Flee the Night (13 page)

At the time, he could hardly believe that he was the lucky guy who would take her to her senior prom in John’s stead. His mouth dried, in memory, just thinking of her in his arms.

He swallowed, forcing himself back to the present. “Are you planning to exchange Ex-6 for Emily?”

The blood drained from her face. “I’m getting out here.” She reached for the door handle.

“No.” He touched her arm, painfully aware that something like panic had rushed into his throat. “Let’s get you some clothes.” He glanced at her feet. “And a pair of boots.”

When she just stared at him, he could almost see her weighing his words with his actions, reaching for faith, and yanking herself back before the flames of betrayal. She looked at the knife in her hand, then back at him.

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until she nodded.

“But don’t get any bright ideas, Soldier Boy. You’re not going to get between Emily and Ex-6. Nothing is more important to me than my daughter.” Her expression held more than warning, maybe … desperation? “Nothing.”

He ignored her threat, rattled more by the use of her nickname for him. Wow, he’d forgotten how good that name on her lips made him feel. Dangerously good. Somehow he found a smile. “Let me buy you breakfast, and then we’ll talk about your sneaking onto the farm with—or without—me.”

Chapter 8

“ I THINK THIS would look outstanding on you.” Micah stood in the women’s section of Wal-Mart, holding up a pink, padded bathrobe.

Lacey sent him a half glare and turned her back to him, excruciatingly aware of his presence behind her. What was he doing here? Not in the women’s section of the store, but
here
, in her air space. Why had he run her down … only to drive her to the Wal-Mart in Hermantown, as if he not only believed her but wanted to help her?

He was up to something. But if she didn’t untangle herself from his brain-tingling charisma in about three-point-two seconds, she’d be telling herself she didn’t care that he might be plotting to blindside her and drag her back into NSA clutches. The way he teased her with his ridiculous shopping advice, not to mention the fact that he’d wrapped his jacket around her, which left his masculine smell lingering on her when she returned it … well, it churned up her deepest longings. He looked twenty years old, devastatingly handsome, and way too dangerous for her heart as he leaned on a rack of black dress pants, his hair mussed, a two-day growth on his face, and a smile in his smoky gray green eyes.

She focused on the rack of jeans and found a pair of lowrise Levi’s. “How about finding me a jacket?”

“No, I’ll just … stay here.”

She heard hesitation in his voice, despite his efforts to mask it. She swallowed and hid the realization that he fully expected her to … ditch him?

She wanted to wince at how heart-wrenchingly close to the truth that hit. She flung the jeans over her shoulder, manufactured a smile, and faced him. “Okay, I need a T-shirt.”

He followed her to a bin of Ts, where she dug out a lime green, scoop-neck shirt. As she pushed her cart to the shoe section, she picked up some undergarments and a lined jean jacket.

Jim Micah walked beside her, like a husband might walk beside his wife, ambling, a half grin on his face. Was he enjoying this little time-out in Wal-Mart? “You never asked me how I found you,” she asked.

“How
did
you find me, Penny?” He laced his voice with a drawl that sent a ripple to her toes. She wouldn’t even think about his use of her nickname.

“I saw you on CNN. You rescued a bunch of kids from a cave?”

His smile dimmed. “Yeah. Their brain-dead camp counselor led them on an expedition into a cave that almost got them all killed. One of them fell and fractured his leg. They nearly died from exposure.” Emotion flickered across his face.

“You do that a lot? Rescue people?” She stopped the cart in the shoe section, wandered toward the size eights.

Micah stood at the end of the row, hands in his coat pockets. He shrugged. “Sometimes. A bunch of friends and I do some part-time SAR work when we’re in the area and there’s a need and we’re called upon.”

She picked up a pair of tennis shoes. “Are these the same folks who went to look for Emily?”

He said nothing.

She glanced at him. “Thank you, by the way. I know you think I used you, but the truth is, I didn’t lie to you. When I called you, I thought she was wandering in the woods, alone and scared and hurt.” Her voice dropped as emotion clogged it. She turned away before tears could betray her, put the tennis shoes down, and reached for a pair of hiking boots.

“I believed you,” he said softly. She felt him close in on her. He picked up the box of boots. “Sit down. You should try these on.”

She sat on a bench, unable to look at him as he snatched a bag of socks from a nearby bin, crouched before her, took out the right boot, and laced it. He opened the bag, took her foot, and put a sock on. “We’ll keep the wrapper and pay for it at checkout,” he said, as if she thought he might steal them.

She couldn’t find words when he fitted the boot on her foot. He tied it carefully. Sweetly.

The image of this powerful man, her once-dearest friend, on his knees before her, attending to her feet, knotted every errant emotion in her chest. She didn’t know what to think about Micah. Was he on her side? Or was he about to betray her and wrench her heart out between her ribs?

“How does it fit?” He pushed his thumb into the space between her toes and the end of the boot.

“Good.”

“Stand up, walk around.” He scooted back and didn’t meet her eyes. As if he, too, felt the vulnerability of the moment.

Lacey stood up and lumped around on one booted foot. “It fits.” She sat down and bent over to unlace the boot … and conked heads with Micah.

“Ouch,” he said, but his grin spoke forgiveness. “You okay?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I think I’ll live.”

He began lacing the other boot. “You can’t walk out of here barefoot.”

There were a lot of things that she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—do, and running around barefoot was the least of her issues. But she smiled as she submitted her other foot.

He tied the laces, backed away, and stood up. “Okay, what’s next on the list?”

Lacey stared at him, suddenly seeing the man who’d been the best athlete in school, the most handsome fella at prom, and the man she’d seen bow his head and ask God to let him be His man. He deserved more than this. Better than this. A good woman, a family, children. “Micah, I should have asked … are you married?”

His mouth opened slightly, and he reddened. Looked away.

She’d made him blush. She tried not to enjoy that, but somehow that fact only made her bolder. He hadn’t married. Please,
please
let that have something to do with her. “How about a girlfriend?” Okay, she’d just treaded onto sensitive territory.

He turned and stalked away, then grabbed their shopping cart as if for balance or support.

“It’s just a question.”

“No. There’s your answer.”

O-
kay.
She sidled up to him. Yes, those boots were comfortable. And in them she just might be able to outrun him. But at the moment ditching him was the last thing on her mind. He didn’t have a girlfriend? “Why not?”

Micah looked at her then, a swift glance that revealed all his emotions, right there in his eyes. His jaw clenched. “Maybe I just never found anyone worth surrendering my life for.” So it
was
about her. Like, John had given his life, and she hadn’t been worth it. “Oh,” she squawked.

Lacey walked beside him, the silence thick and prickled with his accusation. The pain throbbing in her heart should be one of many good reasons to keep her mouth shut, to dodge any moment of fond recollection of a warm and fuzzy friendship with this man. Their future had as much chance as a snowball in Jamaica, and every synapse in her brain screamed at her to run. Besides, Jim Micah had nothing but contempt, with perhaps a smidgen of sympathy, for her.

“Are you hungry?” Micah veered into the chip-and-soda aisle. He reached for a jar of peanuts.

“Pork rinds.” Lacey trolleyed down to the end of the row and chose a bag of barbeque-flavored pork rinds.

Micah made a face. He’d forgotten her affinity for them, a fondness he never could figure out. “You can’t be serious.

I thought that was a phase.”

She tossed them into the cart. “Some habits are hard to break. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” Like the habit of wishing Jim Micah might forgive her someday. She muscled past a wave of sorrow and grabbed a Diet Coke with lime. “I love this new stuff.” She also loaded in a box of Fruit Roll-Ups. “Emily eats these all the time. She dangles them out of her mouth like a tongue.”

Micah smirked.

Lacey wheeled to the cosmetics section, picked up some mascara, lipstick, a hairbrush, a ponytail holder, and panty hose. “So I take it you’re on leave or something?”

“Or something,” Micah said.

She glanced at him. “You’re still with the commandos, right?”

He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.

Something felt … wrong. She remembered the way he’d carried her … and the strain in his eyes. “You weren’t … I mean, you’re not … were you wounded?” She fought the mental image of him pushing papers, filing, or even analyzing missions. But he wore a strange—no …
unsettling
—look. As if he had his own secrets.

He gave a harsh chuckle. “No.”

Somehow that made her feel better. She pushed the cart toward the shampoo aisle. “I always thought you were a lifer, just like John. You both had this patriotic zeal in your eyes at graduation.” Micah had also let her peek inside his soul for a good glimpse at his real reasons. Honest, just, biblical reasons that should make an accused killer like herself turn tail and flee.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m a lifer.” But she heard the strangest tinge in his voice. And when she turned, the look in his eyes sent a flash of heat to the center of her chest.

She made a quick escape toward a display of sunglasses.

Jim Micah, get ahold of yourself.
Right now.

Micah clenched his jaw in an effort to lasso his emotions. Three hours with this woman and he felt like he’d been in a firefight for three days and was on his last clip. He tightened his fists in his pockets and followed her to the sunglasses display.

Married, indeed. As if he could ever get married when he was still in love with—No, not in love. He had a career. And that was enough. As soon as he figured out a way to wrestle Lacey back into the truck and surrender, he’d run, full out, back to that career and never look over his shoulder to this moment when she so neatly ambushed him with the question,
“Are you married?”

Never. Not when it cost his best friend his life. Not that Micah was against marriage—to the right woman. He recognized plenty of good marriages in his midst—like his parents and his brother Joey to Becky. But stacking his plate with one mission then another left little time for Micah to meet someone who might dig through his layers, someone for whom he might crack open his heart and let inside.

Not that he’d ever tried. All desire for marriage died the day he saw the only woman he’d ever loved say “I do” to his best friend. And when she killed him … well, case closed.

Micah walked behind Lacey through the accessories section, watching her pick out a bevy of interesting items. Ten minutes later, he paid for them with his credit card.

She disappeared into the bathroom while he paced. Some-how he needed to negotiate her into surrendering. The last thing she needed was another charge on her list of allegations. Senator Ramey was an honest man, someone who would listen. He’d written Micah’s recommendation for reinstatement, and if Micah could get Lacey to listen, maybe …

Who was he kidding? Micah had barely talked himself into listening to her. Even now, he had a gut feeling that she was hiding enough secrets to get them both shot on sight. Perfect. Just what he needed to bolster the review committee’s opinion of him.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling even more greasy and disgusting than he had the night before. And with the smell he was emanating, he might just pass for roadkill.

Lacey, on the other hand, despite her rather at-loose-ends attire, could still turn a man to knots with her curly red hair, silver eyes so full of energy, and her smile that seemed to blindside him and elevate his heartbeat. He hadn’t expected her questions or her soft concern about his health.
“Were you wounded?”

Yeah, a sniper bullet straight to his heart about twenty years ago. Status—critical.

He ground his molars, placed his arms across his chest.

“I always thought you were a lifer.…”

She’d meant in the army. She had no idea that she’d zeroed in on his biggest problem—the fact that he’d never flushed her from his system. Never exorcised the memory of Lacey Galloway from what was left of his bleeding heart. But he’d spent years shoving his feelings into compartments, eating tactics, breathing duty, knowing that if he ever let his feelings out of the box, they might devour him.

And he wasn’t about to let Lacey Galloway interfere with twenty years of training. He’d waited—no,
prayed
—for this day. Hadn’t he?