Team Love on the Run Box-Set #1

by Lisa Phillips

  “An older cat lady with curly silver hair. One who enjoyed art and knitting and hosting ladies for cards.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’ll give you a couple points. My aunt did enjoy hosting ladies, but for book clubs and bible studies and English tea. She didn’t knit, though. She made stain-glass windows.”

  “So she was an artist. Wait. Did?” Her voice dropped. “She no longer does?”

  She heard him take a deep breath. “My aunt’s been gone for two months now. My family inherited the place. I’m just getting it ready to sell it or rent it out. We haven’t decided which yet.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” In other words, he wouldn’t be staying in Perry very long. She sighed and remembered he’d tried to tell her as much when he first asked her out for coffee. It was yet another reason to guard her heart.

  “Thank you. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Kathleen?” His voice dropped low. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  A thrill rushed up her spine. “I’ll see you then, Matt.”

  She stood up, threw her hands in the hair, and jumped around in a silent happy dance. Kathleen blew out a long breath. Oh, yeah. She couldn’t think of it as a date, but the phone call had snapped her out of her funk.

  Since new artwork still needed to be selected for the next day, she grabbed a package of bagels from the fridge, popped half of one into the toaster, and then made her way into the spare bedroom that served as her art studio. Inside the closet, she sorted through the stack.

  She had enough one-inch deep canvases that she wondered if she could get away with displaying them without frames, though they weren’t her favorite pieces.

  The toaster popped. She grabbed the only oil painting in the bunch, slipped a dry paintbrush behind her ear, and brought the canvas into the kitchen with her.

  She slathered cream cheese on one half of the bagel and popped it in her mouth, while she took the other half and rubbed it over the top of the canvas. It was a little trick she’d learned in college. The bread acted as sort of a sponge to clean off the dust. She took the dry paintbrush and cleaned off any remaining crumbs.

  An invisible weight settled on her chest. Something seemed off.

  Kathleen turned to the window. While dark outside, the moon’s glow spilled over her trees and bushes. A shadow crossed the small strip of yard between the trees and the back of the townhouses. Her stomach tensed, and the paintbrush slipped from her fingertips. Maybe it was her reflection.

  She flipped off the kitchen light, grabbed her phone, and stepped closer to the window to peer outside. Her eyes strained to make out any shadows in the dim light. Goose bumps travelled up her arm, and she shivered.

  Nothing.

  She sighed and flipped the light back on. Her townhouse was last in the row, but even though she was sometimes annoyed by the sounds the kids and the dog made next door, there was comfort knowing someone could also hear her if she needed them to. Ever since the neighbors next door moved out two weeks ago, she’d found herself a little more on edge.

  Being next to a naval base, there was a constant influx of new neighbors. She just hoped someone quiet and courteous moved in soon.

  Kathleen slipped on her favorite sweatpants and Tar Heels sweatshirt—she loved how the baby blue color brought out her eyes—and headed to bed with a giant bowl of popcorn and a mug of tea. The television kept her company until she sat still enough to get sleepy. She sank into her pillow and couldn’t help but see Matt’s face in her mind as she drifted off to sleep. She could almost hear him saying her name again, soft like a whisper.

  **

  Kathleen’s eyes flew open. Something had awakened her, but she wasn’t sure what. She glanced at the clock: 4:00 a.m. Her window rattled. Leaves rustled. A whoosh ran over her roof. Windstorm?

  Maybe if she actually read the newspaper, she would’ve known a front was coming. She strained her ears. No sirens meant it was probably nothing to worry about. Severe thunderstorms or tornadoes were always accompanied by the sirens. She settled back onto her pillow.

  Creak.

  Her chest seized. The bottom step always creaked when she stepped on it. It never, ever creaked with the shifting of winds.

  Kathleen reached for her phone and pulled the covers tight over her head.

  The light from the phone blinded her. She squinted and flicked the screen to turn down the brightness. Her finger hovered over the keypad. Had she really heard something, or was it her imagination? She’d feel like an idiot calling 9-1-1 if she wasn’t absolutely sure there was someone in the house.

  Creak.

  Kathleen bit her lip, trembling, and pressed the nine, then one—

  Cold air rushed past her face as the covers disappeared. Ice shot up her spine. She screeched and curled up, her fist tight around the phone.

  She couldn’t see her attacker, only the darkened silhouette of a man over her. “Where is it?” he bellowed.

  She shoved her heels into the mattress, propelling herself to the far side of the bed. She recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. Her eyes darted between the enraged man in the room and her phone. She pressed the last number and flung one leg off the bed onto the carpet while listening for the ring. The man had not moved a muscle.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where is it?”

  Kathleen finished jumping off the bed. She gasped for air. Her lungs weren’t working. She waved her closed fist at him, hoping the darkness could be used to her advantage. “I’m armed. Stay back.” Oh, how she wished she’d bought mace instead of the useless metal bat underneath her bed. And why wasn’t the phone ringing?

  “You want to try calling again?” the cold voice asked. “Go ahead. You’ll get the same result.”

  She glanced at the phone. No signal. Her lungs tightened. How’d he know? What would she do now? Her back pressed against the wall. The thug blocked the door. Her eyes burned. Please don’t let him touch me.

  He turned his back to her. If she jumped out the window, she’d fall two floors onto pure concrete. The fire safety ladder seemed like a mile away, tucked in her closet. By the time she got the window open and the ladder unraveled, he’d be on her.

  She should be proactive and jump him. But that would mean running with all her might past the bed and jumping on him like a piggyback ride while she tried to choke him. It didn’t seem likely she could pull it off without him hearing her approach, and she didn’t think she could make her shaking legs move any closer to him. She blocked her mind from thinking about what he might do to her if she were in arm’s reach.

  Click. The ceiling fixtures flooded with light. Her head throbbed, and she shielded her eyes with the phone as a visor. Her vision cleared. It was the man who had bought her artwork, Aldric—if that was even his real name—except he’d changed. He was dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans.

  Her stomach dropped, her worst fears now realized.

  He was here to kill her to make the art more valuable.

  His hard eyes glared at her. “I’ve blocked your calls.” He lifted the hemline of his hoodie slightly. The butt of a handgun stuck out between the T-shirt underneath and the belt of his jeans. “Don’t make me use this. Give me what is mine.”

  Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t stop shaking. Kathleen raised her chin high, her breath fast. “Give you what? The money?” She still had the cash; she hadn’t deposited it. In fact it sat on her dresser in the closet. She took a step toward the walk-in closet.

  “I don’t care about the money. Give me the frame.” The veins in his neck bulged. He stepped forward, his hands in fists. “There was another frame to be displayed. There had to be. Where is it?”

  The painting she let Matt buy.

  “I…I sold it.” Oh how she wished she’d never let him take it.

  Aldric’s lip curled, and his face turned a shade of purple. “You did what?” He reached underneath his hoodie.

  “But I know where it is.” The words
rushed out before she could stop them. She held both hands out like an invisible shield, her arms shaking.

  The man dropped his hand away from his belt and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me where.”

  Her eyes adjusted to the light. If Aldric didn’t care she saw him, how likely was it he would let her go? And if she told him where Matt lived, there would be no reason he wouldn’t kill her and leave, not to mention it would put Matt in danger. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know the street name, or the house number.”

  He narrowed his eyes and pulled out the gun.

  She closed her eyes, trying not to cry as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “But I can show you. I can take you there.” A hint of a plan took form in her mind. “I could get the painting back and keep you out of the picture all together. There’s no reason anybody else has to see you.” She pointed to the gun and shook her head. “You don’t really want to hurt anyone.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement she prayed would seep into his conscience until he agreed.

  He took a step forward. “There is a big difference, Miss Wicks,” he said, his accent strengthening, “between desire and capability. You can be assured I am quite capable.”

  Kathleen stared right into his eyes. He wasn’t joking. His glare was unwavering. This man would kill her if he needed to.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have a sister. She lives very close, and her husband is gone on a trip to test out his research.”

  Her skin grew clammy. She couldn’t speak. Her fingers trembled, and she almost dropped her phone. Even if she got the man his painting, how could she be sure he would leave them all alone? Oh, how she wished Cameron wasn’t on his mission. If he were home, at least he’d be able to keep Jessica and the kids safe from this madman.

  “So I will assume from your silence,” he continued, “that you would not like your sister hurt. Take me to the painting.” He waved the gun toward the door. “Now. And you will drive.”

  Chapter Four

  Matt slammed the snooze button. Why on earth would it be set to such a ridiculous hour? He’d only been asleep for four hours. He rolled over and nestled back into the pillow.

  The ringing started again.

  “You’ve got to me kidding me!” He groaned, sat up, and dragged his hand over his face, causing his eyelids to crack open. He looked from side to side. Not the smoke alarm. A pounding noise from the front of the house followed by the ringing of the doorbell fully woke him.

  Matt grabbed his cell phone. No missed texts. If there’d been an emergency, he’d have hoped they would’ve tried to call him first. He squinted at the bright screen. There was a little x next to the cell tower symbol. No reception?

  The doorbell rang again. “Coming,” he hollered. He dragged himself out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans that had been draped over a flowered chair, as well as the purple dress shirt he’d discarded mere hours ago.

  He didn’t bother buttoning it, though, and shuffled to the door. His aunt never had installed a peephole, so he put a knee on the settee by the bay window and tried to peek out but saw nothing except for a flowering bush waving in the wind. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Kathleen.”

  He frowned at the faint voice. Kathleen Wicks? He flipped the top bolt and turned the handle. The door almost flung into his torso with the force of a sudden burst of wind. Kathleen’s hair blew forward as she struggled to stay upright.

  “Get in before you blow away,” he said, his voice still gruff with sleep.

  She glanced to the side for a moment, nodded, and stepped inside wearing a matching baby blue sweatpants suit.

  “Wh—what’s going on?” He mentally replayed their last conversation. They weren’t supposed to get early morning coffee, were they? No, the coffee shop didn’t even open until six. “You out running and get caught in the storm?”

  Her blue eyes wouldn’t meet his. She looked around the living room. “Something like that.”

  He nodded. All these years he’d felt bad about what he’d said to her and wished he could have had a chance to get to know her better. But maybe she was actually a psychopath...or worse—a morning person. He pointed to the connecting garage door. “You need a ride back to your place?”

  “Um...no. See, I have sort of an emergency.” She was shaking in her shoes, both of which were untied. “Can I have that painting back?” Her voice rose in volume.

  Wow. He knew from his job that artists could be eccentric, but this was the first time it’d affected his life. Matt closed his eyes and shook his head, hoping it would clear his mind. “You’re telling me you have an art emergency?”

  Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “You could say that.”

  Wow. He blinked hard. His image of her as a bright, normal person would need to be reevaluated. It seemed flaky—knocking on his door at four in the morning only because she wanted her painting? “Can I ask why you want it back?”

  “Um...someone is willing to pay me for the whole collection.”

  He crossed his arms. “Really? And they had to have it right away?” He found it hard to believe that it couldn’t have waited until a normal hour. “Then the price has gone up.”

  “What?” Her mouth dropped open.

  “Coffee and dinner. Maybe even a movie.” He wished he could’ve taken it back the moment he’d said it, but he was punchy when he was tired.

  Her eyes darted to the front door and back to him. She bit her lip like she was scared of something, but that didn’t make sense. “Very...funny. Seriously. I need it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have it anymore.”

  Her breaths grew shallow. “Please stop joking around.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll wait here while you get it.” Her last sentence was practically a shout, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  She spun around to his aunt’s stained glass art station and started pulling out the empty drawers underneath the table. He had left his aunt’s last complete project on top of the table while he decided what to do with it. He’d already boxed up the tools and supplies.

  Matt frowned. He’d heard of artists who’d suffered mental breakdowns. “Kathleen, I’m sorry. I really am. I went to the mailbox shop right after the library. I had them package and ship it back to New York.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. She glanced at his pants pocket. “Do you have a phone?” she whispered.

  He nodded slowly, his forehead starting to ache from the force of his frown. First she was practically yelling, and now she was whispering?

  “Call 9-1-1. Tell them my name. Tell them my sister is in danger.” The words rushed from her mouth as if one sentence.

  His mouth dropped, but he reached for his phone. “Kathleen. Why—”

  The front door burst open, hitting him in the shoulder. A man pointed a gun at him but looked at Kathleen. “Time’s up. Your plan failed.” He cocked the gun. “Where did you send the package?”

  “No, no, no.” Kathleen held her hands up. “We can still get you the painting.” She looked at Matt, her eyes wild. “The truck only comes to town once a day to pick up mail, at ten every morning. The package will be sitting in the back room until then. I’m sure of it. You can still get what you want, and everyone will be happy.”

  Matt looked between Kathleen and the man. So she wasn’t crazy; she was in danger. He processed the last few minutes.

  She’d looked to the side before she entered so the man had been outside waiting, listening. She had asked him to call the police and to tell them to protect her sister. So there was more to the story...she was using the painting as a bargaining chip to protect her family.

  The painting itself couldn’t have been that valuable, could it? She was an unknown. Matt was sure of it, or he’d have come across her name within the art circles of New York and Chicago. Not to mention she would’ve never sold it to him for a mere eighty dollars. Maybe the gunman had skipped his meds or escaped from the hospital.

  Unless there was som
ething hidden inside the painting.

  No. Something had to be in the frame or between the frame and the painting. It’d have to be small. The gunman looked to be considering Kathleen’s statement, but Matt was a touch worried he wouldn’t need him or Kathleen anymore.

  “She’s right.” In actuality, he had no clue if she knew what she was talking about or not, but it seemed advantageous to back her up. “We can get you the painting. Take us there, and we’ll find it for you. There are probably lots of packages to be sorted through, but I’ll know which one is mine.”

  The man grunted and jerked his head in the direction of the street. “Fine. Both of you get in the car.”

  Kathleen let out a shaky breath as she closed her eyes.

  “Can I put my shoes on first?” He pointed at his wool socks.

  “No.” The gunman waved the gun toward the entry.

  Matt sighed. Of course not. He reached for Kathleen’s hand, and she squeezed it in reply, the heat from her palm surprising him. He was determined to get her to safety.

  They made their way out into the chilly, windy night together...with a gun pointed at their backs.

  “I’m so sorry I got you into this,” she muttered out the side of her mouth. “I was trying to do the opposite and keep him from seeing you.” She dropped his hand like a hot potato. “Don’t let him think you’re special to me, but please don’t do anything stupid, either. He knows where my sister lives.” She shivered as the wind blew back her hair.

  He tensed his muscles at the sudden drop in temperature. “The air has turned cold. Thunderstorms must be coming.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Tornado watch?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t heard a bit of news since I read the paper yesterday.”

  They reached the Hyundai Tuscon just as the skies erupted. A jagged streak of lightning shot across the skies, and at the same time, a rumble of thunder and a gust of wind hit so forcefully Kathleen stumbled sideways. Matt grabbed her elbow until she steadied her feet.

  “Into the car,” the gunman shouted. He shoved something sharp, most likely the gun, into Matt’s back, causing him to arch. “You, get in the passenger seat.”