Dead Running
Authors: Cami Checketts
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Dead Running
COPYRIGHT © 2012 Camille Coats Checketts
All rights reserved.
Published by Birch River Publishing
Contact information:
[email protected]
Cover design by Janna Barlow
Edited by Nancy Felt
Published in the United States of America
To all of my boys. I love the five of you more than you know.
To Richelle, the best running buddy a girl could ask for. Thanks for helping me solve the world’s problems as we pound through the miles.
I inched down another stair, hoping the soft creaks wouldn’t give me away to whoever was arguing in my living room. My dad was visiting me this week, gathering medical supplies for another one of his projects. I’d been gracious and allowed him to host his meetings in my living room. The support from the medical community in our little corner of Northern Utah was actually impressive, but did one of the doctors have to show up in the middle of the night?
I was in that luscious almost-asleep phase when I heard the banging on my front door and crawled out of bed. Irritation turned to fear as I listened to the conversation. The man threatening Dad wasn’t one of his supporters.
“You interfered with the wrong shipment this time.”
“
Shipment
?” Dad asked. “These are human beings, not some profit margin.”
I reached the bottom step and peeked around the wall. My dad stood near the fireplace with a mixture of shock and revulsion on his sunburned face.
Just inside the front door, a man peeked out from the shadow of a hooded sweatshirt. He yanked out a wicked-looking blade. I covered my mouth to stifle the scream. My stomach knotted. My legs felt like ice. I didn’t know if I could move, let alone help.
The knife sailed through the air. My father darted to the side. The blade jabbed into his upper arm. Dad yelped. The pain in his face lodged in my own gut. He grabbed at his arm and yanked the knife out, spraying the wall with blood. My dad’s blood. Help. I had to
do
something.
The hooded figure closed the distance and wrenched the weapon from dad’s fingers, lifting it above his head.
“No!” I leapt from my hiding spot, grabbed a heavy picture frame off the end table, and smacked the man with it.
“Cassidy!” Dad inhaled quickly, hazel eyes widening.
The attacker knocked the picture frame out of my hands and pointed the bloody knife my direction. Dark eyes swept over the skin not covered by my t-shirt and cut-off sweats. I squirmed, his look scaring me as much as his knife. I backed up a step, eyes focused on the blade.
My dad planted himself between me and the man.
The man’s white teeth flashed against leathery skin. “She’s beautiful, Doc.” His tongue darted across his lower lip. “The dark hair and pretty brown eyes. Looks just like her mom.”
Dad held up his uninjured arm and shoved me behind him, his breath coming in ragged gulps. “Leave her out of this, Panetti.”
Panetti cocked his head to the side. “I’m supposed to kill you, but I could bring her in alive for some extra compensation. How old are you, sweetheart?”
I glared at him over my dad’s shoulder. “Twenty-one and going nowhere with you. Get out of my house before I call the police.” It was a lame threat since I was visibly shaking and had no clue where my phone was.
The man threw back his head and laughed. “I like her, a bit of attitude. Ramirez and I will both enjoy her.”
I swallowed the sickening taste of his threat. Sweat trickled down my spine. I clung to my injured dad, who was currently no match for this psycho. How could I protect either of us?
“You’ll never touch her.” Dad pushed me toward the kitchen doorway. “I can’t believe you would betray the children for Ramirez.”
“Not for Ramirez. I betrayed the children for lots and lots of money.” Panetti revealed his perfect teeth again.
Dad looked back at me. “Run,” he whispered.
I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. No matter how scared I was I couldn’t leave him.
“Run, Cassie!” He shoved me and faced the madman.
Panetti let out a warrior cry and lunged with the knife. Dad ducked. The blade sliced air instead of flesh, throwing Panetti off balance. Dad plowed into the man’s abdomen, knocking him into the front door. I screamed, running towards them to try to help.
“Get out of here,” Dad yelled.
Stumbling away from the fight, I slammed into the wall. A yell of pain from my dad forced me to keep moving. I ran into the kitchen and nearly collapsed with relief when I saw my phone. Placing
all my hopes and prayers on three numbers, I stilled my trembling hands enough to dial: 9-1-1.
The call connected. “A guy is trying to kill my dad!” Grunts and the sound of bodies slamming into furniture reassured me Dad was still alive. I told the dispatcher my address, but then she started asking more questions.
“I’ve got to help my dad.”
“Officers are en route.”
