Page 106 of Running to You

At the bottom of the stairs, the rancid scent she’d picked up when she’d first walked in hit her, stronger than before. “What is that?” She covered her mouth and nose and crunched through the space to where Michael was looking down the stairs into the basement. When he saw her, he started to close the door.

She grabbed the edge. “What?”

Michael spoke to Sam behind her. “We should go.”

“No,” she said. “What’s wrong? What’s down there?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.” Again, he tried to tug the door out of her hand, but she held on and swung around.

Aimed her flashlight down the stairs. The beam landed on…

A woman.

A crumpled body.

Eyes open and lifeless.

She gasped. No! “Mom!” She started down, but arms grabbed her around the waist.

The basement light flicked on.

“It’s not her,” Sam said. “It’s the neighbor. It’s the neighbor, Eliza.”

Gray hair. Wrinkles. Not Mom. Not Mom.

Michael uttered a curse. He’d moved to the front of the house, but now he was running toward them. “They’re coming! Get her out of here.”

Sam pulled Eliza out the back door. She tried to run, stumbled. Dropped the flashlight.

He dragged her into the woods. “Come on, Eliza. Run.”

She was trying. She just couldn’t see through the tears. Couldn’t see anything but Mrs. Jensen’s body lying on the basement floor.

“Faster.” The voice came from behind. “Or carry her.”

Suddenly, she was swept up in Sam’s strong arms. “Tuck in.” He held her against his chest and bolted through the forest.

She tried to be as small as she could, but trees and limbs still grabbed her feet, pulled her hair. Seconds later, they made it through the woods and past the house to the car.

Sam opened the back door and climbed in, her on his lap.

Michael got in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and hit the gas. The force of it slammed the door shut.

Behind them, two men bolted from the woods onto the street and watched as they drove away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

They should be wearing seatbelts, especially considering the way Michael zoomed out of the neighborhood, whipping around corners and flooring it on short straightaways. He seemed to know what he was doing.

And Sam wasn’t ready to let Eliza go.

She sat sideways on the seat, her legs draped over his lap, and gripped his sweatshirt in her fists, crying into his chest.

He held her close, rubbed her back, whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”

They were. By the grace of God. And Michael.

No way Sam could have gotten them out of there without help.