Читать книгу No One To Trust - Melody Carlson - Страница 10

TWO

The red-faced cop cursed angrily when he regained his breath. “You’re a dead man!” he growled as he swung a fist at Jon. As Jon dodged the blow, he noticed the service revolver just a few feet away and reached for it. At the same moment, the cop went for it, too, and both men scrambled in the sand and gravel, fighting for the weapon. The cop swung another massive fist, and as Jon dodged he was able to solidly kick the revolver, sending it spinning into the nearby brush. As the cop leaped for his gun, Jon sprinted up the side of the tall dune.

Just seconds from the beach grass on top, Jon heard the first shot. Kicking it into high gear, he raced for the top just as several shots cracked in quick succession. As he dove for the cover of the grass, he felt a searing jolt on the outer side of his right thigh. He’d been hit. Ducking down, he crawled on all fours, using the tall grass to conceal himself as a couple more shots flew past. He knew that, despite the pain in his thigh, he had to keep moving. Fast!

Crouching low, Jon crawled to the other side of the dune, then continued to run. He had no doubt the cop was following—or that he wanted him dead. Because dead men don’t talk. Jon’s only hope was that, despite his throbbing leg, he could outrun the overweight man. If he was a real cop, which seemed unlikely. And if he was a real cop, he wouldn’t be one for long. Because Jon intended to turn the jerk in, as soon as he got the chance. That is if the cop didn’t kill him first.

As Jon pressed on through the dunes, he prayed that the woman had taken his nonverbal hint and headed north. Cabins, including his parents’ place, were in that direction. And even though most of the vacation cabins sat vacant this time of the year, there was a better chance of her finding help up there. In the meantime, he was determined to lead the crooked cop away from her by heading south. He knew this stretch of shoreline was void of civilization for the next several miles—all the way to the jetty. He also knew that if his body gave out—and that seemed likely—he would probably be dead before sundown.

* * *

Leah paused to catch her breath and, hearing the dog’s pathetic whines, looked down. Seeing the hurt confusion in his golden eyes, she spoke quietly to him as she paused to examine his gunshot wound. She knew from the day they’d met on the beach that his name was Ralph. His master’s name was still a mystery.

“It’s okay, Ralphie,” she said quietly as she checked his left hindquarter. Although it was bleeding, she was relieved to see the bullet had only grazed him. “You’re going to be okay, little guy,” she said soothingly. “We can fix that up.” Still, she knew from her nurse’s training that direct pressure was needed to stop the bleeding.

With nothing to use as a bandage, she decided to turn his wounded side toward her midsection. If she could hold him tightly against herself, she might be able to slow down or stop the bleeding. Knowing it was the best she could do and there was no time to waste, she took off running again.

As badly as she felt for the man who had come to her aid—Ralph’s master—she knew that all she could do at this point was to run for her life, as he’d urged her to do. But the memory of those gunshots—after she’d run—was still reverberating through her. What if he’d been killed?

With no time to think about this, she focused on getting herself and Ralph out of harm’s way. If that were even possible. And as she sprinted through the beach grass, she silently prayed for Ralph’s owner. Unless she’d imagined it, the stranger’s eyes had suggested a northward direction, but she had gone the opposite way. Intentionally. Her plan was to cut through the creek and double back in the surf, in an effort to hide her footprints.

* * *

After Jon had gone about half a mile, he knew he needed to tend his wound. Besides the pain, which had subsided some, he knew he was leaving a trail of blood. Fortunately the old plaid flannel shirt he was wearing over his T-shirt could help. He removed it and wrapped it tightly around his thigh, using the sleeves to secure it. If the cop was trailing him—and that was preferable to the man tracking down the woman—he could at least attempt to make it more difficult. And the longer it took the cop to find Jon, the better the chances for the pretty brown-eyed lady—who he hoped was headed in the opposite direction.

The memory of the slender woman dressed in her running clothes shoved roughly against her car by the heavyset cop filled Jon with a fresh sense of outrage. And with his bandage secured, that anger propelled him even faster. Everything about the scene had felt wrong. All wrong. Even if the girl was a wanted felon, which he seriously doubted, the cop had been inappropriately rough. Not to mention inappropriate. Plus he’d broken the law by not reading the girl her Miranda rights or checking her ID. There had been lots of red flags—strong implications that the cop was not on the up-and-up. He remembered his mother’s opinions about the local law enforcement. “Most of them are very good, but there are a few bad apples that spoil everything.”

He really hoped that creep was on his trail right now—and not following the woman. She was obviously kind and sweet and good—she’d taken care to pick up the injured dog. He prayed she was safe—and Ralph, too.

Jon’s plan was to head south until he reached a runoff creek that would conceal his footprints as he turned toward the ocean. And then, with the help of the fog to hide him, he would double back in the surf, erasing his footprints all the way back up the beach. But when he reached the place where the creek trickled through the bluff wall, he heard a rustling noise followed by the sound of stones tumbling down the bluff. Someone was nearby!

Hunkering down in the shadows of some twisted spruce trees, he waited breathlessly. Was it possible the cop was really that fast? The rustling sound grew closer, but because of the wind, he couldn’t determine which direction it was coming from. Fearing the worst, Jon tried to think of a plan. Should he try to sneak up on him? Jump him from behind? Try to get his gun? And then, if he did, what was next? He’d have to figure some way to safely detain the creep and find a place to call for help. But even then, who would he call? What if his mom was right? What if some of the local police were as crooked as this guy? What if they were all in cahoots? Whatever he did, Jon couldn’t let the “cop” take control of the situation. If he did, he’d be dead, for certain.

Just as he was bracing himself for more hand-to-hand combat, he heard a whimpering noise. It sounded like an animal. Cupping his hand to his ear, he listened intently. Ralph? Jon slowly stood and, peering over the tall beach grass, saw a long blonde ponytail blowing in the breeze. It was the runner!

Not wanting to startle her, he controlled himself from rushing at her. Instead, he slowly approached, waving his arms in silence. And when she recognized him, he hurried over.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, relief washing over her face as they crouched down in the tall grass together.

A shock tore through him as he noticed her pale blue shirt soaked with blood. “Were you shot, too?” he quietly demanded.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she said in a hushed tone. “That’s from Ralph.” She pointed to where Ralph was relieving himself in the tall grass. “Just a flesh wound. He’ll be okay.” She glanced down at Jon’s makeshift bandage. “What about you?”

“A flesh wound, too,” he quietly assured her. “I can run fairly well.”

“You and Ralph are fortunate,” she said.

“Yeah. Officer Krantz is a bad shot.”

“Officer Krantz?” she whispered.

“I noticed the name on his badge when we were scuffling.”

“There’s no way he’s a real cop.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Or if he is, he’s a crooked one.” He glanced over his shoulder. “We better get moving. My guess is he’s following. I’d hoped you’d gone the other way.”

“I planned to turn back in a while. I was headed for the creek, hoping to hide my footprints.” She pointed to the fog bank. “Then I was going to cut across the beach and double back in the surf.”

Jon stared at her in wonder. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to do, too.”

“But I thought the creek was closer.” She frowned.

“It’s still about a mile down the beach.” He stooped over to pick up Ralph. “We better get—” He stopped to the sound of rustling grass—and there was no wind blowing. “Go,” he whispered to her. “Fast.”

Before he could stop her, she grabbed Ralph from his arms. And then she took off and he followed. They hadn’t gone twenty feet before he heard the sound of a gunshot—and unless he was wrong, the source was from a high-powered rifle this time—not a revolver. “Stay low,” he called out as he followed her.

Despite the pain in his leg, he knew he had to run with every ounce of his strength. Not that he could keep pace with her. And for that he was glad. If Krantz was going to catch one of them, he wanted it to be him. To his surprise, the woman was heading inland now, going right into the rolling dunes, which would put them out in the open for a few dangerous seconds. But realizing her strategy—hoping to outrun Krantz through the uneven ups and downs of the sand dunes—he followed. Two more shots rang out just as she made it into the cover of the grassy area and one more before he dived into the grass, rolling down the hill toward her. Even though they were leaving a trail by running through the valley in this dune, he knew this was their best hope. To wear Krantz out and to convince him that they were heading for the jetty. If only Jon didn’t expire first.

After about fifteen minutes of running up and down dune hills, the woman stopped to wait for him. He could barely breathe, let alone talk, but he pointed toward the ocean.

“The creek?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded. And now they jogged through another section of dune grass, working their way toward the bluff. Jon’s mind was racing now. Who was this Krantz guy anyway? He had to be involved in something really sinister.

Jon’s chest felt as if it were about to burst as they reached the bluff. To his dismay the fog bank hadn’t made it all the way across the beach yet.

“Do you think we lost him?” the woman asked between breaths.

“Don’t know,” he gasped.

“Should we go for it?” She pointed toward the creek that cut across the beach.

He just nodded. And together they scrambled and slid down the sandstone face of the bluff. When they reached the beach level, he motioned to her to wait, pressing his back against the concave rock wall. Just in case Krantz was up above. Straining his ears, he listened, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the waves. He looked out to where the fog bank was slowly crawling across the sand.

“Should we wait for the fog?” she whispered.

He looked at the bluff overhead, imagining a winded Krantz posted up there with his powerful rifle. They would be easy pickings, making their way through the creek. Jon patted a damp driftwood log that the tide had pushed up against the bluff wall. “Let’s wait.”

“Let me fix that,” she said quietly, pointing to the bandage he’d made from a shirt. “I’m nearly done with nursing school.” She handed Ralph to him. “Might as well put it to use.” She knelt down and went to work.

“Thanks.” He used his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired before.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s not a deep wound.” She bound it up more tightly, tying the sleeves of his shirt into a more secure knot and tucking the loose pieces into his makeshift bandage. “Hopefully that’ll hold awhile.”

Jon held a finger to his lips, nodding to where he thought he’d heard a noise up above them. Just then some small stones tumbled down. He slipped his hand around Ralph’s snout to muzzle him, holding him close to his chest. The sound of barking could prove lethal for all of them right now.

The girl looked down at Ralph and, as if sensing the dog’s fear at being muzzled like this, she gently stroked his head and scratched his ears. Jon could feel the small animal slowly relaxing. And still up against the wall and not moving, they remained silently frozen in place for about ten or fifteen minutes. Long enough to catch their breath, and hopefully long enough for Krantz to move on.

Jon nodded to where the fog was nearly to the bluff. He pointed at the woman now, silently indicating that she should remain put while he ventured out. His thinking was that, if he was visible from the bluff above, he’d make an easy potshot—for someone with good aim, that is. But if the cop was going to take him out, Jon wanted the woman to still have a chance. So, holding the muzzled dog, he headed out in the stream, hoping and praying that the fog was thick enough to conceal him—and at the same time bracing himself for the sound of shots and the impact of bullets...and death. But at least she would be safe...or so he hoped. Why hadn’t he gotten her name?

Finally, just as it grew hard to see her, he waved with one hand, motioning for her to join him—and hoping she would hurry. To his relief, she sprinted through the creek, and now they ran full speed toward the ocean, where their footsteps would be washed away forever. Turning north, they continued running through the surf. But it would be at least an hour before they reached safety—if that were even possible. And that was only if they ran at full speed—which Jon wasn’t sure he could do.

“You’re faster,” Jon said breathlessly. “Take the lead.”

“No,” she firmly told him. “I want to stay with you. Your leg’s wounded.” She held out her hands. “Let me carry Ralph—it’s the least I can do.”

He reluctantly relinquished the dog, trying to run faster, but soon realized it took all his energy just to maintain a fast jog. “What’s your name?” he huffed as he struggled to keep pace with her, water splashing with each step.

“Leah,” she told him. “Leah Hampton.”

“I’m Jon.” He gasped for air. “Jon Wilson.”

“Nice to meet you, Jon.” She smiled, and for a moment he felt the sun had burst through the fog, and his steps grew lighter.

“In a while,” he huffed, “we’ll run—beside the water. The tide—coming in—hide our footprints.”

“Good idea.” She nodded. “We’ll make better time that way.”

“Yeah.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he puffed. “I hope.”

So many questions were tumbling through his head, but it was impossible to ask them. Who was she? Where did she live? Why had she been stopped? It took all his energy just to keep moving—and moving quickly. His only hope was that they would outrun and outwit Krantz. But even if they made it back to his parents’ beach house without being caught or shot, they would still be cut off from most of the world. There was no landline there, and Jon’s cell phone was useless in these parts.

Not only that, but his Fiat was in the garage with its carburetor removed and totally dismantled. It had seemed a good idea yesterday. So, other than his parents’ three-wheeled bikes and his dad’s less than dependable quad runner, they would have no transportation. And the nearest vacation cabins—as far as Jon had observed this past week—were all empty right now. The closest “civilization” was a little mom-and-pop store four miles away that kept random hours in the off-season. And then it was another eight miles to town.

When Jon had asked to borrow his parents’ beach cabin as a “getaway” he hadn’t planned on getting away quite like this. He peered through the fog toward the dark shadow of the bluff that ran alongside the beach. In places where the fog was patchy, he could see clear to the top of it. Could Krantz see them, too?

“We gotta move faster,” he huffed at Leah, as if she were the one slowing them down, when he knew she could’ve been a mile ahead by now.

“Here.” She held Ralph close to her with one arm, hooking the other arm into his, and then, keeping stride—pace for pace—she gradually increased the speed, pushing him harder and harder. If the crazy cop didn’t shoot him, he’d probably drop dead from a heart attack right here on the beach before long. But at least he’d have a beautiful woman by his side.