Run, River, Run Read online

  To all the medical professionals.

  Bless you and thank you.

  Run, River, Run

  The James Gang

  C. F. Francis

  Copyright @2021 by C. F. Francis

  Cover by @2021 estokescreative.com

  Excerpt from Explosive Touch copyright @2019

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  ISBN: 978-0-9995820-6-0 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9995820-8-4 (print)

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  This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To all the medical professionals.

  Bless you and thank you.

  Contents

  Run, River, Run

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by C. F. Francis

  Run, River, Run

  By

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  C. F. Francis

  Prologue

  Summer, North Carolina Mountains

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  A low-growing branch whipped across River Chandler’s cheek. She didn’t think it was possible, but her heart ratcheted up another notch. Ignoring the pounding in her chest and the sting from the cut, she kept up her frantic pace as she dodged and weaved a convoluted path through the thick forest. Invisible ants scurried over her skin as she continued on legs that were less than steady. There were moments when she was fourteen years old again, sprinting through this same forest desperately seeking a place to hide. She hadn’t died that day. Would today be her day?

  River pushed the debilitating thoughts aside. They would do her no good.

  Her eyes flicked from the decayed leaves carpeting the forest floor to the web of trees and shrubs in front of her. She’d already tripped over one exposed root. The stumble had cost her seconds—precious seconds she might not have to spare. Her pursuer could be right behind her or nowhere nearby. She couldn’t hear over the sound of her lungs gushing air like bellows fanning a flame.

  Reaching up to deflect another branch, the morning sun caught the wet, crimson blood on the back of her hand. The slash across her arm from the hunting knife was deep, but she’d been too busy running to deal with it or to think about the consequences. Now she saw the wound was bleeding freely. Blood trickled down her forearm and dripped off the tip of her finger onto a discarded leaf. Her stomach twisted. She’d been leaving a trail a toddler could follow.

  Weighing her odds, River ducked behind a large rhododendron and yanked off her shirt. Despite her trembling hands, she ripped a sleeve from the old flannel garment and wrapped it tightly around her arm. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric. It took two tries to secure the knot. She slipped on what was left of her shirt, then wiped her bloody arm on the back of her jeans. With the flow of blood stopped, she took a bigger risk and poked her head from her hiding place, forcing her breathing to slow so she could hear as well as see.

  No creatures stirred. No birds sang. Other than the rustling of leaves from the cool mountain breeze, the forest was silent—not the normal vibrant ecosystem she knew and loved. Had she scared its inhabitants away or had someone else? She had to assume the worst.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she bolted from her hiding place. This mountain had saved her life once. Would it protect her again?

  1

  Ten months later, Sanibel Island, Florida

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  Tightening his grip on the boom, Kevin Slawter adjusted his stance as the wind shifted. He’d arrived at the beach early to get in some windsurfing off the Sanibel Causeway before the waters were filled with boats and jet skis.

  It was a cloudless morning. If he was up for more of a challenge, Kevin would have wished for a stiff wind. The strong breeze was enough to keep him gliding along the water but didn’t require his total concentration. He’d come out here for some solitary time to clear his head. He didn’t want a challenge. He wanted peace. His friends had found it here. Could he? With each visit to the island, Kevin was less inclined to return to active duty. He didn’t know if it was this place that pulled him in or his growing distaste for the business of war which caused the turmoil inside.

  Being a medic in the Special Forces, he’d seen his fill of death and injury. It was becoming more difficult to bear what he knew would inevitably come with each deployment. The year before last, he’d pressed gauze into the eye socket of his teammate and friend after Troy had attempted to stop a suicide bomber. If Kevin hadn’t been in the same marketplace, Troy would most likely have died. He told himself that was reason enough to continue to serve.

  Turning his attention back to the surf, Kevin tacked into the wind. The change of direction gave him a view of the narrow causeway beach. When the area started to fill with people he planned to head in, but currently a single woman sifted through the shell line, or trash line as it was locally known, for shells. Unlike most of the shell hunters he’d seen, she was much younger. Even from this distance, her posture and movement spelled youth.

  As he periodically checked the beach, watching for the influx of people, he found himself looking for the woman. He’d just spotted her again when a man tore up the beach in her direction. Her back was to him. The soft sand beneath his feet would make it impossible for her to hear him approach. Kevin shouted, but his words were swallowed by the sound of the surf.

  Turning his sail into the wind, he blasted toward the shore. Damn it. The wind was taking him east of the couple’s position. As much as he wanted to steer against it, that would only slow his progress.

  He kept his eye on the pair as he shot toward the beach. As soon as the man reached her, he yanked at the backpack she was wearing, trying to pull it free. When she didn’t immediately release it, he shoved his foot into her back, slamming her into the sand. Her reflexes where quick, though. Rolling onto her pack, she pulled her assailant to the ground, then jammed her elbow into the man’s throat.

  Kevin swore as he unhooked his harness. The instant the rail of the board touched the sand, anger propelled him off of it. The wind caught the sail and knocked the rig on its side. He ignored it and took off in a dead run.

  Her
attacker was wrestling with the straps of her backpack while he dodged her fists and feet. “Hey!” Kevin shouted, closing the distance between them. “Get away from her.”

  The attacker’s head snapped up. It didn’t take him two seconds to decide retreat was a better option than dealing with the bull of a man barreling toward him. The woman rolled to her side, protecting her face from the sand kicked up as the man took off.

  As much as he wanted to go after the bastard, Kevin’s first instinct was to check on the victim. He dropped to his knees beside her. She scooted a few feet away.

  Kevin stayed put. Keeping his distance to assure her that he wasn’t a threat. Blood oozed from a cut on her cheek. Glancing at the ground, he noted the jagged rock and the spot of blood on it.

  The woman was aggressively rubbing her eyes.

  “Sand?” Kevin asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you have sand in your eyes?”

  She nodded.

  “Let me help you,” he said, approaching her slowly. “I’m a medic.” Kevin took her wrists and gently pulled her hands away from her face. Sand could do a lot of damage to the cornea. “Do you have any water in your pack?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “I’m going to need it to flush your eyes. Okay?”

  Nodding again, she slipped the small, simple sack from her shoulders.

  When she blindly grappled for the zipper, Kevin took the bag from her hands. He quickly unzipped it and reached for the water. He didn’t miss the 9mm Smith & Wesson at the bottom of her pack. Who the hell carried a weapon to go shelling? Was her attacker after the gun or did she need it for protection? And what the hell had he just walked into?

  “I’m Kevin,” he introduced himself casually, hoping to put her at ease. “What’s your name?”

  “River.” He didn’t miss her hesitation before she answered.

  “That’s an unusual name. Okay, River, I want you to tilt your head back. I’m going to hold your eyes open while I flush them. All right?”

  She turned her face toward the sky and waited, apparently deciding he posed no immediate threat.

  He spread her eyelids with his thumb and index finger and was instantly mesmerized. Her irises were the palest shade of blue he’d ever seen—like ice on a frozen pond.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  Kevin shook his head, breaking the trance. “You’re going to want to flinch but try not to until I’m finished.” Carefully, he sloshed water several times into both of her eyes. “Better?” he asked as he dropped his hand from her face.

  She blinked several times then directed those blue tourmaline gems on him. The punch to his gut was twice as strong when the sparkle was accompanied by a wide smile.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Good,” he said, gathering himself. “Let me wash that blood off your cheek so I can get a closer look at the cut.”

  “I didn’t even feel it,” she told him.

  “I’m not surprised. Your eyes were more irritating,” Kevin splashed some water against her cheek. The cut was small.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No,” she said, reaching up to touch her face. Kevin once again pulled her hand away.

  “There’s some nasty stuff on those rocks. You’re going to need antibiotics,” he told her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  She turned her neck and rolled her shoulders, then stood and brushed the sand from her legs. “You said you were a medic?”

  “Yes. Army,” he answered, pulling his phone from the waterproof lanyard that hung around his neck.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The police.” Rick Wilcowski was a former team member, his friend and, more importantly at the moment, a detective with the Sanibel Police Department. He needed to know about the attack, particularly since the guy had headed toward Sanibel.

  “No. Don’t!”

  “Why the hell not? You were attacked.”

  She took the water bottle from his free hand—her touch sending a spark of electricity up his arm. “The man is gone. I was too busy to get a good look at him. Did you?”

  “I saw him,” Kevin answered, but he let the hand holding the phone drop to his side. He was mesmerized by the movement of her throat as she took several gulps of the liquid.

  “Good enough to identify him?” she asked. “Did you get his tag number?”

  Kevin continued to stare at her throat as a trickle of water settled in the valley at the base of her neck.

  “Hello? You in there?” River asked.

  Those eyes were locked on him again. If witches existed, he was staring at one now. She’d robbed him of speech. He snatched the water from her hand and took a slug. Rude. He wiped the rim with the hem of his swim trunks before handing it back to her.

  “No, I wasn’t close enough and I didn’t see a car,” Kevin finally answered. Had he been so distracted that he’d missed it? As a matter of fact, he didn’t see any cars parked on the beach except his truck. Where was her vehicle?

  “Then what’s the point in calling the cops? I can’t identify him,” she persisted.

  Her head was cocked as those spellbinding eyes stared up at him in curiosity. She was at least a foot shorter than his six feet two inches. She wore a cream-colored tank top that, from his advantageous angle, showed a hint of cleavage. Her brown shorts were—well—short. Her build was perfect for her height. What the hell was wrong with him? He should be concerned with her injuries instead of sizing her up.

  “Because the police should be notified, regardless. You may not be his only victim or target,” he explained, managing to get back on track.

  She lifted her backpack from the sand. “If you want to notify them, knock yourself out. I can’t add anything to it, and I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one day—and it’s still morning.”

  “You seem pretty calm for someone who just fought off an attacker.” Despite her relaxed demeanor, those eyes continually scanned the surrounding area. She was putting on an act. She was scared. The weapon underscored his suspicion. He’d give her credit, though. She was skilled at pretending. No part of the beach went unnoticed under her gaze.

  “You don’t know me so you can’t judge my reaction to a given situation.” She capped the bottle of water and shoved it into her bag.

  He’d been pushing for a stronger reaction and he got one. She had a temper—and backbone. She hadn’t backed away from him in spite of his size and looming stance. He should have expected as much since she had been fighting like hell when he reached her side. Given her attitude, why the insistence he not call the authorities?

  “Why was he so determined to get your pack?”

  “Obviously, he thought I had something of value in it,” she answered. She slipped her arms through the thin straps of the bag. “Thanks again for your help,” she said as she began to walk away.

  “Hold up. How’d you get here?” He gazed up and down the beach. A couple of vehicles had joined his, but with the exception of his truck, the beach had been empty when he’d come ashore.

  “I walked, if it’s any of your business,” she said, trotting toward the sidewalk that led over the last span of water before you reached Sanibel.

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  She didn’t lose a step as she looked over her shoulder. “If that’s your board drifting out to sea, I think you need to direct your attention elsewhere.”

  Kevin turned to where he’d left the rig he’d borrowed from his friend, Gibson McKay. The tide was coming in and rising waters had caught the sail. It would be pulled into the bay if he didn’t secure it.

  “Shit.” He backpedaled toward the equipment. “Hang on, would you?” he shouted, but River simply waved her hand over her head. Whether she was waving good-bye or waving him off, he wasn’t certain.

  2

  As soon as she was out of sight of her savior, River picked up speed and jogged across the causeway, then made a quick left i
nto an alley near the boat ramps on the other side of the bridge, taking a convoluted route back to her condo. It would cost her a few extra minutes, but neither her rescuer nor the attacker could follow her without her knowing it. She didn’t have a reason to trust the striking hunk of a man who had come to her aid, but he hadn’t frightened her. Considering her skittishness toward strangers, it didn’t make sense.

  Regardless of her reaction to him, she didn’t want to talk to the police and based on his disapproving scowl at her dismissal of his suggestion, he was going to call—with or without her agreement. She’d kept a low profile since moving to Sanibel and she planned to keep it that way for as long as she was here. While she hadn’t changed her name, River Chandler had virtually disappeared when she left North Carolina. She’d been on Sanibel for almost a year and had seen no evidence to dispute that assumption.

  She rounded a hedge of hibiscus, turning down the crushed-shell alleyway which led to the rear of her condominium complex. Slowing to a fast walk, she caught her breath. The jog had been an easy trek, it was her nerves that were eating up the oxygen. Damn it.