No One To Trust. Melody Carlson

really hoped that creep was on his trail right now—and not following the woman. She was obviously kind and sweet and good—she’d taken care to pick up the injured dog. He prayed she was safe—and Ralph, too.

      Jon’s plan was to head south until he reached a runoff creek that would conceal his footprints as he turned toward the ocean. And then, with the help of the fog to hide him, he would double back in the surf, erasing his footprints all the way back up the beach. But when he reached the place where the creek trickled through the bluff wall, he heard a rustling noise followed by the sound of stones tumbling down the bluff. Someone was nearby!

      Hunkering down in the shadows of some twisted spruce trees, he waited breathlessly. Was it possible the cop was really that fast? The rustling sound grew closer, but because of the wind, he couldn’t determine which direction it was coming from. Fearing the worst, Jon tried to think of a plan. Should he try to sneak up on him? Jump him from behind? Try to get his gun? And then, if he did, what was next? He’d have to figure some way to safely detain the creep and find a place to call for help. But even then, who would he call? What if his mom was right? What if some of the local police were as crooked as this guy? What if they were all in cahoots? Whatever he did, Jon couldn’t let the “cop” take control of the situation. If he did, he’d be dead, for certain.

      Just as he was bracing himself for more hand-to-hand combat, he heard a whimpering noise. It sounded like an animal. Cupping his hand to his ear, he listened intently. Ralph? Jon slowly stood and, peering over the tall beach grass, saw a long blonde ponytail blowing in the breeze. It was the runner!

      Not wanting to startle her, he controlled himself from rushing at her. Instead, he slowly approached, waving his arms in silence. And when she recognized him, he hurried over.

      “You’re okay,” she whispered, relief washing over her face as they crouched down in the tall grass together.

      A shock tore through him as he noticed her pale blue shirt soaked with blood. “Were you shot, too?” he quietly demanded.

      “No, no, I’m okay,” she said in a hushed tone. “That’s from Ralph.” She pointed to where Ralph was relieving himself in the tall grass. “Just a flesh wound. He’ll be okay.” She glanced down at Jon’s makeshift bandage. “What about you?”

      “A flesh wound, too,” he quietly assured her. “I can run fairly well.”

      “You and Ralph are fortunate,” she said.

      “Yeah. Officer Krantz is a bad shot.”

      “Officer Krantz?” she whispered.

      “I noticed the name on his badge when we were scuffling.”

      “There’s no way he’s a real cop.”

      “I’m sure you’re right. Or if he is, he’s a crooked one.” He glanced over his shoulder. “We better get moving. My guess is he’s following. I’d hoped you’d gone the other way.”

      “I planned to turn back in a while. I was headed for the creek, hoping to hide my footprints.” She pointed to the fog bank. “Then I was going to cut across the beach and double back in the surf.”

      Jon stared at her in wonder. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to do, too.”

      “But I thought the creek was closer.” She frowned.

      “It’s still about a mile down the beach.” He stooped over to pick up Ralph. “We better get—” He stopped to the sound of rustling grass—and there was no wind blowing. “Go,” he whispered to her. “Fast.”

      Before he could stop her, she grabbed Ralph from his arms. And then she took off and he followed. They hadn’t gone twenty feet before he heard the sound of a gunshot—and unless he was wrong, the source was from a high-powered rifle this time—not a revolver. “Stay low,” he called out as he followed her.

      Despite the pain in his leg, he knew he had to run with every ounce of his strength. Not that he could keep pace with her. And for that he was glad. If Krantz was going to catch one of them, he wanted it to be him. To his surprise, the woman was heading inland now, going right into the rolling dunes, which would put them out in the open for a few dangerous seconds. But realizing her strategy—hoping to outrun Krantz through the uneven ups and downs of the sand dunes—he followed. Two more shots rang out just as she made it into the cover of the grassy area and one more before he dived into the grass, rolling down the hill toward her. Even though they were leaving a trail by running through the valley in this dune, he knew this was their best hope. To wear Krantz out and to convince him that they were heading for the jetty. If only Jon didn’t expire first.

      After about fifteen minutes of running up and down dune hills, the woman stopped to wait for him. He could barely breathe, let alone talk, but he pointed toward the ocean.

      “The creek?” she asked breathlessly.

      He nodded. And now they jogged through another section of dune grass, working their way toward the bluff. Jon’s mind was racing now. Who was this Krantz guy anyway? He had to be involved in something really sinister.

      Jon’s chest felt as if it were about to burst as they reached the bluff. To his dismay the fog bank hadn’t made it all the way across the beach yet.

      “Do you think we lost him?” the woman asked between breaths.

      “Don’t know,” he gasped.

      “Should we go for it?” She pointed toward the creek that cut across the beach.

      He just nodded. And together they scrambled and slid down the sandstone face of the bluff. When they reached the beach level, he motioned to her to wait, pressing his back against the concave rock wall. Just in case Krantz was up above. Straining his ears, he listened, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the waves. He looked out to where the fog bank was slowly crawling across the sand.

      “Should we wait for the fog?” she whispered.

      He looked at the bluff overhead, imagining a winded Krantz posted up there with his powerful rifle. They would be easy pickings, making their way through the creek. Jon patted a damp driftwood log that the tide had pushed up against the bluff wall. “Let’s wait.”

      “Let me fix that,” she said quietly, pointing to the bandage he’d made from a shirt. “I’m nearly done with nursing school.” She handed Ralph to him. “Might as well put it to use.” She knelt down and went to work.

      “Thanks.” He used his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired before.

      “You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s not a deep wound.” She bound it up more tightly, tying the sleeves of his shirt into a more secure knot and tucking the loose pieces into his makeshift bandage. “Hopefully that’ll hold awhile.”

      Jon held a finger to his lips, nodding to where he thought he’d heard a noise up above them. Just then some small stones tumbled down. He slipped his hand around Ralph’s snout to muzzle him, holding him close to his chest. The sound of barking could prove lethal for all of them right now.

      The girl looked down at Ralph and, as if sensing the dog’s fear at being muzzled like this, she gently stroked his head and scratched his ears. Jon could feel the small animal slowly relaxing. And still up against the wall and not moving, they remained silently frozen in place for about ten or fifteen minutes. Long enough to catch their breath, and hopefully long enough for Krantz to move on.

      Jon nodded to where the fog was nearly to the bluff. He pointed at the woman now, silently indicating that she should remain put while he ventured out. His thinking was that, if he was visible from the bluff above, he’d make an easy potshot—for someone with good aim, that is. But if the cop was going to take him out, Jon wanted the woman to still have a chance. So, holding the muzzled dog, he headed out in the stream, hoping and praying that the fog was thick enough to conceal him—and at the same time bracing himself for the sound of shots and the impact of bullets...and