Woman on the Run (new version) Read online

  With a sharp sigh of disgust, Julia stood on tiptoe so she could meet Samantha’s eyes and said sternly, “Samantha! Stop. Pulling. Your. Father’s. Hair. NOW!” Turquoise eyes met black eyes and Samantha opened her chubby hand. She knew who was boss.

  “How do you do that?” Cooper asked ruefully, rubbing at his scalp. “I can never get her to do what I say. Dot, either.”

  Julia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Honestly, Cooper. You’re bigger and stronger than the girls are. You’re a martial arts expert. You’re a former SEAL, for God’s sake. If you can’t convince them—use violence.”

  Julia bit her lip at Cooper’s shocked expression. His sense of humor had gone straight down the toilet with the birth of the girls.

  The girls were wriggling impatiently. Cooper bent and deposited the toddlers on the ground. Samantha and Dorothy stood miraculously still for a moment. They looked around, blinking, at the room that was normally off-limits, wondering what damage they could wreak.

  Julia watched her two beautiful daughters, the love in her heart swelling until her chest ached. Sam and Dot kept her running too much for her to get weepy over the miracle of their existence but, for just a moment as she watched them, Julia felt tears prick her eyes. Dot and Sam had her glossy red hair and Cooper’s black eyes. They were bright and absolutely fearless. My daughters, Julia thought, with an uncharacteristically sentimental pang.

  Probably just hormones, she thought. From the new life growing in her. She leaned against Cooper and he absentmindedly put his arm around her as they watched the two toddlers go off in opposite directions.

  Julia poked Cooper in the ribs.

  “Ow,” he complained mildly. “What was that for?”

  “I’ve got something to tell you, but first I want you to kiss me.”

  “Is that all?” Cooper’s dark eyes gleamed. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Julia twined her arms around Cooper’s neck and gave herself up to the magic they could still create after four years of marriage.

  Before they could get lost in the kiss, Cooper opened a wary, paternal eye. His other eye opened in horror and he broke away.

  “Dorothy!” He lunged and snatched the scissors from Dorothy’s hand just in time. Fred was lying on his side, patiently allowing the little girl to cut the long yellow hairs on his belly. Dorothy was very close to ensuring that Fred would never sire another litter.

  Cooper hunkered down. “Dot, honey, you mustn’t do that. Poor Fred, you were about to—”

  Dot burst into noisy tears and Cooper assumed that panicked expression he always had when his girls cried. “Aw, honey,” he said helplessly. “Don’t cry, it’ll be all right—” He glanced up to see Julia laughing at him. “What?” he asked, aggrieved.

  “It’s your own fault, Cooper.” Julia leaned against a bookcase. “If you and your men and Rafael and even Fred are going to roll over and play dead for the girls, of course they’re going to ride roughshod all over you. Sam and Dot are growing up to think that anything with a Y chromosome is their servant.”

  But it was useless. Cooper had picked Dot up and was cooing at her, trying to get her to smile. Julia could almost see the little gears in Dot’s head whirring as she tried to figure out how to use the situation to her advantage.

  “There you go, love.” Cooper put Dot back down again and gave her bottom a little pat.

  “Coop?”

  He looked up with a smile. “Yeah?”

  “What I was trying to say was—”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Cooper interrupted excitedly. “Sandy put them on Southern Star. He says he can tell that Sam has the seat of a champion. Dot’s seat is going to take some working on—”

  “Cooper.” Julia heaved a sigh. “The girls are two years old. It’s way too early for Sandy to know whether they have a good seat or not. Let’s get back to what I wanted to tell you—”

  “It’s not too early.” Cooper frowned. “Pure Gold’s new filly will be ready for riding in about two and a half years and the girls should get acquainted with her as soon as possible. Why just the other day—”

  “Cooper, I’m trying to tell you something here—”

  “Bernie was telling me that that new girl he was dating over in Dead Horse, you know—the pretty one who trains horses for the Hughes’ spread? Well, he said she said—”

  “Cooper—”

  “—that she started training at two. Her father put her right up on a pony on her second birthday and she never looked back. Why I’ll bet our girls—”

  “Cooper—”

  “—are going to be State Champions. Hell, they could probably go to the Olympics, if they wanted. If we start now, I’ll bet we could—” He stopped as Julia placed two fingers against his lips.

  “Cooper,” she said lovingly. “Shut up.”

  -The End-

  Continue reading for excerpts from Lisa Marie Rice’s other novels I Dream Of Danger and Heart of Danger.

  EXCERPT: I DREAM OF DANGER

  Lisa Marie Rice

  CHAPTER ONE

  Burial of Judge Oren Thomason

  St. Mary’s Cemetery

  Lawrence, Kansas

  January 10

  He came.

  She knew he’d come. Somehow she’d known.

  She dreamed of him last night. She often dreamt of him, dreams so vivid she woke with tears on her face, aching for him.

  Elle Thomason rose from where she’d thrown dirt onto her father’s coffin before the two undertaker’s assistants covered it with earth and he would finally, finally be at peace and that was when she saw him.

  He was outlined against the chilly winter sun on the small hill where the chapel stood. He was only a dark figure against the dying sun but she would recognize him anywhere, any time.

  Nick Ross. The boy she’d loved so much, now clearly a man. The dark outline against the pale winter sun was tall and broad-shouldered, with the heavy muscles of a strong man. He’d been lean as a boy, like a young panther. Now he was a lion.

  He saw her. He didn’t wave to her or nod. Neither did she. She simply watched as he walked down the small hill toward her, eyeing him hungrily. She’d waited five long years for this moment.

  In all the dead years, the years of caring for her father as his mind died long before his body, she’d longed for this moment. As everything else fell from her life, as she lost everything, as her life was taken over by daily care of a man who no longer controlled anything about himself, the only thing left to her was her imagination. And in her mind, she went wild.

  In her mind, she and Nick were together.

  Her favorite day dream was meeting him in some sophisticated city. New York, Chicago, San Francisco. Even better, London or Paris. Of course, she was sophisticated herself. She’d had a number of love affairs that had taught her a lot. She was well-groomed, successful, utterly in control.

  Turning around in an expensive restaurant, there he’d be.

  In her fantasies she could figure out what she was—poised and successful and happy. But she could never figure out what Nick was. What he’d become. She only knew he’d be handsome and he’d love her. She couldn’t get beyond that point. That he still loved her, after all these years.

  She’d ask why he’d disappeared so suddenly. It was still unfathomable to her. One night she’d gone to bed teasing him that he’d grow up to be Commander Adama of Battlestar Galactica and the next morning he was gone. Completely disappeared. His things were in his room. The only articles missing were two pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, a winter jacket and his gym bag.

  She’d been frantic. She wanted to call the cops, report him missing but her father had gently taken the phone from her hand and flipped it closed. He never answered her questions and soon, very soon, he became incapable of answering any questions at all.

  Not a phone call, not a letter, not even a post card. It was as if Nick had dropped off the face of the earth, taking with him her entire existence. From a
carefree teenager, the beloved only daughter of a respected and wealthy judge, her life plunged into the pits of hell. Her father started losing his mind day by day, darkness descending, and Nick wasn’t there.

  How many evenings she stared out the window, pretending to read, her father having finally exhausted himself enough to nap in an armchair. Going out on a date was unthinkable. There wasn’t enough money to pay a nurse for evening hours. She’d had to earn extra credits over the summers to graduate at seventeen because she could see the day coming when the money would run out and she’d have to stay home all day to nurse her father and she wanted at least a high school certificate.

  Dating was out, going to movies with girlfriends was out, having friends over was definitely out. What she got was a nurse coming for a few hours a day in which she could rush to do the shopping and rush into the library to stock up on books. What she got was staring out the window, waiting for Nick.

  Hoping for Nick.

  Yearning for Nick.

  Who never came.

  So in her daydreams, when she finally did meet him, utterly by chance in a big city, she got to choose how it would be. He was either immensely rich and handsome or powerful and handsome. He was never a loser, a drunk or an addict. That wasn’t Nick.

  Hello, he’d say, stepping back in admiration. Aren’t you beautiful?

  Thank you, she’d answer. I hope you’re well. I’d love to stay and chat but I need to get back to my—

  Here Elle’s imagination struggled a little. To what? Get back to what? What could possibly be more important than Nick?

  But it didn’t really matter because then he’d say-- Have a drink with me. Please. Just five minutes. I’m so glad to see you.

  And, well, this was Nick. And so she would. And then he’d say he loved her and would never leave her again.

  It was a fine daydream and it had to be because it replaced more or less everything a young girl should have—school, friends, first love, dreams, plans…

  The details wavered but the core of it was always the same, though. He found her whole and happy and successful. Beautiful and elegant and self-assured.

  Not the miserable creature she was now. Pale and pinched from the last four nights of watching her father die when she hadn’t slept at all. Wearing a too-thin jacket that didn’t protect in any way against the cold because the only winter coat she had was ripped along the sleeve.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way at all. But it was.

  She simply watched as he walked toward her and everything about her was numb except her heart. Her treacherous treacherous heart, which leaped in joy to see him.

  He didn’t hurry down to her, but his long legs seemed to carry him to her quickly. He had on a big down jacket that came down to mid-thigh, gloved hands hanging down by his side.

  Elle was aware of her own hands, gloveless, almost blue with cold. Embarrassed, she stuck them behind her back.

  And that was how they met, Nick towering over her, face in shadow, looking down at her. The sun was at his back, huge just before sunset , an enormous pale disk. They stood and looked at each other. Elle was struck dumb.

  He was here, right in front of her.

  How she’d longed for this moment and here it was, by the side of her father’s coffin.

  She should say something, she should—

  “Miss?”

  Elle turned. She’d completely forgotten the attendants. “Yes?”

  “You’re going to have to stand back, Miss. We’re going to cover the coffin with dirt.”

  “Oh.” She stepped back and Nick stepped with her. “Of course.”

  She and Nick watched as dirt covered the coffin of her only living relative. She didn’t cry. She’d shed so many tears over the years. There were none left. Her father had gone long before this. What had been left behind was a shell of a person, human meat.

  Her father had been witty, well-read, strongly opinionated, charming. That man had died years ago.

  So she watched as they covered the coffin, quickly and efficiently. It was cold and they wanted the job over with as fast as possible. When they finished, they put away their tools and faced her.

  There was a gash in the ground now, raw and red. Someday it would be covered with grass as the other graves were but for now, it was clear that the earth had recently claimed one of its own. A tombstone would come, eventually, when she could afford it.

  The funeral home director had quoted figures that made no sense to her. The cheapest one cost over two thousand dollars. It might as well have cost a million. She didn’t have it.

  She didn’t have anything.

  One of the gravediggers pulled off his hat. “Real sorry about the Judge, ma’am. You have our condolences.”

  Elle dipped her head. “Thank you. Um…” She opened her purse and peered inside, though she didn’t need to look to see what was in it. One bill. Not a big one, either. She pulled out the twenty and handed it to the man, well aware of the fact that it should have been a hundred dollar bill, fifty each.

  He picked it up gingerly, looked at his mate in disgust, stuck it in his pants pocket and glared at her.

  Elle understood completely. They had done a hard job. The ground was frozen and they’d toiled. The funeral director had let her know clearly that the cheap option she’d chosen didn’t cover the diggers and that she would have to recompense them herself.

  This was so awful. She felt so raw and exposed, reduced to ashes, to dust. All of this was playing out right in front of Nick, who was observing everything.

  She remembered how observant he was. He always had been. He was seeing her humiliation in 3D HD, up close and personal.

  Elle cleared her throat, reached out a hand toward the gravedigger, then stuck it in her pocket. “I’m sorry it’s not more,” she said quietly. “Perhaps—“

  “Here.” Nick handed over two bills. Her eyes widened when she saw Benjamin Franklin’s face twice. “Thanks for your help.”

  The cap came off again, both men thanked him, nodded to her and walked off.

  Elle stared at the ground, breathing through her pain. Nick had left many years ago and for all those years , not a day, not a minute had gone by in which she hadn’t missed him so fiercely she thought she might explode from it.

  All this time she’d yearned for Nick.

  And here he was. At her lowest point.

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  EXCERPT: HEART OF DANGER

  Lisa Marie Rice

  The New York Times-January 5

  A New York Times exclusive.

  The New York Times has learned that the explosion on January 12 which destroyed a research laboratory in Cambridge, MA, operated by Arka Pharmaceutical Laboratories, was not due to the explosion of a gas pipeline, as originally reported.

  The New York Times has received exclusive information from a senior government official that the laboratory came under attack from a group of elite commandos under separate leadership in the US military, known as ‘Ghost Ops’.

  The US military is forbidden to operate on United States soil under the ‘Posse Comitatus’ Act.

  The alleged leader of the top-secret unit is the former commander of famed SEAL Team Six, the team that killed Osama Bin Laden ten years ago, Captain Lucius Ward. Captain Ward’s military records are sealed. The New York Times has been unable to access his records under the Freedom of Information Act.

  Forty one people died in the conflagration at the laboratory, among them Macarthur Foundation Fellowship winner Dr. Roger Bryson, a long time candidate for the Nobel Prize for his work on the biochemistry of vaccines.

  “We have reason to believe that the destruction of our Cambridge laboratory, which was close to a cancer vaccine, was the work of competitors hoping to stop our progress,” declared Arka CEO Dr. William Storensen. “All efforts must be made to bring these criminals to justice.”

  This reporter has also learned that Captain Ward had several million dollars inve
sted in a rival pharmaceutical company. Captain Ward’s remains have not been identified.

  The three surviving members of the attack commando team, whose names were redacted from the documents obtained by the New York Times, disappeared en route to a court martial in Washington, DC. There is an outstanding warrant for their arrest.

  Byline Jeffrey Benson

  A year later

  Mount Blue

  Northern California

  Her car died.

  One moment her charming, lavender colored little eCar, which infinitely preferred balmy climes, was bravely climbing the frozen, rutted road and the next it just stopped dead.

  In the middle of a snowstorm. At night. On a deserted mountaintop.

  There was nothing Catherine Young could do.

  Oh God, she thought. Not now.

  She pressed the ignition over and over again but the car was utterly inert. It was the latest generation eCar, and the salesman had assured her that if something happened to the main engine, there was an ancillary one with separate power guaranteed to take her at least another ten miles.

  Every instrument was dark. Not even the inside lights turned on when she opened the driver’s side door. She got a terrifying blast of snow and sleet like a fist to the face and shut the door immediately.

  Her cellphone was dead, too. Utterly dead, screen blank. An iPhone 15, normally she could talk to the moon with it, but now it was an inert, though still elegant, slice of metallic glass. Her tablet was dead, too, she found when she scrabbled in the back seat for her trusty iPad8. For the first time in its life, it refused to switch on. It, too, was an inert piece of metallic glass.

  GPS, dead. MP3 player, wristwatch, dead.

  Everything dead.

  It was impossible to see anything outside the car, to gauge how close she was to the edge of the road. The snow was too thick for that. She’d barely been able to see three yards ahead with the special halogen headlights on high. Now, with a dead car, no lights, no form of communication, she could have been on another planet.