Baby On The Run. Hope White
ignored his mock concern and lifted baby Eli out of the car. The little boy still clung to his bear for comfort.
Whether Chloe’s cousin came to pick her up or Jenna called a taxi, she’d need the car seat for Eli. She grabbed it with her other hand.
“For what it’s worth, I’m a cop,” he said.
She froze and glared at the back of his head.
“Not local,” he continued as if he anticipated her fear. “I’m undercover FBI.”
“Sure you are.” She shouldered the door shut and marched away from the truck. Did he think her that gullible?
Thick, wet snowflakes swirled around her as she crossed the parking lot. There were a dozen trucks and cars in the lot. Good, the more people around the safer she’d feel.
Once inside, she placed the car seat by the door. She considered what to do with the magazine of bullets. Maybe she should have kept the weapon to defend herself and Eli. She’d learned how to use a firearm after she’d escaped Anthony.
No, the thought of shooting someone made her nauseous, and it didn’t feel right disposing of the magazine in a public place where it could end up in the wrong hands.
Instead, she decided to ditch her cell in case they could track it, and tossed the phone into the garbage can. She carried Eli to a nearby pay phone and called Chloe’s cousin, but it went to voice mail.
“You’ve reached Marcus. I’m not here. Leave a message.”
“Hi, Marcus. You don’t know me, but I’m Jenna, a good friend of your cousin Chloe’s. She told me to call you. There’s been an emergency and I need your help. It’s about Chloe’s son, Eli. Anyway, I’m calling from a pay phone, but I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. I guess I’ll keep calling. Thanks.”
What a message to leave a stranger. Would he even take her seriously?
She couldn’t worry about that now.
As she headed into the twenty-four-hour store, a list of what to do next formed in her mind. First, she had to change her appearance. She bought a local football team knit ski cap to cover her dark hair. She’d tuck it up into the cap until she got the chance to color it.
After making her purchases, she would take her contacts out and replace them with her thick-rimmed glasses to further mask her identity. But what about Eli? Her gaze drifted to a pink child’s ski cap. Disguising him as a girl would certainly throw someone off at first glance. She bought some cheap makeup, something she rarely wore, and scissors for cutting her hair. She wished they had hair dye, but that would have to wait until she found a drugstore.
Her panic about not being able to protect Eli was subsiding. She’d made it safely away from the office, away from a corrupt killer cop.
She was proud of herself for getting this far.
Thanks to Matthew the janitor.
“A guy with zip ties, duct tape and a gun in his glove box,” she muttered.
I’m undercover FBI.
She briefly wondered if he was being honest and her trauma had blinded her to the truth. No, why would an FBI agent keep duct tape in his car? He’d tried to explain, but she hadn’t let him.
Peeking out the store window, she spotted Matthew talking on the phone as he picked up his weapon from the snow-covered field.
Movement suddenly drew her attention left.
The two men from the community center got out of a black car. She gasped and ducked behind a display of snacks, clutching Eli securely against her chest.
What if they came into the truck stop and saw the car seat by the door?
Seconds stretched like hours.
Stop hiding like a coward!
With a fortifying breath, she went back to the counter and peeked out the window.
The cashier stepped up and blocked her view. “May I help you?”
Jenna glanced around her into the parking lot.
The twentysomething cashier with long blond hair also glanced outside. Just as...
The two thugs from the community center jumped Matthew.
“Whoa,” the girl said.
“I need to use your phone.”
“There’s a pay phone—”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
* * *
Matt couldn’t leave Jenna North at the truck stop without knowing she’d be okay.
He called in to give his boss an update. “She’s a part of it now.”
“You don’t know that,” his supervisor, Steve Pragge, said.
“Billings is after her.”
There was a pause, then, “Not our problem. You need to get back to town and be ready for your shift tomorrow.”
“And leave an innocent woman and child at the mercy of a killer?”
“If you’re that worried, I’ll send someone to bring her in.”
“I doubt she’ll go willingly.”
“Then you bring her in. As long as you’re back at work tomorrow night.”
“I’m not sure she’ll come with me either.”
“What’s the problem?”
“She doesn’t trust cops.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say here, Weller. This woman is a complication. You’ve got a job to do.”
His boss ended the call, and Matt considered the subtext to Pragge’s words. He expected Matt to stay on task, return to Cedar River and leave Jenna behind.
Not happening.
Matt wondered what had made Jenna do the about-face from trusting Matt to being terrified of him. The way she’d threatened him with the gun...
The gun. She’d retrieved it from his glove box. Since she probably had little if any experience with firearms, he could only guess what conclusions she would have drawn about someone who casually carried a handgun in his vehicle.
He went into the field to search for his gun and realized he wasn’t angry that she’d tossed it. In fact, he respected her for the move if she thought him dangerous.
Scanning the area with a flashlight, he wondered how to convince Jenna to accept his help. He couldn’t arrest her, because she hadn’t done anything wrong—although technically she had kidnapped a child. Instinct told him to keep her out of the system, or the chief would find her for sure.
He found the gun, shoved it into the back of his waistband and turned.
Something smashed against his head.
He fell to the cold, hard snow, and blinked to clear his vision.
He was being dragged across the parking lot toward the Dumpster.
As they released him with a jerk, two men started kicking Matt. Was this a random mugging or had the chief’s men found him? Did Billings suspect Matt knew more than he was saying?
“Where is she?” a man asked, delivering a kick to Matt’s stomach.
“Who?” he gasped.
A solid boot jammed against his neck. He grabbed the guy’s ankle and yanked.
The guy went down.
Matt scrambled to his feet.
The second guy snapped a cord around Matthew’s neck, cutting off air. After surviving two tours in Afghanistan,