Cara snuck out the back door, feeling safe with Nick at the house and her pepper spray in hand. She was going to run a quick ten miles just to shake off the rust.
It was cold for Arizona, maybe upper fifties, but perfect weather for running. She was in the residential neighborhood where her parents lived, ash trees mingling with palm trees rising above some lantana ground covering. She settled into a nice six-minute-mile pace, enjoying the quiet.
Cara never listened to music when she ran. She preferred to listen to her body, absorb her surroundings, almost meditate. Running gave her an inner peace which was hard for her to explain to non-runners. She was on a sidewalk heading toward Arizona Avenue, where she would take it almost to Scottsdale before heading back. She was thinking about her dad and all the work that went into writing his book. Even though the story was real, he had the gift of prose, making the mundane sound provocative. A true artist lurked inside of that fertile mind. She only wished he didn’t have to endure the pressure all alone.
As Cara moved along the sidewalk, she sensed a presence behind her. She glimpsed over her shoulder and saw a van rolling along the residential street. Express Pest Control. Probably someone looking for an address. She decided to make a right at the corner just to see if the van would mimic her move. It did.
Cara wasn’t about to take any chances, even in the middle of the day. She increased her speed and pounced into an opening between two homes. The van stopped and two guys jumped out, carrying guns. She couldn’t believe it. How bold were these idiots?
One home was surrounded by a block wall, the other was an open passageway into the backyard. Cara considered hopping the wall, but thought it might take too long and allow the gunmen to catch up to her. She put her run into another gear to gain some distance.
“Stop, now,” one of the gunmen yelled in an accent that sounded Russian, but Cara knew was Chechen.
She dared a glimpse over her shoulder and saw them falling behind. She ran around a pool and headed toward a stand of trees thirty yards away.
Cara knew they would never catch her. Very few people in the country could outrun her and none of them were Chechen gangsters. She continued her gallop with her hands pumping in unison with her legs. She heard a loud pop. A gunshot. At that same moment, her thigh exploded with pain. She immediately crashed to the ground, clutching her leg, knowing exactly what happened and praying someone heard it.
She yelled, “Help!” as her pepper spray bounced away from her.
They were on her quickly. One of them shoving a cloth around her mouth. An acrid smell. She tried to bite the guy’s hand, but she was losing consciousness. She fought hard, kicking with her one good leg, but missing her target. She was just flailing now, her mind suddenly going blank. Then her leg stopped hurting.
And then nothing.