Time to Run (2 page)

"My name's Chase," he volunteered. "Chase McCaffrey. Some folks call me Westy."

"Sara," she said, with a shy nod. She kept a firm grip on her pencil. No hand-shaking allowed.

"Whatcha workin' on?" he asked, wanting to put her at ease, to solve the riddle that she presented.

"Lesson plans," she admitted, scrunching up her shoulders as if doing that would help her disappear.

She reminded him of a wild animal, wary of humans. He'd tamed a number of wild animals when he was younger. All it took was time, gentleness, and patience. "You're a teacher?" he inquired. Aside from the bun confining her hair, she didn't look like a teacher.

"English tutor," she corrected him. She glanced at her watch, and a crease appeared between her slender eyebrows.

"Something wrong?" It wasn't in his nature to be nosy, but he could feel the tension building in her. Not because of him, he hoped.

"Oh, no. I'm . . . supposed to tutor at the Refugee Center in an hour, but..." She glanced toward the closed door where the lawyers convened, and frustration dimmed the clarity of her eyes.

"You don't drive," he guessed.

A flicker of anger came and went. "Not lately," she said, looking down at the notebook.

He wasn't making much headway. Some wild animals took months to tame.

"Could you use a ride?" he heard himself ask. Like he had time to drive her places with all the paperwork waiting for him.

That got her attention. "Excuse me?" she squeaked.

"I was offering you a ride," he explained, figuring he'd overstepped his bounds.

"To the Refugee Center," she clarified.

"Of course." Jesus, did she think he was picking her up? He wasn't that hard up to be chasing a JAG's wife, let alone one who dressed like a nun.

"No, thank you," she murmured, with a pretty blush.

He watched her scratch a word onto the list that she was making. The longer he looked at her, the more tightly she gripped her pencil.

"Ma'am?" he said, startling her head up. "Could you do me a favor?" he asked. He couldn't sit here any longer, feeling the tension in her. "Could you give this envelope to Commander Spenser when he comes out of the meeting?"

"Sure," she said, managing a wobbly smile.

"Thanks. Tell him, he can mail the document back to the return address after he signs it."

"Okay."

Coming out of his chair to extend her the envelope, Chase felt like he was jumping into one of the green-gray pools at the base of a Malaysian waterfall. Her eyes were exquisite. "Take care," he said, unsettled by their unexpected pull on him.

"You, too," she said, radiant again.

He stalked toward the exit, trying to get his mind on all the things he had to do before taking leave. But as he paused by the security checkpoint to collect his SIG and cell phone, he asked Petty Officer Hewitt, "So what's the deal with Captain Garret's wife?"

"Miss Sara?" Hewitt countered with a pitying shake of his head. "She sits in there all day sometimes, waitin' for him to leave work."

"Why?" Chase asked.

Hewitt shrugged. "Captain Garret don't let her out of his sight. Sweet lady, too. It's a shame he treats her so bad."

Chase turned away. He wished he hadn't learned that. "See less of you later, Hewitt."

"Not a chance, Chief." Hewitt chuckled.

As he pushed out of the building into the balmy September afternoon, Chase felt for the woman trapped inside. She must long to be freed to the wild outdoors. He shook his head, picturing her husband, a man whose arrogant demeanor betrayed an over inflated ego.

Men who dominated women belonged to the same category as the terrorists that Chase annihilated. Too bad he'd never get orders to take that fucker out.

Twenty-four hours later, Chase filled his duffel bag with what he'd need for three weeks' leave. He stood halfway between his dresser and his bed, emptying the drawers he'd just filled a few days ago.

Jesse, his black Labrador retriever, lay with his head on his paws, ears flattened, looking devastated.

Chase couldn't take it anymore. "You want to come with me, boy?" he relented. For the last twelve months, the dog had stayed with a friend. It wasn't fair to Jesse to leave him again.

Jesse's head popped up.

"Want to go to Oklahoma? It's a long drive."

The dog's mouth parted in what had to be a smile.

"Hell, you might like it so much you won't want to come back," Chase mused, picturing the woods and the stream where he grew up, paradise for a hunting dog. Jesse wagged his tail as if he could see the pictures in Chase's head.

Pictures that went from good to bad in the blink of an eye. He envisioned his mother on the front porch holding the squalling baby.
"Linc, stop it!"

Linc had Chase by the scruff of his shirt. Ignoring his wife's pleading, he flung Chase as hard as he could into the door of the two-toned, 1976 Chevy Silverado. The impact was stunning. Chase felt the bone in his nose crack. Hot blood gushed out, running over his lips.

With a mutter of annoyance, he flicked the memory off. He couldn't believe Ol' Linc had gone and left him the ranch. It was probably mortgaged to the eaves, and this was his last bid, even from the grave, to torture his stepson.

If his real father hadn't originally bought it, Chase would let a Realtor sell it. He couldn't care less about the place.

But it was McCaffrey land, not Sawyer land. His daddy had bought it for his mama before he was born. "So, suck it up," he muttered to himself.

He was stuffing his socks in the bag when his cell phone rang. "Yes, sir," he said, having recognized the executive officer's extension.

"I know you're trying to leave, Chief, but did you ever get the lawyer to sign off on the paperwork for Dewey?" asked Lieutenant Renault, who was known to his friends as Jaguar.

He was referring to the document that Chase had left with Sara Garret. "It should be in the mail today or tomorrow, sir. I'll double-check that."

"Just give me a call back if there's going to be a problem."

"Roger, sir."

"Listen, drive safely, and take your time. Vinny's got your paperwork covered. Luther's got the range. If you need more time, just let me know."

"Will do. Thank you, sir."

"No problem, Chief."

Chase ended the call, then looked up a number in his dial-up menu. Commander Spenser's phone bumped him over to voice mail. If he left a message on a Friday afternoon, the lawyer might never get around to calling him back.

With a long-suffering sigh, he descended the stairs to his kitchen, where he pawed through the phone book. Hopefully Sara Garret's number was listed, and hopefully she'd be home to take his call.

Her name wasn't listed, but her husband's was, identifiable by his rank,
Captain
Garret. Chase dialed *67 to conceal his number from caller ID. As the phone rang, he pictured her exquisite eyes and his pulse quickened inexplicably.

The jangling of the telephone startled Sara from counting her money on the bathroom floor. Stuffing the bills back into the tampon box, she shoved it under the sink before hurrying to the adjoining bedroom to snatch the phone off the cherrywood secretary. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Garret?" asked a male voice. The familiar drawl made the air back up in her lungs.

"Yes."

"This is Chief McCaffrey. I left an envelope with you yesterday at the Trial Services Building?"

"Yes," she said, rendered almost mute by the fact that he was calling her. Her thoughts ran wildly before her.

Chief McCaffrey.
Four years ago, he'd approached her stranded car in the parking lot, offering to help. He'd been so considerate, so competent, so handsome in a rough-and-ready way, that she'd been in a daze when they parted company. Garret had berated her for her tardiness the instant she arrived home.

Running into him again at the base commissary, here in Virginia Beach, had struck her as a marvelous coincidence. And he'd been just as cordial and considerate as the last time, even though she was fully to blame for toppling his soda cans. She'd left the store amazed that such a man existed, only to have Garret seize her checkbook because she'd splurged on strawberry shortcake.

Now Chase McCaffrey was on the phone, calling her!

"Sorry to bother you, ma' am, but I need to know if you were able to give Commander Spenser that envelope."

"Oh, yes," she said, disappointed that the call wasn't personal, of course not. "I handed it to him right away, along with your message."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm headed to Oklahoma this afternoon. Just wanted to tie up all my loose ends."

Oklahoma?
Had he just said
Oklahoma?
The word jolted her like an electric shock. Sara sputtered, searching for an appropriate way of asking whether he could give her and Kendal a ride.

"Why ... why are you going to Oklahoma?" she stammered, her head spinning so fast that she could hardly think.

"Family member died," he said shortly. "Left me some land."

Sara licked her dry lips, desperate to put her question to him. But within the confines of a casual phone call, it was inappropriate. Besides, she could hear Kendal's bus coming up the road now, hydraulic brakes screeching as it slowed beside the bus stop. "Please, can… can I see you before you go?" she added before she lost her courage. "There's something that I have to ask you."

He kept notably quiet, no doubt thinking she had lost her mind.

"There's a park in my neighborhood," she persisted, sacrificing her dignity for Kendal's sake. "I'm taking my son there today at four. Could you meet me there?"

"Well, I'm pretty busy packin' and all," he answered, but he actually sounded like he was thinking about it.

"Just give me ten minutes." She wanted to melt into the Berber carpet for being reduced to begging favors from a stranger, but the opportunity was too golden to pass up: a ride out West without having to use public transportation.

"The park on Sherwood Drive?" he asked her.

"Yes," she confirmed, her hope flaring, "just past the pool."

"See you there," he said, ending the call.

Sara stared at the phone in her grip, dazed by the possibility that the miracle she'd been praying for had just dropped in her lap. Who better to help her and Kendal slip away than a Navy SEAL? He'd been so helpful in the past; surely he'd consider helping just one more time.

Her gaze shifted out the window to where ten-year-old Kendal was getting off the bus, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his backpack. He'd dressed all in black today, still mourning his rabbit.

His teacher had called yesterday evening, the day after Mr. Whiskers's death, alarmed by the change in Kendal's demeanor.

Sara was also alarmed. But she wasn't going to waste time wondering where the downward spiral would end. She was taking every conceivable measure to get her and Kendal out of this nightmare before another incident took place.

Chase nosed his older model sports car between a BMW sedan and a Range Rover. The park in Sara's neighborhood looked like Disneyland, with an elaborate plastic playground, pool, and clubhouse, all surrounded by million-dollar mansions.

What the hell am I doing here?
Chase wondered.

But there was Sara Garret, standing on the edge of the play area, with one hand fisted at her hip, the other raised to shield her eyes from the setting sun. And even with fifty yards between them, he could feel her pull on him, her silent cry for help. He had to know what she wanted from him.

The park was packed with privileged children and their white-collar, upwardly mobile parents enjoying the cooler weather on this second day of fall. It was a whole different cosmos from the world of conspiracy and terror that Chase lived in.

As well it should be, he figured.

The challenge would be not drawing notice to himself. Given the silver hoops in his ears, his goatee and ponytail, that wouldn't be easy. He pulled the bill of his baseball cap down to shield his eyes and got out.

Sauntering toward a bench that was hidden in the shade, he sat down and waited for Sara to see him. He took brief inventory of the children scrambling over the equipment and tried to guess which boy was hers.

He could tell the exact moment that Sara spotted him. Like a jackrabbit spying a predator, she froze, eyes fixed, shoulders tensing. But unlike a rabbit, she didn't dart away. She put one foot in front of the other until she was standing by his bench. Keeping her eyes forward she sat down stiffly.

Chase took wry note of her clothing. Today she wore a dark brown jumper over a white button-up blouse. Was it possible for any woman to have such poor fashion taste?

"Nice evenin'," he noted, breaking the ice for her.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, wetting her lips with a dart of her tongue.

"That your boy?" he asked, following her gaze to where a dark-haired boy, maybe ten years old, sat on a swing, scuffling his toes into the mulch.

Chase had seen the resemblance immediately in the downcast eyes and the curve of the boy's chin. He hid his face behind the bangs growing over his eyes. "What's his name?"

"Kendal. He's the reason that I have to leave," she added quietly.

Leave?
Chase swung a startled glance at her, and their gazes collided. He experienced the same cinching sensation in his gut, the same compelling attraction. Her gray-green eyes were incredibly beautiful. At the same time, the pallor in her face assured him that she was serious. So why was she telling him?

"We need a ride out West," she added, urgently. "I have money. I can pay you if you like. Please ... take us with you when you leave for Oklahoma."

All he could do was look at her. "Mrs. Garret—" he began.

"Sara," she corrected him, with a flash of those magnificent eyes.

Obviously, she couldn't stand the sound of her husband's last name. "Sara," he began again, "I can't help you with this."

"I've thought it out," she interrupted, reaching inside the voluminous pocket on the front of her jumper. "Kendal's Boy Scout troop is hiking at Seashore State Park tomorrow." She pulled out a folded flyer. "The place is completely remote. We could slip away from the rest of the Scouts and meet you in the overflow parking lot." She thrust the flyer at him.