Mud caked my clothes and hands. I struggled to my feet, barreling for the forest. Behind me, someone’s ragged breathing cut through the humidity like a buzz saw. One shoe ripped from my foot, stuck in the mud. I darted between mature pine trees and through prickly bushes. These guys had probably killed Randy. Why were they in Melvin’s house? My lungs seized and I almost threw up.
The rain drizzled between the branches. Someone cleared the fence behind me, and heavy feet splashed in puddles. “She went north,” a hard, male voice hissed.
I needed to get back to my car. Shuddering, I searched for the right tree. It was directly ahead of me. An older pine with sturdy branches and plenty of needles. I leapt for the lowest branch, grabbing on with both hands. Thick bark dug into my palms. My feet swung, caught purchase, and I pulled myself into a seated position. Muffling a sob, I reached for the next branch and scrambled to stand.
Then I scampered up into the dark depths of my haven. My remaining sandal scraped and slipped against sharp bark. My fingernails shredded with each foot I climbed, pain lanced through my fingertips, and growling noises came from my throat. Finally, I pulled myself onto a thick branch, about thirty feet off the ground.
I prayed they hadn’t expected me to climb a tree. The rain pelted harder, frizzing my hair around my face. I wiped my running nose with the back of a muddy hand. I wanted to cry but was too scared to make a sound. Where were the police? My heart galloped as the adrenaline continued to pump through my system. My hands screamed in pain.
Footsteps echoed below me.
“I saw her head this way.” It was the same voice. I leaned a bit, peering down at him. A large bald spot showed through sparse brown hair. He glanced around. His round face showcased a nose that had been flattened by something strong. Thick shoulders in a blue slicker led to wide hips in black Levi’s, and one dark, hairy hand pointed with a silver handgun.
“Who is she?” The other man was a slim blonde. Probably in his late twenties. I glimpsed pocked skin and a thick goatee. The muted black of his gun contrasted with his pale fingers.
“She was Taylor’s lawyer. Who knows what he told her.”
No, I wasn’t. Geez. I had been on the opposite side of Randy. Sometimes I wondered about our school system.
“Fuck. Where is she?” The pocked guy asked.
I needed to get that gun if they found me. How? My mind spun. Then, blessed sirens sounded in the distance. Finally.
“Get back to the car!” Flat Face bellowed the order to Pocked Face. They took off for Thelma’s fence at a dead run.
The rain beat down on me while I waited to make sure they were gone. I winced at the blood mixed with fresh mud on my hands. Then I slowly descended, the bark digging into my legs. Suddenly, my hands slipped on a branch, and I tumbled to the ground. I hit with a thud. The air whooshed painfully out of my lungs. I lay in the mud and let the rain splatter me for a second. Nothing felt broken.
A flurry of activity sounded, coming from the duplex and around the fence. “Anna!” Detective Pierce bellowed.
“Here.” I started to sit up.
He reached me in a second, his gaze worried and running over me. “What the hell?”
I probably did look like a mess. “I swear to God, Pierce, if you kiss me, I’m just done,” I muttered. First Aiden, then Nick, and now the hottie detective. What was it with the enormous amount of testosterone in my life right now?
He straightened up. “What?”
Yeah. That probably didn’t make any sense. I flopped back down and planted an arm over my eyes, more than happy to stay in the mud if everyone would go away. “Between the Brazilian from hell and falling from the tree, everything I have just hurts.” Yeah, I sounded a little pathetic.
Pierce sighed. Rather loudly. “There’s a cream called Lupo that can help with the Brazilian.”
It took a second for his words to register. I slowly moved my arm down so I could blink into the rain and see him. What was up with these guys all knowing about those type of creams? “Are you serious?”
He nodded, his eyes twinkling. Who knew the detective even had a sense of humor? For once, he actually looked approachable. “You can order it online. I have a first aid kit in the car if you need bandages anywhere else. For now, how about we get you out of the rain?”
I needed to start thinking before speaking. Seriously. “Tell me Melvin Whitaker isn’t dead in there.” I couldn’t take another dead body. Not a chance.
“Nope. The place looked tossed as I ran through it, but no dead body.”
Thank goodness. “Okay.” Well, that was something.
“Come on, Anna. Let’s get you into the car.” While his voice was gentle, it held that clear command he always seemed to have. The cop was kind of bossy. Maybe it was the approximate fifteen-year age difference between us that gave him that tone.
“Fine.” I accepted his proffered hand as uniformed officers began to mill around. “I don’t need a bandage, although tweezers would be nice to get the splinters from my palms.” Now that I was somewhat safe, all sorts of aches and pains roared to life. My right leg really hurt from where I scraped it on the rough bark.
“You need a doctor?” he asked, whipping out of his light jacket to drape over my shoulders. Pierce smelled like the ocean breeze—salty and fresh.
I shook my head and surveyed my destroyed clothing. “No. I’m okay.”
