Jodie Bailey - Dead Run

Lucas followed Kristin into the kitchen, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’d seen the fear flash on her face, understood better than anyone how it could toy with thoughts and make them completely whacked. There had been times when he’d felt that edge himself overseas, maybe even bordered a little on paranoid, particularly after one of their soldiers was killed by a sniper while on guard duty. But being on the receiving end of Kristin’s suspicion had been worse than any blow his opponent had thrown earlier.

It still stung, even after her apology, something that had to be hard for her “no surrender” self. But as soon as she’d shown that small crack, she’d rebuilt the wall, acting once again like she could control the whole world.

She walked ahead of him, not waiting to see if he followed, her posture arrow straight. Her attitude made Lucas want to grab her shoulder and stop her, to turn her around and force a confrontation, to ask if she really had so little trust in him.

Except, really, what right did he have to ask? Whether it hurt or not, in her position he might have fired off some of the same questions. He surveyed the kitchen, searching for something, anything to focus on long enough to stem the chaos roiling in his head.

The control-freak side of Kristin came out in her home. The polished hardwood was spotless. The dark wood cabinets harbored no dust. No photos, no knickknacks, nothing broke the smooth surface of the marble counter. Everything had a place. From what little she’d told him on their morning runs, he knew her childhood had been chaotic, and the early chaos came out in her need for strict order as an adult.

She’d have made an amazing military officer.

He inhaled deeply, centering himself in where he was. The place had a scent of its own. Not like some houses, all cinnamon and spice. More like outdoors and oranges. Probably from the bowl she kept on the table. Every time they worked out together, she’d dig into an orange after, always offering him one before she slipped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table to peel the fruit and savor it like other women savored chocolate.

He’d never been a fan of oranges before, but lately he’d acquired the taste.

Lucas shut the door behind him, wanting to sink into one of the chairs at the small breakfast table where they’d shared a handful of meals after workouts. The woman might be tough as nails, but she could cook like nobody’s business. Probably because her inner control freak didn’t trust anyone else to touch her food.

Kristin passed the small table in the breakfast nook and pulled one of the black wood chairs out. “Have a seat and we’ll see if we can make you look less like you went a few rounds in the Ultimate Fighting Championship.” Without looking back to make sure he obeyed, she charged through the arched doorway to the dining room.

Lucas could hear her footsteps on the stairs, either to find a first-aid kit or to break the phone he was pretty certain Casey was using to call the police.

Dropping into the chair, Lucas stared at the door. Whoever had come after Kristin at Smith Lake today had likely been watching her, had known which car was hers and had taken the opportunity to steal her keys and her address, probably off her registration. The scum had liked what he’d seen and had decided to come after it in spite of the fact Casey’s Jeep in the driveway proved Kristin wasn’t home alone.

The thought of someone hurting Kristin made him run hot with anger and cold with fear. Even though Travis tried to imply differently, Kristin was a friend, and Lucas would do what he had to do to protect her.

He pressed a finger gingerly to his cheek. Even if he had to do battle with shadowy men in her backyard.

Kristin came into the room and dropped a first-aid kit onto the table, then laid a damp washcloth beside it. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat, tipping her head toward the items in front of him. “You look a mess. The cut by your eye you can probably camouflage a little bit. You’re lucky the guy didn’t leave a worse mark on your chin. Not sure how your chain of command would like you looking like the loser in a fistfight.”

His chain of command was a worry for tomorrow. “Loser? I’m pretty sure I look like the winner.” He grabbed the washcloth and weighed it in his hand, unable to help himself. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this for me? Like in the movies? Help the poor hero who was injured when he managed to—”

“Don’t push it.” She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest, the words harsh but her blue eyes not backing up the sass.

Those eyes. He dropped his to the first-aid kit. It would be way too easy to stare into hers when he knew better. The way she leveled those crystal blues on him dragged a longing into his chest. One he hadn’t felt in a long time... One that made him sit straight in the chair and fight for air. He squeezed the damp cloth until water dripped onto his thigh and seeped through his blue jeans. Get over yourself, Murphy. No sense in dragging her into a lifestyle that would only tear them apart when he left.

He stared at the dark spots the water had left on his thigh, wresting control of his rogue thoughts before he pressed the cloth to the corner of his eye. “Casey called the police?”

“You read people well. She did. But really, what can they do? They’re going to come here, ask some questions. They’ll want to talk to you, I’m sure, but later? They’ll put out an extra patrol and an officer will come by once an hour or something. It’s not enough to put my faith in. They’re too understaffed to do more, and patrols leave too many gaps in the meantime for someone to try again.” Her words were matter-of-fact, but her fingers tightened around her biceps. She might not want to admit it, but the day’s events weighed on her. The strain showed in the straight lines of her posture and the sharp angles of her words.

“The guy has your keys.”

“The locksmith changed my locks today, and I had the fob for the alarm disabled. They won’t do him any good.” She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. “Lucas, really. How did you manage to be here tonight right when you needed to be? And don’t try to tell me you happened to walk by your front window.”

Lucas checked the cloth and reached for the first-aid kit, digging for anything that might stop the sting near his eye. He really didn’t want to explain what he was doing here tonight, but he’d never lied to her before and he wasn’t about to start now. “I was worried. I knew the guy had your keys, so...” Saying I was sitting across the street watching your house sounded a whole lot better in theory than it was ever going to sound in person. In person, it sounded like he’d bounced his marbles halfway to Smoke Bomb Hill on the east side of Fort Bragg.

“So you thought you’d pull guard duty.” She sighed and stared at the closed plantation blinds over the side window, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She chuckled. “Really. I think I proved this morning I can take care of myself. And Casey’s here.” She aimed a finger at the door, her expression softening. “Go home. I know you have to work in the morning, and you can’t lose sleep watching over me forever.”

Everything she said made logical sense, but he couldn’t make himself agree with her. All he could see was that monster of a man slamming her into a tree this morning. The replay always stopped right before Kristin sent the guy running with his tail between his legs and spun a whole new horrible version of what might have been. “How bad is your back hurting right now?”

Her head drew back like she was dodging a blow. She eyed him for a minute before she took an orange from the bowl and rolled it between her palms. “Not as bad as you’d think. A little sore in the shoulder blade, but not enough to slow me down.” She dropped the orange and rolled it across the table toward him. “Thanks for asking.”