Running Blind Read online

  Her gaze went distant and she fiddled with her coffee cup, turning it around and around. “Brad followed me to Dallas, and he killed my friend. Jina was wearing my raincoat. He thought it was me, I just … I can’t prove it, but I know it. I should’ve gone farther, I should’ve known he’d follow me. That’s a mistake I can’t undo. I can’t go back and save her.”

  Zeke went very still, for a long moment. She waited for him to question her, to challenge her, to try to reason with her that she must be wrong, but instead he sat and waited, and listened.

  The story spilled out of her, every detail of what had happened to Jina, how the police hadn’t believed her, how Brad had manufactured an alibi and because he was a cop they’d bought it without digging deep enough to find the holes in his story. His computer showed that he’d been online when Jina had been shot—online, chatting about his garden, for God’s sake. Obviously he’d either had someone else using his computer or else he’d fabricated the whole thing using his computer skills. Her word alone hadn’t been enough to warrant further investigation.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to share her burden until she was sharing it all with Zeke. He listened, not stopping her to ask questions, not so much as uttering a word.

  She finished the story with a retelling of driving into Battle Ridge with no intention of staying. He knew everything from there.

  For a couple of very long minutes, he just sat in his chair and drank his coffee. She could tell his mind was spinning, that he was mentally working through everything she’d told him. Finally, he placed his cup on the table and looked her in the eye. “What’s Brad’s last name?”

  Carlin stood so fast her chair made a sharp scraping squeal as it was pushed back across the floor, and her coffee cup shook, almost sending coffee over the rim. “No. I’m not telling you his last name. I know you too well, Zeke Decker. You want to do something, to track him down, to … to fix it. I won’t let you. This is my problem, not yours.”

  He wasn’t flustered by her reaction. Did anything ever get under his skin? “I’m no hacker,” he said calmly, “but I’m guessing any PI worth his salt could take Carlin Reed, Brad, Houston, and Dallas and come up with any details you omitted.”

  “Please don’t,” she whispered, her head spinning. Damn it, she was going to have to run again, to start over. To leave Zeke.

  Maybe he read the thoughts on her face. Maybe he already knew her much too well. He stood, rounded the small kitchen table, and took her face in his hands. “You’re safe here.”

  “I know. Please promise me you won’t …” Again, she choked.

  He kissed her. This kiss was softer than the ones they’d shared last night, and oh, she needed it, needed the feel of his lips on hers, the connection, the sheer physical pleasure.

  He pulled his mouth from hers. “I won’t do anything, not now, but you can’t go on like this. You can’t hide forever. Let me help. At least think about it.”

  “If you interfere in this, if you hire a PI or start digging into my past, I’ll leave. I’ll have no choice.” She leaned into him. “I don’t want to leave, Zeke. Not yet.”

  She might’ve said more, he might’ve said more, but a furious knocking at the back door interrupted the moment.

  Carlin broke away and ran into the mudroom. She should’ve unlocked the back door by now, but she’d been distracted. Spencer stood there, shivering in the cold.

  She and Spencer returned to the kitchen, where Zeke had retaken his seat at the table. As Spencer chattered away, Carlin looked Zeke in the eye.

  Promise, she mouthed, not a whisper of sound escaping.

  He responded the same way, with a reluctant For now.

  It wasn’t enough, but it would do. For now.

  ZEKE TRIED TO lose himself in hard, physical labor, but nothing could distract him entirely from the matter at hand. Splitting wood was a chore one of the hands normally took care of, but today he needed to do something that would allow him to work out his aggression. Splitting firewood should do the trick.

  Common sense dictated that he avoid Carlin like the plague. If everything she’d told him was true—and he believed that it was—then she was a barrel full of trouble. He didn’t need to buy, borrow, or fuck trouble.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. Life rarely was. And common sense had nothing to do with this situation. Carlin didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want her to go. He wanted more, and unless he’d completely misread her so did she. He had some condoms in his truck. They were old, but not yet expired. He didn’t think for a minute that Carlin was on any kind of birth control. Neither of them had been thinking about that last night, but if they were going to continue he was going to have to think. He’d fetch what he had in his truck glove compartment and put them in his bedside table. And before long, he’d have to stop at the drugstore for a refill.

  She’d been right when she accused him—and it had been an accusation—of wanting to fix things for her. Whether she stayed or not the idea of Carlin spending years, perhaps her entire life, running from her own boogeyman was unthinkable. She deserved better. She deserved to have a life, and if he could give her life back to her he would.

  But he’d promised her. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but for Carlin he’d wait. For a while.

  SHE NEVER SHOULD’VE told Zeke her real name, should’ve known that the information she’d given him would be enough for him to start digging into her past. A part of her was screaming Run! But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t. Zeke was a man of his word.

  Telling him everything had been such an unexpected relief. She’d been bottling so much inside, keeping her secrets, protecting those around her as well as herself. But a shared burden was indeed lighter. For the moment, for the next several weeks and maybe even for a few months, she wasn’t entirely alone.

  She’d written Robin’s contact information on a slip of paper and hidden it at the bottom of her sock drawer. Tonight she’d tell Zeke where it was, in case anything happened to her while she was here. It would be one less worry, one burden off her shoulders.

  And if something happened to her after she left? Well, she wasn’t going to worry about that right now. She’d gotten accustomed to living her life one day at a time, and that hadn’t changed, couldn’t change. Maybe she’d write out something, carry the letter with her, as … well, not a safety measure, but for her peace of mind, and for her family’s.

  Dinner that night was a big pot of homemade soup and jalapeño corn bread. If anyone was aware that things had changed between her and Zeke, they didn’t let it show, but then how could anyone know anything? After breakfast, she and Zeke had spent the day apart, doing their normal things. The conversation around the dinner table was normal, too, mostly about work and the weather. Normal felt good. Belonging somewhere felt good.

  After dinner, after Zeke had locked and bolted the back door and returned to the kitchen, they walked toward each other without any pretense. She wondered if he had ever pretended to be someone he was not, if he’d ever played the kinds of games men and women played.

  He kissed her, and then he said, “I have condoms.”

  “Good.” She let herself fall into his chest, resting her cheek above his heart.

  “Are we going to talk about the absence of condoms last night?”

  “Not now,” she said. “It’s … not likely to be a problem, timing-wise.” She’d make a trip to the clinic one day soon and get herself on the pill, but that would take some time to kick in. And, crap, could she get a prescription under a fake name? Something else to worry about. Maybe they’d have to make do with condoms, until she worked that out. It was very annoying to live off the grid, to have to hide who she was and what she wanted.

  Thank goodness she didn’t have to hide either from the man who held her. She also didn’t feel the need to pretend that she didn’t want him again. One day at a time. Each and every one of those days didn’t have to be lived on edge and alone.

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