help him.”

  “Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.” She still didn’t want to believe that Michael was a criminal, but the evidence was right in front of her: the crumbling driveway, the police cars, the snow swirling through the still-dark night. “But he does know my schedule almost as well as Jazz. He also knows what school Zane attends, when he has the day off. When I’ll be home and when I won’t. He knows I’m a runner and that I follow a pretty rigid routine.”

  He knew all those things, and if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that he had more access to the details of her life than anyone, other than Jazz.

  “He also knows you’d do anything for your son,” Dallas commented.

  “That, too. But...”

  “What?”

  “He seems like such a genuinely nice guy. I’ve never heard him raise his voice to anyone. He does his work well and efficiently. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about him.”

  “They’re going to say plenty now,” he said drily.

  “Poor Mallory. She’s going to be devastated.”

  “That’s his wife, right?”

  “Yes. They’ve been married for ten years, trying to have a second child for most of that time. They adopted a little boy six months ago, and they all seemed so happy.” She sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose and forcing back more tears.

  There was nothing she could do about any of this. Michael had made his own mess. He’d have to clean it up and pay the consequences.

  “She okay?” someone asked, and she realized she’d closed her eyes.

  She opened them and saw Boone peering in the broken side window. “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you are, but I brought you this anyway. Dallas asked me to grab one from the emergency supply I keep in my Jeep.” He thrust something through the window, holding it out until she took it.

  “Chocolate?” She eyed the candy, not sure why he’d brought it to her. She sure wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t think she could swallow anything without choking.

  “Chocolate solves most of life’s problems,” Dallas said, opening his door and getting out of the car. “What it doesn’t,” he continued as he pulled the key from the ignition and met her eyes, “time will.”

  The words were an exact repeat of what she’d said to him. Jazz’s words, technically, but they sounded different coming from him.

  They sounded like a promise, like a vow, like the sweetest whisper of the dearest friend and closest companion.

  She blinked, still staring into his face and his eyes, but unable to speak, because his gesture wasn’t showy or big or brilliant. It was quiet and small and sincere, and a tiny little part of her heart loved him for it.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to say, and she wasn’t sure if she meant the words for him or Boone or both.

  Dallas nodded, closing the door and rounding the car. He spoke to Boone for a few seconds before opening her door and giving her a hand out.

  “Boone’s going to drive us to the local sheriff’s office. Sergeant Wright will meet us there. Once we’re interviewed and give our statements, we’ll bring you to the hospital.” He settled the blanket around her shoulders, pulled her hood up and tucked a few strands of hair beneath it.

  “Thanks,” she said again, and he took her free hand, squeezing gently as they followed Boone to his vehicle.

  * * *

  Dallas had to give the sheriff of Peaceful Valley, Maryland, credit. He had double the number of state troopers, DC officers and Montgomery County police in his office as he probably had on his entire payroll. Rather than being intimidated or territorial, he’d conducted the meeting and the interviews with the kind of humble confidence that must have made working with him easy. Thirtysomething years old with the kind of good-old-boy demeanor Dallas had seen in a lot of small-town cops, Sheriff William Mitchell had a keen mind, a sharp eye and a straightforward way of dealing with people. He sorted out who was who, offered everyone coffee, asked a few questions and then allowed the state police to take Michael into custody.

  Within a half hour of arriving at the sheriff’s office, everyone was leaving.

  That was fine with Dallas. His knee throbbed with the kind of intensity that made him feel physically ill. Thanks to Michael, the knee had shifted, straining the healing meniscus. At least, that was what he hoped had happened. He didn’t want or need another surgery. He was ready to get back to work and his busy life.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about getting back to having a quiet house, though. After a week of people moving in and out, he was getting used to noise and action and conversation. He was getting used to being awoken by the sound of Zane trying to be quiet while he got a bowl of cereal, Carly’s whispered warning to keep it down, the gentle swish of water through the pipes in the walls.

  He was getting used to laughter—the kind of boyish giggles that hadn’t been part of his life when he was young, the soft, warm chuckle when Carly was amused.
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br />   He was getting used to a lot of things. He was enjoying a lot of things, and he wasn’t sure how he’d feel when the house went silent and the places that had been filled were empty again.

  He took Carly’s arm as they stepped outside, helping her across the icy parking lot. She didn’t try to pull away, and he didn’t want to release his hold. Not even when Boone unlocked his SUV and opened the back door.

  “Better climb in,” Boone urged, pulling a packet of small doughnuts from his coat pocket. “It’s cold out, and your hair is still wet from earlier. Don’t want it to freeze up on you.”

  Carly slid in without saying a word, and Boone closed the door again.

  “What’s going on with you two?” he asked as if it was a normal question. Blunt. Unapologetic. Typical Boone, but that didn’t mean Dallas had to answer.

  “We’re going to the hospital to check on her friend,” he responded, and Boone grinned.

  “What?” Dallas demanded, heading around the front of the Jeep.

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “I’m not avoiding. I’m just not answering.”

  “Why not? Are you embarrassed that you’re finally falling for someone?” He popped a doughnut in his mouth, not making any move to get in the driver’s seat.

  “More like annoyed that you think you know whether or not that’s happening.”

  “I’m not claiming to know anything. I’m asking questions because I’m curious. You avoiding the questions makes me even more curious. It’s a vicious cycle that only you can break.”

  “Then I guess the cycle will continue,” he replied, climbing into the back seat.

  Carly had her head against the window, her eyes closed. The gray morning light highlighted her cheekbones and the smoothness of her skin, the red-gold threads in her dark hair. She’d been mostly silent in the sheriff’s office, her face a shade paler than normal, her body completely shrouded in the blanket. Now it had fallen away, pooling in her lap and onto the seat.

  He tugged it over her again, reaching for the end of her seat belt and pulling it across her lap.

  She grabbed his wrist without opening her eyes.

  “I can do it,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he responded, snapping the belt into place as Boone pulled out of the parking lot. “I know.”

  “And yet, you did it for me anyway,” she said, finally opening her eyes. They were deeply shadowed, the months of worry and sleeplessness etching fine lines in their corners. She looked delicate, vulnerable, beautiful, but it was her strength that he saw most clearly—the fiery light in her eyes, the sardonic curve of her smile, the hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “What’s unfortunate about it?”

  “That’s a good question, Dallas. Get back to me in a few days, when all this is over and I don’t have a hundred thoughts about a hundred things running through my head, and maybe I’ll be able to answer it.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, going with his gut. Just like he always did.

  “What sounds like a plan?”

  “Getting together when all this is over and figuring out how we both feel.”

  She was silent for much longer this time, but he didn’t speak, he didn’t try to rush her and he sure didn’t give her reasons why getting together was a good idea.

  He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.

  He just knew it was what he wanted. He thought it might be what she wanted. Time together to figure things out, to try to understand why their lives before they’d met suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

  “Okay,” she finally responded, her voice so quiet he barely heard.

  He lifted her hand, brushing tiny bits of glass from her palm, then did the same for the other one. In silence, because there wasn’t anything that needed to be said. They didn’t need to discuss pros and cons, possible hitches to the plan. They just needed to take things moment by moment, trusting that they’d been brought together for a reason beyond the present circumstances.

  God had perfect timing.

  His parents had been feeding him that line for as long as they’d been in his life. After the car accident, he’d decided that God’s timing stank. He’d looked at the photos of his wife, flashing on the overhead screen at the memorial service, and he’d thought about how horrible it was that God had put them on the wrong road at just the wrong time for three-fifths of the people he loved to die.

  But there’d been other moments in his life. Moments when he’d moved a fraction of an inch just before bullets whizzed through the spot he’d been standing in. Moments when he’d hesitated at a green light and watched as a semitruck barreled through a red. Moments when he’d been right where he needed to be at exactly the right time to help someone who desperately needed it.

  God had perfect timing. Even when the outcome of that timing hurt.

  That last part had become his personal addition to his parents’ mantra. Because either God was good, or He wasn’t. Either He was giving the best to His children, or He was a liar. After months of wrestling with those two thoughts, Dallas had concluded that He was good, He was truth and He knew best.

  But that didn’t take away the sting of pain, the heat of anger, the bitterness of loss.

  It didn’t take away the resentment he sometimes still felt toward God, but it had helped him gain perspective. It had allowed him to move beyond the pain and to focus on making something positive out of the negative. Losing Lila and the twins had made him more determined to make a difference in the world. He was doing that every time he went on a mission. He was doing it each time he brought one of the missing home.

  But there was more to life than that.

  There were quiet times that begged to be shared. The first snowfall of the season, the tiny bird that had built a nest under the porch eaves, the yellow tomcat that sat on the porch railing and sang for his supper. In the past few months, he’d longed to put his arm around someone and watch the days go by, the weeks pass, the seasons change.

  He hadn’t thought about it much before. He sure hadn’t prayed about it. He hadn’t thought he really wanted it, but then Carly had started running past his house every morning, and one day he’d been pulled into her life.

  He didn’t want to step out of it, and he didn’t see any reason why he should have to.

  His phone buzzed, and he dragged it out of his pocket, saw Chance’s number and answered. “This is Dallas. What’s up?”

  “We have a problem.” His tone was clipped and hard, and Dallas tensed.

  In all the time they’d known each other, he’d never known Chance to lose his cool. “What kind of problem?”

  “I got a call from Sergeant Wright. With Raintree booked and heading to jail, she thought it would be safe to pull the guard that’s been standing outside Jazz’s room.”

  “I don’t think I like where this is heading,” he muttered, meeting Carly’s eyes.

  She mouthed, “Zane?”

  He shook his head.

  “I didn’t feel comfortable with that, so I asked Stella to head over to the hospital and wait there until you arrived. She’s there now. Apparently, Jazz is not.”

  His blood went cold at the news. “What is the hospital saying?”

  “The fiancé made a stink, accused them of not having the neurosurgeon in quickly enough after she regained consciousness. He said he was taking her to Johns Hopkins, was able to sign the paperwork for her self-discharge because he has power of attorney.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” he said, knowing that Chance wasn’t.

  “I wish I was. Of course, we’re all hoping that he really is on the way to Hopkins with her.”

  “But?”
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  “I had Trinity run his name and Michael Raintree’s together. Just to see if we got any hits. She found a Facebook page for a private school in New York that both men attended. They graduated the same year. She’s beating herself up for not seeing it before, but the post was hidden in the archives. Just a couple sentences from each about a scheduled reunion.”

  “It’s not her fault,” he said, but he wasn’t focused on the conversation. His mind was racing through dozens of possibilities. “How long ago did they leave?”

  “The paperwork was signed twenty minutes ago. He wheeled her out to his car himself, didn’t even let her get dressed. Her nurse nearly had a coronary, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do. The security guard at the door saw him help her into a black sedan.”

  “Do we have a make on the car? A plate number?”

  “For what?” Carly had leaned across the bucket seat, her head so close to the phone, he could feel icy tendrils of her hair brushing his knuckles.

  “I put a call in to Sergeant Wright. She’ll be able to pull them more quickly than we will. I’m staying at the house with Zane. I don’t trust that this guy isn’t going to show up with guns blazing. Jackson will stay with me. You want to drop Carly off and then go on the hunt?”

  “Yeah. Can you have Trinity send me the file of information on Brett Williams? I want to read over it. See if anything stands out to me now that I know he and Raintree are affiliated.”

  “No problem. You’ll have it in five.”

  Chance disconnected.

  “What happened?” Carly demanded, her voice sharp, edged with fear.

  “Brett checked Jazz out of the hospital.”

  He saw the moment the truth registered, the way her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. She might be terrified, but she was also angry, the pulse in the hollow of her throat beating frantically. “That makes more sense.”

  “Than?”

  “Michael coming up with all this on his own,” she said simply, pulling out her phone. “I wonder if he grabbed her bag before he kidnapped her.”