Dead Running Read online

  “Why?” I whispered up at him.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing this? My mom and dad died two years ago.”

  Muscle Man grinned. “Keep believing that, Cassidy.” He tilted his bald mug to the side. “Also believe,” he lifted the dull black pistol and stroked its shaft, “that I'll be back,” he winked, “if you talk to the police, the FBI, your grandmother, or anyone else. Are we understood?”

  “Y-yes,” I managed to sputter.

  “Perfect.” Muscle Man saluted me and slammed his door.

  The van spun away, leaving me with more questions than I ever wanted to deal with. I’d seen the pictures of my mom and dad’s bodies. Even though I still believed Panetti had ordered their executions, Muscle Man had just claimed that he was the one who killed them. Being face to face with their murderer ripped off the thin scab that had begun to cover the gaping wound my parents had left. A lone tear escaped. I missed them.

  Shaking off the sadness and anger, I tried to figure out what had just happened. Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole were obviously confused, maybe it wasn’t even my parents they claimed to have killed. But why didn’t they kidnap or rape me? Why did they video me and try to make me believe my dad was alive? Something was seriously messed up here.

  I watched the taillights disappear and still couldn’t react. Finally, I forced myself to do the only thing I could. I swallowed my insides back into place and started jogging east.

  When I saw another runner coming my direction I didn’t know if I should hide behind the towering cornfield to the south or run into his arms. He got closer and I opted for the latter.

  “Jesse!”

  He glanced my way and crossed the distance between us with a smile on his face. “Cassidy. I was hoping I’d run into you out on the road again.” Stopping in front of me, he gestured to the surrounding fields. “You’re far from home.”

  “Not by choice,” I muttered.

  Jesse cocked his head to the side, studying my disheveled face and hair. “Are you all right?”

  I shivered, wrapping my arms around my stomach. The pain from that punch wasn’t going away anytime soon. “Some men scared me.”

  His olive skin darkened. His eyes darted down the road and into the cornstalks as if my attackers were hiding in there. “Where are they?”

  I shook my head. “They left.”

  Jesse took a step closer. His arms opened. I didn’t know if it was an invitation. I made it one. Falling against his hard chest, I resisted the urge to bawl.

  “They hurt you,” he said, his voice tight with anger.

  “No, I’m okay,” I lied.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” he whispered against my hair.

  “No,” I moaned. How could I explain that I’d put us both at risk? As tough as Jesse seemed, he couldn’t protect me from Muscle Man.

  Jesse stroked my hair. Covered with his warm body and arms, I almost forgot my fears. After several wonderful moments, he pulled away and directed me toward the rising sun. “Let’s get you home.”

  I sighed and started jogging again.

  “We need to call the police,” he said.

  “No!” My answer was too forceful, Jesse’s brows rose in question. “No,” I repeated more softly. “They didn’t do anything to me so there’s nothing to report.” Jesse looked ready to argue. “You just caught me at a bad moment. I’ve been a mess since finding the body.” I couldn’t hide the tremor zipping through me. I upped my pace to give vent to the nervous energy.

  Jesse nodded, his eyes filled with compassion. “Anyone would be.” He paused then said, “I don’t like to think about any guy but me bothering you while you’re out running.” He gave me a smile that made me forget everything but his face.

  I concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other so I didn’t fling myself into his arms again. “They won’t be back,” I said, trying to convince myself more than Jesse.

  “They better not,” he muttered.

  We ran in silence for a few minutes. Jesse kept looking at me, as if to check how I was doing.

  “Why are blonde jokes so short?” he asked.

  What? I stared at him for several seconds before giving in, “I don’t know, why?”

  “So brunettes can remember them.”

  I laughed. It was nice. Jesse kept telling me silly jokes the entire distance to my house. It was my second rescue by the tattooed doctor. I hoped if I needed more rescuing, Jesse would be there.

  * * *

  I didn’t have an appetite or any desire to run the next day as I stewed about what to do. Should I call the police? They couldn’t even find the Health Days murderer, how would they find some guy in Mexico who looked like my dad? Should I tell Nana or Jared? Jared would become even more overprotective of me, I didn’t need him hovering. Nana wasn’t an option. I couldn’t bring myself to cause her stress with her blood pressure already an issue and my constant worry of her having a heart attack. Plus, something about the look in Muscle Man’s eyes decimated my desire to confide in anybody. I would bear this burden on my own. Maybe he’d leave me alone like he promised.

  I couldn’t allow myself to think about how scared I’d been or the remote possibility that my parents were alive and being hunted at this moment by Muscle Man. That thought was so sickening it almost overwhelmed me.

  “Seven miles. I’m supposed to run seven miles tomorrow morning,” I explained to Tasha and Nana at dinner Tuesday night.

  I cringed thinking about being alone on the road, in the dark, with the possibility of those two freaks grabbing me again. “How on earth am I supposed to run seven miles, lift weights, and still make it to work on time?” My Nazi boss would dock my bonuses if I were a minute late.

  Tasha and Nana arched their eyebrows at the same time. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you started this insane program,” Nana said.

  Tasha took advantage of Nana focusing on me to hide half of her meatloaf in her napkin. I wished I could execute sneaky food-disposal techniques like my friend.

  I pushed the peas around my plate before scooping up another bite. “I know it seems nuts, but it’s going to be a great thing for me, Nana.” I turned to Tasha just as she dive-bombed a chunk of mashed potatoes into her milk and winked at me. Luckily for her, Nana didn’t notice.

  Tasha politely nibbled at a slice of homemade bread, looking innocent of any meat and potato subterfuge. Nana noticed Tasha’s almost clean plate. “Do you want some more, sweetheart?” She was armed and ready with a huge bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a dish of meat loaf in the other.

  Tasha held up her delicate fingers. “No, I couldn’t. It was wonderful, as always.”

  Nana grinned.

  “But you didn’t finish your milk,” I said, hiding my own grin.

  Tasha scowled at me.

  “You need your calcium,” Nana said, gesturing with her hand. “Drink up.” She watched as Tasha lifted her glass and took a tentative sip.

  Nana shook her head. “A bit more, sweetheart. We don’t want brittle bones.”

  Tasha took another quick gulp. I watched a glop of mashed potatoes slide from the bottom of the glass into her mouth. She gagged. I pressed my lips together, my body shaking from withheld laughter. Tasha set the glass down, smacking her coral lips, as if she enjoyed potato-enriched milk, and eyeing Nana to see if she’d passed.

  Nana nodded her approval. “Now that’s what I like. A woman who actually knows how to eat.” She glanced significantly at my plate covered with the mashed potatoes I’d been building sculptures out of and a hunk of untouched meatloaf. In my defense, I’d made short work of my peas and bread.

  “Nana, you know I hate meatloaf.”

  “You need protein for running,” Tasha said.

  “Yes, eat a few bites,” Nana commanded.

  It was my turn to scowl. I cut a tiny bite, shoved it in my mouth, and swallowed without chewing. A quick drink of milk and I could almost feel n
ormal again.

  “I thought you loved mashed potatoes,” Tasha said, not content with forcing me to choke down meat loaf. “I thought all of this running was going to make it so you could eat anything you love.”

  “Hey, good point.” I scooped up a bite of potatoes and plopped them in my mouth. Whipped potatoes, loaded with butter. I thought I was too upset from this morning to enjoy food, but Nana’s potatoes proved me wrong. I closed my eyes to savor the taste. I opened them to see Nana beaming at me. That hadn’t happened in a while. I took another bite. “Do I look skinnier?” I asked Tasha.

  She leaned around the table and gazed at my thighs. “Most definitely. Looks like it’s time to go shopping.”

  I grinned. Eating Nana’s calorie bombs and skinny enough for new clothes? This running crap was definitely worth it.

  “You are and always will be too skinny,” Nana said, flinging her hand at me. “Why, in my day men wanted a woman with some shape.” Using her hands, she demonstrated the curves a woman should have. “You have no fat on you. No fat means no chest.”

  I glanced down. “I think we can blame the chest on mom’s genes.”

  Nana smiled. “Oh, I can agree with that. I’ve always been well-endowed.”

  “Has Damon called?” Tasha asked, saving me from commenting on my grandmother’s chest.

  I shifted in my seat. “Not yet. I’m sure he’s still trying to schedule the training runs.” After watching Tasha and I fall off our treadmills last week, he may never call.

  “I thought he might call for more than training runs.”

  I let myself eat one more bite of potatoes. “I’m not running this marathon to get the attention of a man, so it really doesn’t matter.”

  Tasha stood, lifting her plate from the table to the sink. “I’ve seen this Damon guy, remember? I’d run a marathon if it meant training with him.”

  I helped clear the dishes, mulling it over in my mind. Maybe I’d started training to impress Damon but he hadn’t called and I was still running. Jesse didn’t seem to care whether I did the marathon or not, but I had seen him out on the road a couple of times so maybe in the back of my mind there was that possibility of furthering a relationship with him.

  “So, if you aren’t doing this marathon for Damon?” Tasha’s booming voice cut into my thoughts.

  “I’m doing it to better myself,” I said. And to spite the two of you.

  Nana shoved meatloaf into a plastic container and turned to me with an arched brow. “Cassidy, are you feeling all right?”

  I gulped and bent to pull the garbage from underneath the sink. “Fine.” Was she talking about my bettering myself or had she noticed something else? I’d tried not to stew about Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole during dinner. I wished I could tell Nana, but I couldn’t worry her. I glanced up to see her still studying me.

  “Did something happen at work today?” Nana asked.

  “No. Works still boring and my boss is a jerk, but we closed a huge loan today and I’ll be getting a fat check next week.”

  Nana arched an eyebrow, she didn’t care about money any more than my parents had. “Well,” she said, “‘bettering yourself’ is one thing, but you had better not be running this marathon to lose weight.”

  “That’s just a side bonus,” I said. I looked from Tasha’s questioning gaze to Nana’s disbelieving stare. “Really. This isn’t for a man. This isn’t to get skinnier. I’m running a marathon because I want to do it. Because I want to prove I can do it.”

  Nana and Tasha locked gazes. “Uh-huh,” Tasha muttered.

  I hated when they did that, acted like I couldn't accomplish anything. I shoved my barely-touched meatloaf into the garbage, ignoring Nana’s gasp of outrage. “Plus, I didn’t tell you but I think I’ve found a gym that wants to partner with me on my small personal training groups.”

  “That’s good,” Tasha said. “I wish you’d focus on that and forget about this marathon.”

  “But the marathon is part of that.” The part where I believe in myself and accomplish my goals. “Remember Rocky?” I asked, wishing for their support though I probably wouldn’t get it. “Remember how cool it was to see him conquer himself? Push himself so hard you thought he was going to break?”

  “Uh-huh,” Tasha said again, still sharing some sort of silent conversation with Nana.

  I jabbed a finger to my chest. “I’m Rocky.”

  I beamed at how well I’d put that. I was Rocky. I was going to triumph over myself and gain the confidence to start working as an exercise scientist again.

  “Uh-huh,” Tasha murmured for the third time.

  “Use real words,” I snapped irritably. “Why can’t I be Rocky?”

  “You can be anything you want.” Tasha turned to retrieve more dishes.

  Nana rolled her eyes and started scrubbing at baked-on meat loaf.

  “Nana?” I paused for a few seconds, hoping she’d glance at me.

  “Yes, you can be Rocky.”

  “No.” I shifted from one foot to the other, a plate clutched between my fingers. “I have another question.” I waited for her to look up.

  “Spit it out.”

  I gulped, obviously I wouldn’t have her full attention and this question needed it. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Are my mom and dad still alive?”

  The casserole dish slipped from Nana’s fingertips, clanking into the glass cups in the sink. Soapy water spewed onto the tile backsplash and Nana’s cotton shirt. Nana spun from the mess. For half a second shock and disbelief poured from her eyes. But then her face softened into the wrinkles I liked, the ones that hid her scowl and showed she was concerned about her granddaughter. “Why would you ask that, sweetheart?”

  I shrugged and looked down at the chipped linoleum. Warmth from Nana embarrassed me, she usually only called Tasha and Tate sweetheart. “Just missing them, I guess.”

  Nana’s soft arms surrounded me. I set the plate on the counter, leaned against her wet shirt, and sighed. Water poured into the plugged sink, a few more seconds and we’d really have a mess, but I couldn’t leave Nana’s embrace to prevent it.

  Tasha looked like she’d rather be anywhere but in Nana’s kitchen watching her best friend’s display of sadness. She reached behind us and shut off the tap then turned to study the pictures of Jared and Tate on the fridge.

  “I understand,” Nana said. “I miss them too.” Nana rocked me for a few seconds.

  “Would it be crazy to tell you that I’m kind of doing this marathon for them? Raquel told me she thought they’d be proud of me for accomplishing something big. For not quitting.” I sniffled and continued, “I really like the sound of that.”

  Nana kissed my forehead. “I think that’s the best reason I’ve heard yet.”

  She released me and hustled back to dinner cleanup. It wasn’t until I climbed into bed that I realized she’d never answered my question. Maybe my parents were alive and Muscle Man and Greasy Beanpole were going to kill my mom and dad all over again. I trembled in my bed. My attempts at sleeping were a complete waste of pillow time.

  Week Three

  “If you go slower on the eccentric contraction, you’ll increase your strength without increasing size.”

  “Ha,” I sneered as I turned to face the person trying to instruct me on how to lift weights, obviously the weirdo didn’t know I was the fitness trainer of the year.

  The mocking words died in my throat as I came face to face with, “Damon?” I clung to the set of dumbbells in my hands.

  He grinned. “Hi there.”

  For over a month now I’d been thinking about this man. Usually my fantasies increased a man’s attractiveness by about thirty-two percent, and the actual re-encounter was a disappointment. Not so with Damon. He was so much better looking in real life than I could mentally sketch.

  “Hi,” I whispered, then turned and re-shelved the fifteen-pound dumbbells rather than let the words, Why haven’t you called, spring from my mouth.
r />   I forced myself to pivot back to face him, pressing my ponytail a few times to create some lift in my mop of dark hair. I wished I were one of those girls who had beautiful wisps of hair curling around their face. I really wished I were one of those girls who wore makeup to the gym . . . or at least brushed my teeth and put on deodorant.

  “How’s your marathon training going?” Damon asked, leaning against the weight rack.

  “Well, let’s see. I’ve made it through one week and I wish my legs would fall off and never come visit. And you?”

  He chuckled. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Oh, but it is. I’ve fallen off a treadmill.”

  “Yeah, I saw that one. You okay?”

  I nodded and changed the subject. “I went to a sports massage therapist for some relief. She worked on me for an hour then told me, ‘You’d better ease up on the running for a few weeks until your body adjusts or you may do permanent damage.’” I couldn’t believe I was admitting this to him, but the smile on his perfect face kept my tongue rattling along. I pushed a hand through the air. “What’s a little damage? So I take a few extra ice baths.”

  “Ice baths already?” His eyes widened. “How far are you running?”

  I bit my lip. “I was supposed to do ten on Saturday.” I ducked my head. “I made it eight.”

  Damon was almost successful at hiding a smile. “And you took an ice bath?”

  “Hey,” I defended myself. “My legs were swollen like a pregnant woman with toxicity.”

  He glanced down at my lower limbs. “Hmm. Haven’t checked out many pregnant women, but your legs look good to me.”

  I did a little victory dance, complete with fingers jabbing ceiling-ward and my head bobbing. “Oh, yeah. My legs look good.”

  A half-laugh emitted from his perfect lips. He glanced around the weight room as if checking to see if anyone else had witnessed my display.

  Embarrassed, I looked at the weight rack. “I’d better get back to my workout. I still have to run home somehow.”

  Folding his muscled arms across his chest, he tilted his head to the side. “You want to go on a training run this weekend?”