pretended to be grass.
He went down hard. “Shit! Help me!”
At first, he thought he’d been shot. The pain was that intense. Clutching his calf with his right hand and pulling up on his toes with his left to ease the spasm, David rolled to his back to confront his attackers. He hadn’t been in a fight since elementary school, but he wasn’t going to die without one.
“Help me!”
Somewhere in the night there had to be a tourist or two. A couple sets of eyes might help to run off the men who would kill him.
Or maybe they’d kill the tourists, too.
Not his problem.
David was certain beyond doubt that the one man had been holding a knife. As he struggled to his knees to engage his enemies, he yelled again, a guttural, animal sound that gave voice to his terror.
But no attacker appeared. Beyond the thrumming of blood in his ears, the starless night revealed no sound but the wind and the grumble of distant traffic.
Where the hell were they? This was their perfect opportunity to take him out, slit his throat without a sound, and they’d blown it. Or maybe that wasn’t—
“Hey, are you all right?”
The voice came from David’s blind side and it startled the crap out of him. He spun to see a fortysomething guy in a beige trench coat with what looked like a suit and tie underneath. The soft jowls and prominent paunch set him far apart from the guys at the carousel. His face showed a look of concern.
With the threat of imminent attack gone, and with it the need for immediate assistance, David saw no upside in sharing details with a stranger. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Got a cramp. Hurts like hell.”
The Samaritan squinted into the darkness beyond David. “Somebody trying to mug you or something? I saw you tearing across the grass like your hair was on fire. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re not exactly dressed for a jog.”
Jogging? I was running with everything I had and this guy thinks I was jogging? He chose to say nothing.
The man in the trench coat pulled an iPhone knockoff out of his pocket. “Do you need me to call a cop?”
“No,” David said, and the answer sounded a little too quick. “No, I’m fine. Just got a little spooked.” He cast one more look back toward the carousel to make sure that those who spooked him were still nowhere to be seen.
Trench Coat planted his fists on his hips. He wasn’t buying.
“Honest to God,” David said. The spasm was easing as he massaged the muscle. “I’m a reporter for the Enquirer . I was doing a story and my imagination got away from me.” As soon as the words about his employer escaped his lips, he wished he could take them back.
He rose to his haunches to give his calf a good stretch. In another few seconds, he’d be able to trust it enough to stand.
“You looked awfully scared when you were running,” Trench Coat said.
David pointed back toward the carousel. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
“But you were yelling for help.”
“Just because there’s nothing to be afraid of doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of it.” Whatever happened to the coldhearted city dwellers who never wanted to get involved? He reached out his hand. “Do you mind helping me up?”
Trench Coat didn’t hesitate to grasp David’s hand in a power grip, one that involved more thumb than fingers. The hand was heavily calloused. A shiver—a warning shot—launched from his tailbone to his skull. You don’t expect a guy in a thousand-dollar coat to have workingman’s hands. On a night like tonight, anything out of the ordinary was a threat.
As David shot to his feet, he pulled his hand free and thrust a forefinger at the stranger’s face, the tip coming within an inch of the man’s face. In the same instant, he yelled—shrieked, really—“Stay away from me!”
Trench Coat jumped and took a step back. “What the hell—”
“Don’t you even!” David shouted. “Just stay the hell away from me!”
“What’s wrong with
He went down hard. “Shit! Help me!”
At first, he thought he’d been shot. The pain was that intense. Clutching his calf with his right hand and pulling up on his toes with his left to ease the spasm, David rolled to his back to confront his attackers. He hadn’t been in a fight since elementary school, but he wasn’t going to die without one.
“Help me!”
Somewhere in the night there had to be a tourist or two. A couple sets of eyes might help to run off the men who would kill him.
Or maybe they’d kill the tourists, too.
Not his problem.
David was certain beyond doubt that the one man had been holding a knife. As he struggled to his knees to engage his enemies, he yelled again, a guttural, animal sound that gave voice to his terror.
But no attacker appeared. Beyond the thrumming of blood in his ears, the starless night revealed no sound but the wind and the grumble of distant traffic.
Where the hell were they? This was their perfect opportunity to take him out, slit his throat without a sound, and they’d blown it. Or maybe that wasn’t—
“Hey, are you all right?”
The voice came from David’s blind side and it startled the crap out of him. He spun to see a fortysomething guy in a beige trench coat with what looked like a suit and tie underneath. The soft jowls and prominent paunch set him far apart from the guys at the carousel. His face showed a look of concern.
With the threat of imminent attack gone, and with it the need for immediate assistance, David saw no upside in sharing details with a stranger. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Got a cramp. Hurts like hell.”
The Samaritan squinted into the darkness beyond David. “Somebody trying to mug you or something? I saw you tearing across the grass like your hair was on fire. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re not exactly dressed for a jog.”
Jogging? I was running with everything I had and this guy thinks I was jogging? He chose to say nothing.
The man in the trench coat pulled an iPhone knockoff out of his pocket. “Do you need me to call a cop?”
“No,” David said, and the answer sounded a little too quick. “No, I’m fine. Just got a little spooked.” He cast one more look back toward the carousel to make sure that those who spooked him were still nowhere to be seen.
Trench Coat planted his fists on his hips. He wasn’t buying.
“Honest to God,” David said. The spasm was easing as he massaged the muscle. “I’m a reporter for the Enquirer . I was doing a story and my imagination got away from me.” As soon as the words about his employer escaped his lips, he wished he could take them back.
He rose to his haunches to give his calf a good stretch. In another few seconds, he’d be able to trust it enough to stand.
“You looked awfully scared when you were running,” Trench Coat said.
David pointed back toward the carousel. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
“But you were yelling for help.”
“Just because there’s nothing to be afraid of doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of it.” Whatever happened to the coldhearted city dwellers who never wanted to get involved? He reached out his hand. “Do you mind helping me up?”
Trench Coat didn’t hesitate to grasp David’s hand in a power grip, one that involved more thumb than fingers. The hand was heavily calloused. A shiver—a warning shot—launched from his tailbone to his skull. You don’t expect a guy in a thousand-dollar coat to have workingman’s hands. On a night like tonight, anything out of the ordinary was a threat.
As David shot to his feet, he pulled his hand free and thrust a forefinger at the stranger’s face, the tip coming within an inch of the man’s face. In the same instant, he yelled—shrieked, really—“Stay away from me!”
Trench Coat jumped and took a step back. “What the hell—”
“Don’t you even!” David shouted. “Just stay the hell away from me!”
“What’s wrong with
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