In The Arms of a Stranger (2 page)

And hers.

Dana partially unzipped her jacket and eased the baby inside. He instantly snuggled against her, nuzzling her breasts frantically. “Oh, sweetie,” Dana cooed through unshed tears. “There's nothing for you there, but we'll find something. I promise.”

Something in her mind stilled as she said the words. Food. Where was the diaper bag? Her legs trembled uncontrollably as she stood. As she looked down, Dana instantly found the source of the shattering glass. The liquor bottle had tumbled from the car, shattering at her feet and drenching her boot with alcohol. She stared at the heap of glass. It was the only thing that remained, a sad reminder of a tragic mistake.

Dana found the diaper bag a few feet away and looped it over her arm. She turned to face the mountain cliff she'd so easily slid down. It would be impossible to climb back up, especially holding the infant at her chest.

“No, no, no…” she whispered.

She scanned the terrain and found that the ledge curved back toward the mountain, a natural footpath. Tears of relief
stung her eyes as she maneuvered a steep but manageable pathway up the side of the mountain. She was trembling all over as she reached the top.
Cool under fire,
her uncle always said of her.
Until the firing stops.
Unfortunately the adrenaline that always saw her through a crisis had the tendency to abandon her too soon. It was happening now.

She stumbled away from the ledge, then leaned against the trunk of a tree, sliding down the length of it until she sat on the frozen ground. The baby… Her breath left her in bursts of frozen vapor as she unzipped her jacket. Just a few inches and she could see the infant's head, his dark hair swirled on the top. Dana eased the zipper a little farther.

He was sleeping.

Hysterical laughter gave way to tears as she hugged the baby, her thumb tracing circles against his chubby cheek. She'd done it. She might have made a mess of everything else she'd touched in the past year—her marriage, her career… Her thoughts stilled when they reached little Michael Gonzalez.

She'd failed Michael in the worst possible way. What started out as a story segment on the life of a foster child had turned into much more. She'd fallen in love with the sweet five-year-old and wanted desperately to keep his abusive father from obtaining custody. But her overzealous reporting of the abuse had had the opposite effect. Provoked, Paul Gonzalez had stepped forward to claim his son, referring to him as his “property.”

The child who had stolen her heart fell from the window of his father's second-story apartment less than a month later.

Dana drew the baby against her chest, tears in her eyes. She may have failed Michael, but by God she hadn't let tragedy claim this little life.

She kissed the top of the baby's head and stood, making
her way to her car. Her cell phone proved useless, its signal no doubt deflected by the mountains. It was just as well. The road wouldn't be navigable for much longer. She and the baby could freeze to death waiting for help. Still, she tucked the phone in the baby's diaper bag, along with her billfold, car keys and the map.

She turned to face the mountain.

Was that a pinpoint of light? Hope surged as Dana focused on a distant light that twinkled in the growing darkness. It was the only sign of civilization in the expanse of forest that surrounded her.

She would follow the light and she would make it to safety. Her hands cradled the baby beneath her jacket.

She had to.

 

The rifle felt good, like an old friend. The woman's form appeared in the crosshairs of the scope.

Taking down a target was like riding a bicycle. Some things you never forgot…. Things like going hungry, like waking with your own breath frozen against your pillow and hearing your father slowly choke to death on the black silt from the mines.

A lifetime ago, but yesterday. The nose of the rifle trembled, despite the determined fingers that gripped it. If the bitch thought she could waltz in and take everything away, she was wrong.

Dead wrong.

There was no going back. Not after you'd risen from the dirt. The girl should have understood that the first time she was warned. The shot cracked through the frigid silence, and the woman fell. But just as quickly she stood again, darting toward the road.

“Dammit.” The word was whispered, controlled, even in the face of desperation.

She'd merely slipped on the ice and the shot had missed its mark. That the girl had survived the accident was an insult to the original plan. She'd scrambled back up that ledge like some nasty bug that refused to die. The rifle's scope found the woman again but she slipped into the cover of the woods. It was obvious where she was headed. And when she got there it would all be over.

No more bug.

 

“Damnation!” Luke killed the headlights and pushed the vehicle's door against the side of the ditch. He squeezed out, the space he'd made barely allowing his six-foot-four frame to pass. Snow and half-frozen mud clung to his jeans and boots as he climbed from the ditch and onto the road. He squinted through the falling snow, staring at the mangled mess that used to be his Jeep Cherokee.

That ice don't care whether you got a four-wheel-drive or not,
his grandfather had said when he'd urged Luke to go home.
Get on outta here while there's still a road to steer that fancy lump of steel on.

He should have listened. Luke doubted that Seth Carlisle had been wrong often in his eighty-five years. Besides being his maternal grandfather and the only person in this godforsaken town he considered a friend, Seth lived in the middle of nowhere. Luke had to make sure he had firewood and food, at the very least.

He stared at the useless form of his vehicle and sighed. The storm had turned toward Sweetwater with the fury of a scorned woman and was bearing down hard, adding a layer of snow to the frozen mountain. Thanks to his determination, the town's chief of police was now stuck in the middle of nowhere during the worst storm in living memory. Not good. He touched the cut on his forehead, reminding himself that it could have been worse.

“If I'm in this mess, you're in this mess,” Luke called, stamping the circulation back into his already numbing feet. “Get out here.”

Sam managed the narrow opening with more grace than Luke, but he had twice the traction. The yellow Lab bounded up the side of the ditch and looked at him expectantly.

“Aren't you supposed to have a keg of beer or something?”

Sam cocked one round eyebrow and wagged his tail.

“Yeah, that's what I thought.”

A gunshot cracked through the still night and Luke instantly dropped to the ground, drawing his gun.

“What the hell…?”

A second shot shattered the silence that had followed the first, and Luke heard someone cry out. The voice was muted but distinctly female. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in response. He crouched on the balls of his feet, listening as he reached for his two-way radio at his waist. Damn. He'd left the radio in the Jeep.

The road took a sharp turn a short distance down the mountain, following a treacherous cliff and creating a natural overlook. Luke jogged, crouching, until he reached it.

The sound he heard next was unmistakable. Someone was running—crashing—through the forest. He could hear the underbrush snapping, even hear their panicked gasp for breath. He cocked his head, listening. The shots had come from the right, he calculated, making the person below him the woman.

He knew with every lawman's instinct he possessed that she was running for her life. What was going on? There wasn't time to make sense of anything other than the fact that she needed his protection.

He intentionally slowed his breathing, concentrating on
what few facts he had. He couldn't pinpoint exactly where the shots had come from. He scanned the area below him. There was only blinding darkness to his left with one exception. A faint light glowed through the cover of the trees. The old forest ranger's station, he realized.

When the woman reached it, she would find it locked. Worse, she would discover that it had been built on the furthermost point of a natural rock crag, chosen to provide rangers with an unrestricted view of the forest below. Flanked only by the impossible rock face of the mountain behind it, there was only one way in—and out.

She would be trapped.

S
he wasn't going to die. Gonzalez—it had to be Gonzalez—wasn't going to win. Dana clawed at the doorknob, rattling it against the solid pine door. It was locked. The baby was silent inside her jacket. Too silent. Fear cut through her. Oh, God, had she hurt him while running? She had to check, had to get inside.

Hot tears of frustration burned her eyes. She stepped back, admitting that the door was not going to open. Her heart pounded as she frantically paced the cabin's porch, searching for a way in. It looked as if the porch wrapped around the cabin but it was difficult to tell. A bare lightbulb burned next to the door but the light didn't extend…

Dana stopped abruptly. The window. There was a window near the door. Hope filled her. She needed something to break it, something hard. A dark object was on the porch stoop next to her feet. She knelt, curling her fingers around solid metal. A boot scraper. She could use it to—

Glass shattered above her and the porch light was in
stantly extinguished, plunging her into darkness. Rough fingers curled over her mouth, swinging her body up and against a solid form.

Oh, God, he was here. He'd found her. She was going to die…. As soon as the thought formed in her head, the baby squirmed against her chest, reminding her that her life wasn't the only one at stake.

She would not let him die.

Dana brought the boot scraper up as hard as she could, aiming for the man's face. It met flesh with a solid thump, then fell against the wooden planks of the porch. She heard the man curse beneath his breath. She'd hit him, but the heavy metal had connected with flesh rather than bone. He'd been too tall for her pitiful weapon to hit its mark.

She tried to scream then, even knowing that the effort would go unheard.

“Shut up,” a deep voice whispered next to her ear. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

He was dragging her, she realized, and she was helpless to fight with one hand securing the baby beneath her jacket. Her feet shuffled against the wooden porch. Was he was hauling her to the back side of the cabin? She heard the sound of keys rattling, and her mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. As Dana felt the man's grip on her relax, she realized he was fitting a key into the door.

It might be her only chance.

Maybe he felt her muscles tense or maybe he read her mind, but his grip returned to her arm, pulling her against his side, his other hand still firmly wrapped over her mouth. “Who's out there?” he whispered.

The words stopped her, and she repeated them in her head to try and make sense of what he'd asked. She heard the door creak on its hinges and a gust of stale air flowed over her as he dragged her inside. He used their coupled bodies
to push the door closed behind them, then leaned his head near her ear.

“I'm here to help you.” He didn't whisper this time, and the deep sound of his voice vibrated against her ear. “I'm a law officer. Do you understand?”

Relief, mixed with wary disbelief, poured over her. She wanted to believe. She nodded against his hand.

“If I let go of you, are you going to hit me again?” There was a tinge of humor in his voice that comforted her far more than his words had.

She shook her head.

She scrambled backward as he released her, connecting with something hard. She used her free hand to steady herself in the darkness. A stone fireplace. She took in huge gulps of air, never taking her eyes off the dark form of the man.

“Who was shooting at you?” His voice resonated in the dark. “What's going on?”

Her thoughts tumbled over one another. The only logical answer was Gonzalez. But she was wary. After all, she didn't know this man. He'd appeared out of nowhere, just as the shots had. Was she supposed to believe more than one person was crazy enough to be in the middle of nowhere during an ice storm?

“I don't know,” she finally answered, her voice hoarse.

Luke studied the faint outline of the woman, sensing her presence as much as anything. She was small. That much he could tell. Her ragged breathing spoke volumes in the darkness. She was obviously scared as hell. Whether or not she was telling the truth was temporarily irrelevant.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, but…” She shifted and he thought he heard a soft grunt as if she were hiding an injury.

He glanced over his shoulder at the window, at the faint
outline of light that shone through it. “Stay where you are,” he commanded.

Luke felt his way along the interior wall of the ranger's cabin, finally reaching a bookcase. He knelt, hoping his memory of the place was still worth a damn. His fingers brushed along a row of books, finally reaching cold metal. The flashlight. Paydirt. He inched his way back down the wall, then covered the small distance between himself and the woman, grabbing her by the arm.

“We need to get to an interior room,” he said as he half dragged her through the cabin. She made a small cry of protest and followed clumsily behind him.

The cabin's layout flashed in his head. It was practically one room, with a small kitchenette adjoining the den area they'd entered. There was a bedroom but it had a window. He mentally dismissed using it for that reason. A supply pantry off the kitchen was the only choice, and he pulled the woman toward it, finally hauling her through the door.

As soon as he released her, she began to fall. Luke caught her arm again and flicked on the flashlight. The floor was littered with supplies, and the woman had inadvertently stepped into the circle of a coiled water hose. The flashlight's beam focused first on the hose, as she stepped clear of it, then on the woman's boots and slender, jeans-clad legs. Mud and moisture clung to her thighs where they met an oversize down coat. Luke's gaze traveled upward but stopped abruptly at the hand that protectively cradled her full abdomen.

She was pregnant.

He inadvertently flashed the beam of light toward her face, and she used her free hand to protect her eyes.

“Please…”

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. Luke sat the flashlight on the floor, its beam of light pointed toward the ceiling, softly
illuminating the small room. He hoped she understood that the apology included manhandling a pregnant woman.

The woman immediately ducked her head, straight blond hair falling about her shoulders as she concentrated on unzipping her jacket. Her actions were frantic, her fingers trembling. Was she hurt? The sound of the jacket's zipper lowering was punctuated by a shrill cry.

Time seemed to freeze as the woman reached into the bulky coat and pulled out an infant.

Luke suppressed a nervous laugh as he took in the blue-patterned sleeper that covered the baby from chin to toe. What had he expected? Considering he'd thought the woman was pregnant just moments before, not even a naked newborn would have surprised him.

She hugged the baby against her for a moment before easing herself to the floor. Laying the infant against her thighs, she inspected every inch of him, ignoring Luke during the process. “Thank God,” she finally whispered.

Luke knelt down next to her. “Is he okay?”

The woman glanced up, making eye contact for the first time. Luminous gray-blue eyes stared back at him, her cheeks flushed with color. Disheveled blond hair covered her shoulders, and a trail of dried blood had stopped midway down her left cheek. Beautiful. The thought registered, though it had no logic in the time and place. He frowned, reaching out to inspect the wound.

She didn't pull away, but he watched her bite her lip as if the action frightened her. He turned her head slightly, noting that the wound wasn't a threat, then forced his hand down. “Your baby—is he okay?”

“Oh, he's… Wind rattled the walls of the cabin, and she jumped, her eyes searching the open doorway. “I think he's okay,” she whispered.

“What's your name?”

A look of surprise crossed her face. “Dana Langston.”

“I'm Luke Sutherlin. I'm the local chief of police.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. He realized then that she probably expected him to look more official. He'd slid on his oldest pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt before making the trip up the mountain. The brown leather jacket he wore was hardly official either. Luke pulled out his ID and passed it to her. “Do you want to tell me what's going on?”

Relief softened her features as she examined the ID and returned it. Her gaze returned to the baby. “There was an accident. The car went off the cliff…”

Luke summoned his patience when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Ma'am?” He gently touched her chin with his fingers and tipped her face upward. “I need to know what's going on so that I can help.”

“I tried to help.” She pulled the baby against her chest when he began to fret. “Someone started shooting at me.”

“Why would someone shoot at you?”

The baby began crying and the woman tried to soothe him, glancing nervously at Luke and then at the door. He let out a piercing yell as she rocked him against her shoulder.

“You've got to get him quiet,” Luke growled, knowing the infant's cries were like a beacon in the darkness, blowing any cover they had.

“I know.” She shifted him, patting his back frantically. “I think maybe he's hungry. I'm really not sure.”

“I hope you have the answer in that diaper bag.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her chest. “Unless you need some privacy, in which case you're right out of luck.”

“No.” The woman looked confused then angry as she pulled the diaper bag to her. “I think I saw some formula in here.”

Luke frowned. “You think? Why don't you know?”

Dana Langston looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. “This is not my baby.”

She began frantically searching the diaper bag with her one free hand while Luke digested her words. “The baby was in the accident?”

“Yes.” She cupped her hand over the side of the baby's face, as if shielding him from her next words. “His mother is dead.”

Luke cursed, his gaze scanning the confines of the cabin. He needed backup. Why hadn't he gotten the damned two-way radio out of the Jeep?

He forced his next words to sound calm. “You're telling me someone died in this accident?”

“A woman. I assume she was his mother. She was the only other one in the car.” Her voice took on a faraway tone, and he glanced up to find her staring at the baby as if she didn't hear his cries, her expression fixed and her pupils dilated. “Her car went off the cliff. I climbed down and found them. I took the baby and then…”

“It's okay.” He forced himself to speak the words softly and to postpone the other questions he wanted to fire at her. Luke laid his gun on the floor and jerked the diaper bag from her hands. Inside it was a cell phone. “You have a phone?”

“It doesn't work,” she answered, patting the crying infant on the back.

“Figures,” he muttered, substituting the word for a stronger one that came to mind. He turned his attention back to the diaper bag. There were several miniature glass jars full of milky-looking fluid and a canister of powder. He turned the label to the light. Powdered Baby Formula. Fat good that did. He found a couple of bottle nipples in the bottom of the bag but no bottle. The baby's cries became
even more frantic and Luke dumped the contents onto the floor, growing a little frantic himself.

“Here—hold him. I'll do it.”

As Luke looked up, Dana thrust the baby into his arms. He felt a surge of panic as the baby squirmed against his grip, arms and legs flailing. He instinctively pulled the infant against his chest, his gaze falling to his gun, judging how many seconds delay lay between him and his weapon. Any delay could cost them their lives.

“I'm glad one of us knows what they're doing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Luke looked up to find a sad smile playing about Dana's mouth. The expression snagged some emotion within him, and he had to force himself to follow her gaze. When he did, he found the baby had pulled his pinky finger to its mouth and was gumming it frantically. “Beginner's luck,” he replied.

She lifted her hand. “Should I try?” Luke saw that she'd opened one of the small glass jars and capped it with a bottle nipple.

“Yes.” He thrust the baby toward her and she popped the bottle into the infant's mouth before he could protest.

Luke watched as she covered the baby with the hem of her long jacket, and decided that she instinctively knew what to do. Unlike him. He retrieved his gun, relieved to hold something that he actually knew how to handle. He stood and covered the door, assessing the dark cabin, listening. He glanced down at Dana and the baby. The infant greedily consumed the bottle, but the woman's eyes were glued to him.

“You don't know who I am, do you?” she asked.

He frowned, examining her face. “No. Should I?”

“No—it's just… I've gotten used to being recognized in Atlanta. I'm a television news anchor.”

“We don't really get Atlanta reception up here.” He cocked his hip against the door frame, his eyes scanning the interior of the cabin that was visible from the hallway. “We get Greenville, South Carolina, if the weather's good.”

Dana's gaze flowed over Luke. He literally towered over her, especially from her position on the cabin's floor. His shoulders filled the doorway, casting an impressive shadow into the hall. If he was a cop, and Dana had every reason to believe that he was who and what he said, she was a lucky woman. If he wasn't—if he were playing some sort of twisted game—then she was…how had he put it?

Right out of luck.

But the choice to trust Luke Sutherlin had already been made. She'd made it the minute she saw him hold the infant. He'd obviously not known what to do. Yet he'd held the baby with tenderness. An old pain twisted inside her, but she forced herself to focus on the present.