Flee the Night (21 page)

As he approached her, needles of anger pricked at his guilt. John should be here. But the guy had chosen to go on a pretraining camp vacation with his college pals rather than take his gal to prom. So he’d called Micah, who played it cool and let John talk him into it instead of falling all over the idea like a desperate man.

John so didn’t deserve this girl—no,
woman
. And she
had
blossomed into a full-grown woman, with a brain and courage. That afternoon she’d told him that she’d landed a scholarship to MIT. She took his breath away in so many ways.

She turned, apparently sensing his presence, and smiled.

His throat tightened. No, John didn’t deserve her. But neither, probably, did he.

She took his arm and they entered the dance. A hundred eyes turned and Micah raised his chin, glad that the army had added tone to his bulky football muscle. When Lacey looked up at him with pride, it made his chest swell to three times its size.

He couldn’t remember what he ate, if anything. His knotted stomach wouldn’t handle it. And then they cleared the floor and the dance started.

He stood at the sidelines, paralyzed.

Lacey said nothing as the other partners took the floor, some line dancing, others two-stepping. He knew how to two-step, even knew a few Yankee twirls, but his polished shoes stuck to the floor.

Lacey’s smile had vanished. She stared at the dancers, disappointment on her beautiful face.

Oh, what was he thinking, standing in for John? He was in big, big trouble. Still, he heard himself say, “Wanna dance?”

The world lit up with her smile. She nodded, and then they were on the dance floor, and he forgot all about John. Or feeling self-conscious in his uniform. Or even the fact that he was two years older than every other guy in the room and that the last time he’d been to a prom, it had been his senior prom and he’d sat in the corner, caught in a cloud of gloom as John twirled Lacey around the floor.

His turn.

They danced and laughed, and she felt perfect in his arms. She anticipated his moves, landed lightly in his arms, stepped smartly around him. They had rhythm and grace. During their final dance, he twirled her and she ended up in his arms in a last dip, her arms around his neck.

He knew then that they had to leave.

She didn’t protest, simply grabbed her little purse from the table, hugged a couple of girlfriends good-bye, and left, hugging his arm.

The cool summer air whisked the sweat from his brow, snaked under his collar. He loosened it as he left her at the curb and walked out to the car. He would drive her straight home, say good night, and call it mission completed. Without casualties.

Only they ended up at Lover’s Bluff, a ridge overlooking Ashleyville. The twinkle of lights and the moon overhead seemed to be blotting out all reasonable thought.

“Thank you, Micah, for taking me to the prom. It was … wonderful.”

He sat with both hands clamped on the steering wheel, calling himself an idiot. Why hadn’t he just taken her home?

Because, deep inside, he was still hoping that she might love
him
, be more than a friend. That she might choose him instead of John.

“It’s a pretty night.” She looked at him. “I wonder where John is right now.”

He didn’t want to think about John at the moment. “I dunno,” he growled.

She frowned at him. “Well, I don’t care. I had a magical night. You are a better date than he is.” Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t nice. I just remember that at your senior prom he danced with about ten other girls and then took me home early so he could go out with you.”

That wasn’t how Micah remembered it. In fact, he’d harbored some pretty dark ideas of just why John had left early with Lacey, and it was only Lacey’s sweet innocence that following summer after John had left for boot camp that convinced Micah those musings couldn’t be true. Now he wondered if they’d only been misplaced.

“Well, he missed out then,” he said, feeling suddenly empowered. John didn’t deserve this woman. He, Micah, would never deceive her like that.

She had a smile that, even without the moonlight, could turn his words to paste in this mouth. The added boost of heavenly radiance, the sound of cicadas, and the warm and summery breeze through the car, tangled all rational thought. He moved toward her, wrapped a hand around her neck, and kissed her.

Lacey touched his cheek, and he thought it might be to push him away. But she curled her gloved hand behind his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him back. Her lips tasted of cherry punch, and her perfume reached out and obliterated the final shreds of common sense. He embraced her, fighting a rise of emotions.

He loved her. He loved her adventurous spirit, her smile, her laughter, and her intelligence. He loved the way she rode a horse with abandon, the way she trusted him, and the way she lit up when he walked into the room. He loved the fact that she made him feel alive, tugged cloistered emotions from his heart, and wasn’t afraid to let her own feelings show. He loved her so much that when he lay in bivouac, staring at the stars during the hardest days of basic training, her pretty face had filled his brain and given him a smile before he fell into exhausted slumber. She didn’t belong to John. She was Micah’s. He deepened his kiss.

“Oh!”

He backed away, eyes wide, his breath caught.

She swallowed, but pain etched her face. “The corsage.” She hunched her back to escape the needle piercing her skin. With a contorted expression, she reached up and eased the pin out of the flower. It had blood on the end.

He stared at it in horror. What had he done? Like he’d been awakened out of an incredible dream by a reveille, he stared at her, his heart thumping. “Oh no, I did it again,” he said with a groan.

“You did what?” She wore the same look she had at the creek. Shock. Fear.

Of
course
she was afraid. She was in love with John, and Micah had practically attacked her, not once but twice. He moved away, shaking. “I’m taking you home, Lacey.” He started the car, then backed out.

“Micah, what’s the matter?”

He glanced at her as he turned onto the road. “You know what the matter is. John. I’m his best friend. And you’re his girl. I feel sick.”

She gazed straight ahead, but he thought he saw tears crest over her eyes. Then she said so quietly he barely heard it, “But John’s not here. You are.”

He wanted to close his eyes, yell, or maybe just get out and run about thirty miles at a full sprint, just to feel anything but this fist squeezing his heart. John didn’t deserve her, but Micah couldn’t steal her. He wasn’t that kind of guy—or at least he thought he wasn’t that kind of guy until he’d gotten in the car and driven her purposely to a lovers’ lookout. Some friend, some trustworthy pal he was.

He gritted his teeth, lest his emotions spill out and he tell her exactly how he felt about her dating the one guy who was headed for trouble. He knew John’s dreams. CIA. Covert operator. Glory and adventure and changing the world one corner at a time. And he’d drag Lacey—smart, talented Lacey—right along with him. Probably get her killed.

Micah could barely see by the time he pulled up in front of her house.

She sat in the car without moving.

“I’m leaving in the morning, Lace. I’ll write.”

She wiped her face. “No, you won’t. I won’t see you again. You’re going to get killed and then … it’ll break my heart.”

He looked at her, pretty sure that his own heart was about to leap into her arms.
Hold yourself together, buddy, just a minute longer.
“No, it won’t. You’ll have John. That’s what you want, anyway.”

She stared at him, a hard glint of anger in her eyes. She swallowed and her voice sounded cold. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Then she got out and slammed the door.

His throat was thick, his eyes burning by the time he got home. He packed a bag that night and was back at base by morning.

So much for completing his mission without casualty.

Now, twenty years later, watching her sleep, he knew his wounds were very much alive and bleeding profusely.
It hurts too much.

He thought about her words from that night long ago, and suddenly something snapped inside him. Maybe she’d meant something else. Like … pointing out that Micah was the one who’d been there, the one she’d kissed … and he might be the one she … loved? Unfortunately, as a twenty-year-old, he saw only her ability to crush him. Yes, he’d been dangerously close to handing her his heart, but he blamed this impulse on the moonlight, the smell of her perfume, their easy friendship.

It had nearly killed him to walk away from her. But in the end, after he’d gathered his wits, he’d felt vindicated. She’d married the man she loved. If Micah had given her his heart on that starry night, he would have been decimated. A walking shell. Then again, that’s pretty much how he felt most of the time.

He realized suddenly that rejection wasn’t so much about how Lacey viewed him. It was about knowing how vulnerable and unworthy he was and how much he needed her love. Which was probably why Lacey looked hollowed out and on the fine edge of raw. She’d been hollowed out by grief and the crushing weight of her sins before a holy God. She’d had a sweet relationship with her Savior but had walked away from it one step at a time. Years later, she was crippled to the point where she couldn’t face Him. She needed God’s love more than she needed to breathe, and she knew it. Just like she knew the darkness buried in her soul.

And if anything happened to Emily …

Maybe God wasn’t ignoring Micah’s prayers. Maybe, in fact, He was answering the ones Micah had been too ashamed to voice.

He reached over and tugged Lacey over onto his chest. When she scooted closer and curled up, he felt something inside begin to heal.

“Okay, that’s it. I need real food.”

Lacey heard his masculine voice in that sweet place between dreaming and wakefulness, when it might be safe to just enjoy this warmth, this feeling of herself in someone’s—John’s?—arms.

She felt him move her off his shoulder, then the cool of the leather seat against her neck and cheek, heard the door click.

The click woke her. She opened her eyes. An overhead light bathed the truck in orange luminescence. She pushed herself up, feeling lined and ugly. It took a moment for her to orient herself … she touched the dash, smelled the lingering scent of masculinity.

Jim Micah.

Had she been sleeping on his shoulder? She blinked and adjusted her eyes. They were parked facing a darkened, rumpled field. She glanced out of the back of the topper. A twenty-four-hour convenience store with two lonely gas pumps lit the night like a UFO. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remember the moment. They were on their way to Missouri to get Emily.

She should leave.
Right now.
Simply start the truck and back out, leaving Micah really angry … but very much alive. Because if he stayed with her, he would end up just as dead as John. She knew it in her heart. She swallowed hard and stared at the keys dangling in the ignition. Only, he was starting to believe her about Emily, about John. Believe that she couldn’t be a cold-blooded murderer.

She touched the keys. They felt cold and jagged. Just like her future would be without Micah in her life.

But alive and angry were a billion times better than dead.

No Jim Micah.

She scooted over into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition over, and shifted into reverse.

Micah appeared in the rearview mirror, carrying a paper bag. She tore her gaze off him and hit the gas.

“No!”

She heard him yell and tensed.
Sorry, Micah
. She felt like a jerk, a kick-the-guy-in-the-teeth-while-he’s-smiling jerk. But again, that was better than Micah ending up as a corpse. She braked, flung the truck into drive, punched the gas.

Micah reached her door as the pickup jerked forward. She heard him shout and realized he’d grabbed the handle. “No, Micah!”

He was running beside the truck, banging on the window, yelling her name. She glanced over and wanted to scream. If he didn’t let go, he’d be dragged behind. “Go away!”

“Open up! Don’t do this, Penny!”

She gritted her teeth.
Don’t call me that. I’m anything but lucky for you.
But the name made a direct hit. She slowed down, her breath gusting out. She lowered her head to the steering wheel, calling herself a coward. She didn’t want to do this anymore. Not alone.

He opened the passenger door, slid in, and said nothing. He just sat there and stared at her, his chest rising and falling in heaves.

She couldn’t look at him.

“When are you going to trust me?”

“It’s not about me not trusting you. It’s about you getting hurt. The text message said specifically,
No Jim Micah
.” She glanced at him and wondered if her fears showed in her eyes the way confusion showed in his.

He frowned and shook his head. “Who knows me?”

“I don’t know. But they know enough about me to know that I’d call you.”

He reached out, and she fought his sudden tenderness. Micah, her friend, had made a breath-stealing reappearance, and it was about all she could do not to be that gullible high school girl and forget everything but his hands in her hair, his touch on her lips.