Christmas On The Run. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ she couldn’t leave until she knew Dallas was okay. This was her fault, her trouble coming to call on him.

      She should have thought about that before she’d taken the chance, but she’d been desperate to keep Zane safe, and Dallas had seemed like the kind of guy who could hold his own in a battle. On paper, he’d even looked like a hero. Not that she believed in those. The fantasy of a white knight riding to her rescue had died about three months after she’d married Josh, right around the time she’d seen a florist receipt on the floor of their closet. For his mother.

      She’d believed the lie because she’d wanted to, but she’d never again believed he was everything he’d pretended to be.

      But those were thoughts for another time.

      Right now, she needed to find Dallas and make sure he was okay. Once she did that, she’d do what she should have a month ago. Plan B: leave town, her life, her career. Leave Jazz.

      Zane would be devastated. Especially with Christmas coming. It was his favorite holiday. He loved all the traditions. More than anything, he loved having his little family together. Not this year, though. This year Jazz was going to be with her fiancé’s family, starting new traditions. Zane had cried when he’d found out. He’d cry more when he realized that he was never going to see his aunt Jazzy again.

      But he’d be alive. He’d be safe.

      That was what mattered.

      She pushed through a thicket and found herself on the trail she’d run in on. No blood there, and the earth was too packed for footprints to be visible. She crouched, searching the ground for any sign that Dallas had been there. The sirens stopped abruptly, and she knew the police had arrived. They were probably questioning whoever had called in the report of gunfire. It wouldn’t be long before they found the blood. They might call in a K-9 unit and extra manpower, and she’d be out in the woods, ready to be found and questioned.

      Don’t go to the police. Don’t tell anyone.

      She hadn’t gone to the police, but she had tried to tell someone, and now the police were closing in. The people who’d been following her had to know it.

      Fear zipped through her, the metallic taste of it filling her mouth. While she was tromping around in the woods looking for Dallas, the people who’d been threatening her could be knocking on the door at her place, making up some excuse for entering the premises.

      “Dallas?” she called quietly, the word barely carrying on the morning air.

      There was no response. She hadn’t really expected there to be.

      The blood, the silence. He was injured. Or worse.

      And it was her fault.

      “Dalla—”

      A hand slapped over her mouth, and she was pulled back against a rock-solid chest, her arms pinned to her sides by someone much larger and stronger than she was. She’d learned to fight the same way she’d learned to run, because she’d had no choice. It was that or be used and abused and tossed onto the side of the road like garbage.

      She went lax, her weight dropping against her attacker’s arm.

      When that didn’t loosen his grip, she went for his instep, shifting her weight and stomping down hard.

      “Stop,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s Dallas, and there’s some guy with a gun wandering around out here. You want him to hear us?”

      She shook her head, and his hand slipped from her mouth.

      “Are you hurt?” she whispered, trying to turn, but his arm was still locked around her, and she couldn’t move.

      “Quiet,” he said, his lips nearly touching her ear, his warm breath tickling the hair near her temple. She could feel the heat of his body through her vest and T-shirt, the strength of his muscles against her arms and abdomen. It had been a long time since she’d been physically close to a man, and if his grip hadn’t been viselike, she’d have jerked away immediately.

      “He’s gone,” Dallas finally said, releasing his hold and stepping away from her.

      “Who?” she asked, turning so they were facing each other. He was taller than she’d thought. Much taller than Josh had been. Probably six-two or -three.

      “You tell me,” he responded, his eyes an odd green-blue that seemed to glow in the dim morning light.

      “How would I know?” she asked.

      “You said you needed my help, Carly. Two minutes later some guy I’ve never seen before took a potshot at me. You knowing something about him seems like a logical conclusion.”

      She couldn’t deny it, and she couldn’t waste time discussing it. “I need to go.”

      “So you said, but here you are, still hanging around in the park.”

      “I was looking for you. I thought you were hurt, and I was worried that...”

      “What?”

      “That you’d been shot and it was my fault,” she admitted.

      “Why would it be your fault?” he asked, circling the conversation back around to get the information he wanted. But she didn’t know who the guy with the gun was. If she did, she’d have gone to the police long ago.

      “It’s a long story. I don’t have time to tell it. I left you a note. Read it. Decide what you want to do about it, if you want to do anything, but right now I have to get to my son.”

      “Your son?” he asked, and she heard the hidden question, the words he didn’t say.

      “Mine and Josh’s.”

      His face went blank, every bit of anger and annoyance seeping from his eyes.

      He hadn’t known.

      Of course he hadn’t. Just like with everything else, Josh had lied about telling his brother about the baby.

      “He said he told you,” she said into the awkward silence, and his jaw tightened.

      “Josh said a lot of things that weren’t true.”

      “I know.”

      “So maybe you could have made sure his family knew about the baby instead of believing him.” He started walking away, and she should have done the same, but she felt the desperate need to make him understand, because she needed his help. She needed it more than she’d ever needed just about anything else.

      “I didn’t have contact information for your parents, and I only found contact information for you after Josh died.”

      He just kept walking.

      “I sent you a note when he passed away. You sent a signed card with no indication that you wanted anything to do with me.”

      He stopped short. “I know what I sent. I figured you were like every other woman he’d ever dated.”

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