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No Safe Place (Witness Protection Book 1)

By H. L. Wegley

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Olympic National Park, near La Push, Washington
They hadn’t gunned him down two months ago, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The odds were Matt Mathison should have ended up planted in the ground or as a pile of bones picked clean by scavengers in the forest.
Was he lucky to have escaped? It felt more like punishment for his transgressions. Regardless, his present unity of body and soul was not a blessing. Of that, he was certain.
Matt refocused on the winding dirt trail wrinkled with tree roots along each side—roots waiting to grab the foot of a tired or careless runner. He kicked his pace up a notch as he loped along the trail traversing the ridge above the beach at La Push.
He maintained this fast but comfortable pace as he ran through towering Sitka spruce trees. Matt inhaled deep breaths of fresh, ocean-scented air.
Countless shafts of sunlight probed the shadows through openings in the forest canopy. As he ran, the myriad sunbeams created a mesmerizing, strobe-light effect on his arms.
Running in this tranquil setting helped. It helped Matt ignore that he was bone tired, emotionally drained, and spiritually in limbo. But didn’t he deserve all the misery life had dealt him? All of it and a lot more.
A half mile from the parking area, the pounding of a runner's powerful feet sounded on the ridge behind him. Someone had rapidly closed on him, someone running at an incredible rate.
There were never other runners on this trail. Only one conclusion made sense. After two months of searching, Arellano's assassins had found him.
This remote location was supposed to give Matt several months of safety, maybe enough time to deal with his problems and get his life back on track. Why today? He hadn't even brought a gun with him.
With the cartel’s powerful weapons, they could gun him down, dispose of his body here in the forest, and let the animals clean up the evidence.
The sprinting runner drew close, obviously trying to catch him. Matt had only one weapon—surprise. Surprise like the crushing, blindside tackle that sent him to the hospital for multiple surgeries. Maybe he could pass that experience on to the dude who was chasing him.
Matt dashed toward a big spruce on the inside of a sharp dogleg in the trail and slipped out of sight behind it, his heart pounding louder than the runner's footsteps.
The sound of heavy breathing came from only a few yards away.
Matt crouched, arms ready to make a perfect, bone-crushing tackle. As his coach used to say, even quarterbacks must learn to tackle to prevent their mistakes from becoming disasters.
He braced himself and shot a short prayer heavenward, doubting that it rose above the forest canopy. He tensed and focused on a section of trail beside the spruce tree.
A white Nike hit the ground in front of him.
Matt lunged forward.
* * *
Randi Richards slowed and cut to the inside of the trail. She broke stride as she hopped around a patch of mud left from the winter rain. According to the Climate Prediction Center, the strong El Nino could bring the worst drought in a hundred years to the Olympic Peninsula.
When she swerved between the mud and the large spruce tree, a blur of tanned flesh and purple flew at her from the right side.
The purple battering ram hit her thighs.
It ripped Randi's legs from under her.
Her neck whipped to one side.
As quickly as he came, her assailant broke contact, dumping her on her rear.
What just happened? An attack? She shook off her dazed confusion and prepared to fight back.
A weapon. The edge of the mud hole held a potato-sized rock. She grabbed it, cocked her throwing arm, and looked up at her target.
Two huge palms pushed toward her, hiding the face behind them. “I’m sorry. I won't hurt you. You’re safe.” The voice barking out those words could have belonged to a battlefield commander, except for the way it softened on the last two words.
She relaxed her arm but glared up. If only she could read his eyes. “Put your hands down.”
He dropped his arms.
From her seat in the muck, she studied him. Tall, muscular, and intimidating. But those brilliant blue eyes held only sadness. Maybe sadness tinged with surprise. He had a deep tan, dark hair, and a perfectly sculpted face. His description in a single word, magnificent.
No. Infuriating!
This man had knocked her on her rear in a three-inch-deep quagmire, and now he stared at her, looking like he might actually smile about it.
“I'm so sorry, Miss, uh … Ma'am.”
“Why did you—you could've killed me! You—”
“I was trying to say I'm sorry that—”
“Sorry that you what?” She tossed the rock off the trail. “What were you trying to do and why? I deserve an explanation, don't you think?”
“Are you okay?”
He had avoided her question. “Do I look okay? I'm sitting on my fanny in a pig sty.” There was a faint discoloration on her upper leg. Had it been there before? “There's a big bruise on my thigh and—” No injuries. He hadn't made the tiny bruise, and apparently there was no imminent danger.
Sprawled out in the mud she couldn’t hold a lady-like pose. At least she wasn't being videoed. If her friends on the track team could only see her now.
A small giggle escaped her mouth, but this ridiculous scene deserved more than a giggle. Randi threw her head back and, for the first time in weeks, laughed.
* * *
Matt had put the brakes on his picture-perfect tackle as soon as two sleek, muscular legs and a bouncing ponytail appeared. The impact of hitting those powerful legs had wrenched his shoulder. At least he hadn't driven through her. Had he done that, something would have broken. From the looks of her legs, probably some part of him.
Now she sat in a five-point resting position on her rear, hands and feet in deep mud, staring up at him with … those eyes, a deep, dazzling hazel. Her auburn hair blazed with fire where the sun lit it. She looked athletic and alive, thank goodness, and completely captivating. Even her anger added to her stunning looks.
Was she really alright? When he took a step toward her, her expression changed.
Belly-shaking laughter jounced her body, and her hazel eyes and ponytail danced in time with the melodious sounds.
So she wasn't hurt. And she was an athlete. A trim, fit, absolutely beautiful athlete. If she could look this good sitting in the mud, in maroon and white running shorts and a T-shirt, what might she look in a little black dress? He looked again at her auburn hair. Or maybe a green dress?
Matt, you've got to be crazy. Help her up, then you need to disappear … for her sake.
“Don't you think it's about time to get up out of that muddy ooze?” He tried to smile as he stretched out a hand.
“You mean like our progenitors, evolving out of that primordial ooze to stand erect?”
That expression on her face—serious or facetious? “I don't believe that nonsense.”
“Good.” Her grin turned to a smile, highlighting a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. “Neither do I.”
Her freckles added to his first impression of her—unpretentious, unaware of her extraordinary beauty. And he still didn't know her name.
“I'm Matt Mathison.” He pushed his hand a little farther.
She pulled hers out of the quagmire and shoved a mud-caked hand at him, keeping her eyes focused on his. “I'm Randi Richards.”
He studied her hand. It looked like his baby sister's after she'd been making mud pies. Wasn't she going to wipe it off first?
She kept reaching for him, smiling as mud dripped from her hand.
So, he had to shake her muddy hand. She was evening the score. Matt shook it, added his other hand, and grasped her wrist above the mud line. He pulled hard.
She broke free from the mud.
He pulled again and brought her to her feet.
She was tall, about five-foot-ten. A slender but shapely figure that was impossible to ignore. And well-developed legs. Those legs could run at the furious pace that overtook him.
He scanned upward, in no hurry to get to her face. When he did, her smile was gone.
“Are you through with your inventory?” Her eyes flashed like laser beams, while her sunlit hair blazed as intensely as her words.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just that—”
“That you're a guy. I know. They always—”
“No, Ms. Richards. They don't always do that. Not all of them.” He looked down at the ground. “But when the sunlight hit your—”
“Yeah. I know. Looks like my hair's on fire. Kids at school used to tease me about it. They tormented me with obscene variations of liar, liar, hair’s on fire.”
“I'll bet they don't do that anymore.” He met her gaze and tried his most winning smile.
Her anger melted into a smile that won him completely. Her hint of a southern accent and a dozen other things about her sucked him in like a black hole pulls in asteroids. He needed to disappear from her life as rapidly as he entered it or she wouldn't be safe. Neither might Matt Mathison's heart.
“Matt? Where did you go? You're not on drugs are you?”
“No. I don't use … drugs.” His gut tightened.
“Spaced out on me?” She scraped mud from her hands on the tree beside the trail.
“Guess I did.”
“You still haven't given me an explanation. Why did you sack me with that blindside blitz?”
She certainly had the football language down. It created an opportunity to tell her enough of the truth to keep her away from him, where it was safe.
Go on. Tell her enough to freak her out. You'll be doing her a big favor.
It wasn’t what he wanted to do. He sighed. “There's someone who doesn't like me, Ms. Richards. I blindsided you because I thought you were him.”
“Call me Randi. It's spelled with an I.”
“Okay. Randi with an I, you were running so hard, overtaking me, that I thought you were—”
“That I was the guy who wants to beat you up? For a few seconds I was the girl who wanted to beat you up. But you're safe … for now.” She grinned. “You know, if you're really worried about this guy, you should carry a gun.”
He had a gun. Actually, three of them. But no one was supposed to find him here. Not for several months. When she ran down the trail like a wild Amazon, he just freaked out. “Yes. I could do that. But this guy doesn't know where I am.” He paused. “Do you always run at that pace?”
She stared at him for a moment. Behind those glittering hazel eyes, the gears were turning. She knew he was hiding things.
If he could just tell her that he only hid them for her protection.
“Yeah. Used to run competitively, so I usually run hard. I warm up and stretch out before running. After a slow three hundred yards or so, if I'm feeling good, I kick in the after burners.”
Good. She had recognized his change of subject and accepted it. And she did have afterburners. This young woman was an athlete. A perceptive one. The complete package. “I've been running out here for two months and have never seen another runner.”
She laughed and again it sounded like music. “I've been running this trail for two weeks, and I've never seen anyone either. When do you usually run?” She knocked her shoe against a tree and a glob of mud fell off.
How much should he tell her? If the wrong person saw them together—he couldn't let that happen. “I run whenever I get the urge. Just about every day, except Sundays.”
Randi squinted at his mention of Sundays, then relaxed. “I run to the big hill above the beach, take it easy down the steps, and run hard to the far end of Second Beach. I push hard back up those two hundred steps, and give it all I've got back to the parking area. How far do you go?”
He smiled. “I run the same route, but a little slower on the return trip. What I'd like to know is how you caught me from behind on the way back without us passing on the trail.”
Randi frowned, then broke into a smile. “Today I did something I've wanted to do since I got here. The tide was completely out, so I ran around the big rock at the far end of Second Beach. There's a hidden cove behind it that's cut off when the tide's in. I stopped there and explored for a few minutes.”
“Do you mean that I made my turn, got at least three hundred yards ahead of you, and you still ran me down?”
“It appears so.”
Matt was not dogging it today. He’d maintained a fast pace. She had to have world-class speed. He reran his quick calculation. Same conclusion.
“Hey, Matt ….” She twisted strands of her ponytail around her fingers. “Would … uh … you like to run with me on Monday? I always have this time slot free between my work tasks.”
“I'd like that. But … are you actually working today?”
Randi laughed softly. “Yeah. This and every day. I work a split shift, 4:30 to 7:00 each morning and evening, seven days a week.”
“Seven days a week? Do you work at a dairy? Milk cows or something?”
“Milk cows?” She laughed again. “That's a good one. I don't know the first thing about farms, cows, living in the country, or—”
“What do you do in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the Olympic National Park?”
“I'm a meteorologist. I send up the radiosonde at Quillayute and do a few other tasks at the weather station. The weather observations are all automated except for the radiosonde.”
“So you work for the National Weather Service?”
“No. They contracted out the weather services here a long time ago. The two men doing the work got tired of driving down from Port Angeles twice a day, so they hired me. It's my first job out of school.”
He looked at the logo on her maroon and white shorts. “First job out of Texas A&M?”
“That's right. Gig'em, Aggies.” She pointed both index fingers at the blue sky.
That explained the soft drawl.
“But this is miles from nowhere. Why are you—”
“I have my reasons, Matt.” She gave him her laser look again. “Just like you have your reasons for hiding out here and jumping whenever you hear running feet.”
“Got it.” He smiled at her. “No more questions. Would you mind walking back to the parking area with me while we cool down?”
“Thought you'd never ask.” She twisted her body and looked at her back side. “I still have a ton of mud caked on me in various places.”
They turned and headed down the trail toward the parking area.
“Wait a sec.” He twirled his index finger. “Turn around.”
“What are you up to, Mr. Mathison?”
“Just checking you out.”
“You've already done that … thoroughly. I watched you.”
“I meant checking to see how muddy you are before you get in a car.”
She frowned. “If my shorts are a mess, it's all your fault.”
“Hey. I've never tackled anyone that hard before. I was usually on the receiving end.”
“Got tackled a lot, huh?” Randi nodded slowly. “Were you a running back or a quarterback?”
“Quarterback. But that was a lifetime ago.” He wasn't ready to talk football, at least not about playing the game. “So, what do you think of the weather?”
She pointed up at the blue sky. “It's a strong El Niño. Otherwise we'd never see sunny and 68 degrees on April thirtieth at La Push.”
“Ah, yes. I'm walking this trail with a meteorologist.” He gave her a lingering look.
“And who am I walking with, if you don't mind me asking?”
He did mind, but he sought a truthful answer, at least one that told part of the truth. “I'm an unemployed, aspiring author. Nearly done with my first manuscript.”
“A writer? We have something else in common. Running, writing and … do you like 'rithmetic?” She laughed softly. “I started a novel once. Got the outline and two chapters done, then quit. What do you write?”
“Fiction. Romantic thrillers. It's not an official genre yet, but it's what I write.”
She gave him several glances as they walked. “A romantic Lawrence Taylor or, should I say, John Elway? A man full of contradictions … and secrets.”
She was sharp. She'd even named former football stars. He had to be careful. This woman read him like a book and affected him in ways he didn't understand. She might pull his secrets out like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat, and he wouldn't have a clue how she'd done it.
Best not to attend her magic show. But he had already promised to run with her Monday. A bad idea, because each moment with her added to the magic.
A car door slammed in the parking area a hundred yards ahead.
He hooked her arm and yanked her off the trail behind some bushes.
“Matt, what are you—”
“Quiet,” he whispered into her ear.
She stuck her head out the far side of the bush. “It's only the park ranger. He's probably checking out the trail.” She studied his eyes. “I've got two questions for you, Matt. Who are you really afraid of? And … is it safe for me to be here with you?”

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