Kristin James jumped sideways, one foot sliding on the gray dirt as she tried to catch her footing on the rough running trail around Smith Lake on the outskirts of Fort Bragg. “For real?” She threw up her hands, but the mountain biker blasted past, nearly driving her into the woods.
The rider didn’t acknowledge her as he rounded the bend ahead and kept going, the whir of his tires fading among the pine trees.
“Share the road!” She yelled one more angry rebuke for good measure. Seriously.
Rotating her foot to make sure her ankle wasn’t twisted, she stepped onto the trail and picked up speed again, the adrenaline from her near miss amping her heart rate better than the first mile of her run already had.
The All-American Marathon was the next month, and if she was going to maintain her time, she’d better push her training until the runners hit the start line in downtown Fayetteville.
And hope nobody else burst out of the thick pine trees to run her over.
The early-morning Carolina breeze whispered in the pines, mild for March but more bearable than the summer. Other than her “friend” on the mountain bike, she hadn’t seen another soul on the trail. Exactly how she liked it.
A cracking noise around a curve ahead slowed her pace, and she wrinkled her forehead, her steps slowing.
The mountain biker roared around the curve, heading directly toward her.
What was he thinking?
The rider, his face covered by a gray ski mask, ground into the brakes as he neared, the rear end of the bike skidding sideways. The motion threw dirt and gravel on Kristin as she stumbled backward. Taking advantage of her unsteadiness, the rider reached out and shoved her out of the way.
Kristin fought to recover but fell hard to one knee, sticks and pine straw shredding into her skin. She scrambled to her feet and stalked toward the daredevil, who’d dropped the bike in the middle of the trail and stood eyeing her like he was ready for whatever challenge she threw at him.
Well, he’d gotten a bigger challenge than he’d anticipated. Kristin skirted the discarded bike and stopped arm’s length away, sizing up her adversary. He wasn’t much taller than she was, likely a gym rat, the kind of guy who wanted everybody to know his workout routine and to marvel at how he’d built a body by weight machine. He probably skipped leg day, too.
He wore gray cargo shorts, an odd choice for a mountain biker. A tattooed snake wound around his leg from ankle to knee, fangs bared and dripping vivid red blood. Yeah, leg day wasn’t this guy’s favorite, and he tried to cover it with the scary tat. Nice.
If she’d had a card with her, she’d have flicked it in his face and told him what a good personal trainer could do for him. On second thought, she’d never liked his type as a client. Especially not since he was cocky enough to think running a woman off the trail was a viable way to get her attention. “What is your problem?”
A slow grin tipped the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement flickering in his eyes. It was more like...determination. “No problem. Least not for me.”
The way he said the words jangled memories in a pulse straight to her feet, driving her backward.
No. Kristin retreated from no man. Instead, she squared her shoulders, taking the offensive. “Watch where you’re going. And don’t come near me again.”
She stepped over the rear tire of his bike and moved to start running again.
A heavy arm hooked around her waist and jerked her backward against a chest as hard as steel, lifting her off the ground. A beefy hand clamped over her mouth, twisting her head painfully to the side.
Kristin fought a rising panic. No one had laid a hand on her in years, but the memory bit, drawing long-buried fear with it.
He’s not my father.
But he likely had more nefarious intentions than knocking any supposed disrespect out of her.
This kind of thing didn’t happen to her. It just didn’t. She was the one who taught women how to bring their inner strength out. She wasn’t the one who was attacked on an early-morning trail run, a statistic for the six o’clock news.
Kristin tried to pull away, but the way he’d twisted her head to the side strained her neck and made movement virtually impossible.
Hot breath grazed her ear. “You scream and I’ll make sure you never make another sound again. We’re going to talk about your brother, Kyle, whether you like it or not.” He jerked harder, and her neck screamed in protest.
Her brother? Kyle had been dead for months, killed by a sniper in Iraq. Given their years of estrangement and her brother’s sorry track record for communicating, she would be the last one to have answers anyway.
Kristin scrambled for a plan, a way out. She dropped her struggle and went limp, judging his hold. What weapons did she have left on her body? She couldn’t reach his instep or his throat...none of the vulnerable spots she’d learned in self-defense classes. And if she fought too hard from her current position, the likelihood of him breaking her neck was high.
There was one option.
With all of her remaining strength, she bent her leg and drove her heel back, catching her captor in the knee. The drive caught solid