Читать книгу Mistaken Twin - Jodie Bailey - Страница 13

Jenna Clark untied her bright blue paint-spattered apron, dragged it over her head and tossed it onto the heavy wood counter. The shop was finally quiet after a full day of parents and children and other would-be artists selecting their canvases and colors in order to paint their own take-home art after their visits to the tiny town of Mountain Springs.

Normally, the hustle and bustle of the day energized her, made her feel like she was infusing a love of art in her customers, but not today.

Today, she was simply worn-out, keyed up, a little bit on edge. It could be from all of the additional tourists in town for the bluegrass festival. More eyes meant the need for more vigilance. In her life, strangers truly meant danger.

“Jenna?” Liza Carpenter, the sole employee at The Color Café, leaned against a bright purple wooden chair in front of a teal blue table across the room. “I asked if you were okay. You’ve been spacey all day. Flu season’s kicking in to high gear. You’re not about to fall out on me, are you?”

“Girl, I hope not.” Maybe the flu was it, though. Her brain could be wonky because she was running a fever, not because she was on high alert, praying no one from El Paso would wander into town and recognize her.

Because someone recognizing her would mean she had to turn her back on everything. Again.

She’d worked too hard to make sure being found never happened. After three years under the radar, this tiny North Carolina town was beginning to feel like home. If she had to flee Mountain Springs, it would rip her heart into pieces.

Jenna ran a hand along the polished wood bar, soaking in the peace born from a sense of belonging. When she’d moved to town, this building had been an abandoned eyesore, an old bar named Ridgerunners that had served as the local watering hole for close to a hundred years before shutting its doors nearly a decade earlier. Jenna had attacked cobwebs and cheap wood paneling with all of the fear and pain she’d brought to town with her. By the time she’d finished painting the walls with bright colors and had furnished the space with funky painted tables and chairs to express the artistic inspiration she couldn’t keep from flourishing inside her, she’d come to terms with the life she’d left behind. Having a new friend tell her about Christ in the process made the remodel even more symbolic of a whole new way of living.

She hadn’t been able to part with the bar, though. A live-edged slice from one of the huge oak trees that grew in the mountains above the town, it had spoken to her and drawn her in. She used it to separate the main area, where Liza helped customers paint, from the employee area, where they served coffee. The antique wood connected her to the history of the area, even if she was the newest of newcomers to the tiny little up-and-coming craft community.

“Might want to start planning.” Liza shoved the chair under the table then crushed her apron into a ball and walked over to hand it across the counter to Jenna. “Even if you’re not sick, one of us could fall out anytime. Wouldn’t hurt to have temporary help waiting in the wings.”

“True.” Jenna took the apron and shoved aside her negative thoughts. Enough time had passed that surely she was safe now. “I’ll call Rena and Caleb, see if they want to be on call for some possible extra hours.” She aimed her index finger at Liza. “But don’t you go wishing ill on us. I’d rather you didn’t talk about the flu at all.”

Liza saluted. “Want me to clean the bathroom?”

There wasn’t much left to do. They’d straightened the shop as they went during the evening, working around the few tourists who’d come in to paint. The bluegrass festival was drawing crowds to the old courthouse, which the town had converted into the Fine Arts Center, so their typical Friday crowd had been thin. “Go ahead. I can handle it. I’m wound so tight it will do me good to get moving, get some cleaning done. Might make me tired enough to get some real sleep tonight.” A full night’s rest didn’t happen often. Since she’d fled El Paso, sleep had been more like an estranged relative than a trusted friend. It sure didn’t like to come around to visit her house.

Liza glanced at the door and eased closer to it. “If you’re sure...”

Her thinly disguised eagerness dragged a much-needed laugh from Jenna. “I’m sure. Go to the concert. It doesn’t start for another half an hour, and I’ll guarantee Tim is staring at the door waiting for you to walk through it.” Liza had been dating Tim Stewart since their senior year of high school, five years earlier. Sooner rather than later, the firefighter would ask the artist to marry him. Likely sooner.

“Don’t have to tell me twice... Well, three times.” Liza blushed and grabbed her thick coat off the rack by the door. “I’ll see you in the morning? If the weather forecast is right and it’s going to rain, we’re probably going to be slammed from the minute we open.”

Jenna waved her out the door, then followed to twist the dead bolt behind her. They followed the weather with the same intensity as the hikers up the slopes and the ski-resort owners farther to the west. Rain, snow and cold drove customers to them, searching for a warm place and an outlet for the creative energy they’d built visiting all of the craft stores and artisans’ shops in and around town.

Mountain Springs might not have the draw of places like Asheville or Boone, but it was doing very well on its own. On the sidewalk, tourists and townsfolk alike were bundled against the cold as they hurried toward the Fine Arts Center.

A Mountain Springs Police SUV glided past. Probably Wyatt Stephens. He typically started the night shift about now.

Things outside were going on exactly as they always did. Even with the increased foot traffic, nothing looked out of place.

The best thing she could do to settle herself was to get moving, then go home to hot coffee, a warm fireplace and whatever cheesy movie looked good on Netflix.

Better yet, she could call Christa Naylor and see if the older woman would let her come up to her little mountain retreat for the rest of the evening. Christa’s tiny pottery studio might be just the thing to soothe Jenna’s spirit. It had worked many times before, as had some long talks over Christa’s valley-famous tea.

That’s exactly what she’d do as soon as she finished prepping for the next day. With the weather turning, she’d stock the paint trays and refill the bottles tonight so she wouldn’t be rushed in the morning. It was likely a crowd would be waiting outside the door for her to open like the last time the rain and cold had blown in together. They’d had a rough day then. The shop had been behind from the time the door opened all the way until they locked the doors for the night. The chaos of a day of unpredictable, bad weather wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

At the counter, Jenna tugged out large paint jugs and began to refill the smaller ones they kept on display. It didn’t take long for the work to chase away the creepy crawlies. There was something about the swirls of color, the order of the paints across the spectrum from dark to light in shelves along the side wall... Color filled her heart, reminding her of the rainbow God had sent to Noah.

As she reached for the next jug, her phone vibrated in her hip pocket. Erin Taylor. The closest thing she had to a best friend. Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, Jenna reached for a jug of blue. “Hey, girl.”

“Are you coming to the concert tonight? I’m just walking in the door. It’s filling up fast and I’ll need to save you a seat.”

Jenna unscrewed the cap on Mediterranean Seashore and grabbed a smaller bottle to refill. “Probably not. I’ve been off my game all afternoon, so I’m going home to get some rest.”

“You are zero fun.”

“Is Jason with you?” The answer was almost definitely a yes. An instructor at the army’s nearby Camp McGee, Erin’s fiancé was rarely far away from her side when he wasn’t on duty.

“Yes.”

“I’m definitely not crashing date night.”

Erin’s sigh was loud. “Give me a break. We’d love for you to hang out. Besides, one of the bands you said you like will be here.”

“I don’t know.” Jenna drummed her fingers on the counter. Crowds had never been her thing, even less so since she’d fled Logan’s wrath. Aside from the crowd, Erin didn’t need her there. She had Jason. “The weather tonight makes it a good night to find something on—”

A creak from the back of the building made Jenna jerk her hand and slosh blue paint into a streak across the metal counter beneath the bar. She stared at the entrance to the hallway running from the customer area to the rear of the building, where her small office, a bathroom and the alley door were.

She’d locked the back door, right?

“You okay?” Erin’s voice rose with concern. It had been only a few months since someone had stalked and tried to murder Erin. Her radar still pinged on high.

“I thought I heard something. Let me make sure I locked the door. It will only take me a second.” Before Erin could protest, Jenna laid the phone on the counter next to the paint.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, grabbed a pair of scissors from the jar by the sink and crept toward the hall, makeshift weapon at the ready. If anyone happened to peek into the front window, they’d probably call the police...or the mental ward at the hospital.

Surely she was safe. God was watching over her. Still, His presence didn’t mean she didn’t have to take care of herself.

Inching into the hallway, she looked straight through to the rear of the building. The alley door appeared to be firmly shut. The monitor above the door, which connected to a camera outside, revealed no one on the back stairs.

Lowering the scissors to her side, Jenna chuckled, even though paranoia wasn’t exactly funny. She glanced at the bathroom door. She’d check there, but only to prove to her brain that all was well and it could stop playing tricks on her.

The door was closed.

Her brow furrowed. Funny. She didn’t remember closing it, tried to keep it open so customers would know when it was free to use. Maybe the last customer had shut it, but...

Her hand drew away from the knob.

With a crash that seemed to rock the building, the door flew open, knocking Jenna’s arm away and driving her backward against the wall. The scissors flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. Air squeezed from her chest. She staggered, the world spinning, her pulse a solid, pounding thump in her ears.

A powerful arm caught her beneath the chin and dragged her upright, pinning her against the wall, her neck bent backward, pressure against her throat gagging her. Rational thought fled in the driving need for survival. Jenna struggled, twisted and scratched, to no avail.

A body, heavy and solid, leaned against hers, pinning her arms into uselessness. A mouth pressed to her ear. “Thought you could hide forever, huh?”

Jenna whimpered, pain and fear flashing hot and melting her joints. Tears stung her eyes. This was not Logan, but he’d found her. Somehow, he’d found her.

The man jerked her chin higher with his forearm. Something solid and horrifyingly familiar gouged into her ribs.

The barrel of a pistol.

His voice hissed hot against her ear. “I know someone who’s going to be very, very happy to see you, Ms. Brady.”

Her real name. Jenna’s eyes drifted shut, and she whimpered despite the forearm crushing her throat. There was no doubt he knew who she was, and no doubt Logan had put a price on her head for leaving him.

Officer Wyatt Stephens turned onto Valley Street and cranked the heat. The air in his patrol SUV was taking forever to warm, the damp chill of a January evening proving to be one of the toughest enemies in Mountain Springs.

His gut sank. Not as tough as the real enemy seeking to encroach on the town he’d grown up in and loved. The box truck they’d located on the old Gaskins property on Overton Road a few months earlier had reeked of body odor and long-term living. It was clear several people had been forced to call the cramped space home for quite a while, but the truck had been empty by the time a couple of deer hunters had stumbled upon it.

Someone had tried to move people through town like cargo.

The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had completed their investigation last month, concluding the traffickers had broken down while passing through, but Wyatt wasn’t so certain. Lord, please don’t let them be looking to use Mountain Springs as a depot.

It was his biggest fear. He would lie awake at night considering the horrors of someone using the tiny town as a stop on the trafficking pipeline that ran from the country’s northern border to its southern border. For months, he’d eyed every stranger in town with suspicion. He had even taken a closer look at some of the families of the old-timers who’d once run moonshine along these ridges. The very idea someone would treat a human being like a commodity made him nauseous.

The idea someone so vile and heartless might be a person he actually knew—

The ringing of his cell phone jerked him out of a dark reverie. Erin. His cousin was always good for a smile.

She’d been living at his house since she’d left her father’s house in the fall, and was preparing to marry her fiancé, who also happened to be his closest friend.

She probably had another wedding assignment for him. As the best man, his to-do list grew every day. He punched the answer button on his Bluetooth. “I’m on duty, E. I can’t be running your wedding errands right now.”

“Where are you?”

The frantic tone of her voice had his foot easing to the brake pedal, and he cast his eyes to the rearview to see how quickly he could make a U-turn and get to the house. No, to downtown. She was supposed to be at the Fine Arts Center with Jason. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“It’s Jenna.”

Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he hung the U-turn, headed toward downtown and the strip of historic buildings along the main street. Jenna Clark wasn’t high on his list of likable personalities, but she was Erin’s best friend. “Talk to me.”

“I think someone’s broken in to the store and she’s there. She set the phone on the counter to walk to the back and check on a noise, then I heard a crash, her scream and a man’s voice. I—I can’t tell what they’re saying.”

“Stay away from the store. Tell Jason not to go in, either. I mean it. I know him. He’ll try.” Wyatt’s foot dug into the accelerator, and the engine roared as it tackled the hill toward downtown. He might not trust Jenna Clark, but if she was in danger... “Hang up the phone. Call 911 and get them rolling. I’ll radio in from my end.” He killed the call and took a right onto Barnett Street, reaching for his radio. One other officer was on duty in town for the night, but their calls would bring in the county as backup.

His headlights swept across the alley as he turned in. Jenna’s small crossover sat close to the back door, but a dark late-model sports car with Texas plates was parked slightly behind hers at an angle calculated to prevent her from backing out.

Adrenaline crashed into his system, thrumming through his veins. This was no break-in. Blocking her vehicle was targeted. And those Texas plates? The same state as the box truck on Overton Road. The odds the two were connected were slim, but if traffickers were in the area and one had stumbled upon Jenna or Liza alone at the shop in the dark of the evening...

His throat tightened and he rolled in behind the unfamiliar vehicle, cutting off its escape route. After notifying Dispatch, Wyatt eased out of his SUV, eyes on the door of the shop, hand resting on the pistol at his side. An attacker would never try to take Jenna or Liza out the front door, not with so many people flowing past on their way to tonight’s concert. They’d head straight out the back, directly toward him.

He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. He’d hated approaching situations with no intel ever since his very first domestic call when he was a rookie cop. There’d been five first responders in the small yard, a mix of town and county officers, pinned down by shotgun blasts. While he’d been in numerous firefights during his enlistment in the army, being an untested cop taking fire on home soil had sent him into a tailspin that still echoed in his emotions.

But they couldn’t today. Not if he was going to deal successfully with whatever was behind Jenna’s door. You’re in control, Stephens. You know he’s here. He has no idea you’re waiting. You have the upper hand.

Maybe Jenna had a friend visiting, someone who’d surprised her. Though she’d never mentioned exactly where she’d lived before moving to Mountain Springs, her drawl tilted toward the Deep South.

Maybe to Texas.

Even with the vague hope this was all a misunderstanding, he couldn’t let down his guard. Assumptions could get a man—or a woman—killed.

So could acting too quickly. As much as he wanted to bust in alone to make certain Jenna was safe, smart training told him to wait for backup. He approached the door from the left, where it would open out should anyone leave.

A crash echoed through the alley as the door burst open and a man shoved through a couple of feet from Wyatt’s position.

Wyatt jumped back and took aim but the man was dragging Jenna by the throat and blocked any chance at a clean shot.

Kicking and fighting, Jenna clawed at her assailant’s thick muscled arm. Her wide-eyed gaze scanned the alley before she spotted Wyatt, froze, then renewed her struggle.

The fear in her eyes ripped through him. He had to rescue her.

Busy with Jenna, the other man hadn’t seen Wyatt or his patrol vehicle. Thankfully, the man also didn’t appear to have a weapon out, though one peeked from beneath his jacket at his hip.

Surprise would be the best offense and would keep him from drawing his weapon. As Wyatt prepared to make his presence known, he nodded once at Jenna then holstered his pistol. It was a risky move, but he had a better shot of keeping Jenna safe if he could wrestle the stranger to the ground than if he drew a weapon and instigated a shoot-out with her in the middle.

Sirens sounded in the distance, from the direction of the police station.

The man hesitated and was still facing away from Wyatt. His hold on Jenna relaxed.

Now.

Wyatt dove from his position, crashing into the assailant’s lower back and driving both him and Jenna into the side of the car.

Her cry of pain mingled with a deeper angry curse. The stranger’s grip on Jenna loosened as he whirled toward Wyatt, fists in front of him, prepared to fight.

Wyatt was more than ready. He swung an uppercut to the man’s thick jaw, staggering him backward. “Jenna! Get inside and lock the door!” If she was still within reach, her attacker likely wouldn’t think twice about lunging for her, either for leverage against Wyatt or to attempt an escape.

She didn’t hesitate, disappearing behind Wyatt as he kept a wary eye on his opponent.

With Jenna out of the way, Wyatt reached for his pistol, but the man turned and ran for the entrance to the alley, ducking around the corner as Wyatt took off in pursuit.

The suspect hit the main street before Wyatt and blended into the crowd flowing toward the Fine Arts Center. In the shadowy light from the ancient streetlights, he melted into the small sea of humanity.

Wyatt skidded to a halt. He could give chase, but doing so would risk a shoot-out on a busy street and would leave Jenna unprotected. She had to be priority number one.

Releasing his grip on the pistol in his holster, Wyatt turned and jogged to the alley, speaking into his shoulder radio as he headed to the shop to check on Jenna. “Suspect on foot, headed west on Main Street.” He ran through a quick description of the man, which ended as he reached the heavy metal back door of Jenna’s shop.

He pounded on the door. “Jenna! It’s Wyatt!” A soft shuffling came from inside, and he stepped away so she could better see him through the camera situated above the door.

After a moment, the door swung outward, and Jenna stood silhouetted in the light from the front of the store before she slowly sank to the floor.