Runaway

by Susan Sheehey

  A move from the self-defense course came back like muscle memory. Lynée had been right urging her to take it.

  Vance tried to jerk free, but she held him immobilized in that grip.

  “Let me make this very clear.” She ground her feet to the pavement, refusing to budge to this bully. “You and I are through. There is zero chance of us getting back together. This is not a signal for you to try harder; this means no.”

  She tugged on his hand harder, feeling a few knuckles pop. He yelped.

  “When I let go, you’re going to walk away and never look for me again.”

  “Let go, bitch!”

  There’s the Vance I know.

  Back in college, she might’ve fallen for that lost puppy routine. But not now.

  He tried to tug out of her grasp again.

  She shoved him forward to put more distance between them. He stumbled and landed on his knees. But quickly scrambled to his feet.

  The rage in his eyes as he came toward her set her mind back into panic. What else could she remember from that course? How far was he going to take this?

  Chatter carried on the breeze behind her. Skye turned to a group of three students walking toward their cars. When they spotted the pair of them and the interaction, they moved her way.

  “Hey,” one guy called. “Are you okay?”

  Skye looked back at Vance, whose menacing stance eased off a little. “She’s fine. Mind your business.”

  The trio came closer, the two guys she recognized from her class, but didn’t know their names. They gave her ex-boyfriend a doubtful look.

  He rubbed his fingers and fisted his hand by his side. His glare all for Skye.

  “I was just telling Vance here to go away and leave me alone.” She lifted her chin, finding more strength in her voice. “He was leaving, weren’t you, Vance?”

  One of her classmates picked up on her obvious message. Then stood beside her. “You heard her, buddy.”

  “Stay out of this,” he shot back. “This is between her and me.”

  “She made it really clear,” he returned, “she doesn’t want to see you again.”

  “Don’t mess with me,” Vance shot back. “I’m more connected than your small, podunk-brain can imagine. I can have your life crumpled up into cobwebs by next week.”

  “This isn’t Seattle.” Skye stepped forward. “Your father has no reach out here. Save yourself more embarrassment and just drive away.”

  His glare turned vicious and threatening, and he took a step forward. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

  Skye didn’t budge an inch, just glared right back. “Yes, it is. You are never to speak to me again. We. Are. Through. Are we clear?”

  Her classmate took a picture of Vance and smiled. “Now that we know your name and have taken your photo, I suggest you leave and don’t come back. If she has so much as a busted taillight or a creepy text,” waving his phone in the air, “you’re the primary suspect.”

  Vance shoved his fists back in his pockets. He eyed the group, then looked back at her. “We are so through, whore.”

  She almost chuckled at that. His last lash was as pathetic as his twisted mind. She and her classmates stood there and watched him storm off and get back in his car. A classmate shot one last photo of his license plate number before Vance peeled out of the parking lot.

  “Wow, he’s a real charmer.” Her classmate shook his head. “The wrist lock you gave him was stellar. Saw it all the way from the sidewalk. Well done.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.” The adrenaline pumping through her veins was too much, and she just started laughing. “Hell, that was a long time coming.”

  “How does it feel?” he asked, smiling right along with her. “Putting that bully in his place?”

  “Damn good.”

  That asshole had no control over her anymore. She wanted to celebrate her revelation. In finally taking back her power.

  She licked her lips. She was in the process of texting Guy. If she told him about Vance, what would he do?

  Maybe better to tell him in person. But she had to tell someone. The relief, the empowerment, sent her adrenaline into overdrive.

  God, it feels so good to tell that asshole off. To be done with him once and for all.

  Her car partially drove itself. She’d tell Guy tomorrow, but tonight she’d celebrate with Lynée.

  The first customers walked into the diner, the familiar jingle sounding over the door. But there was still no sign of Guy.

  Skye couldn’t wait to tell him about her “run-in” with Vance. He’d be pissed at first, but she knew in her gut he’d be proud of the way she stood up to the jerk.

  She might have to spend the next hour convincing him not to go beat up the a-hole, but that was to be expected—she smiled to herself—and accepted.

  Her watch read six-thirty. Still no Guy. Skye glanced back at the kitchen. Ralph had jumped on the grill to get things started. He shot her a frustrated look.

  “Where the hell is he?” her boss grumbled.

  “He’s never been late before. Do you think he’s okay?”

  “At this point, he better not be.”

  As she served the first set of regulars, Skye’s imagination whirled. Each possibility for an explanation as to why Guy was MIA this morning was as unlikely as the next. Like in a car wreck, lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere, or arrested for putting his hands on Vance at the festival. Or worse, Vance retaliated on her by going after the guy who made him look like a complete ass.

  She forced herself into more reasonable explanations, such as a flat tire, woke up sick and forgot to call, or got drunk watching a Live PD rerun the previous evening and is still passed out. Did he even watch that show? She assumed he was former law enforcement from their conversation about his partner getting shot in the line of duty.

  “Probably just slept through his alarm,” she muttered to herself as she started another pot of coffee. Then she ducked behind the counter to call him.

  Straight to voicemail. And not his own voice, but the robo-voice. Which was strange to her. Why wouldn’t someone want to use their own voicemail message? Unless he really was on the run, and he used one of those fake burner phones.

  She snorted.

  Ralph squeezed past her with a bin of chopped potatoes. “I’m gonna kill him. The second he walks through that door, I’ll put a salt shaker up his ass.”

  “Easy, boss-man. Do you think I should call Wyatt to go check on him?”

  He poured the potatoes into a pot on the stove. “Don’t bother the sheriff with little stuff like this. He’s got enough to do than check on a slacker.”

  Wow, could her boss overreact. They both knew Guy was no slacker. His cooking had single-handedly revitalized this diner.

  Skye stared at Guy’s contact number on her phone screen. Her stomach grew unsettled. Something was wrong.

  After the shit with Vance showing up the prior night, this was just too coincidental.

  She dashed back to the office and perused Ralph’s files for Guy’s application to get his home address. Since she was the one who handled all the tax forms for the diner, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Ralph had given her access. But she had no idea when she’d be able to sneak away and check on their missing cook.

  Skye held the paper in her hand, a loud hiss from the kitchen sizzling in the air as her boss started frying potatoes. Maybe she was overreacting. Perhaps Ralph was right, and Guy was slacking off today. But everything she knew about him didn’t match up to skipping work.

  She typed his address into her phone contact. Then she returned to the floor to serve her customers.

  The door chimed again.

  Her head shot up, hoping it was Guy.

  Nayanna strolled in, already in her apron, and her black hair pulled back for her shift. She smiled at Skye. “Mornin’.”

  Skye’s heart sank. Her nerves amped up again.

  With a glance at the clock, she shoved her phone in her pocket. “I
hate to ask this of you right as you walk in, but can you cover the tables for a little bit? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure. Everything okay?” Nayanna tied the apron around her waist.

  “It’s probably nothing.” She untied her own apron and grabbed her keys from under the counter. “But if I don’t check…”

  Nayanna sighed. “Yeah, it’ll eat at your brain like the walking dead. Hurry back.”

  “Hopefully, with our cook in a fishing net.”

  The last thing she saw was a strange expression on Nayanna’s face before the diner’s door closed behind her.

  Skye rolled up the long gravel drive of Guy’s cabin. After several twists and bends up the long hill, the cabin came into view. Small and quaint against the towering pines around it with a great view of a mountain peak through the treetops. Cozy was the first word that came to mind as she stared at it. Would probably be gorgeous in winter. She could actually imagine the lights on inside, with smoke billowing from the chimney with a warm and comfortable fire inside, the whole thing blanketed by snow in the twilight. The kind of image one would expect on a Christmas card. She’d lived in Cascade Creek her whole life and had never seen this cabin.

  Guy’s truck was parked right in front. At least she knew he was home.

  She stepped out of her car and slammed the door. The only sound in this part of the mountains, other than the gravel crunching under her boots, was the trickling stream a few hundred yards away. The same stream wound its way to the south side of town into the creek that fed into a Snoqualmie River tributary. Everyone around here knew that sound like their own heartbeat.

  Several loud thumps came from inside the cabin. Like something dropped on the hardwood floors.

  Guy must be moving furniture around.

  Jerk. Standing up the diner to redecorate.

  Only a few paces later, the thumps were replaced with a loud bang.

  Skye froze.

  A gunshot. She knew that sound well enough, too. This was a hunting area. But why in the world would—

  Two more loud bangs ripped through the air.

  Skye ducked behind Guy’s truck on instinct.

  As she looked over the back-bed, the front door burst open. The force splintered the wood, and planks flew off the hinges. A man charged across the porch and down the stairs.

  Not Guy.

  This man looked older, sweat-soaked salt-and-pepper hair in a Seahawk green hoodie and gray pants covered in mud. Grasped in his hand was a black pistol.

  Skye’s feet wouldn’t move. She was nailed to the spot, her whole body frozen. The man came closer to her. Each step in slow motion, the space between heartbeats pounding in her ears dragged out in time with his footsteps. Like a horror movie where the gory end of the hero’s life is captured frame by frame in vivid detail, but the audience is too slow to stop it from happening.

  His wild gaze landed on her.

  Her gasp lodged in her throat.

  The man’s arm rose slowly. His face blurred as she focused on the dark end of that pistol.

  Boom!

  Skye flinched.

  Smoke spiraled from the end of the man’s gun.

  She waited for the pain.

  The man turned but took off in the opposite direction. He fired more shots behind him as he ran.

  Another large boom came from the other side of the house.

  Skye’s gaze shifted.

  Guy crouched against the side of the cabin, aiming a shotgun at the man.

  Boom!

  A shell slammed into the intruder’s back, red splatter bursting through his chest. He fell hard into gravel, skidding across the rocks. When he stopped, he didn’t move. Blood oozed out of his chest and started to pool over the rocks.

  “Skye!” Guy darted across the driveway, his gaze fixed on the front door.

  She took a step back, her body moving on its own will to getaway.

  He was like a beast, barreling toward her with a hard, cold look on him. The look of a killer.

  That wasn’t her Guy.

  But she still couldn’t command her legs to move faster. The only thing she could muster was to finally inhale.

  Guy blew past her, grabbing her elbow as he went, and yanked her down.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  He wrapped his arm around her neck and smothered her mouth. Her scream never made it past the palm of his hand. He crouched them both behind the front tire of his truck.

  “There’s one more,” he whispered.

  Her spine turned cold as if doused with a bucket of snow.

  He released his hand and rose to look through the window.

  Gunshots fired, the bullets plinking into the other side of his truck.

  He ducked down again.

  She covered her own mouth to keep herself from making noise. Because she didn’t trust her mind to comply.

  The man standing beside her was not the same one she’d become infatuated with at the diner, had fallen completely in love with. That Guy had been endearing, funny, and entertaining. Not to mention calm and collected. This Guy was detached, calculating, and thoroughly intimidating.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered.

  She only now registered his black and blue flannel shirt and old jeans. And bare feet. His hair was wet as if he’d recently gotten out of the shower.

  “Are you hurt?” he repeated, harsher.

  She looked down at herself. No blood, no guts ripped out, though she wasn’t sure what to expect to see. The other man’s gun had certainly fired. Aimed directly at her.

  Why couldn’t she feel anything?

  “I—I don’t think so,” she whispered back. “What the hell is going on here?”

  He didn’t answer. Just continued to peek over the truck’s hood for the culprit.

  “Guy, answer me,” Skye hissed.

  “Ssh,” he replied. “Don’t move.”

  Before she could respond, he darted in front of the truck, his shotgun aimed at the house. He moved fast, his reflexes clearly instinctual, even in bare feet on rough gravel. In only a few quick steps, he was behind the other side of the house.

  Panic took over. Crouching behind his truck all by herself with another gunman out there somewhere, where she couldn’t see…

  Her breathing escalated, and she couldn’t focus.

  What was the last thing he’d said?

  She looked up and spotted her car. Only a dozen paces from where she huddled. She’d be safe in there. Her keys were in her pocket. If she dashed fast enough, she could make it to her door, and drive off before he came back. Her hands fumbled in her pocket.

  Gunshots ripped through the air, and then another loud boom.

  Skye yelped, her keys dropping to the ground. Then she dared to look over the hood.

  Another man in a dark green jersey and black pants raced across the side yard, trying to reach the treeline.

  Guy darted after him, dropping his shotgun in the process, and pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband. He fired shot after shot, still bolting after him.

  Green-Jersey darted behind a tree, moving from one to the other down the hill toward the road, dodging bullets between the pines.

  Guy switched out his clip in half a heartbeat, dropping the empty one on the ground and replacing it with a new one. He fired again and again until his third bullet struck the man in the back.

  The assailant fell to his knees, rolled down the hill a few yards, and stopped. He didn’t get up.

  Guy ran over to him, his pistol aimed at the man’s body the whole time. With a cold face, he plugged another bullet in the man’s head.

  Skye flinched at the sound. Her whole body shook. Her knees gave out, and she dropped to the gravel. Her fingers found her keys, which sparked new energy into her. With a giant shove to her feet, she slowly backed up to her car.

  Guy looked over, his expression eerily blank. Hard. Until he noticed she was leaving.

  “Skye, wait,” he called.

>   No way in hell. Granted, she was a big fan of suspense stories and high-pounding action, but only when they were on the page. Not in real freakin life. Not when real bullets flew at her, and she got to witness two men get killed right in front of her. This was far beyond her wild imagination, and much too…real.

  She ran for it. Her car wasn’t nearly as close as she’d thought. Her heart pounded in her throat.

  Guy’s footsteps on the grass were clear as day in her ears.

  She reached her car and bungled with the door handle.

  Gravel crunched quickly under Guy’s steps as he approached, sending her panic into overload. He was so much closer now. The door opened just as he reached her side.

  She only had time to turn and see his own panicked expression.

  Then he pinned her to the side of the car.

  “I won’t say anything,” she muttered, clamping her eyes shut. She had no idea which words came out of her mouth. Whatever it took to get away from him, get away from the dead bodies, she’d say it. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul. I didn’t see anything. I was never here.”

  God, how she willed herself to believe those words.

  His rough sigh breathed against her neck. His whole body pressed her against the car, strong and unyielding. But she didn’t feel any pain.

  “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I can imagine the horrible things you must think of me right now. But I swear to God, I am not the bad guy.” His voice shook on the last few words.

  She dared to open her eyes.

  His dark chocolate irises bored into hers with a desperate plea. His chest rose and fell with each breath. Much like her own. Hers was from fear.

  “I will never hurt you,” he continued. Finally, he backed up. “But you aren’t safe out here. We have to go inside.” He stuffed his pistol into his back waistband and held out his hand.

  She eyed it. Like it was a snake about to strike.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the answer.

  “I’ll explain everything inside.”

  “You want me to follow someone who’s repeatedly lied and just shot two people like they were target practice.”

  His expression hardened. “I’ve never lied to you.”

  She swallowed hard.