Dead Run by Erica Spindler Page A

of several horns as she was nearly struck by a moped.
    When the teenager disappeared around the corner, Liz stepped back into her office, thoughts racing. Tara knew what had happened to Rachel; Liz was certain of it. The girl was frightened. Frightened that the same was going to happen to her.
    That, Liz deduced, was why she wasn’t eating or sleeping. It explained the haunted look in her eyes.
    As she shut the door and turned, her gaze landed on a sheet of folded paper on the floor by her feet. She bent, picked it up and opened it. A simple message had been typed on the first line of the notebook paper:
    They know. You’re in danger here. Go before it’s too late.

CHAPTER 13
    Friday, November 9
5:25 p.m.
    M ark stood behind the bar, drying glasses that came out of the washer still wet. His thoughts raced forward, to the next hours, to the promise he had made. To Tara. To their unborn child.
    Dear Lord, am I doing the right thing?
    â€œMark?”
    He glanced toward Rick, standing at the cash register, the drawer open. Mark glanced at the drawer, then back at Rick, a catch in his chest. “Problem, boss?”
    â€œI need to make a few phone calls. You think you can hold down the fort for a few minutes?”
    Mark smiled, relieved. What? Did he think the man could read his mind? “This crush? Are you kidding?”
    The last of the afternoon boozers had trickled outa minute ago. The evening crowd would soon begin cruising in.
    Rick laughed. “Stay out of the Jack.”
    â€œNo worries there, boss.”
    â€œCall me if—”
    Mark shooed him toward the office. “You worry too much. Make your calls, already.”
    Chuckling, Rick disappeared through the doorway that led to the storage room and his office. Mark watched him go, counted to twenty once, then twice. Taking a deep breath, he inched his way to the cash register. There, he eased the drawer open.
    It chimed and he froze, looking over his shoulder.
    From the recesses of the bar, he heard Rick talking.
    He was on the phone; he hadn’t heard.
    Guilt swamped him. As did a feeling of falling, of spiraling down to the devil’s dark pit.
    He had to do this. For Tara. For their baby.
    Tonight he and Tara were running away together. They had planned to meet in the garden of Paradise Christian at 2:00 a.m. Everything was set. About an hour before closing, Mark was going to claim illness and leave early. He would be long gone before Rick closed—and discovered what Mark had done.
    Quickly, Mark scrawled an IOU to Rick, lifted the cash drawer, slid the IOU under some checks, then extracted six hundred dollars.
    Hands shaking, he pocketed the money and closed the drawer. He was scared senseless. How was he going to support a wife and child? He could hardly support himself.
    This decision would be easier if Tara hadn’t been acting so funny. Distant and…unhappy. He had wondered if she was having second thoughts about him,about the prospect of spending her life with a humble preacher. He had wondered, God help him, if the baby wasn’t his.
    How could they begin their lives together with that hanging over their relationship?
    Let it go, Mark. That’s over. That part of her life is over.
    He fisted his fingers. Tara was frightened. And not just of what their future would hold. Of her friends. They had threatened her. If she tried to leave their group, they had promised they would hurt her.
    Tara feared they would kill her or the baby.
    Mark didn’t believe that. These were a group of spoiled rich kids, not inner-city gangbangers. They were angry and not above using intimidation to terrorize Tara.
    Mark couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t. Lord help him, he would do whatever it took to protect his own.
    He figured they’d head to Texas, back home to Humble. His parents wouldn’t be happy, but they would support his decision because of the baby.
    Mark sidled back down the bar and resumed his work.