Shirlee McCoy - Running for Cover

“Whoever it is, get rid of him. If you don’t, his blood is on your hands.” He dragged her to her feet, motioned for the other man to step into the deep shadows of the gallery and then shoved Morgan to the door.

Her hands shook as she cracked it open just enough to see a man standing on the front stoop. Tall and rangy, his face shadowed by darkness, he was a stranger.

Morgan’s heart sank. “Yes?”

“I saw a light on and thought you might be open.”

“No. I’m sorry, we’re not.” Morgan forced the response past lips that felt swollen and tight. She wanted to shove the door open and run, but knew she’d be shot before she took half a dozen steps. And she wasn’t the only one who’d die.

“Too bad. I saw the closed sign, but hoped since your lights were on you might be willing to make a sale. A friend of mine is getting married in the morning, and I just realized I left his wedding gift at home in New York.” Despite the darkness, Morgan could see his easy, charming smile. He didn’t know how close he was to death, and Morgan didn’t dare try to tell him.

“I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a wedding to attend tomorrow, too. I’ve got a lot to do before then, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Really?” He smiled again. “Maybe it’s the same one.”

“What?”

“Wedding. Who are the bride and groom?” He shifted as he spoke, easing a little to the left, his gaze focused on a point above Morgan’s head. Could he see the man standing deep in the shadows? Or the one right beside Morgan hidden behind the door? Did he sense the danger they were both in?

The hard butt of a gun jammed into Morgan’s side, urging her to answer the question and get rid of her visitor. For a moment she couldn’t remember what the question was, couldn’t think of what the answer would be.

The man at the door took a step forward, his gaze still on the point above Morgan’s head. And everything clicked into place. The question. The answer. “Lacey Carmichael and Jude Sinclair are the bride and groom.”

“It is the same wedding. I guess we’ll see each other there.”

The gun jabbed into Morgan’s side again, a silent warning she couldn’t ignore. “I guess we will.” If she lived that long. “Now I really have to go.”

“Sure. No problem. What time to do you open in the morning?”

Open? What time did she open?

Morgan’s mind was blank, her thoughts scattered.

“Ma’am?”

“Ten. I open at ten.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, turning to walk away.

No. You won’t. I’ll be dead, sprawled on the floor of my apartment or wrapped in a plastic bag on the side of a road or lying on the bottom of the lake, cement blocks tied to my ankles.

Morgan wanted to shout the words, wanted to beg for rescue. Instead, she closed the door, her skin crawling as she met the eyes of the man who’d been standing next to her. Mud-brown, they were empty of emotion.

“Good job. That guy has you to thank for his life,” he said, shoving his gun into a holster beneath his jacket.

“Come on. We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s finish this,” the second man said from the shadows, his voice gravelly and rough. “Let’s go back upstairs and get what we came for.”

Morgan didn’t see him move, but she heard his booted feet on the stairs. Knew he was going back to her apartment.

“Let’s go. Maybe a little more convincing will help you remember where you put the disk.” The other man grabbed her arm, forced her toward the stairs.

“I told you, the disk isn’t here,” she protested, tugging against his hold.

“Like I said, that’s not what your ex said.”

“Cody is a liar.”

“Even a liar tells the truth when he’s in enough pain.”

“Pain? He’s in jail.” Morgan twisted beneath his grip, hoping to dislodge his fingers, but they dug deep into her flesh until she was sure her bone would break. A few more feet and they’d reach the stairs.

Desperate, she grabbed a clay vase she’d fired just a few days ago, slamming it into her captor’s head. He fell back, and Morgan broke away, racing to the door and yanking it open. Cool air stung her bruised face as she closed the door and jumped off the stoop, crashing into something yielding but firm. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the sound. Morgan fought, kicking and punching as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against a hard chest.

“Calm down, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not in the mood for trouble, so until I figure things out, let’s both lie low.” The gruff baritone seemed familiar, but Morgan was too scared to care. She twisted and pulled against his arm as he maneuvered her into the heavy bushes that hugged the foundation of the gallery.

“Someone’s coming. You need to keep still and quiet. Understand?” the man whispered, his lips pressed close to Morgan’s ear.

She nodded, but wasn’t sure she understood anything. Not how a peaceful night at home had turned into a nightmare or how her jailed ex-husband could still be ruining her life or who the man holding her was.

“Good, because Jude won’t be happy if I’m a no-show tomorrow.” His grip eased, his hand slipping away from Morgan’s mouth, his other arm still wrapped tightly around her waist.

Footsteps sounded on pavement, the quick, hard tap of booted feet sending a shiver along Morgan’s spine and filling her with terror. Hiding wasn’t good enough. They needed to run. She shifted, but was held firmly in place as the footsteps faded. The loamy scent of earth filled her nose, mixing with something subtle and masculine. Morgan should be terrified, should be fighting to free herself and run, but her head throbbed, her ribs ached and the warmth of the man holding her, the darkness that surrounded them, offered a false sense of safety that she wanted desperately to believe in.

The man who held her leaned close to her ear again, his breath ruffling her hair as he spoke. “Who is he? Boyfriend? Husband?”

“No.”

“A stranger?”

“Yes. Two of them. They’ve got guns,” she rasped out, the words too loud and harsh.

“Stay here, I’ll—”

“No.” Morgan grabbed his arm. She didn’t know anything about him, but right now having him around was a lot better than being alone.

“We can’t sit here waiting to be found.”

“Maybe they’ll go away.”

“No, they won’t. Stay down. I’m just going to look and see what direction they’re heading.” He eased away, moving so silently Morgan heard nothing but the rapid pulse of her blood and the rasping gasp of her breath.

She waited a few seconds, her heart slamming against her ribs. At any moment one of the men who’d held her captive in her own home, who’d beaten her unconscious and left her lying bleeding on the kitchen floor, could find her and it would all be over. All the hard work she’d put into opening her gallery, Clay Treasures, all the years she’d spent dreaming of reuniting with her siblings, all the time she’d spent searching for them, would end on the pavement of a parking lot in a small town she never would have come to if not for her ex-husband. Trusting Cody, letting him into her heart had been the biggest mistake of Morgan’s life. She’d vowed after her divorce to rely only on herself, yet here she was, sitting in the darkness, waiting for someone else to save her life.

The air seemed heavy with tension, the night thick with expectancy. Morgan eased up from her hiding place, peeked over the top of the shrubs and saw nothing but darkness. Fear spurring her on, she broke free of the prickly shrubs and ran to the corner of the building. For one brief exhilarating moment, she was sure she’d succeed. That somehow she’d escape the parking lot and make it out onto the street without being seen. There were neighbors who would let her in and call the police for her. All she had to do was make it to one of their doors.