Dead Running Read online

  Dead Running

  by

  Cami Checketts

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dead Running

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 Camille Coats Checketts

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Birch River Publishing

  Contact information: [email protected]

  Cover design by Janna Barlow

  Edited by Nancy Felt

  [email protected]

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Learning to Run

  The First Race

  Admitting the Truth

  The Preparation

  Searching for Support

  Week One

  Week Two

  Week Three

  The First Date

  Week Four

  Week Five

  Week Six

  Week Seven

  Week Eight

  Discovering the Truth

  Humiliation Galore

  Week Nine

  Week Eleven

  Weeks Twelve and Thirteen

  Week Fourteen

  Week Fifteen

  Week Sixteen

  Post Marathon Party-I Wish

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To all of my boys. I love the five of you more than you know.

  To Richelle, the best running buddy a girl could ask for. Thanks for helping me solve the world’s problems as we pound through the miles.

  Learning to Run

  I inched down another stair, hoping the soft creaks wouldn’t give me away to whoever was arguing in my living room. My dad was visiting me this week, gathering medical supplies for another one of his projects. I’d been gracious and allowed him to host his meetings in my living room. The support from the medical community in our little corner of Northern Utah was actually impressive, but did one of the doctors have to show up in the middle of the night?

  I was in that luscious almost-asleep phase when I heard the banging on my front door and crawled out of bed. Irritation turned to fear as I listened to the conversation. The man threatening Dad wasn’t one of his supporters.

  “You interfered with the wrong shipment this time.”

  “Shipment?” Dad asked. “These are human beings, not some profit margin.”

  I reached the bottom step and peeked around the wall. My dad stood near the fireplace with a mixture of shock and revulsion on his sunburned face.

  Just inside the front door, a man peeked out from the shadow of a hooded sweatshirt. He yanked out a wicked-looking blade. I covered my mouth to stifle the scream. My stomach knotted. My legs felt like ice. I didn’t know if I could move, let alone help.

  The knife sailed through the air. My father darted to the side. The blade jabbed into his upper arm. Dad yelped. The pain in his face lodged in my own gut. He grabbed at his arm and yanked the knife out, spraying the wall with blood. My dad’s blood. Help. I had to do something.

  The hooded figure closed the distance and wrenched the weapon from dad’s fingers, lifting it above his head.

  “No!” I leapt from my hiding spot, grabbed a heavy picture frame off the end table, and smacked the man with it.

  “Cassidy!” Dad inhaled quickly, hazel eyes widening.

  The attacker knocked the picture frame out of my hands and pointed the bloody knife my direction. Dark eyes swept over the skin not covered by my t-shirt and cut-off sweats. I squirmed, his look scaring me as much as his knife. I backed up a step, eyes focused on the blade.

  My dad planted himself between me and the man.

  The man’s white teeth flashed against leathery skin. “She’s beautiful, Doc.” His tongue darted across his lower lip. “The dark hair and pretty brown eyes. Looks just like her mom.”

  Dad held up his uninjured arm and shoved me behind him, his breath coming in ragged gulps. “Leave her out of this, Panetti.”

  Panetti cocked his head to the side. “I’m supposed to kill you, but I could bring her in alive for some extra compensation. How old are you, sweetheart?”

  I glared at him over my dad’s shoulder. “Twenty-one and going nowhere with you. Get out of my house before I call the police.” It was a lame threat since I was visibly shaking and had no clue where my phone was.

  The man threw back his head and laughed. “I like her, a bit of attitude. Ramirez and I will both enjoy her.”

  I swallowed the sickening taste of his threat. Sweat trickled down my spine. I clung to my injured dad, who was currently no match for this psycho. How could I protect either of us?

  “You’ll never touch her.” Dad pushed me toward the kitchen doorway. “I can’t believe you would betray the children for Ramirez.”

  “Not for Ramirez. I betrayed the children for lots and lots of money.” Panetti revealed his perfect teeth again.

  Dad looked back at me. “Run,” he whispered.

  I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. No matter how scared I was I couldn’t leave him.

  “Run, Cassie!” He shoved me and faced the madman.

  Panetti let out a warrior cry and lunged with the knife. Dad ducked. The blade sliced air instead of flesh, throwing Panetti off balance. Dad plowed into the man’s abdomen, knocking him into the front door. I screamed, running towards them to try to help.

  “Get out of here,” Dad yelled.

  Stumbling away from the fight, I slammed into the wall. A yell of pain from my dad forced me to keep moving. I ran into the kitchen and nearly collapsed with relief when I saw my phone. Placing all my hopes and prayers on three numbers, I stilled my trembling hands enough to dial: 9-1-1.

  The call connected. “A guy is trying to kill my dad!” Grunts and the sound of bodies slamming into furniture reassured me Dad was still alive. I told the dispatcher my address, but then she started asking more questions.

  “I’ve got to help my dad.”

  “Officers are en route.”

  “Good!” I clung to the phone but stopped listening as I sprinted back into the living room. Dad was on top of Panetti. The knife was on the floor, Panetti reaching for it. I covered the last couple of feet, kicked the knife farther away, and stomped on his hand with my bare foot. Pain radiated up through my leg but I heard a crunch that hopefully meant I did some damage. How awful that I really wanted to hurt him.

  I held up my phone. “The police will be here any second.”

  Dad strained to keep Panetti pinned. “Go back to the kitchen.”

  “I am not going to the kitchen while you fight for your life.”

  “Cassidy,” Dad groaned. “For once in your life listen to me.”

  Panetti shoved Dad off of him. Dad banged his injured arm against the sofa, blood mingling with the leather finish as he yelped in pain. Panetti leaped to his feet, pushed me out of the way, and ran for the front door. Dad struggled to stand up. I regained my footing and hurried after Panetti, but Dad grabbed my arm before I got outside, allowing Panetti to disappear into the darkness.

  “We should go after him,” I said.

  “Not tonight.” Dad shut the front door and slid to the floor, clutching his bleeding arm. “I’ll find him.” The sheer determination in his eyes made me glad I wasn’t Panetti.

  “That guy wasn’t one of your Mexican orphanage supporters.”

  Dad laughed, patting the floor next to him.

  I clenched my hands together to stop the shaking. A few more deep breaths and I might feel like I wasn’t going to pass out. “You need something for the blood.”

  He reached up a hand to me. “I’ll be okay. It’s you I’m worried about.” I sank next to him and thre
w my arms around his neck. My entire body was trembling now. Dad patted my back and whispered that I was safe. It was exactly what I needed to hear, but still had a hard time believing. Several minutes later I could hear sirens approaching the house. I wiped at my nose and bit my lip to hold back more tears. “Someday you’re going to tell me what that was all about.”

  Dad shook his head. “Hopefully you’ll never know.”

  The First Race

  (Four Years Later)

  Step after excruciating step, I slammed one foot after another into the ground. My uneven stride rattled my dental fillings. I prayed for the pain to end, but no, voluntary torture just doesn’t work that way. How had Raquel talked me into this?

  “You gonna make it, Cassie?” Raquel asked.

  I scowled at my pregnant sister-in-law. She ran effortlessly by my side, up this mountainous 5K route that somebody at the starting line had the gall to claim was an easy race. “I’ll hop on your back and make it just fine.” The words distorted as I sucked in air.

  “The turn around is just around this next bend,” Raquel said, “and then we get to fly downhill.” She actually had the nerve to flap her arms. “You’re doing great. Remember how Dory helped you on our training runs?” Raquel continued in a singsong voice, “‘Just keep running, just keep running, run, run, run, run, run.’”

  “Shut it, on the Dory,” I yelled. Within milliseconds I regretted my wordsnot the rudeness, but the irreplaceable loss of oxygen. I gasped and saw black, but somehow kept putting one foot in front of the other while Finding Nemo pounded through my eardrums. Teach me to mouth off.

  “Okay, no Dory,” Raquel said, but she kept humming the tune.

  How could she run, talk, not get irritated with me, and look fabulous? She was four months along and still running me into the pavement.

  “Look at the bright side.” Raquel grinned. “You’re almost to the mile and a half mark and haven’t thrown up on anyone yet.”

  Not appreciating the reminder of my high school humiliation, I didn’t respond.

  “Here’s the turn-around,” Raquel said.

  I followed her in a U-pattern, and thanks to someone in heaven who was interested in Cassidy’s well-being, we started going downhill. I thought it would get easier, but that would be asking too much of my guardian angels.

  We ran faster.

  The rushing of the nearby river urged me on. Raquel’s pace wouldn’t allow me to slow down. Other runners streamed past me, battering my pride. I had a degree in exercise science, for heaven's sake, I couldn’t let a pregnant lady and a sixty-year old man show me up, but my legs screamed that if we didn’t break into a walk soon they may never produce forward momentum again.

  I lengthened my stride to try and lessen the discomfort. My leg knocked into a runner coming up fast behind me. I lost my balance and flipped forward. Asphalt rushed up to greet me, thrusting my hands out did little to break my fall. Skin meeting pavement trumped the agony of my 140-pound frame slamming into the ground. Pinpricks of pain screamed from my hands to my knees.

  “Cassidy!” Raquel cried, pivoting back to me.

  Choking on my own saliva, I rolled over and sat up. Ugly road-rash covered my hands, forearms, and knees. A beefy palm gripped my stinging elbow, jerking me onto my feet without consent. “You okay?”

  I stared into the scarred face of a Nasty Muscle Man, from his bald head to his thick fingers he looked like he could easily pick me up and drown me in the river. Scarier still, he looked like he wanted to.

  “Um, yeah.” I shook off his hand with a grimace.

  “Are you all right?” Raquel asked.

  I nodded, terrified by the way the big guy, with scars on his face that were probably made by sharp knives, and his lanky buddy, who looked like he'd slicked his hair with nonstick cooking spray, were studying me. Hunger radiated from their eyes. Escape was my only desire. Bloody abrasions forgotten, I threw my legs into motion.

  Raquel was by my side in seconds and we sprinted until my legs felt like limp noodles. Sweat rolled into open wounds. My hair escaped from the ponytail. Yanking the mass loose, I tried to refasten my wad of dark hair. The extra effort cost me more energy than the annoyance was worth. “Are they still,” I caught a quick breath, “watching us?” I needed to stop and nurse my wounds, but couldn’t face those men again.

  Raquel glanced back. “They’re gone. That’s weird.”

  I looked over my shoulder. The spot where I’d tripped was still visible but the men were not. Where could they have disappeared to?

  “You want to stop?” Raquel asked.

  “No. I’d rather spew on my high school fantasy again,” I took a quick breath and then spit out, “than have those two stare at me again.”

  Raquel laughed. “Gotcha.”

  A man buzzed past us, all sinewy legs and broad shoulders. Fine-Looking Runner Man almost erased the pain of my recent injuries. How had I missed this perfect specimen on the way up the canyon?

  I found enough air for a soft whistle and a muttered, “Nice calves.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a grin and a wink before racing down the road.

  I increased my leg speed. The cuts in my knees only stung a little. “Catch . . . him.”

  Raquel chuckled. “Honey, even if you could catch him, you couldn’t beat him.”

  Not comprehending, I stared at her.

  “He’s running the 10K not the 5.”

  “Seriously?” My mind whirled trying to make sense of it. We were barely past halfway. My little incident had taken some time and there’d been a few people passing us. Well, more than a few, but no one who had to run twice as far up the canyon before they turned around. I groaned and tried to increase my pace.

  Fine-Looking Runner Man powered up an incline that I would need climbing ropes and grappling irons to conquer. My heart stopped. I pointed. “Do we have to . . . ?”

  Raquel laughed. “No. That’s how I knew he was running the 10K. We run back down the canyon to where we started.”

  I exhaled. “Thank heavens.” I took a large breath and then shot out the words, “I was prepared to strangle you.”

  “Glad we avoided that.” Raquel gestured to the green boughs sagging over our heads. “Isn’t this beautiful?” she said. “Do you see why I love running this canyon?”

  “Yup,” I muttered, thinking anyone who ran this incline twice in their lifetime was insane. The agony obliterated the enjoyment of hills covered with greenery, natural shelter from the sun, and silence from traffic and people.

  Raquel surveyed my injuries while we ran. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live.” The scratches weren’t deep. Although I wanted her to feel guilty for getting me into this misery, I was more worried about those men finding me again.

  Ritzy homes, hidden by the canyon foliage, shrunk in stature and appeared more frequently. I remembered this spot from the run up the canyon. Hope spiked. Somebody in heaven did love me. Minutes later, the finishing tunnel beaconed. My mouth watered at the sight of it. A hundred more feet and my aching body would find solace.

  “Finish strong,” Raquel said. “Let’s see those horse legs in action.”

  I dug deep, pumping my arms and lengthening my stride into full sprinter mode. Trees and people flew by as I gasped for air and pushed myself onto glory. I could hear Raquel’s loud breathing behind me. Raquel was behind me? The mere thought gave me energy. I dashed through the finish-line tunnel, enjoying the claps and hoots from the onlookers. Raising my hands, I crossed the white line and allowed myself to slow down. Walking was bliss. I did a bow for my admirers, climbed over the low fence that surrounded Mack Park, and collapsed onto the grass.

  Raquel appeared above me seconds later. Hands on knees, she gulped deep breaths and drummed up a smile. “Good job. I always knew you had horse legs.”

  I lay there, sweat dripping down me. I’d just beat myself up for sport. Odd that I also felt pretty darn proud. “You know it,” I said.
“I had to use ‘em so I could kick your tail.” Never mind the fact that Raquel had held back to stay by my side.

  Raquel tossed her highlighted twists of brown and gold. She smirked at me. “Try the race next year when I’m not pregnant.”

  I groaned and pushed to a seated position. “If you ever get me to run another race, I’ll do it in Princess Leia braids.”

  She giggled. “That I’d like to see.”

  I was distracted by a well-built man with deeply-tanned skin approaching us. His dark hair was just long enough to curl slightly and make me want to touch it. He reached out his hand and lifted me the rest of the way from the ground. I teetered as I gawked into deep brown eyes and a smile that made me feel like I was sprinting again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  The depths of his baritone rolled over me, rendering me speechless.

  He arched an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Ma’am?”

  “Ma’am?” I choked on the word. “Do I look like a ma’am to you?”

  A grin crinkled his olive skin and I decided he could call me anything he wanted to. My eyes trailed from the strong planes of his face along his upper body. The well-toned muscles of his arms were plastered with tattoos.

  One or two tattoos? Could be attractive. Not an inch of flesh showing through the ink? A bit much for me. I swallowed hard and met his gaze.

  He’d noticed my reaction, his eyes cooled from hot fudge to obsidian. “I’m a surgeon,” he said, “I was going to offer my services.”

  “As long as it’s not as a tattoo artist.” I bit my lip the instant the words escaped.

  His eyebrows shot upwards. “Excuse me?”

  Raquel caught my gaze and shook her head. She waved to someone, fleeing the uncomfortable silence.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled to the ground. Someday I would learn to control my tongue. “I’d love to have you doctor me.”

  Dr. Tattoo gently grasped the un-bloody part of my arm and escorted me to the first aid tent. His hands were the beautiful male kind with tan, strong fingers. His face definitely had a rough edge to it, but was gorgeous nonetheless. But his body? I shuddered. I’d never been a huge fan of draping a healthy body with artwork. This professed doctor’s appearance screamed bad boy, but his kind eyes warred with the image.