No One To Trust. Melody Carlson

through the creek, and now they ran full speed toward the ocean, where their footsteps would be washed away forever. Turning north, they continued running through the surf. But it would be at least an hour before they reached safety—if that were even possible. And that was only if they ran at full speed—which Jon wasn’t sure he could do.

      “You’re faster,” Jon said breathlessly. “Take the lead.”

      “No,” she firmly told him. “I want to stay with you. Your leg’s wounded.” She held out her hands. “Let me carry Ralph—it’s the least I can do.”

      He reluctantly relinquished the dog, trying to run faster, but soon realized it took all his energy just to maintain a fast jog. “What’s your name?” he huffed as he struggled to keep pace with her, water splashing with each step.

      “Leah,” she told him. “Leah Hampton.”

      “I’m Jon.” He gasped for air. “Jon Wilson.”

      “Nice to meet you, Jon.” She smiled, and for a moment he felt the sun had burst through the fog, and his steps grew lighter.

      “In a while,” he huffed, “we’ll run—beside the water. The tide—coming in—hide our footprints.”

      “Good idea.” She nodded. “We’ll make better time that way.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Where are we going?”

      “Home,” he puffed. “I hope.”

      So many questions were tumbling through his head, but it was impossible to ask them. Who was she? Where did she live? Why had she been stopped? It took all his energy just to keep moving—and moving quickly. His only hope was that they would outrun and outwit Krantz. But even if they made it back to his parents’ beach house without being caught or shot, they would still be cut off from most of the world. There was no landline there, and Jon’s cell phone was useless in these parts.

      Not only that, but his Fiat was in the garage with its carburetor removed and totally dismantled. It had seemed a good idea yesterday. So, other than his parents’ three-wheeled bikes and his dad’s less than dependable quad runner, they would have no transportation. And the nearest vacation cabins—as far as Jon had observed this past week—were all empty right now. The closest “civilization” was a little mom-and-pop store four miles away that kept random hours in the off-season. And then it was another eight miles to town.

      When Jon had asked to borrow his parents’ beach cabin as a “getaway” he hadn’t planned on getting away quite like this. He peered through the fog toward the dark shadow of the bluff that ran alongside the beach. In places where the fog was patchy, he could see clear to the top of it. Could Krantz see them, too?

      “We gotta move faster,” he huffed at Leah, as if she were the one slowing them down, when he knew she could’ve been a mile ahead by now.

      “Here.” She held Ralph close to her with one arm, hooking the other arm into his, and then, keeping stride—pace for pace—she gradually increased the speed, pushing him harder and harder. If the crazy cop didn’t shoot him, he’d probably drop dead from a heart attack right here on the beach before long. But at least he’d have a beautiful woman by his side.

THREE

      Leah knew she was pushing Jon too hard, but the image of that cop’s enraged face and the way he’d pulled out his gun seemed to be driving her. It was obvious that if “Officer” Krantz found them again, he would shoot first and ask questions later...if they were even alive later. As it was, she suspected Krantz wanted them both dead. But why?

      She glanced at Jon, knowing that he was exhausted and in pain. He probably couldn’t last much longer, but she knew they had to keep moving—had to find safety. Jon had said “home,” but she wasn’t even sure what that meant. Did he live along this beach somewhere? She thought most, if not all, of the homes along here were vacation cabins. In fact, she’d been warned by several people that this desolate part of the beach wasn’t a safe place for a lone runner during the “off-season.” Too bad she hadn’t listened.

      Jon’s pace slowed and then he stopped completely. Bending over and clasping his sides, he panted loudly, trying to catch his breath.

      “Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly. “Was the pace too much?”

      “No,” he gasped. “Need speed.”

      “I know.” She peered through the fog, spotting some thin places where they could be seen and shot at. The sun was going down but not quickly enough to hide them in the darkness.

      Still hunched over, Jon nodded toward shore. “Turn here.”

      “Let’s go.” She linked his arm again, tugging him into the creek.

      Jon stumbled a couple of times, but she managed to keep him on his feet. And it wasn’t long before they were across the stretch of beach. From there Jon led them alongside the bluff until he finally stopped at what appeared to be some steep stone steps, carved right into the bluff. “This way,” he puffed.

      Still cradling Ralph in her arms, she let Jon lead the way up the steps, giving him nudges with her shoulder when his footsteps slowed. She knew he was struggling. He’d lost blood and was dehydrated. Even though the gunshot wound didn’t look too serious, it had to be hurting. And if it didn’t get cleaned out, infection could set in.

      Through the fog, a large dark shape emerged before them on top of the bluff. It appeared to be a house and as they got closer, she saw that it was made of dark gray stone, similar to the rocky cliff it sat upon. Relief washed through her as Jon led them through an overgrown hedge and across a mossy patio to a back door. He dug in the pocket of his cargo shorts, producing a key. Before long, he’d unlocked the door and led her inside to an enclosed porch that was also a laundry room. “Must lock up,” he said between breaths. “No lights.”

      Still panting, Jon locked the porch door, then quickly punched some numbers into a keypad that must’ve been linked to a security system. That was somewhat reassuring. He led them into what appeared to be a kitchen, locking that door, as well. Only illuminated by the last rays of dimming gray light, the old-fashioned room looked slightly eerie—almost like a scene from an old horror movie. Leah suddenly wondered what she was doing here—with a perfect stranger—or if she was even safe. After all, she didn’t even know this man. Not really. Still, it was better than being out there with the crazy cop imposter.

      Leah’s mind attempted to replay the mad race up and down the beach, the gunshots, being stopped by the cop. It all felt surreal now. The fact that a “cop” wanted them dead was mind-boggling. In fact, none of this made any sense. How had she gotten herself into such a mess? But somehow, holding the warm little dog in her arms and seeing Jon’s stressed but handsome face peering curiously at her brought a sense of reassurance to her.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      “I kind of feel like I’m in shock.”

      “Me, too.” Jon was still breathing heavily as he reached for Ralph. “Thanks. For helping with him.”

      “We need to hydrate,” she told him.

      He retrieved a couple of water bottles from a case sitting on the counter, handing her one. As she opened it, Jon filled a bowl with water, setting it on the floor for Ralph to lap. Then he took a long swig from the water bottle.

      “You should probably have something besides just straight water to hydrate.” She glanced around the small kitchen. Her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and she could take in the surroundings. Old-fashioned cabinets, a small kitchen table, a gas stove with pots hanging above it. “Your electrolytes are probably low. Do you have some juice or soda or something?”

      “Here.” Jon handed her a beach towel. “Hold that up while I open the fridge—to block the light from showing—just in case anyone’s