Running Blind Read online

  She logged on to Facebook under her fake name, Zoey Harris. Her sister had suggested the name Zoey because it was unusual enough that someone looking for a bland, unnoticeable name would never think of it. It was a little like the “hide in plain sight” theory.

  The fictional Zoey Harris lived in Florida, and was ostensibly no more than a casual friend to her sister. Carlin never posted a private message on her sister’s page, because Facebook accounts could be hacked, which she assumed meant that private messages could be read. She didn’t know for sure, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance. Whenever she did post something on her sister’s wall, she did it right out in the open, where it wouldn’t look important.

  She read all of Robin’s posts; nothing out of the ordinary was going on, just the usual family activities. Then she went to her brother’s page, and found the same thing, only Kin’s comments tended more toward sports. Back again to her sister’s page, where she posted a brief message about wishing for summer vacation to end so the kids would be back in school. That kind of innocuous message signaled her family that she was all right.

  It was tempting, while she was in front of a computer, to run a check on Brad’s name to see if he’d been arrested. He’d gotten away with Jina’s murder, but maybe he’d moved on to someone else and run into trouble. No matter how tempting it might be, though, she didn’t type his name into the search bar. She didn’t dare. There were programs you could use to find out who’d searched your name. If Brad had one of those set up, he’d know instantly where the search had originated. Maybe right before she left town, she’d run a search and see if anything popped up.

  No. She couldn’t do that.

  A shudder walked down her spine. She’d never purposely draw Brad here, to a place where people she liked lived and worked, to a place small enough that he could gather bits of information about her. Maybe on her next stop in a big city, wherever that might be, she’d do a search on him. Maybe she’d go to Chicago. Yeah, let him spend a few weeks trying to find her there, long after she’d moved on.

  Carlin was back in The Pie Hole in plenty of time to change into her uniform—pink like Kat’s, with a curly “C” embroidered over the pocket—and get the main room set for lunch. The pies and cakes were baking, so the place smelled wonderful. It smelled like … home. Not a home Carlin had ever known, because the domestic arts hadn’t figured prominently in her life, but she didn’t know any other way to describe the scent.

  Time passed fast when the place was busy, and as usual she and Kat fell into a kind of rhythm as the pace of business picked up. It was almost like a dance: serving food, talking to the customers, laughing at jokes that were sometimes funny and sometimes not, making sure no one’s drink glass or mug was ever empty, cooking up orders whenever someone didn’t choose the daily special. Maybe it could be classified as menial labor, but Carlin was enjoying herself. She liked the people here, and Kat was gradually becoming a real friend.

  They were in the middle of the lunch rush—Carlin behind the counter and Kat making the rounds with a pitcher of tea in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other, because she could handle pouring on the go better than Carlin could—when the cowboy walked in. Carlin couldn’t help but notice him. What warm-blooded woman wouldn’t? He was tall and muscular, and he moved with an iron confidence that said he knew his strength and hadn’t met much that could stop him. She had to call him handsome, though he wasn’t, not really. His face wasn’t perfect and sculpted, it was on the rough and hard side, but she was going on her reaction to him rather than what her eyes saw. She went warm and breathless, and looked away because staring at him was abruptly too much, too dangerous in a way she sensed but couldn’t quite grasp, at least not consciously. He was every inch the heartbreaker cowboy Kat had warned her away from—and damn if he didn’t charge the air when he walked into the place.

  He was bad news all the way around, she recognized that much right away. She ignored her racing heartbeat as she refilled a cup of coffee, smiling at the older man sitting on the other side of the counter while she concentrated on not looking at the new customer.

  The cowboy nodded to Kat, who gave him a bright smile. She couldn’t wave, considering she was carrying both a pitcher of tea and a coffeepot, but her pleasure at seeing him was obvious. He took a booth, the same one Carlin had chosen her first day here, sliding into the seat that put his back to the wall and gave him a clear view of the door. So, who was he running from?

  No damn body, that was who. She didn’t know him, but Carlin doubted he’d ever backed down from much in his entire life. He just had that look, which meant he was probably a pain in the ass to deal with, but at least the physical scenery was fine.

  A couple of the cowboys at the counter said hello, greeted the newcomer like an old acquaintance. Hey, Zeke. He returned their greetings, but that was it. From his slightly grim expression he seemed to be in a bad mood, though that could be his default setting.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Carlin saw Kat head in Zeke’s direction. They spoke like old friends, she took his order—without writing it down, as usual—and then she came back to the counter. “A daily special and a coffee, black, for my wayward cousin.”

  “Wayward?” And her cousin?

  “He doesn’t come to see me nearly often enough. If not for my pies I’d be lucky to see him twice a year.”

  The Pie Hole was small, and of course Zeke heard every word Kat said. “I’m busy,” he explained, his voice raised slightly so Kat could hear. “Give me a break.”

  Then his gaze moved to Carlin, held, focused, and she gave a quick, involuntary shiver. He might be in a bad mood, but he wasn’t shy. He didn’t look away, the way most of Kat’s male customers did if they were caught looking too long or too hard. No, he just kept staring, steady and still and … lethal. The shiver walked down her spine, a tickle of instinct. Zeke looked at her the way a hungry man might look at a slice of Kat’s apple pie.

  Oh, crap. That was a comparison she didn’t need to have in her head, even if she hadn’t voiced it aloud. She felt her face turning red.

  “I’ll get his order,” she said, turning on her heel and all but bolting for the kitchen. She felt a little like she was making an escape.

  Heaven save her from macho men who thought they ruled the world just because they had a penis. Well, penises. Plural, right? And, yes, she was assigning him to that category because the last thing she needed was to let herself get involved. The strength of her reaction to him was warning enough.

  She put the order together on his plate: meatloaf; mashed potatoes and gravy; green beans that were too underdone for her tastes, but then again she liked her green beans cooked to the point where they no longer actually resembled a bean of any kind, the way her mom had made them; a soft roll—homemade, which kind of blew Carlin’s mind. Who made homemade rolls when the prebaked ones were fine? Okay, these were extraspecial good, but still. Kat didn’t make homemade rolls every day, but at least once a week the entire place was filled with the scent of baking bread; therefore, if Carlin was never again completely satisfied with a ready-made dinner roll, it was all Kat’s fault. The customers liked them, too; word seemed to spread whenever there were fresh rolls on the menu.

  The order was ready; Carlin left the kitchen with the plate on a tray, prepared to hand it over to Kat, who’d waited on Zeke the cowboy-cousin. But Kat was talking to a customer at the counter, and waved Carlin over to her cousin’s table.

  Great.

  While Carlin had been preparing the order, Kat had placed a steaming mug of coffee and silverware wrapped in a napkin in front of Zeke. All Carlin had to do was set the food before him, ask if he needed anything else, and skedaddle. She didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to notice whether or not he was looking at her.

  But of course he was looking at her. Hard. And it was impossible not to notice.

  She couldn’t say the cowboy and Kat shared any strong family resemblance, but there was