Reunion on the Run Read online

  Nobody believes she’s innocent...

  Except her child’s secret father

  Framed for her new husband’s murder and on the run from both the killer and the police, Claire Mitchell needs help. But her ex-fiancé is the last person she expects to rescue her. Alex Vasquez just found out he’s the father of Claire’s daughter, and he knows they will have to face their rocky past...if they can survive long enough to clear her name.

  “I’m not positive, but I think we’re being followed.”

  “It’s a dark sedan, either black or navy blue,” Claire confirmed. “There are at least two people in it. How long have they been following us?”

  “I spotted them a few blocks from the park,” Alex said. “But there were a lot of people there. A lot of people coming and going. It wasn’t until this last turnoff that I knew for sure.”

  “They couldn’t go after us in the park. There were too many people. And—”

  “And it wouldn’t fit into the scenario Xavier has built around you being the murderer if someone took you out in such a public place. It would look too suspicious.”

  Claire winced. If Xavier got to her, if he killed her, he would make sure there were no witnesses.

  “We’re certainly not in a public place now.” Claire eyed the empty road ahead with trepidation.

  “Here they come,” Alex said under his breath. He reached for his Glock. “Hold on tight,” he said to Claire. “We’re going for a ride.”

  Amity Steffen lives in northern Minnesota with her two boys and two spoiled cats. She’s a voracious reader and a novice baker. She enjoys watching her sons play baseball in the summer and would rather stay indoors in the winter. She’s worked in the education field for more years than she cares to count, but writing has always been her passion. Amity loves connecting with readers, so please visit her at Facebook.com/amitysteffenauthor.

  Books by Amity Steffen

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Reunion on the Run

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  Reunion on the Run

  Amity Steffen

  Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive and ye shall be forgiven.

  —Luke 6:37

  For my boys, Zack and Nick. I’m so proud of you and I’m so blessed to be your mom. I know your dad is watching over you, every bit as proud of you as I am.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM JUSTICE MISSION BY LYNETTE EASON

  ONE

  Roscoe’s fierce growl sent a chill skittering down Claire Mitchell’s spine. She slid back from the rickety table, bouncing to her feet as her dog continued to give his warning. It was gloomy in the old one-room hunting shack. A kerosene lantern cast a hazy glow over the notes she studied. She’d been on the run for weeks. From the outside, the shack should look unoccupied. The nights had become chilly but she hadn’t indulged in the luxury of a fire, too worried the smoke would give her away. There were only four windows in the small dwelling, one on each wall. She’d had to make do with what she’d been able to scrounge up. Threadbare bath towels had been tacked over each pane. They should block the minimal kerosene light, even in the evenings.

  It wasn’t dark yet but would be soon. Her heart slammed against her rib cage, each thump pushing ice through her veins. She’d been telling herself if someone found her, she was prepared. She’d almost believed the lie.

  She was a murder suspect.

  But she was not a worthy adversary of Xavier Ambrose’s hired henchmen.

  Roscoe growled again. Mild-mannered and loving most of the time, rottweilers were fiercely loyal protectors. Having his companionship and protection eased her mind, making it worth the extra trouble to keep him with her.

  His sturdy body guarded the door, the only way in—or out—of the shack. His teeth were bared and his posture rigid. There was no need for her to try to peek outside to confirm that she was about to be ambushed. Roscoe’s change in demeanor made it clear.

  “Hush!” She hissed the word under her breath. She was grateful the dog was well-trained, courtesy of Alex Vasquez, her ex-fiancé. He wouldn’t bark, giving away the fact that she wasn’t alone in the shack. She couldn’t chance the intruders hearing him growl, either. Roscoe was her best chance at escape.

  With trembling hands Claire shoved the notes she’d been working on into the backpack that rested at the center of the table. It cost her precious seconds, but the contents were even more precious. She slipped the backpack over her shoulders. She tugged at the cord around her neck, finding her poor excuse for a weapon at the end of it. Palming the vial of pepper spray, she snuffed out the flame in the lantern.

  Roscoe huffed, his huge body nimbly pacing back and forth in front of the doorway.

  Claire darted over to him. She pressed herself against the rough plank wall of the shack. Not for the first time she futilely wished the place had another escape route. The windows were small and simple, nothing more than single panes of glass built into the frames. They would need to be shattered because they couldn’t be wedged open. She wouldn’t risk the noise announcing an escape attempt, nor would she risk being sliced to ribbons trying to squeeze through the small space.

  “Heel.” The command was barely a whisper. Roscoe gave her a bewildered look before he complied.

  The doorknob jiggled. It sounded like a cannon against the silence.

  She had been under no illusion that she would be safe here indefinitely. That hadn’t stopped her from hoping for more time. With limited resources, two weeks hadn’t been nearly long enough to compile the evidence she needed to clear her name.

  “Claire, we know you’re in there,” a deep, gravelly voice taunted from the other side. “Open up and we’ll take it easy on you.”

  A second menacing voice warned, “Make us come in after you, and you might not live to regret it.”

  It was an empty threat. She was well aware of the fact that she might not live to regret it either way.

  Terror mingled with the intense determination to stay alive. A hard edge dug into her palm as she held her hand at eye level, poised and steady.

  Mia’s precious face flashed through her mind. Her dark curls, her spunky smile. It had been far too long since she’d been able to give her three-year-old daughter a hug. A kiss. Far too many nights had passed without reading her a bedtime story.

  For Mia, she had to get out of this mess. She would not leave her daughter parentless.

  The thin wood shuddered as a body slammed into it.

  Roscoe whined as he crouched, ready to attack.

  Please Lord, please Lord, please Lord, Claire silently prayed. She could string together nothing more coherent than this simple, frantic prayer. She trusted He knew what she was asking, even if she was far too panicked to find the right words to say.

  Another assault shook the entire shack. The flimsy door splintered at the bottom.

  Claire gritted her teeth and braced for
the inevitable. She pressed herself as tightly as she could against the wall.

  When it shattered, pieces of wood flying everywhere, she was ready.

  Her first attacker blinked in surprise, his eyes trying to adjust to the gloom. He clearly did not expect Claire to be ready to face him head-on. She squeezed the trigger before he could swing his gun her way. He screamed in agony as the pepper spray shot out of the canister she held. A gun clattered at her feet. She kicked it, sending it flying across the cabin to land under the battered couch.

  Roscoe, snuffling and sneezing from the mist in the air, leaped at the second man before he could enter the cramped space. He slammed him to the ground as his gun went off. The window next to the door shattered, spraying glass that narrowly missed Claire.

  The first man clawed at his face, cursing and writhing in pain. The second man cried out, his gun falling to his side as Roscoe latched onto his forearm. The dog stood over him, teeth clenched tightly as the man tried to push him off.

  Claire stepped out of the cabin and gasped, sucking in fresh air. Though she’d used the stickier, gel-type pepper spray, the fumes still lingered. She blinked hard a few times, clearing her vision but not allowing herself a moment to slow down.

  “Heel!” Claire commanded after she grabbed the second gun and tossed it into the trees. Roscoe let go of his target and bounced to her side. Claire was ready. The moment Roscoe was out of her way, she shot off what was left of the pepper spray. The second man shrieked, his cries melding with his cohort’s.

  A third figure, dressed in black, emerged from the tree line. He shouted something at her, probably her name, but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat crashing through her ears.

  “Come.” She grated out the stern command, unwilling to let Roscoe go after the newest threat. These thugs worked for the man who’d had Jared, her husband, murdered. She knew they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a dog.

  Claire took off at a dead run, circling to the backside of the cabin. She lacked brute strength and she was outnumbered. If she’d known there was a third henchman, one who was able to pursue her, she may have been tempted to keep the gun. It was too late now. She prayed she hadn’t made a grave mistake. She had God on her side. He had brought her this far, she was counting on Him to bring her the rest of the way.

  Her hiking boots pounded across the thin edge of lawn before she charged full-speed into the thick copse of trees. The sun had just slipped past the horizon, plunging the world into the murky gray of twilight. Darkness would work to her advantage. She knew these woods. She’d already planned her escape through them.

  Adrenaline spilled through her body, making it easy to push ahead. Her heart pounded chaotically and her spine tingled, anticipating a bullet at any moment. She knew the two men at her door would be down and out for several minutes. The third man posed an enormous threat.

  She tore through the dense forest, dodging trees, leaping over fallen logs. Pine boughs and oak branches slapped at her, tore at her skin. Roscoe obediently raced alongside her.

  When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. This had become her mantra. She was in about as deep as she could get. She was drowning in troubles but it gave her comfort to know she was never alone. He was always by her side.

  She didn’t dare a glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t waste precious seconds by slowing down, and if she looked while running she’d likely crash into a tree. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to look. Claire had no doubt she was being pursued. She didn’t have to see him to know. She could feel his presence behind her. This knowledge drove her to move even faster.

  Her escape plan was on a constant loop, playing through her mind. Up ahead the woods were bisected by an overgrown logging trail. If she continued to run straight, she’d hit the trail eventually. The trail led to the gravel road that would ultimately spill onto a county road leading to the highway.

  Freedom was within her reach.

  If only she didn’t trip, crash into a tree or get shot in the back first.

  “Claire!” The harshness of her name grated out in frustration caused a sharp whimper of surprise to bubble up in her throat. She hadn’t realized her pursuer was so close. Her skin broke out in a chilled sweat and it had nothing to do with exertion. Her legs burned, and her lungs ached. She couldn’t move any faster. Even if she made it to the logging trail, with her pursuer so close, she’d never have the extra minutes she desperately needed to get away.

  Now that she was aware of his nearness, she could hear branches snapping and footsteps racing up behind her.

  She winced, fully prepared to be taken down.

  The man’s voice rang out again. Louder, clearer. Closer this time. “Roscoe! Come!”

  The sharp command was like a mental punch to the gut. She whirled reflexively, nearly tripping over her own feet at the sound of the unexpected voice. It was doubtful Xavier’s men knew the name of her dog. Even more doubtful they’d take the time to toss out a command. Not when they had an arsenal at their disposal. And that voice... It caused her heart to rattle because it was so familiar. Yet impossible.

  The dog yipped as his agile body changed course. He circled around, leaping up, plastering his feet against the chest of their pursuer. The man was prepared. He braced himself so the enormous dog didn’t take him down. One hand gripped the dog. The other hand gripped a firearm.

  Roscoe’s massive form blocked Claire’s view of his face. But she’d caught a glimpse. Just a glimpse of that bronzed skin, the charcoal hair and those coffee-colored eyes.

  Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Maybe the stress she was under was messing with her mental state. Had she finally cracked under the pressure? Was she hallucinating? She felt she had to be.

  Now that she’d skidded to a stop, her legs felt like rubber. She willed them to move. Taking a step backward, she didn’t take her eyes off the dog and man. Only a few seconds passed but it felt like an eternity before the man gently pushed the dog aside.

  Roscoe landed on all fours with a disappointed whine.

  She had been prepared, as prepared as she could have been, for Xavier’s men.

  But as the weeks dragged by, she hadn’t prepared for herself for this. Hadn’t been prepared for him. His presence stole what little was left of her breath, leaving her gasping. Her already wobbly legs threatened to give out and send her toppling.

  She might as well have been looking at a mirage because Alex Vasquez was the absolute last man she’d expected to see.

  * * *

  “Alex?” Claire gasped for breath as she pressed a hand against her chest. Her gaze slid over his shoulder, scanning the woods behind him. “What are you doing here? How...? Why...?”

  “Your sister sent me.”

  Her eyes widened at the mention of Beth.

  “I don’t have time to explain.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, as well. He’d seen Claire take down two men. He couldn’t have been more impressed. But he knew they wouldn’t be down indefinitely. He would’ve liked to have incapacitated them, tied them up, let the law deal with them, but in doing so he would’ve lost Claire. He’d had to make a split-second judgment call. Chasing after her had definitely been the right choice. If he’d lost her, he was certain he wouldn’t have found her again. “We need to get out of here.”

  Claire pivoted and took off again. He jogged after her.

  “I have a vehicle parked back there,” he explained. “We need to loop around the cabin, keep a wide berth and head to the west.”

  “And risk running into Xavier’s men again? No.” Her tone was firm.

  “What do you suggest we do?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he was on board with putting more distance between them and the men. It would be dark soon. Nighttime would offer them the cover they needed to skirt back around, as he’d suggested.

  He easily k
ept pace with her, though she was moving at a steady clip.

  She shot him a look that was full of questions. He was relieved she didn’t press him for answers. He’d give them to her eventually, but at the moment they had more urgent matters to deal with.

  They had to get out of these woods.

  “I’m not going back that way. We don’t know that those men were alone. More could be coming.”

  He’d thought of the possibility, as well, but hadn’t wanted to mention it.

  She slowed as the woods thinned. Seconds later they emerged from the trees. Claire cut a sharp left and he followed. Their feet pounded in unison against the hard-packed trail. He scanned the area, always on the lookout.

  Up ahead he spotted a gray tarp draped over a hulking object. It looked out of place this deep in the woods.

  “Is that part of your getaway plan?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex had no doubt the tarp covered a vehicle. He reached it first and tugged the covering to the side. A rusted-out Jeep Wrangler appeared. At one time it must’ve been a vibrant shade of red. Now what was left of the faded paint was barely visible. The thing had to be at least a quarter of a century old. It had a canvas top rather than a hard top. The sort that could be removed, convertible style. The canvas was tattered but in good enough shape to offer protection from the elements.

  “I hope this thing runs,” he mumbled.

  “Of course it runs.” She tugged a key chain holding a single key out of her pocket.

  Claire, he realized, was incredibly resourceful. Accused of killing her husband of nearly a year—the man she’d married after Alex had broken off their engagement over three years ago—she’d managed to evade law enforcement for weeks. Maybe that wasn’t an attribute he should be proud of, but he was.

  He knew now was not the time to be struck by her beauty, yet he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t seen her for years. She hadn’t aged, not that he could tell. If anything, she looked younger. Her face looked gaunt, probably from the stress she’d been under. Her cheeks were rosy. Her long auburn hair had been chopped into a shaggy cut and dyed black. Fire flashed in her green eyes when she caught him staring.