Running Wild in Reno

The heat was stifling, but she ran every day to keep her strength and stamina in top form. She never knew when those skills would be needed to save her life. It had happened twice before.

And she didn't know why.

All she knew was she had a bag of money that wasn't hers and she didn't know who it belonged to. Her suitcase had no clothes in it. No wallet, purse, credit cards or cell phone. The bag was full of cash. Ten and twenty-dollar bills, all loose. No bands around them to indicate a bank name or a clue as to where the money came from. She only knew that when she drove away from her home in Chicago on her way to a job interview in Kansas, her suitcase had her own personal items inside it. But when she checked into the motel she spied along the route and opened the case, only the money stared back at her.

She never made that appointment. She didn't even go through the state of Kansas. Helen Ryan, although she wasn't Helen Ryan then, closed the case, checked out of the motel, and drove away. She kept driving until the fear she felt was outweighed by the need to sleep.

Checking her surroundings along the track of land where she ran each day, she slowly walked to her car. She had the feeling someone was watching her, but the space was open and she saw no one. She wanted to run, but in the past year, she'd learned to act as if nothing was wrong, as if everything was normal. At that she wanted to laugh. This was now her normal.

Nevertheless, she was going to have to find another place to jog. She'd developed a sixth sense for danger, and this was only a small kernel, but she'd learned that it was the small changes that tripped people up.

There she was again, Officer Brett Emerson thought as he drove his cruiser along Hill Lane. There were no jogging trails close by, and in this heat, most people might think she'd lost her mind to be running. He'd seen her several times. She didn't workout to a clock, since it was at different times of the day that he'd seen her. Sometimes he was going North and other times South. Sometimes he didn't see her at all. She could be on a different stretch of road, but she came often. He noticed her because he couldn't see her. She wore a baseball cap. It had no stitching on the front. Her dark ponytail stuck out of the back and bobbed up and down as she ran. Sunglasses hid her face, but her body style and the way she moved identified her.

At least it did to him.

Brett jumped when his personal phone rang. He'd been concentrating so intently on the woman, that the sound jarred him. He grabbed for the phone, feeling he needed to silence it, as if someone would hear it. The phone was like butter in his hands when he got it. It slipped away. He lurched for it and like some movie stunt, it somersaulted over and over before falling to the seat and bouncing to the floor. It came to a stop under the passenger seat.

The ringing stopped.

Pulling the cruiser onto the side of the road, he retrieved the device. It started to ring again in his hand.

"Officer Emerson," he said automatically.

"Hey buddy," Jack replied in his usual happy-go-lucky manner. "We still on for tonight?"

Brett recognized his friend's, voice. Immediately, he relaxed, his body slumping against the car's seat.

"Yeah, we're still on. I'll meet you at nine."

Jack had a thing for one of the showgirls at the Desert Casino. At least he wanted to have a thing. So the two of them were going cruising tonight. Jack was planning to pick her up. Brett had no intention of looking for prey. Women meant heartache to him and he'd had enough of that to last two lifetimes.

Suddenly one woman came to mind. He thought of the woman who ran in the desert heat. The one he'd given a warning ticket to this afternoon. Shaking his head, he pushed thought of her aside and started the car. Looking around, Brett checked to see if she was anywhere nearby.

The road was clear. He was both disappointed and gladdened that as far as he could see no one walked, jogged or ran.

"Great," Jack said, bringing Brett's attention back to the phone.

"You know you don't need me," Brett said, wanting to get out of this sophomoric game.

"You haven't been out in a decade," Jack exaggerated. "It's time you got back on that horse."

Brett didn't respond to that. He knew he wasn't going to get Jack to back off if he started a conversation about his past relationships.

"Nine o'clock," Brett said. "I'll be there."

He was smiling when he put the phone away. Even though he'd suggested that he didn't need to go out, he was looking forward to the night. Going to the casinos wasn't something he did often, and he rarely gambled, but he liked seeing the shows.

Brett checked his watch, then put the car in gear. As he checked the road before pulling out, a car whizzed by. Brett frowned. His job came back to him. Turning his flashing light on, he pulled onto the road and followed the speeding car. Less than a mile later, he was stepping out of the cruiser and approaching the speeder. It was a woman. He could see her hair bobbing from a ponytail.

"License and registration," Brett said. He stood slightly behind her, a safety precaution that had become second nature to him.

The woman hunted in her purse and came up with the appropriate forms. She handed them to him. Brett looked down, but her face wasn't visible. It was obscured by the baseball cap. It was her.

He looked at the license. Helen Ryan, he read. The photo was a little burry.

"You understand, you were speeding," he said.

She nodded without looking at him. The ponytail bobbed again. Brett wasn't used to silence. Normally, people had an excuse ready. Generally, they were making them up on the spur of the moment, trying to get out of a speeding ticket.

"Wait here," he said. Returning to his vehicle, he ran her license and tag number. There were no citations on either. Brett was a little relieved at that. He told himself it meant his night out wasn't in jeopardy. But for some reason, he didn't want her to move from the category of jogger to something criminal.

Getting out into the heat, he approached the car. The window slid down. Obviously, she was watching him through the outside mirror.

"Wanna tell me why you were speeding?"

"Will it make a difference?" she asked.

Again a response he wasn't expecting.

"Try me?"

Brett didn't often ask for or accept explanations. His radar device clocked her at fifteen miles over the limit.

"I have to pick up a friend."

"What's your friend's name?"

"Lisa Parker."

She didn't look at him but kept her attention straight in front of her. "Is this your usual way to pick up a friend?"

"No," she said.

He was still holding her license and registration. "Please remove the sunglasses," he said. He could see her photo, but it was protocol that he verify her identity.

Ms. Ryan sighed. Looking down, she removed the glasses.

"Look at me," Brett said. Why his heart was beating faster he didn't know. He'd already determined that she had no criminal record.

Without removing the hat, she glanced up at him. The sun was in her face and she squinted. Quickly, she turned back and replaced the glasses.

"Officer, last night my friend and I went out," she paused. "We got separated and I went home alone. She called a few minutes ago and wanted me to pick her up."

Brett filled in the places she left blank. This wasn't a new story. He'd heard it before.

"Is she all right?"

At that she voluntarily looked at him.

"I think so. She sounded a little stressed, so I wanted to get to her as quickly as possible."

"As you can see speeding slows you down." He felt like a recording saying that. He'd repeated it so many times in his ten-year career.

"I apologize, officer. I'll take the ticket."

"Let me see your phone." Brett said.

"Excuse me."

Surprise at his unexpected request was in her voice.

"Your phone."

Turning around she pulled the phone from the seat and handed it to him. Brett didn't take it. "Unlock it, please."

Ms. Ryan pushed the center button and typed in a password.

"Go to recent calls."

She did.

Brett read the display. The last call with a time stamp of twenty minutes ago was from Lisa Parker.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.

She put the phone down as Brett pulled his book out and began writing. He glanced at her license and took the appropriate information. When he finished, he tore off the last ticket in the book and handed it to her.

She took it without looking at it.

"Can I go now," she asked.

"You'll need these." He handed her the license and registration. "The ticket is a warning. Take your time and slow down. You want to pick up Lisa without any mishaps, right?"

She didn't answer.

Brett went back to his car. By the time he got into the seat, she had already pulled onto the road and was driving away.

Suddenly Brett hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. He'd given her his last ticket, his Precious Waters ticket.