Читать книгу Witness On The Run - Susan Cliff - Страница 15

Tala ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.

Even though Cam had made it clear that he didn’t expect her to sleep with him, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. She shouldn’t have come here. Now she felt trapped. She was at his mercy.

What if he made a pass at her? He might think she was fair game for a one-night stand, despite his reassurances. The poor guy’s wife had died. He was lonely. He was young and strong and healthy. It was only natural for him to seek out female company, and he liked her. She could see it in his eyes. When his gaze settled on her, awareness sizzled done her spine. Because she liked him, too.

She studied her anxious expression in the mirror, feeling conflicted. She wished she’d asked him to take her to the airport. She could have spent the night on the benches. It wouldn’t have been comfortable, but she’d endured worse. At the airport, there were multiple exits. If she needed to, she could run.

Cam wasn’t holding her against her will, of course. She’d agreed to stay with him. She didn’t think he was a physical threat. It wasn’t so much that she was afraid of him. She was afraid of men, period. She was afraid of letting down her guard, and of getting attached. She hadn’t escaped Duane to become reliant on another man. She couldn’t make that mistake again. She had to take care of herself before she could feel safe with anyone else.

She turned away from the mirror and stripped off her clothes. As she stepped into the shower, memories from this morning crept up on her. She started shivering again, even though the water was piping hot. When she closed her eyes, she imagined the scene in the parking lot. Blood spraying from the gunshot wound, spreading from the body in a dark circle. She scrubbed at her skin, as if the trauma had sullied her.

After she rinsed off, she felt lightheaded and slightly nauseated. She stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around her body. She didn’t have anything to wear besides her uniform, which wouldn’t double as pajamas. Her tights were ruined, so she tossed them in the trash. Then she washed her underwear in the sink. They were nylon, so they’d dry by morning. She hung them on the hook behind the door.

She was reluctant to leave the bathroom without clothes on, but whatever. She’d have to climb into bed in her towel. Maybe Cam wouldn’t notice. Maybe he wasn’t that interested. She’d been told she was pretty often enough, but she’d also been told otherwise. Duane had yelled at her to shut her ugly mouth, or move her skinny ass. She didn’t think she was ugly, and she definitely wasn’t skinny, but his criticism had eroded her self-confidence.

Tension welled up inside her. A part of her wanted Cam to find her attractive. She just didn’t want him to do anything about it. She hoped he wouldn’t consider her near nudity a sign of encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and ventured out. She tried not to worry about Cam’s reaction, or overestimate her appeal. With her tangled hair and skinned knees, she wasn’t some irresistible femme fatale. He might not look twice at her.

As it turned out, Cam didn’t look once. Because he wasn’t there.

She clutched the towel to her chest, bewildered. He must have gone outside. There was no reason to run for cover now, so she stood in front of the fireplace. It was crackling with new flames, bright and warm. If Cam didn’t return, she’d spend the night in the cabin and figure out her next step in the morning. She’d have to look for work at another café or diner. While she finger-combed her hair, letting it dry, she became aware of a familiar sound. Someone was splitting wood. She approached the window and peeked through the curtains.

It was Cam. He swung the ax in powerful strokes, bringing it down hard. When he had a nice stack of split pieces, he carried them to the shed. Then he started over. He set a punishing pace, his brow furrowed. She didn’t know what demons were inside him, or why he worked so hard for physical release, but she enjoyed watching him. His strength was impressive and his tortured-soul expression captivated her imagination. She assumed he was still grieving. He was still in love with his late wife. That was why he didn’t want to “trade services” with Tala. That was why he seemed so detached and alone.

She left the window, her heart heavy, and sat down to fix her hair. She made two braids and secured the tails. She hadn’t worn her hair like this since she’d left Canada. She hadn’t wanted to look Indian while she was hiding out in Alaska, but she was proud of her heritage. The blood of her ancestors flowed strong and true inside her. Unlike her self-esteem, it could never be weakened or changed. It could never be beaten.

Cam came in from the cold, breathing hard. His face was flushed from exertion. He had a duffel bag in his hands. He did a quick scan of her towel-clad form. Then he unzipped the bag and took out a red-checked flannel. He thrust it at her, averting his gaze. “You can wear this to sleep in.”

She accepted the shirt with gratitude.

“I’m going to shower,” he muttered, and ducked into the bathroom.

After the door closed, she brought the flannel to her nose and inhaled. It smelled nice, like cozy man and laundry detergent. She put on the shirt, securing the buttons. Then she climbed into bed and stared up at the log-beam ceiling. Her thoughts whirled around and around before settling on the obvious. She pictured Cam naked in a soapy lather. She wondered if he was hard-muscled all over, or if he carried most of his strength in his arms. Was he hairy, with a thick pelt on his chest to match his beard? Maybe he had ugly feet. She smiled at the thought. Surely he had flaws. He was just a man like any other.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she had to revise her opinion. He was shirtless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. She couldn’t find a single imperfection. Splitting wood had brought his muscles into sharp definition. His shoulders were broad, his stomach tight. His biceps looked as hard and crisp as McIntosh apples. The smattering of hair across his chest didn’t qualify as a pelt, but it added to his rugged masculinity.

He turned off the lights and headed toward the other bed, ignoring her. She watched him get settled under the blankets. They were quiet for several moments. She listened to the wood crackle and pop in the fireplace.

It became clear that he wasn’t going to try to climb into bed with her. She didn’t have to worry about him demanding sexual favors in exchange for the ride to Fairbanks. Maybe she’d mistaken simple kindness for desire on his part.

Maybe he didn’t want her.

She should have been relieved by his decency. She could relax now that she knew where she stood with him. For some reason, she felt sad and restless. Although she was exhausted, sleep wouldn’t come.

She turned toward him in the dark. The light from the fire didn’t reach his face. Although she couldn’t see his features, she sensed his tension. The reason for it eluded her. He hadn’t seemed anxious before they entered the cabin. Something had triggered him. While she showered, he’d gone outside to chop wood in a frenzy. “Are you awake?”

“No,” he said in a clipped tone.

She smiled at his curt response.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“What happened to your wife?”

He paused for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “She was in an accident. Hit-and-run. They rushed her to the hospital and tried to save her. She was in a coma for a few months.”

“She never woke up?”

“No. She didn’t.”

Her heart constricted with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Is that why you came to Alaska?”

“Yes.”

“You needed to get away from the bad memories.”

He shifted on the mattress, seeming uncomfortable. “I thought if I kept moving, I could...move on.”

“Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

He fell silent again.

“It’s okay to grieve, even for a long time.”

“Let’s talk about you,” he said.

“Me?”

“You’re on the run for a reason.”

It was her turn to be quiet.

“You won’t tell me about it?”

“No.”

“You don’t trust me?”

That wasn’t it. Right now, in the dark of the cabin, with flames crackling in the fireplace, she trusted him. She didn’t think he would hurt her or take advantage of her. But she also couldn’t expect him to rescue her from this mess. She had to rescue herself.

“I don’t want to involve you,” she said finally.

“Why not?”

“It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe I can help.”

She shook her head in denial. “I just have to lay low for a while. I’ve done it before.”

He grunted at this admission, as if it didn’t surprise him.

“I’ll be okay. I can find a job.”

“Where?”

“At a diner.”

“A diner with no cops or truckers? Good luck with that.”

“I’m not worried about truckers.”

“You should be, because they’ll recognize you.”

“So?”

“They’ll talk about you on the radio.”

“They will not.”

“Sure they will. They already do. I’ve heard them.”

She moistened her lips, incredulous. “What do they say?”

“Complimentary things. Some of it’s a little crude.”

Those bastards. She curled her hands into fists. If truckers talked about her on the radio, she’d be in trouble. Anyone could listen to those stations, including the cops—and the killers. But maybe Walt was okay, and no one would come looking for her. Maybe no one would worry about a missing waitress.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find work on your back, if nothing else.”

She sat up in bed, her eyes narrow. He wasn’t insulting her to be mean. He thought he was helping her. “You’re trying to scare me into going to the police.”

“You should go to the police.”

“Why do you care?”

He tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t know.”

She settled back down and hugged a pillow to her chest. Cam meant well, but she didn’t trust the police. She could take care of herself. Cam felt responsible for her because he’d given her a ride, and now she was like...his cargo. He wanted to deliver her safely. But she knew better than to expect him to stick around.

He was a trucker. He’d move on in the morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to rest. Visions of murder and violence plagued her. She burrowed deeper in the blankets. When she finally drifted off, the nightmares closed in. She was back at the diner. There was a bloody pile of innards sizzling on the griddle. She plated the mess and took it out to her customers. The killers were sitting at a table in the parking lot. She dropped the tray and started running, but her legs didn’t work. She couldn’t escape, so she climbed inside the dumpster to hide.

Walt was at the bottom. He’d been disemboweled.

She let out a terrified shriek, covering her mouth. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was Duane.

“I knew I’d find you in the trash with another man.”

He struck her across the cheek, and everything went black.

Tala woke up screaming. Her skin crawled with creepy sensations, and blankets were tangled around her ankles. She kicked them aside to free herself, flinging out her hands. She connected with someone, but it wasn’t Duane. It was Cam.

He put his arms around her. “Shh. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

She stopped struggling and went quiet. It was dark in the room. She could see the pleasant glow of the fire in the hearth. The only sound was her ragged breathing. A sob rose up to her throat. The breakdown she’d been fighting all day caught up to her with a vengeance. She couldn’t prevent the tears from coming, and they were long overdue. She hadn’t cried since she’d left Duane.

Cam stroked her hair and made soothing noises.

She finally calmed down enough to speak. “Walt was in the dumpster. He was dead.”

“It was just a dream.”

“Duane was there, too. He hit me.”

“Did he?”

She heard the edge in his voice and eased away from him. There were tissues on the nightstand, next to a bottle of cold water. She used a tissue and took a soothing drink. Little by little, her tears abated.

“Better now?”

“Yes.”

“Duane is your husband?”

“He was.”

“Are you divorced?”

“Not legally, but I left him.”

“Because he hit you?”

Her stomach clenched with unease. It was a deeply personal question, but they weren’t strangers anymore. They’d passed that point and entered another territory. He’d opened up to her about his wife. She’d wept in his arms.

She’d never told anyone about the abuse she’d suffered in her short marriage. She’d been too ashamed. Her father had raised her to be strong and proud. She wasn’t the victim type. She was a survivor, and a fighter. Somehow Duane had taken that away from her.

Maybe talking about him would help her get it back. He didn’t deserve to be protected. She couldn’t excuse his actions, and she was done keeping his secrets.

“He was abusive,” she said, letting out a slow breath. “Mentally and physically.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A cold calm passed over her, and she nodded. “He got more violent and controlling as time went on. It was so gradual, I almost didn’t notice it. Or I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Then he snapped, and I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening anymore.”

“What do you mean, he snapped?”

“Well, he changed after we got married. It wasn’t a huge transformation, because he’d always had a temper. He’d yell at me and act jealous and get drunk and stupid. I thought it was regular boyfriend stuff. Then we got married, and we moved to a very rural area. He started treating me like his property, instead of his wife. He’d have these dark moods that scared me. He didn’t want me to leave the house without permission. One day, I snuck out to go to the library. When I got back, he hit me.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I was too stunned to move. He cried and begged me to forgive him. He said he’d never do it again.”

“But he did.”

“Yes.”

“Is he a cop?”

She was startled by the question. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch. Go on.”

“We stayed together for a few more months. He flew into another jealous rage and hid my purse so I couldn’t go anywhere. I realized things weren’t going to get better. The next time he hit me, I hit him back.”

“What happened?”

She touched her face, remembering. “I bloodied his nose. I don’t think he expected that, and he got really mad. He knocked me out. As soon as I could move, I packed a bag. I left in the middle of the night while he was sleeping.”

“How did you get to Alaska?”

“I stowed away in a trailer.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I wasn’t planning on leaving Canada. I thought the trucker was going south. Instead he went west, and here I am.”

“Are you here illegally?”

She shook her head. “Have you ever heard of the Jay Treaty?”

“No.”

“It allows First Nations people the right to come to the US from Canada and vice versa. There’s really no such thing as an undocumented Indian, but I don’t have my tribal card or any ID to prove my status. I left everything in Canada.’

“I’m glad you escaped.”

“So am I.”

She looked away, contemplative. Cam didn’t seem to think less of her for having an abusive husband. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but a part of her felt responsible for what had happened. She should have been smarter, and more aware of Duane’s true nature. She shouldn’t have rushed into marriage. She should have identified the threat sooner.

Tala closed her eyes to clear the bad memories. Her relationship with Duane was over. She’d left him, and she’d never have to suffer his abuse again.

Unfortunately, she’d traded up as far as personal problems went. Now she had to worry about the other men she was running from.

Goose bumps broke out across her flesh. She’d kicked off the blankets in the throes of her nightmare. Her legs were bare and cold. So was Cam’s chest, she realized with a start. She’d been too distressed to notice that before. The faint glow of the fire revealed an intimate scene. They were in bed together, close enough to touch. He was shirtless, his torso outlined against the pale sheets. She was wearing his flannel without a stitch underneath. She tugged the comforter back into place, flushing.

“I should let you sleep,” Cam said.

“Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”

He glanced in her direction, brow furrowed. He seemed uncomfortable with her proximity, and was possibly confused about what she wanted from him. Tala struggled to pinpoint it herself. She knew he was hung up on his wife, and not interested in sex. Or not interested in her. Whatever his reasons, she felt safe with him.

She wouldn’t drag him into her problems, but she could ask him for one small thing. “Will you...hold me?”

He drew in a ragged breath, as if tortured by the thought.

“Just until I fall asleep,” she said, to make her wishes clear. “Nothing more.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She searched his features in the dark, uncertain what he meant. His eyes glinted with something she’d seen before. Something he’d been trying to hide. The desire she’d sensed earlier flared between them, like a new spark.

He wasn’t so disinterested.

She altered her request. “Can I hold you?”

After a short hesitation, he rolled onto his side, facing away from her. She hugged his back, spoon-style. It was the best of both worlds. She could cuddle him and enjoy the simple pleasure of human touch without worrying about him getting aroused. He could lay there and be her teddy bear, no strings attached.

She slipped her arm around him and closed her eyes. He was warm and hard-muscled. Solidly built, like a protective shield. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, strong and sure. He covered her hand with his and linked their fingers together. Her throat tightened with emotion. She hadn’t felt peace or contentment in such a long time. His presence filled an empty place inside her she hadn’t known was there.

She savored him for as long as she could before she fell asleep.