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Dead Run
Jodie Bailey
A SOLDIER’S SECRETKristin James’s morning run turns deadly when she’s attacked by a stranger who’s after something her deceased soldier brother stole overseas. Her neighbor Sergeant First Class Lucas Murphy steps in to help her and won’t let her brush the attack under the rug. He’ll do everything he can to keep Kristin alive, but he can’t tell her that he’s under orders to investigate her link to her brother’s misdeeds. Kristin has no idea what the bad guy is after and doesn’t want to believe that her brother wasn’t on the straight and narrow. But as evidence against him piles up, can they catch the criminals without becoming the next casualties?
A SOLDIER’S SECRET
Kristin James’s morning run turns deadly when she’s attacked by a stranger who’s after something her deceased soldier brother stole overseas. Her neighbor Sergeant First Class Lucas Murphy steps in to help her and won’t let her brush the attack under the rug. He’ll do everything he can to keep Kristin alive, but he can’t tell her that he’s under orders to investigate her link to her brother’s misdeeds. Kristin has no idea what the bad guy is after and doesn’t want to believe that her brother wasn’t on the straight and narrow. But as evidence against him piles up, can they catch the criminals without becoming the next casualties?
“The cavalry has arrived.”
Adding to her sarcastic comment, she looked at him as if he was the last person she wanted to see.
Didn’t she realize a man had nearly choked her and shoved her back into a tree hard enough to break her? He stepped closer. “Are you okay?”
She waved a hand, anger darkening her eyes. “I’m fine. Now, if you’re done playing the hero, I’m going to finish my run.” She started past Lucas with nonchalance, as if some assailant hadn’t just thrown her around like a rag doll.
He stepped into her path, his arms crossed over his chest. “You can’t pretend nothing happened here. The police are on their way.”
Everything about her hardened, from her expression to her posture. “You had no right to call them.”
Something flittered across his flesh, a chill, an instinct. Whatever he called it, it was what had kept him alive in the desert.
This woman was hiding something.
And he had to find out...before it got her killed.
Dear Reader (#u9ec7ce48-9153-568e-8c0e-c1aafa5bea16),
First off, I would like to say that my brother is nothing like Kyle Coleman.
This book was a little bit different than any other suspense, because I usually start with a crime and then build in characters and their faith. This time, Kristin came along and demanded to be put in a story. Of course she did. Would you expect her to do anything different? I knew she’d had pain. I knew her life had been tragic.
And I knew her brother was not the good guy who only looked guilty.
That was tough. What do we do when people aren’t who we thought they were? When we have to face that there is fault in all of us, even in the people we love? Kristin had to face those questions head-on. Why? Because we all have to face them at some point. And it is our relationship with our Savior that determines whether we face those moments with grace or with devastation.
Me? I don’t know where I’d be without Jesus. And like Kristin, I find surrender hard. Every day I find it hard. I like to do things my own way, to take care of things myself. Is anybody else nodding their head right now, or is it just me?
The one thing I’ve found is this... Surrender doesn’t mean life becomes this giant la-la happy land of roses. But it does make the hard days easier. I meant when I said I don’t know where I’d be without Jesus. Because when I look back on the hard times, I don’t see pain. I see Him. I see the people He placed in my life. I feel His presence. And I know I never was alone, not even for one moment.
The very thing that Kristin had to learn.
And I feel compelled to ask... Are you there yet?
Thank you so much for running the race with Kristin and Lucas. (Fun story about Lucas—that wasn’t his name at first. But when I tried to type his story with his original name, he refused to show up on the page. Kept insisting he was Lucas and refusing to talk. Stubborn man.) I hope you’ll stop by and visit me at www.jodiebailey.com (http://www.jodiebailey.com) or, if you’re curious to see if the pictures in your head match the pictures in mine, you’ll drop by Pinterest and check out the story boards there. And I always love to hear from you at Jodie@jodiebailey.com (mailto:Jodie@jodiebailey.com).
Thanks again for reading. I’m honored.
Jodie Bailey
JODIE BAILEY writes novels about freedom and the heroes who fight for it. Her novel Crossfire won a 2015 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She is convinced a camping trip to the beach with her family, a good cup of coffee and a great book can cure all ills. Jodie lives in North Carolina with her husband, her daughter and two dogs.
Dead Run
Jodie Bailey
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
—John 16:33
To my brother Matt, my first best friend.
Contents
Cover (#udcc0ca7d-7cdd-5940-92eb-255856a4d610)
Back Cover Text (#uf1f07319-ae6d-5e0c-84ae-fc241421c770)
Introduction (#u569cc12c-9451-5526-bf7a-5f514ce42640)
Dear Reader (#u4a971f80-d5fe-5b13-a9f3-cee76f9ca41f)
About the Author (#ufbed2adb-b809-528e-9a96-86a4bd6438fd)
Title Page (#u7c9d630e-1f7d-5599-8837-718ba77761d3)
Bible Verse (#udc999431-7a14-56d9-a3cc-d0af7e150071)
Dedication (#uf86a72d0-ef15-5451-9171-fb00be66d24b)
ONE (#uc895ab64-2d04-5914-bd92-e26d6423bb34)
TWO (#u674617c4-7fd1-5cfd-9396-0b2e10046e38)
THREE (#u840f2684-512d-57a5-91d8-a32dd50c0c69)
FOUR (#u819404da-2b3d-58f4-98df-0e36029b3a08)
FIVE (#ubcbc3bda-3332-55bc-8933-390d47cd7900)
SIX (#ua0466e40-cd84-53e5-9f01-a9db92cbd181)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#u9ec7ce48-9153-568e-8c0e-c1aafa5bea16)
Kristin James jumped sideways, one foot sliding on the gray dirt as she tried to catch her footing on the rough running trail around Smith Lake on the outskirts of Fort Bragg. “For real?” She threw up her hands, but the mountain biker blasted past, nearly driving her into the woods.
The rider didn’t acknowledge her as he rounded the bend ahead and kept going, the whir of his tires fading among the pine trees.
“Share the road!” She yelled one more angry rebuke for good measure. Seriously.
Rotating her foot to make sure her ankle wasn’t twisted, she stepped onto the trail and picked up speed again, the adrenaline from her near miss amping her heart rate better than the first mile of her run already had.
The All-American Marathon was the next month, and if she was going to maintain her time, she’d better push her training until the runners hit the start line in downtown Fayetteville.
And hope nobody else burst out of the thick pine trees to run her over.
The early-morning Carolina breeze whispered in the pines, mild for March but more bearable than the summer. Other than her “friend” on the mountain bike, she hadn’t seen another soul on the trail. Exactly how she liked it.
A cracking noise around a curve ahead slowed her pace, and she wrinkled her forehead, her steps slowing.
The mountain biker roared around the curve, heading directly toward her.
What was he thinking?
The rider, his face covered by a gray ski mask, ground into the brakes as he neared, the rear end of the bike skidding sideways. The motion threw dirt and gravel on Kristin as she stumbled backward. Taking advantage of her unsteadiness, the rider reached out and shoved her out of the way.
Kristin fought to recover but fell hard to one knee, sticks and pine straw shredding into her skin. She scrambled to her feet and stalked toward the daredevil, who’d dropped the bike in the middle of the trail and stood eyeing her like he was ready for whatever challenge she threw at him.
Well, he’d gotten a bigger challenge than he’d anticipated. Kristin skirted the discarded bike and stopped arm’s length away, sizing up her adversary. He wasn’t much taller than she was, likely a gym rat, the kind of guy who wanted everybody to know his workout routine and to marvel at how he’d built a body by weight machine. He probably skipped leg day, too.
He wore gray cargo shorts, an odd choice for a mountain biker. A tattooed snake wound around his leg from ankle to knee, fangs bared and dripping vivid red blood. Yeah, leg day wasn’t this guy’s favorite, and he tried to cover it with the scary tat. Nice.
If she’d had a card with her, she’d have flicked it in his face and told him what a good personal trainer could do for him. On second thought, she’d never liked his type as a client. Especially not since he was cocky enough to think running a woman off the trail was a viable way to get her attention. “What is your problem?”
A slow grin tipped the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement flickering in his eyes. It was more like...determination. “No problem. Least not for me.”
The way he said the words jangled memories in a pulse straight to her feet, driving her backward.
No. Kristin retreated from no man. Instead, she squared her shoulders, taking the offensive. “Watch where you’re going. And don’t come near me again.”
She stepped over the rear tire of his bike and moved to start running again.
A heavy arm hooked around her waist and jerked her backward against a chest as hard as steel, lifting her off the ground. A beefy hand clamped over her mouth, twisting her head painfully to the side.
Kristin fought a rising panic. No one had laid a hand on her in years, but the memory bit, drawing long-buried fear with it.
He’s not my father.
But he likely had more nefarious intentions than knocking any supposed disrespect out of her.
This kind of thing didn’t happen to her. It just didn’t. She was the one who taught women how to bring their inner strength out. She wasn’t the one who was attacked on an early-morning trail run, a statistic for the six o’clock news.
Kristin tried to pull away, but the way he’d twisted her head to the side strained her neck and made movement virtually impossible.
Hot breath grazed her ear. “You scream and I’ll make sure you never make another sound again. We’re going to talk about your brother, Kyle, whether you like it or not.” He jerked harder, and her neck screamed in protest.
Her brother? Kyle had been dead for months, killed by a sniper in Iraq. Given their years of estrangement and her brother’s sorry track record for communicating, she would be the last one to have answers anyway.
Kristin scrambled for a plan, a way out. She dropped her struggle and went limp, judging his hold. What weapons did she have left on her body? She couldn’t reach his instep or his throat...none of the vulnerable spots she’d learned in self-defense classes. And if she fought too hard from her current position, the likelihood of him breaking her neck was high.
There was one option.
With all of her remaining strength, she bent her leg and drove her heel back, catching her captor in the knee. The drive caught solid bone, and he roared, his hold releasing as he regrouped.
Kristin’s feet thudded onto the ground, and one skipped out from under her on loose pine needles, driving her to the dirt. She ought to run, but if he pursued on the bike, she’d never be able to get far.
No, she had to fight. Turning on him, she balled her fists and prepared to throw every weapon in her arsenal.
He charged and drove her into a tree, the rough bark digging at her shoulder blade through her thin running shirt.
It took a moment to absorb the blow, but Kristin fought, swinging her hands between his to break his hold. She landed on her feet and advanced as he staggered, driving the heel of her hand into his nose.
There was a thud, and blood soaked the gray ski mask.
