Page 13 of Love on the Run

“Why?”

“From what she said, there was at least one person who seemed to keep pretty close tabs on her.”

“Husband? Boyfriend?” Ty queried, unsurprised. Runaways were a common theme in his line of work.

“Second one.”

“Maybe he’s glad she’s gone.”

“I don’t know. He could have not wanted to report it. According to her, he doesn’t like the police.” Jake remembered what Callie had said about him carrying a gun all the time.

“We’re so misunderstood,” Ty intoned with mock despair. “Search is narrowed. You looking for a guy in Orange County who’s got some serious problems? I think I found your man. Drugs, weapons, resisting arrest.” Ty fell silent, reading what he found. “Looks like he was part of an operation moving heroin up from Mexico a few years ago. No charges, but the investigating officer’s notes are colorful. They couldn’t make the charge stick, looks like. Guy must have had a good lawyer.”

“Huh,” Jake frowned. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I guess I don’t really know what I’m asking for. Though that does help a little.”

“Tell you what, I’ll run the same names for the next couple of days. The plates too. Maybe something’s working its way through the system.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem. And I won’t mention it.”

“I appreciate that as well.”

Jake hung up, and sat back in his chair. Probably, he was overthinking the whole situation. His past as a marshal was making him think of Callie as a suspect, not a victim. But he also knew that he reacted very strongly to her, and that in itself made him suspicious. He was sure she was hiding something, more than just a bad relationship. He wanted to find out what.

* * * *

Callie had fallen asleep soon after Jake had left, though her dreams were anxious and confused, breaking up her slumber. She tossed restlessly, hoping to outrun whatever dark thing was chasing her. She slipped on something wet and shiny, then looked down to see the shape of a man on the ground. She moaned a little, wanting to back away. But she was frozen, all except her pounding heart.

She woke up when Bruiser’s wet nose nudged her arm. Momentarily disoriented, she forgot where she was and looked around the house, practically a log cabin, thinking it must be a movie set.

“No crew,” she muttered, even as the memory of Jake came flooding back.She was in a real house, owned by a real person, who was a real cop.

“What did you manage to screw up this time, Callie?” she asked herself.Oh, yes, the kiss.She had probably freaked him out properly. She wondered what he would tell his wife, or girlfriend.Bruiser nudged her again, and she remembered he’d said it was only him and Bruiser living there.Maybe he didn’t have a girlfriend to get angry at him. Callie couldn’t picture a guy who looked like Jake staying single, though.

Pushing the thought out of her mind, she got up and made her way downstairs to the bathroom, but was distracted by the sight of the main bedroom. Feeling like an intruder, she tried not to notice anything about the bedroom, until a shelf of photos caught her eye.Against her better sense, she stepped in for a closer look. One was of two kids, a boy and girl who might have been twins, beaming at the camera.The picture was in a handmade frame with the wordsMerry Christmas!spelled out in glittery yarn around the edge.The one next to it showed the same two kids with a couple who must be their parents. The man’s coloring was so like Jake’s that he must have been a brother.

Then there was one of Jake himself, though looking a little younger, standing with a taller black man who had a shaved head. They were both in uniform, and each was pointing to a patch on their sleeves and grinning.Callie squinted at the photo until she made out the word “Ranger” on the patch.He’d been in the Army, he said, and he looked it.

Finally, there was a small photo with Jake holding a Bruiser-colored puppy, with the words “Happy Birthday, Uncle Jake” scrawled in childish writing. Callie smiled, picturing the children in the first photo trying to wrap up a puppy as a birthday present. She wondered where they lived, and if it was nearby.Then she realized that she was poking around in his personal history, so she dropped her eyes and headed back toward the bathroom.The sooner she got out of this room the better.While there was no reason to think Jake would come back and find her looking at his stuff, she didn’t want to leave any openings for him to see her as a nutcase. He must already consider her unbalanced or dim—even if he believed her story.And she wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t.

Back in the living room, Callie stared out the wide windows, which gave a spectacular view of the mountains in the distance. Had she really gotten away? Was it possible that Malcolm could find her even when she herself didn’t know where she was?

Hazelton, Jake had said.She wondered if he had a map somewhere in the house, but she was afraid to open any drawers. Her eye fell on a bookshelf on the opposite wall.She walked over, and yes, there was an atlas jammed onto one of the shelves.She found the page with Montana and spent a good twenty minutes pouring over it until a tiny dot labeled Hazelton popped out at her, nearly lost amid smudges of mountain ranges covering the page.She flipped back to the large US map in the front and traced the roads back to LA.She’d driven that far?Callie couldn’t believe it.

She’d been panicked, unthinking.She had driven to her own apartment first, only to rip off the stupid dress and to fix her leg. Thank goodness her roommate had been out at the time; Callie had no idea what she would have told her. She had hurled a few items into her bag—she couldn’t even remember thinking what to take. The voice in her head told her to drive. So she got back in the car and drove. She’d been afraid to stop for food, stopping for gas only when the tank was nearly dry. And only once did she remember pulling off at a rest stop—had it been in Nevada?—for a few hours’ nap. It was there that she’d replaced the nasty cloth bandage with a new one, jerry-rigged out of a fresh t-shirt. The bleeding had mostly stopped by then, though the area throbbed with pain. She should have found a hospital right then. But the panic had stayed with her, and she was terrified of going anywhere that would ask for her name. So she’d started driving again, still without a plan, until it was dark, in the middle of nowhere, and she’d finally pulled off the road, too exhausted to go further.And then the sudden pounding on her window.Jake, the cop, who in the end took her to a doctor, and found out her name.

Callie shook herself, trying to think clearly.Hunger crept up on her, so she walked over to the kitchen.Bruiser followed her, seeming to think it was snack time.She found some breakfast cereal in a cabinet, and had two bowls of it. Even the innocent search for a spoon made her feel like a prowler again. Shefeltthe silence and remoteness of this place as the darkness set in.She flicked some lights on, hoping to make the place cozy.

It actually was cozy, with the mountain cabin vibe it had, anyway. The place was not large, despite the awe-inspiring view from the living room of the big twilight sky. A kitchen, the bedroom, an office, and then the loft up above.If there was a basement, she didn’t see a way into it.The furniture seemed old, like hand-me-downs, and showed signs of wear. Nothing was shabby, but it was no show house. The only art objects to be seen were the papers clinging to the refrigerator—products of school kids, perhaps the children in the picture. Jake certainly didn’t go for the ostentatious life.

Something in Callie reacted to the warmth of the little house, and she was almost afraid to open the door outside. Eventually, though, Bruiser made it clear that he wanted to go out. Callie found a pair of jeans in her duffel and struggled into them, wincing when she pulled the relatively tight fabric past the bandage.

She couldn’t find a leash for the dog, but she was unwilling to pry further into Jake’s things. She figured it would be okay to let him run loose. What harm could he do in the wilderness? Woman and dog slipped out of the side door into a late Montana evening. The sky was purple with the very last hints of sunlight. Callie took a deep breath and sighed. The air had a honey-sweet quality, a scent of pollen and drying grasses. Bruiser, after marking a tree or two, started running around in huge circles. Callie laughed loudly at the dog’s antics. She noticed the echo of her laugh in the wide open space outside Jake’s house and caught herself. But reserve wasn’t necessary out here. She could laugh as loud as she wanted. Apart from Jake’s place, there were no houses close by. A few lights from another home twinkled off in the far distance, but the house was effectively in its own world. She walked around the building, seeing that it had been carefully designed so that the best view was the one from the living room...not that any of the views were bad. Aside from a tiny tool shed near the driveway, the house was the only structure she could actually see. Talk about solitude. What kind of person chose to live in such isolation? A person like Jake, obviously. And why was she suddenly asking herself if she might also be that kind of person?

“I could stay here,” she whispered out loud, trying out the idea. Malcolm would never look here. If not this town, then one like it. She could become a new person, work as a waitress for cash, maybe. In a few years, she’d be forgotten. “I could start over.” Then she felt her jaw clench. She’d seen a murder. Malcolm would never forget her.

Disturbed, Callie whistled for Bruiser, who bounded up to her happily, panting from his exertions. She herded him back inside, unwillingly turning her back on the pristine beauty of the mountains. As much as she would love to stay outside, she needed to focus on the moment. Jake had quite possibly saved her life, but she knew it was only a temporary reprieve. She had to figure out how to get moving again, and how to stay ahead of her past. And she had to do it on her own.

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