Dead Running Page 6

  Unfortunately, June came and I had to commit. I wanted to believe my parents and Raquel were proud of me and prove to Nana, Tasha, and Jared that I wasn't a quitter, besides I'd told too many people about the marathon to back out gracefully now. I laced up my running shoes, for serious this time, left Nana shaking her head and baking banana bread in our cozy kitchen, and headed to the gym with Tasha for some interval training.

  “Can you explain to me why I am here at five-thirty in the morning?” Tasha asked, punching buttons on the treadmill. “Instead of spooning with my body pillow?”

  “It’s not that early.” My treadmill slung into action, I speed-walked to keep up. “And you’re going to get the ‘best friend of the year’ award.”

  “More like, ‘most glutton for punishment,’” Tasha grunted as her treadmill belt started rotating. “Tell me what the ‘best friend of the year’ is supposed to be doing in this stuffy cardio room.”

  “I just need you to keep track of how many times I sprint and call me names if I don’t push myself hard enough. You know, your normal bosom buddy obligations.” I jogged to get warm. I’d allow myself five minutes to warm up then the pace was going to 11.0, 5:27 minutes per mile, the fastest I’d ever run.

  Tasha broke into a jog, upping the pace to 6.0. I looked at my 6.6 pace and smiled. I loved beating Tasha.

  “So I get to call you slow-poke and lazy when?”

  “When you’re actually running faster than me.”

  Tasha scowled, checked her pace and my treadmill display, then sped up to 6.8. “Turtle.”

  I rolled my eyes, but hit the speed button until it was at 7.0.

  Tasha chuckled and increased her pace to 7.2. “Snail.”

  “Stop it, you idiot. I’m not warm yet.” My knees groaned in protest as I jumped to 7.4. I wanted to slow down, not speed up.

  Tasha laughed harder. “I thought I was the one who got to call names. Come on, loser, if we’re going to sprint, let’s sprint.” She jammed her finger on the up button, her speed indicator climbed to 12.0.

  I pointed. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

  She was still able to keep up, but it takes a treadmill a second or two to respond to changes in speed. The belt would increase its rotations soon and I didn’t think Tasha could keep up to . . .

  Tasha flew off the back of the treadmill, hit the brick wall, and slammed to her knees.

  “Tasha!” I flipped sideways, my left foot caught between the belt and the edge of the treadmill. I went down. The belt ripped at my exposed skin, then slingshot me on top of my downed friend.

  “Cassie,” she yelled, pushing herself out from under me.

  We sat there stunned for half a second. My leg burned. “Thanks for breaking my fall,” I said.

  “Thanks for coming after me,” she muttered. Tasha tossed her head and lifted her shirt, revealing a massive red spot on her back. “Guess twelve is too high for intervals?”

  “Guess so.” I pressed my fingers softly against her contusion, feeling the sting of my own cuts. “How bad is it?”

  Tasha pointed at the crowd staring at us like we were insane. “Not near as bad as our audience.” She stuck out her tongue at the cardio room occupants. “We are fine, thank you, people.”

  I laughed, but then my eyes connected with the intense, blue gaze of one of our gawkers. “Damon?” I whispered.

  “Who?” Tasha followed my stare. “Wow,” she said.

  Struggling to my feet, I helped Tasha up. “Let’s run outside today.” I hoped I could run at all with this treadmill-rash on my leg.

  We brushed by the crowd. I studied the industrial flooring, but couldn’t help myself. Glancing up, I caught Damon’s eye before quickly looking away. His gaze was full of concern, making my humiliation complete.

  “Are we stopping to talk to Mr. Strawberry-Blond?” Tasha asked from between her teeth. Damon took a few steps our direction.

  “No.” I tilted my head proudly and limped toward the door.

  Tasha clung to my arm. “Your loss,” she muttered.

  We left with Damon watching us and two empty treadmill belts continuing their rotation.

  * * *

  Terry studied the pretty brunette and blonde through the scope of his camera. “The pictures weren’t enough for the doc?”

  Al exhaled slowly, focusing his binoculars. Neither of them appreciated returning to northern Utah, especially with the threats that someone else was going to reach the payday before them. “From what I hear, Doc Christensen made a few phone calls, but he didn’t fly off to rescue the girl. The good news is . . . ” Al stared at his partner. “I know where he went to get service for his cell phone.”

  Terry’s eyes widened. “So if we can get him to that same spot again?”

  “Exactly.” Al watched the Doc’s young daughter pump her legs and arms in an all-out sprint. After a minute she slowed to a walk. Her friend caught up with her and they both appeared to be laughing.

  Several times they’d watched Cassidy Christensen run, but she wasn’t very good at it. Al smiled to himself. She’d be easy to catch when they were ready. “We have to up the stakes a bit. I’m thinking if she goes on early morning runs every day of the week”

  Terry picked up the thread, “We can borrow her for a minute, scare her enough to get some good video and voice coverage”

  “And make sure Daddy understands what we’re willing to do to her.” Al pulled a long blade from his pocket and lovingly stroked it. “I hope he doesn’t make us pay up on any threats.”

  Terry set the camera on the middle console and pressed his long fingers together. “Why you gotta do that?” He gestured towards Cassidy and her friend. “She’s beautiful. Don’t ruin her face. Cut her somewhere else.”

  Al rolled his thick neck then massaged his forehead for a few minutes before he managed to say, “I don’t care where we cut her, just so long as it scares Nathan Christensen out of the rat hole he’s hiding in and into our trap. I’m not losing two million dollars to that punk Ramirez has let loose.”

  “Agreed.” Terry turned and watched the women who were running at full speed again. A smile curled his thin lips. “There are other things we can threaten.”

  Al grunted, focusing on Cassidy’s long, brown hair bouncing off her back. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share her with Terry. “We’ll do what we have to.”

  Week Two

  Headlights approached me from behind. Squeaky brakes announced the vehicle was slowing. I glanced over my shoulder, still not entirely comfortable on the road by myself, especially in the dark. It would be so nice if I could find a more committed training partner than Tasha, who only showed up half the time and complained until I wished she hadn’t come at all. I fingered the pepper spray in my shorts pocket. Just another mile and I’d be safe at home.

  The van crept next to me. I increased my pace, searching for a nearby house with lights on. If whoever was in that van tried to bug me, I needed an escape route.

  My stomach clenched. Sweat I didn’t earn appeared on my forehead. Every house I passed was still in slumber.

  The brakes yelped, splintering the pre-dawn stillness. The rear door flung open. I leapt into the air before forcing my feet to go the right direction, away from that van. A burly man bounded from the passenger side. I screamed when I recognized the Nasty Muscle Man from Health Days, Café Sabor, and Raquel’s front porch. Forcing my legs into action I flew into an all-out sprint. I hadn’t crossed five feet before a strong arm wrapped around my waist.

  “Help!”

  Muscle Man’s other hand clamped over my mouth. His hand stunk like pencil lead. He swung me off my feet, pinning me against his barrel chest. I squirmed and flailed, acid eating at my insides, heels pummeling Muscle Man’s shins. I yanked my pepper spray out and pointed it towards his face. He knocked it from my hand. I watched in despair as it disappeared into the weeds. Now how was I going to protect myself?

  “Relax, Cassidy,” he hissed into my ear.
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  I didn’t know it was possible to feel any more fear, but his casual use of my name made it a possibility. Who was this guy? How did he know my name? And the most important question: What was he planning to do to me?

  Hauling me back to the van, he threw me inside the rear door. I bounced off a small table jammed against the far wall of the hollowed-out van’s interior.

  “Hey, watch the cameras,” Greasy Beanpole said from the front seat.

  My back and arm stung. Tears swam in my eyes. I leapt back to my feet, ready to fight my way free.

  Muscle Man clambered in after me, slamming the van door shut. I punched and kicked at him, some of my jabs actually causing him to grunt. He raised his hand to smack me. I ducked. Muscle Man pulled me upright and slammed his fist into my stomach.

  I gasped, trying to catch a full breath. Muscle Man grabbed and spun me, his sweaty chest pressing against my back. Pinning my arms, he said into my ear, “Wouldn’t want to leave a mark where someone could see it.”

  Stomach throbbing, I thrashed against him. The man’s arms were as thick as his brain. I’d never escape him. My heart slammed against my chest at regular intervals. At least there was no doubt it was still beating.

  “Relax!” He held me tighter, his breath searing my neck. “We’re going to drive out west of town where no one can hear you screaming.”

  I snapped my head back, trying to slam it into him while icy sweat coursed down my back. Muscle Man dodged the blow and tightened his grip until my arms throbbed.

  “Calm down so I don't have to hurt you,” he said.

  My abdomen still ached from his first punch. I couldn’t draw a full breath. I looked to the driver’s seat, praying my other captor would be sympathetic. Greasy Beanpole slicked back his hair and winked at me. I shivered. This was not how I wanted to lose my virginity. These men were going to beat and rape me. Would they kill me after? My body trembled under the man’s arms. Inches away from hysterical, I couldn’t organize my frenzied thoughts. What could I do to protect myself?

  “Just like you didn’t have to hurt that man I found in the canyon,” I said, fighting for a bravado I didn’t possess.

  Muscle Man flipped me to face him. “What man?” he demanded.

  “The murdered man.” I strained against his iron clasp. “The man with no face or fingers.”

  His head slowly rotated to Greasy Beanpole.

  Greasy Beanpole’s shoulders lifted and lowered. “Wasn’t me.” He turned around and shifted the van into gear.

  Muscle Man sighed, relaxing his grip a bit but not enough for me to make any progress towards freedom. “We haven’t killed anyone locally,” he told me, as if it would make me feel better.

  I took a few deep breaths. This guy sucked at reassurance. But if they hadn’t killed that man, who had? “What do you want from me?” I squeaked out. “How do you know my name?”

  The van slowly rolled down the road, Muscle Man held me steady. “We just need a bit of help,” he said, ignoring my second question.

  Bile rose in my throat. I’d never heard sex crimes described as helping someone. “What if I’m not willing to help you?” I asked.

  “We’re going to turn on that video camera.” Muscle Man flung me around so I faced the rear of the van. A camera and a chair were set up for filming.

  I forced a laugh that sounded more like a stifled cry. “I don’t do footage for porn videos, but thanks for the compliment.” I was shaking so violently at this point, Muscle Man was holding me up for support as much as restraint.

  Why was this happening? I couldn’t die. I’d accomplished nothing. I suddenly felt a rush of empathy mixed with the sorrow I always carried for my parents. Had they been scared to die? At least they’d died for a worthwhile cause. I was going to die because I’d run outside and pepper spray was no protection.

  “Cassidy. Calm down and listen to me. All I need you to do is tell your father that we have kidnapped you and that we’re going to hurt you if he doesn’t follow our instructions.”

  “My father?” My body slackened in disbelief. An incredulous laugh rolled from my chest. “Hate to break it to you Muscle Man, but I don’t have a father.” My voice flattened. “Scum like you killed him two years ago.”

  “I did kill him two years ago,” he growled.

  “You!” I elbowed him in the gut. It didn’t faze the monster. “You killed my parents!”

  Muscle Man fought to restrain me. “One of my more lucrative jobs.”

  Anger boiled out of me. I kicked and thrashed. “How could you?”

  “It was an easy job, believe me.” He wrapped his huge arms around my upper body. I bit his arm. He backhanded me and kept talking like we were chatting in the park, “But somehow they resurrected him. He’s making a mess for us in Mexico, freeing slaves and killing our men.”

  Resurrected him? I stopped fighting and spat out the disgusting taste of Muscle Man’s skin and my own blood. My cheek ached and I couldn’t catch a full breath. Was this guy for real? My brain wheezed, unable to keep up with the lies he was spouting. Even if my father were alive he’d be helping children with his medical expertise. He’d never kill anyone. “My father is . . . alive?”

  Muscle Man flipped me to face him. “We know you haven’t had contact with your father. That’s why we’re going to let you go. As long as you promise to be a good girl and not say anything to your police buddies or your grandmother, I promise to not keep you hostage. Even though you’d be fun to have around.” He grinned, deepening the ridges in his face. “Hostages are such a pain in the butt.”

  I shook my head, but it didn’t clear the gray matter. My poor heart wouldn’t slow down no matter what they promised, but at the moment I was almost as mad as I was scared. “Let me get this straight. All I have to do is read some script for your home video, claim I have a father, act like a scared little wussy,” which was no act, “and you’ll let me go?”

  He nodded. “That’s it.”

  My hands quivered, I had to clench them to pretend I was in control. “I’m not an idiot, Muscle Man. If you let me go,” my voice trembled at the possibility, “you’ve lost your leverage.”

  His loud chuckle rumbled through the van, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting back at me. He took his time looking up and down my frame, his thick tongue bounced over chapped lips. He rubbed scarred fingers over my cheek. “Don’t talk me into keeping you.”

  “I-I’m not.” I truly was an idiot. My head swam and the nausea was getting harder and harder to swallow down. The only thing I wanted was to be miles away from this man who claimed to have killed my parents.

  “Unfortunately, my boss doesn’t want me to keep you long term.” His smile stretched from his capped teeth to his shiny baldhead. “All I need to do is get the Doc out of hiding. The second he calls your grandma to check on you.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got him.”

  Calls your grandma to check on you? The early-morning phone call a few weeks ago. Could it possibly have been my father? The thought was insane, but I still couldn't dismiss it.

  The van stopped. My heart clanked against my rib cage. What were they going to do to me now? Greasy Beanpole climbed over the console and started working the camera.

  Muscle Man escorted me to the seat, his fingers lingering on my lower back. I arched away from his touch. “I’m going to put a blindfold on you and hold a gun to your head, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  My digestive system dropped to my running shoes. “That sounds so encouraging.”

  Muscle Man pressed me into the seat and started wrapping rope around my midsection. I knew there was no hope of escape. Still I struggled.

  “Good,” he whispered into my ear. “Fight me. We’re videoing this. It looks perfect.”

  After I was securely tied, he covered my eyes with a filthy rag. I tried to fight him, spitting and thrashing. Ineffective, but all I had at the moment.

  “Okay,” he was at my ear again, his un-brushed breath scratching
my skin. “Just respond to all my questions like you’re terrified.”

  “You’re nuts,” I yelled, centuries past terrified. The cold steel of a gun jammed into my temple. I stopped resisting. I stopped screaming. I stopped breathing. Tears leaked out, sticking the disgusting blindfold to my cheeks. Any fleeting thoughts of resistance disappeared as the pressure from the gun increased.

  “Haven’t we been good to you, Cassidy?” The man dragged the gun down my cheek and along my jaw line. I flinched away from the steel pressure. I was going to puke. I think I would’ve rather passed out though.

  I gulped and managed to spit out, “Too good.”

  Muscle Man chuckled. “She’s a beauty, Doc. Looks like your wife. Acts like you. Now, if you want this little princess to live a long, happy life I suggest you take a flight to Mexico City. We have a lot to discuss. You don’t come, Cassidy joins Mom, after I have some fun with her that is. Say bye to Daddy, Cassidy.”

  “Bye,” I muttered. My entire body shook. I tried to control it with sarcasm, “Thanks for placing me in such a pleasant situation, Dad.”

  Muscle Man laughed harder. The pistol left my cheek. I took long breaths in and out so I didn't hyperventilate. The blindfold was ripped off me. The ropes untied. Muscle Man wrapped an arm around my waist and escorted me out of the vehicle. Greasy Beanpole watched me with a leering grin.

  They both followed me onto the dark road. Fields of hay and corn stretched east and west. I wiped at my eyes, trying to hide the proof of how scared I was.

  “You did great, Cassidy,” Muscle Man said. “Hope your father is half as cooperative as you. But then if he’s not . . .” His eyes roved my frame. “I’ll get to fulfill some fun threats.”

  My stomach rolled.

  Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole headed for the van. Greasy Beanpole jogged around to the driver’s seat. Muscle Man climbed into the passenger seat. He left the door open and stared down at me. I knew I should run. I couldn’t take a step.