Witness On The Run

“Yes.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise. He thought his childhood had been atypical. Eating fresh farm produce instead of junk food was nothing compared to eking out a meager existence in the Northwest Territories.

“He died when I was sixteen. He was only forty at the time.”

“Jesus,” Cam said.

“He had a good life,” she said. “Short, but not wasted.”

“Is that what you want?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather take after my grandmother. She lived to be eighty. She used to say my dad used up all of his spirit in half the time because he never sat still. He never stopped working.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Thirty-four,” he said gruffly.

“That’s a good age,” she said, grabbing another fry.

Cam tried not to be captivated by her, and failed. She had a slight accent that sounded woodsy and pleasant to his ears. She was interesting, as well as beautiful. A wave of sexual awareness washed over him, heating his blood and kicking up his pulse. He felt mildly alarmed by his response to her. He needed to pump the brakes, and stop asking so many personal questions. This wasn’t a date.

She stuck a straw in her soda bottle and took a sip, drawing his attention to her mouth. Tulips in spring.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Would you rather have a short life or a long one?”

He made a noncommittal sound and kept eating.

“You’re an ice-road trucker, so I’m guessing short. Then again, you eat healthy and take care of your body.” Her gaze traveled over him. “You work out, right?”

He flushed at her perusal. “I don’t work out to live longer.”

“No?”

“I sit in a truck all day. I’d get stir-crazy if I didn’t exercise.”

“It’s not natural to spend so much time inside a vehicle.”

Cam couldn’t argue there. The lack of activity didn’t bother some truckers. They each had their own vices. Chain-smoking and snacking were common ways to stay awake. The long hours of limited movement were difficult, but it was part of the job. He embraced the restrictions as much as the freedoms. He relished the danger and the solitude. He hadn’t become a trucker to take it easy. He’d done it to disconnect with the rest of the world, and from himself.

He also didn’t exercise just to combat inactivity. He did it to assuage his grief, to punish himself for living, and to sleep at night. The more grueling the workout, the better. He’d become obsessive. He’d made an effort to cut down last year, after pulling a muscle in his thigh. Overdoing it wasn’t healthy, either.

They were almost finished eating when a pair of uniformed officers walked in. Cam watched them dispassionately, reminded of his former self. Tala rose from the table after the officers paused at the front counter.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

Cam paid the check while she was gone. The waitress came and went. So did the police officers, who ordered their coffee to go. Cam drummed his fingertips against the table. It dawned on him that Tala had taken her parka with her, which was odd.

He wondered if she’d ditched him. It wouldn’t be a big shock. She’d wanted a ride to Fairbanks, and here they were.

Curious, he went looking for her. The women’s restroom was at the end of the hall. An emergency exit on the opposite side of the restaurant offered the only escape. He paused outside the door, listening for a moment. Then he pushed it open. There were two stalls and two sinks under a big mirror. “Tala?”

No answer. Just a sharp intake of breath.

He waited another beat. “The officers are gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Frowning to himself, he shut the door. What had he gotten himself into? It was one thing to risk death on the ice roads, quite another to risk arrest by harboring a female fugitive.

She emerged from the bathroom a second later, feigning innocence. They walked into the night together and approached his rig. He glanced in her direction, noting she was tight-mouthed and ghost-pale. He didn’t ask her why she’d been hiding from the police. She probably wouldn’t tell him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in whatever trouble she was in. He had to leave tomorrow.

She paused in the parking lot, her breaths visible in the frozen air. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done a lot. I won’t forget it.”

He realized she was trying to say goodbye. He shook his head in protest. “Come with me. I know where we can stay for free.”

“Where?”

“Ann’s Cabins.”

“Why is it free?”

“I split wood for her every time I’m in Fairbanks. We trade services.”

She searched his face for hints of deception. He was stretching the truth a little. Ann gave him a discount, but he hardly ever stayed at the cabins. He split wood because he liked doing it, not because he cared about saving money.

“Are we trading services, too?” she asked.

He laughed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he realized it was a serious question. She wanted to know what he expected of her, and she was smart to be cautious. Very few men would offer her a bed without intending to share it.

He held her gaze. “No. We’re not.”

She stared at him with undisguised curiosity. “Why are you helping me?”

An icy fist of grief squeezed around his heart. He couldn’t answer her question honestly. He couldn’t bear to talk about Jenny and his inability to save her. He opened his passenger door. “I didn’t bring you in from the cold just to let you freeze somewhere else.”

She didn’t appear satisfied with the response, but she climbed inside his truck. She must have trusted him more than another stranger. The next trucker she met might not be a gentleman. He might demand sexual favors in exchange for a ride. If she said no, he could leave her stranded on the side of the road. Or worse.

Cam got behind the wheel and started the engine. Ann’s was within walking distance of a major shopping center. Tala could rest tonight and look for work tomorrow.

The cabins were quaint and secluded. Romantic, even. Although it wasn’t a trucker hangout, it was known to truckers because the owner was a trucker’s widow. Her husband had died on the Dalton a few years ago, in an avalanche. Cam had heard chatter about it on the CB last winter. The truckers pitched in to help Ann with odd jobs. One of them said she needed someone to chop firewood for her. Cam had jumped at the task.

Turning off the main drag, he drove toward the cabins. He parked in the back of the lot and went inside the office while Tala waited in the truck.

The front desk was empty, so he rang the bell. Ann came out to greet him. She reminded him of Mrs. Claus, with her round-framed glasses and curly white hair. “If it isn’t my woodcutter,” she said with a smile. “How’s the season going?”

“It’s good. I’m keeping busy.”

“Have you been on the haul road?”

“I’m heading that way tomorrow.”

“You be careful out there.”

“I will.”

She toggled the mouse on her computer to check him in. “The only cabin left is a double. My singles are under remodel, so they’re all closed.”

He took out his wallet, considering. Would Tala stay with him in one room?

“I’ll give you a double for the single price, if it’s just you.”

His neck heated with embarrassment. “I have a guest, actually.”

Ann gave him his discount and handed him the key. If she was curious about his companion, she was discreet enough to pretend otherwise. “Ring me if you need anything,” she said, winking.

He left the office and approached cabin 4, which was at the end of the first row. He opened the door and turned on the lights. It was a cozy room with two beds, a fireplace and a bathroom. Tala got out of his truck and walked across the parking lot, her parka hood obscuring most of her face. She didn’t object to the sleeping arrangements. Maybe she hadn’t anticipated having her own space. He followed her inside, his heart racing.

She sat down on the far bed. She bounced on the mattress to test its firmness. “This is nice.”

Cam glanced around for something else to look at. His gaze settled on the fireplace. There was a bin full of logs he’d split. The evidence of his last good deed unsettled him. He crouched down to build a fire with shaking hands. He didn’t know what he was so nervous about. They were here to sleep, nothing more. He wasn’t going to touch her. Even if he was capable of a clumsy seduction attempt, which he doubted, he wouldn’t try anything. He might be numb and emotionless, but he wasn’t a liar. He’d given her his word.

She stood, shrugging out of her parka. “I’m going to take a shower.”

He watched her disappear into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her with a click. He turned his attention back to the fire. When he had it blazing, he got up and dusted off his hands. Then he moved to the far corner of the room, by the window. There were logs stacked up near the chopping block. He considered going outside to split wood. Tala might appreciate the privacy. He turned his attention to the bathroom door, picturing her naked. Wet, dark hair. Warm, soap-slick skin.

His blood thickened with arousal. He could feel that, if nothing else. He was still capable of desire. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, but the images didn’t cease. He was ten steps away from a nude woman. He could hear the water running, streaming over her body. Erotic thoughts filled his head, fantasies and memories combined. He remembered how it felt to join a lady in the shower. To lift her up against the tiles and take her. To drink water droplets from her skin.

His hands curled into fists and his groin tightened to a painful degree. He didn’t know what to do, or where to look. Staring out the window didn’t help. It was as if his brain had short-circuited from the sensory overload. He was afraid she’d emerge from the bathroom and see him standing there with an erection.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his heart pounding. He tried to think unsexy thoughts, but it was no use. He was too wound up. He took deep breaths, fists clenching and unclenching. Unfortunately, his arousal didn’t ebb. He’d denied himself pleasure too long. His body was staging a full-on revolt. He needed to get out of here.

Springing to his feet, he walked outside, into the frigid air. He gulped it into his lungs, staring at the clear night sky. It was bracingly cold. He felt better. He wanted to stretch his legs, so he started jogging. He did a few laps around the neighborhood, his breaths puffing out in the black night.

After he regained control of his body, his thoughts cleared. He returned to the chopping block outside their cabin. There was a stack of heavy logs beneath a covered awning. The ax was in the shed. He placed a log on the stump and brought the ax down, splitting it in one strike. He repeated the process over and over, until his mind was numb.

Chapter 5

Tala ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.

Even though Cam had made it clear that he didn’t expect her to sleep with him, she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. She shouldn’t have come here. Now she felt trapped. She was at his mercy.

What if he made a pass at her? He might think she was fair game for a one-night stand, despite his reassurances. The poor guy’s wife had died. He was lonely. He was young and strong and healthy. It was only natural for him to seek out female company, and he liked her. She could see it in his eyes. When his gaze settled on her, awareness sizzled done her spine. Because she liked him, too.

She studied her anxious expression in the mirror, feeling conflicted. She wished she’d asked him to take her to the airport. She could have spent the night on the benches. It wouldn’t have been comfortable, but she’d endured worse. At the airport, there were multiple exits. If she needed to, she could run.

Cam wasn’t holding her against her will, of course. She’d agreed to stay with him. She didn’t think he was a physical threat. It wasn’t so much that she was afraid of him. She was afraid of men, period. She was afraid of letting down her guard, and of getting attached. She hadn’t escaped Duane to become reliant on another man. She couldn’t make that mistake again. She had to take care of herself before she could feel safe with anyone else.

She turned away from the mirror and stripped off her clothes. As she stepped into the shower, memories from this morning crept up on her. She started shivering again, even though the water was piping hot. When she closed her eyes, she imagined the scene in the parking lot. Blood spraying from the gunshot wound, spreading from the body in a dark circle. She scrubbed at her skin, as if the trauma had sullied her.

After she rinsed off, she felt lightheaded and slightly nauseated. She stepped out of the stall, wrapping a towel around her body. She didn’t have anything to wear besides her uniform, which wouldn’t double as pajamas. Her tights were ruined, so she tossed them in the trash. Then she washed her underwear in the sink. They were nylon, so they’d dry by morning. She hung them on the hook behind the door.

She was reluctant to leave the bathroom without clothes on, but whatever. She’d have to climb into bed in her towel. Maybe Cam wouldn’t notice. Maybe he wasn’t that interested. She’d been told she was pretty often enough, but she’d also been told otherwise. Duane had yelled at her to shut her ugly mouth, or move her skinny ass. She didn’t think she was ugly, and she definitely wasn’t skinny, but his criticism had eroded her self-confidence.

Tension welled up inside her. A part of her wanted Cam to find her attractive. She just didn’t want him to do anything about it. She hoped he wouldn’t consider her near nudity a sign of encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and ventured out. She tried not to worry about Cam’s reaction, or overestimate her appeal. With her tangled hair and skinned knees, she wasn’t some irresistible femme fatale. He might not look twice at her.

As it turned out, Cam didn’t look once. Because he wasn’t there.

She clutched the towel to her chest, bewildered. He must have gone outside. There was no reason to run for cover now, so she stood in front of the fireplace. It was crackling with new flames, bright and warm. If Cam didn’t return, she’d spend the night in the cabin and figure out her next step in the morning. She’d have to look for work at another café or diner. While she finger-combed her hair, letting it dry, she became aware of a familiar sound. Someone was splitting wood. She approached the window and peeked through the curtains.

It was Cam. He swung the ax in powerful strokes, bringing it down hard. When he had a nice stack of split pieces, he carried them to the shed. Then he started over. He set a punishing pace, his brow furrowed. She didn’t know what demons were inside him, or why he worked so hard for physical release, but she enjoyed watching him. His strength was impressive and his tortured-soul expression captivated her imagination. She assumed he was still grieving. He was still in love with his late wife. That was why he didn’t want to “trade services” with Tala. That was why he seemed so detached and alone.

She left the window, her heart heavy, and sat down to fix her hair. She made two braids and secured the tails. She hadn’t worn her hair like this since she’d left Canada. She hadn’t wanted to look Indian while she was hiding out in Alaska, but she was proud of her heritage. The blood of her ancestors flowed strong and true inside her. Unlike her self-esteem, it could never be weakened or changed. It could never be beaten.

Cam came in from the cold, breathing hard. His face was flushed from exertion. He had a duffel bag in his hands. He did a quick scan of her towel-clad form. Then he unzipped the bag and took out a red-checked flannel. He thrust it at her, averting his gaze. “You can wear this to sleep in.”

She accepted the shirt with gratitude.

“I’m going to shower,” he muttered, and ducked into the bathroom.

After the door closed, she brought the flannel to her nose and inhaled. It smelled nice, like cozy man and laundry detergent. She put on the shirt, securing the buttons. Then she climbed into bed and stared up at the log-beam ceiling. Her thoughts whirled around and around before settling on the obvious. She pictured Cam naked in a soapy lather. She wondered if he was hard-muscled all over, or if he carried most of his strength in his arms. Was he hairy, with a thick pelt on his chest to match his beard? Maybe he had ugly feet. She smiled at the thought. Surely he had flaws. He was just a man like any other.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she had to revise her opinion. He was shirtless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. She couldn’t find a single imperfection. Splitting wood had brought his muscles into sharp definition. His shoulders were broad, his stomach tight. His biceps looked as hard and crisp as McIntosh apples. The smattering of hair across his chest didn’t qualify as a pelt, but it added to his rugged masculinity.

He turned off the lights and headed toward the other bed, ignoring her. She watched him get settled under the blankets. They were quiet for several moments. She listened to the wood crackle and pop in the fireplace.

It became clear that he wasn’t going to try to climb into bed with her. She didn’t have to worry about him demanding sexual favors in exchange for the ride to Fairbanks. Maybe she’d mistaken simple kindness for desire on his part.

Maybe he didn’t want her.

She should have been relieved by his decency. She could relax now that she knew where she stood with him. For some reason, she felt sad and restless. Although she was exhausted, sleep wouldn’t come.

She turned toward him in the dark. The light from the fire didn’t reach his face. Although she couldn’t see his features, she sensed his tension. The reason for it eluded her. He hadn’t seemed anxious before they entered the cabin. Something had triggered him. While she showered, he’d gone outside to chop wood in a frenzy. “Are you awake?”

“No,” he said in a clipped tone.

She smiled at his curt response.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“What happened to your wife?”

He paused for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “She was in an accident. Hit-and-run. They rushed her to the hospital and tried to save her. She was in a coma for a few months.”

“She never woke up?”

“No. She didn’t.”

Her heart constricted with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Is that why you came to Alaska?”

“Yes.”

“You needed to get away from the bad memories.”

He shifted on the mattress, seeming uncomfortable. “I thought if I kept moving, I could...move on.”

“Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

He fell silent again.

“It’s okay to grieve, even for a long time.”

“Let’s talk about you,” he said.

“Me?”

“You’re on the run for a reason.”

It was her turn to be quiet.

“You won’t tell me about it?”

“No.”

“You don’t trust me?”

That wasn’t it. Right now, in the dark of the cabin, with flames crackling in the fireplace, she trusted him. She didn’t think he would hurt her or take advantage of her. But she also couldn’t expect him to rescue her from this mess. She had to rescue herself.

“I don’t want to involve you,” she said finally.

“Why not?”

“It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe I can help.”

She shook her head in denial. “I just have to lay low for a while. I’ve done it before.”

He grunted at this admission, as if it didn’t surprise him.

“I’ll be okay. I can find a job.”

“Where?”

“At a diner.”

“A diner with no cops or truckers? Good luck with that.”

“I’m not worried about truckers.”

“You should be, because they’ll recognize you.”

“So?”

“They’ll talk about you on the radio.”

“They will not.”

“Sure they will. They already do. I’ve heard them.”

She moistened her lips, incredulous. “What do they say?”

“Complimentary things. Some of it’s a little crude.”

Those bastards. She curled her hands into fists. If truckers talked about her on the radio, she’d be in trouble. Anyone could listen to those stations, including the cops—and the killers. But maybe Walt was okay, and no one would come looking for her. Maybe no one would worry about a missing waitress.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find work on your back, if nothing else.”

She sat up in bed, her eyes narrow. He wasn’t insulting her to be mean. He thought he was helping her. “You’re trying to scare me into going to the police.”

“You should go to the police.”

“Why do you care?”

He tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t know.”

She settled back down and hugged a pillow to her chest. Cam meant well, but she didn’t trust the police. She could take care of herself. Cam felt responsible for her because he’d given her a ride, and now she was like...his cargo. He wanted to deliver her safely. But she knew better than to expect him to stick around.

He was a trucker. He’d move on in the morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to rest. Visions of murder and violence plagued her. She burrowed deeper in the blankets. When she finally drifted off, the nightmares closed in. She was back at the diner. There was a bloody pile of innards sizzling on the griddle. She plated the mess and took it out to her customers. The killers were sitting at a table in the parking lot. She dropped the tray and started running, but her legs didn’t work. She couldn’t escape, so she climbed inside the dumpster to hide.

Walt was at the bottom. He’d been disemboweled.

She let out a terrified shriek, covering her mouth. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was Duane.

“I knew I’d find you in the trash with another man.”

He struck her across the cheek, and everything went black.

Tala woke up screaming. Her skin crawled with creepy sensations, and blankets were tangled around her ankles. She kicked them aside to free herself, flinging out her hands. She connected with someone, but it wasn’t Duane. It was Cam.

He put his arms around her. “Shh. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

She stopped struggling and went quiet. It was dark in the room. She could see the pleasant glow of the fire in the hearth. The only sound was her ragged breathing. A sob rose up to her throat. The breakdown she’d been fighting all day caught up to her with a vengeance. She couldn’t prevent the tears from coming, and they were long overdue. She hadn’t cried since she’d left Duane.

Cam stroked her hair and made soothing noises.

She finally calmed down enough to speak. “Walt was in the dumpster. He was dead.”

“It was just a dream.”

“Duane was there, too. He hit me.”

“Did he?”

She heard the edge in his voice and eased away from him. There were tissues on the nightstand, next to a bottle of cold water. She used a tissue and took a soothing drink. Little by little, her tears abated.

“Better now?”

“Yes.”

“Duane is your husband?”

“He was.”

“Are you divorced?”

“Not legally, but I left him.”

“Because he hit you?”

Her stomach clenched with unease. It was a deeply personal question, but they weren’t strangers anymore. They’d passed that point and entered another territory. He’d opened up to her about his wife. She’d wept in his arms.

She’d never told anyone about the abuse she’d suffered in her short marriage. She’d been too ashamed. Her father had raised her to be strong and proud. She wasn’t the victim type. She was a survivor, and a fighter. Somehow Duane had taken that away from her.