Amity Steffen - Reunion On The Run

His sturdy body guarded the door, the only way in—or out—of the shack. His teeth were bared and his posture rigid. There was no need for her to try to peek outside to confirm that she was about to be ambushed. Roscoe’s change in demeanor made it clear.

“Hush!” She hissed the word under her breath. She was grateful the dog was well-trained, courtesy of Alex Vasquez, her ex-fiancé. He wouldn’t bark, giving away the fact that she wasn’t alone in the shack. She couldn’t chance the intruders hearing him growl, either. Roscoe was her best chance at escape.

With trembling hands Claire shoved the notes she’d been working on into the backpack that rested at the center of the table. It cost her precious seconds, but the contents were even more precious. She slipped the backpack over her shoulders. She tugged at the cord around her neck, finding her poor excuse for a weapon at the end of it. Palming the vial of pepper spray, she snuffed out the flame in the lantern.

Roscoe huffed, his huge body nimbly pacing back and forth in front of the doorway.

Claire darted over to him. She pressed herself against the rough plank wall of the shack. Not for the first time she futilely wished the place had another escape route. The windows were small and simple, nothing more than single panes of glass built into the frames. They would need to be shattered because they couldn’t be wedged open. She wouldn’t risk the noise announcing an escape attempt, nor would she risk being sliced to ribbons trying to squeeze through the small space.

“Heel.” The command was barely a whisper. Roscoe gave her a bewildered look before he complied.

The doorknob jiggled. It sounded like a cannon against the silence.

She had been under no illusion that she would be safe here indefinitely. That hadn’t stopped her from hoping for more time. With limited resources, two weeks hadn’t been nearly long enough to compile the evidence she needed to clear her name.

“Claire, we know you’re in there,” a deep, gravelly voice taunted from the other side. “Open up and we’ll take it easy on you.”

A second menacing voice warned, “Make us come in after you, and you might not live to regret it.”

It was an empty threat. She was well aware of the fact that she might not live to regret it either way.

Terror mingled with the intense determination to stay alive. A hard edge dug into her palm as she held her hand at eye level, poised and steady.

Mia’s precious face flashed through her mind. Her dark curls, her spunky smile. It had been far too long since she’d been able to give her three-year-old daughter a hug. A kiss. Far too many nights had passed without reading her a bedtime story.

For Mia, she had to get out of this mess. She would not leave her daughter parentless.

The thin wood shuddered as a body slammed into it.

Roscoe whined as he crouched, ready to attack.

Please Lord, please Lord, please Lord , Claire silently prayed. She could string together nothing more coherent than this simple, frantic prayer. She trusted He knew what she was asking, even if she was far too panicked to find the right words to say.

Another assault shook the entire shack. The flimsy door splintered at the bottom.

Claire gritted her teeth and braced for the inevitable. She pressed herself as tightly as she could against the wall.

When it shattered, pieces of wood flying everywhere, she was ready.

Her first attacker blinked in surprise, his eyes trying to adjust to the gloom. He clearly did not expect Claire to be ready to face him head-on. She squeezed the trigger before he could swing his gun her way. He screamed in agony as the pepper spray shot out of the canister she held. A gun clattered at her feet. She kicked it, sending it flying across the cabin to land under the battered couch.

Roscoe, snuffling and sneezing from the mist in the air, leaped at the second man before he could enter the cramped space. He slammed him to the ground as his gun went off. The window next to the door shattered, spraying glass that narrowly missed Claire.

The first man clawed at his face, cursing and writhing in pain. The second man cried out, his gun falling to his side as Roscoe latched onto his forearm. The dog stood over him, teeth clenched tightly as the man tried to push him off.

Claire stepped out of the cabin and gasped, sucking in fresh air. Though she’d used the stickier, gel-type pepper spray, the fumes still lingered. She blinked hard a few times, clearing her vision but not allowing herself a moment to slow down.

“Heel!” Claire commanded after she grabbed the second gun and tossed it into the trees. Roscoe let go of his target and bounced to her side. Claire was ready. The moment Roscoe was out of her way, she shot off what was left of the pepper spray. The second man shrieked, his cries melding with his cohort’s.

A third figure, dressed in black, emerged from the tree line. He shouted something at her, probably her name, but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat crashing through her ears.

“Come.” She grated out the stern command, unwilling to let Roscoe go after the newest threat. These thugs worked for the man who’d had Jared, her husband, murdered. She knew they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a dog.

Claire took off at a dead run, circling to the backside of the cabin. She lacked brute strength and she was outnumbered. If she’d known there was a third henchman, one who was able to pursue her, she may have been tempted to keep the gun. It was too late now. She prayed she hadn’t made a grave mistake. She had God on her side. He had brought her this far, she was counting on Him to bring her the rest of the way.

Her hiking boots pounded across the thin edge of lawn before she charged full-speed into the thick copse of trees. The sun had just slipped past the horizon, plunging the world into the murky gray of twilight. Darkness would work to her advantage. She knew these woods. She’d already planned her escape through them.

Adrenaline spilled through her body, making it easy to push ahead. Her heart pounded chaotically and her spine tingled, anticipating a bullet at any moment. She knew the two men at her door would be down and out for several minutes. The third man posed an enormous threat.

She tore through the dense forest, dodging trees, leaping over fallen logs. Pine boughs and oak branches slapped at her, tore at her skin. Roscoe obediently raced alongside her.

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you . This had become her mantra. She was in about as deep as she could get. She was drowning in troubles but it gave her comfort to know she was never alone. He was always by her side.

She didn’t dare a glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t waste precious seconds by slowing down, and if she looked while running she’d likely crash into a tree. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to look. Claire had no doubt she was being pursued. She didn’t have to see him to know. She could feel his presence behind her. This knowledge drove her to move even faster.

Her escape plan was on a constant loop, playing through her mind. Up ahead the woods were bisected by an overgrown logging trail. If she continued to run straight, she’d hit the trail eventually. The trail led to the gravel road that would ultimately spill onto a county road leading to the highway.

Freedom was within her reach.

If only she didn’t trip, crash into a tree or get shot in the back first.

“Claire!” The harshness of her name grated out in frustration caused a sharp whimper of surprise to bubble up in her throat. She hadn’t realized her pursuer was so close. Her skin broke out in a chilled sweat and it had nothing to do with exertion. Her legs burned, and her lungs ached. She couldn’t move any faster. Even if she made it to the logging trail, with her pursuer so close, she’d never have the extra minutes she desperately needed to get away.