Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (21 page)

“Yeah, help them kill me.”

He noticed a bruise forming above her right eye and lacerations crisscrossing her cheek.

“You're hurt,” he said.

“I'm fine.”

Will guessed she was frightened and confused. Maybe even dehydrated.

“I'm Will Rankin, a volunteer with Echo Mountain Search and Rescue.”

“Sure, and I'm Amelia Earhart.”

“Check my pack. My driver's license is in the side pocket.”

It was worth a try, although he knew all the sensible conversation in the world may not get through to someone in her condition.

Narrowing her eyes, she grabbed his backpack and stepped a few feet away. Never lowering the gun, she unzipped the side pocket.

“May I sit up to stop my nosebleed?” he asked.

She nodded that he could.

He would continue to act submissive so she wouldn't see him as a threat. It was the best way to keep her from firing the gun by accident. He sensed she wasn't a killer, but rather she was disoriented and frightened.

Sitting up, he leaned forward and pinched his nose, just below the bridge. He'd have dual black eyes for sure and didn't know how he'd explain that to his girls, or their grandparents.

You've got bigger problems than a bloody nose
. He had to talk this woman down from her precarious ledge.

She rifled through his wallet and hesitated, fingering a photograph of Claire and Marissa.

“My girls,” he said. “They're in first and third grades.”

She shot him a look of disbelief and shoved his wallet and the photos haphazardly into his pack.

“Did you fall from a trail above?” he asked.

“I'm asking the questions!” She straightened and pointed the gun at his chest again. “And you'd better give me the right answers.”

“Please,” he said. “My girls... I'm all they've got. Their mother...died.”

He thought he'd gotten through to her.

She flicked the gun. “Get up.”

He slowly stood, realizing how petite she was, barely coming up to his chest.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

“Who?”

“LaRouche and Harrington.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Right, you randomly happened to find me.”

“I did.”

“Uh-huh. And you're out here, in the middle of nowhere, why?”

“I'm spending a few days in the mountains for—” he hesitated “—solitude.”

“You're lying. There's more to it.”

“I'm not lying, but you're right, there is more to it.”

She waited and narrowed her eyes, expectant.

“I come to this spot by the lake to find emotional peace—” he hesitated “—with God's help.”

“Yeah, right. Great story,
Will
.”

He didn't miss the sarcastic pronunciation of his name, nor the paranoid look in her eye.

She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. She frowned.

“You have a phone?” she asked.

“I do.”

She shoved hers back into her pocket. “Give it to me.”

He pulled it out, dropped it between them and raised his hands. “You won't get a signal here, but there's a spot by my cabin where I can usually find service.”

“Your cabin?”

“I'm renting a cabin about a quarter of a mile north.”

She eyed his phone, must have seen there weren't any bars, and shoved it into her other pocket.

“Let's go.” When she picked up his pack, a groan escaped her lips.

“Do you want me to—”

“Walk,” she demanded, her eyes watering.

They were obviously tears of pain. He guessed from the rip in her jacket and strained look on her face, she might have cracked a rib or two.

With a nod, he turned and headed toward the cabin. She was hurt and confused, and the worst part was, she wouldn't accept his help.

He'd have to rely on patience, kindness and compassion to make her feel safe. That would go a long way to ease her worry and earn her trust.

Hopefully that would be enough.

* * *

Sara wasn't sure how far she'd get before passing out from the excruciating pain of her headache, but she'd fight until she dropped. She had somehow survived the fall, and wouldn't allow herself to die at the hand of a hired thug.

It figures LaRouche and Harrington would send a handsome, clean-cut guy to find her—a real charmer, this one. Will or Bill or whatever his name was, had to be over six feet tall, with chestnut brown hair and green eyes, and he spoke with such a gentle, calming tone. What a story he'd crafted for himself: he'd come out here to pray?

He'd laid it on thick, all right. Those were probably his little girls in the photograph, girls who had no idea what their daddy did for a living.

In her ten years with the FBI, Sara had learned plenty about sociopaths and how they used their cunning intelligence and polished charisma to convince an interrogating agent of their innocence.

Clutching the gun, she took her finger off the trigger in case she stumbled and pulled it by accident. He wouldn't know the difference. As long as Will thought she aimed a gun at his back, he'd do as she ordered.

The trees around her started drifting in and out of focus. She blinked to clear her vision, and stumbled on a rock jutting out of the ground.

Strong, firm hands gripped her arms, keeping her upright. Will's green eyes studied her face, as if assessing her head injury. He must have realized his mistake, that he was still holding on to her, because his hands sprung free and he raised them, as if to say,
please don't shoot me
.

She stepped back and dropped the backpack on the ground. “It's throwing me off balance.”

He picked up the pack and adjusted it across his shoulders with ease. “That bruise above your eye—” He hesitated. “Are you experiencing blurred vision?”

“I'm fine.” She flicked the gun barrel toward the trail.

He continued walking.

“I have ice packs at the cabin,” he said. “And pain reliever.”

She hated that he was being so polite. It was an act, his strategy to discover how much she knew. Those were LaRouche and Harrington's orders, right?

Much like her official orders had been to leave it alone, put aside the LHP, Inc., investigation due to lack of evidence. But she'd pushed and pushed until Bonner had had enough, and told her to take a couple of weeks off.

So she did, and spent her vacation going undercover and buying her way on to the trail guide team that LaRouche, Harrington and Price had hired to take them up the mountain. Her goal: watch and listen, glean whatever information she could from the men who were on vacation with their guards down.

“Would you like some water?” Will offered.

She ignored him. Sara might be hurting, but she wasn't stupid. It would be too easy for Will to slip something into her water, rendering her unconscious.

“Guess not,” he said softly.

She took a deep breath and bit back a gasp at the stab of bruised ribs. She decided it was a good thing because the pain would keep her conscious and alert.

He slowed down, closing the distance between them.

“Keep walking,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I thought you might need to rest.”

“I don't.”

With what seemed like a frustrated sigh, he continued. Sure, he was frustrated. He wanted to finish this job quickly and move on to his next high-paying assignment.

She focused on his backpack as she struggled to place one foot in front of the other without losing her balance. It wasn't easy when she felt as though she'd stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair.

They continued in silence, her pulse ricocheting off the inside of her skull with each step. She had to make it, had to put these arrogant criminals behind bars.

She hoped they could pull the video recording off her phone, even though she'd noticed it had been damaged in the fall.

Will's phone was working just fine. Maybe they were close to getting reception. She pulled his phone out of her pocket, but her trembling fingers dropped it. She snapped her gaze to Will, fearing he'd seen her weakness. He continued up the trail.

She waited until he was a good distance away and knelt down to retrieve the phone. When she stood, her vision blurred and she could barely make out Will's form. She squinted through the haze to see him.

He was no longer within sight.

She shoved the phone into her pocket and clutched the gun grip with both hands. Where did he go? Had he taken off up ahead, waiting to ambush her? She approached a sharp turn, blocked by a boulder.

Took a slow, shallow breath...

Darted around the corner.

And spotted Will, on his knees, with his hands interlaced behind his head.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Waiting for you.”

“Get up.”

He stood, his back to her. “Are you all right?”

“Go on, keep moving.”

He continued along the trail and she followed. He was waiting for her? More like he was messing with her head, and doing a good job of it.

“The cabin's not far,” he said.

She ignored him, knowing how these guys worked. They insinuated themselves into your psyche and destroyed you from the inside out. This guy was luring her with his father-of-the-year, single-parent story. She'd seen the wallpaper on his phone of two adorable girls with strawberry blonde hair and big smiles. This guy was a master.

They trekked the rest of the way in silence, Sara focusing on breathing through the pain and shutting out the panic taunting her from the fringes of her mind. She was in the middle of nowhere with an assassin, and her next step could be her last.

No, she was tough. Even if others didn't believe it, she knew it in her heart.

If only she'd been tough when she was twelve.

They turned a corner to an open field with a cabin in the distance. Surely she'd be able to get a signal out there, in the middle of the field.

He marched in the direction of the cabin.

“Stop,” she said. She'd be a fool to let him go inside with her. No doubt that was where he kept his tools of the trade—coercion tools.

“Sit down, over there.” She jerked the gun barrel.

He sat down beside a fallen tree.

“You have rope in your pack?” she said.

“I do.”

“Get it.”

He unzipped his pack and pulled out what looked like parachute cord.

“Toss it over here. And put your hands behind your back,” she said.

He did, not making eye contact. With a fortifying breath, she grabbed the rope off the ground and climbed over the downed tree.

“Lean forward.”

He did as ordered. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You're right, you won't.”

She quickly bound his wrists behind his back, and secured him to a limb of the fallen tree. She stood and started walking.

“Drink some water,” he said. “It will help with the headache.”

“You can stop now.”

“The best cell reception is over there, by that cluster of boulders.” He nodded, ignoring her comment.

With determination and focus, she marched toward the field, on the other side of a narrow creek. That had to be the spot where she'd find a signal. It would also put her out in the open, making her vulnerable, an easy target. No, these guys usually worked alone. She checked his phone, hopeful and more than a little desperate, but she still had no bars.

She glanced up. A ray of sunlight bounced off the creek and pierced her vision. Pain seared through her brain. She snapped her eyes shut, but it was too late. A sudden migraine blinded her.

She stumbled forward. Had to get to...had to get service. Call her boss...

“What's wrong?” Will shouted.

She broke into a slow jog. Had to get away from him. Get help.

Breathing through the pain, she stepped onto the rocks to cross the creek. One foot in front of the other. She could do it.

But she slipped, jerking forward. She put out her hands to break her fall.

And landed in the water with a splash.

The man's shouts echoed in the distance.

She feared he would somehow free himself and finish her off.

She crawled through the creek, her soggy clothes weighing her down. Pain bounced through her head like a pinball.

With a gasp, she surrendered—to the pain, to her own failure—and collapsed into the cold, bubbling water.

TWO

“M
a'am!” Will shouted, pulling on the rope binding his wrists. She was down, unconscious in the creek. Was her head even above water?

“Hey!” He realized he didn't even know her name. “Ma'am, get up!”

She didn't move.

“Argh!” he groaned, pulling violently on his wrists. This was not going to happen. He was not going to sit here and watch a woman die in front of him.

“Get up!” he shouted.

She didn't move.

He yanked on his wrists and dug the heels of his boots into the ground, trying to get leverage. This craziness wasn't going to do him any good. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm.

“Think,” he said. He remembered that his pocketknife was clipped to the side of his backpack.

He stretched out, making himself as long as possible, practically dislocating a shoulder in the process. With the toe of his boot, he caught the strap of his pack and dragged it across the soft earth. In a low crouch, he kicked it behind him until his fingers could reach the knife.

He flicked it open and sawed away at his bindings, unable to see what he was doing. A sharp pain made him hesitate when the blade cut his skin. He clenched his jaw and continued.

“Ma'am!” he called out. “Ma'am, answer me!”

She didn't move.

He continued to dig at the rope with the blade, and accidentally cut his skin again. Didn't matter, he had to get free and—

Snap! He jerked his wrists free, reached around and started working on the rope that bound him to the tree.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered. The parachute cord he kept in his pack was meant to be strong, which was why it felt as if it was taking forever to cut himself loose.

Please, God, help me get to her in time.

He finally sliced through it, pocketed the knife and grabbed his pack. Racing across the property, he focused on the woman, who was only partially submerged in the creek. What if she'd swallowed water and it blocked her airway?

He rushed to her side, looped his forearms under her armpits and dragged her out of the creek.

He leaned close. She wasn't breathing.

“No,” he whispered.

With one hand on her forehead, and the other on the tip of her chin, he tilted her head backward. He hoped it was only her tongue blocking the airway. He pinched her nose and administered two deep breaths.

She coughed and a rush of relief whipped through his chest. Will rolled her onto her side. “It's okay. You're okay now,” he said, although his heart was still racing at breakneck speed.

He had to call for help, get Echo Mountain Search and Rescue up here and quick. He spotted his smartphone, partially submerged in the creek. He snatched it out of the cold water. It would dry out and be usable at some point, but until then Will was on his own.

The shiny glint of metal caught his eye. The woman's gun lay mere inches away from him. He wasn't a fan of guns, but couldn't leave it here for a random stranger to pick up. He shoved it into his pocket.

The woman coughed. “P-p-please don't hurt me.”

He snapped his attention to her shivering body. She was clutching her jacket above her heart, terrified.

“You don't have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I'm going to help you.”

She closed her eyes, as if she didn't believe him. He wondered if she saw him pocket the gun and assumed the worst.

“Do you think you can get up?” he said.

“Yeah.”

He extended his hand. She ignored it and shifted onto her hands and knees. A round of coughs burst from her chest. That didn't sound good. He feared the water in her lungs might lead to something worse.

She stood, but wavered. Her eyes rolled back and he caught her as she went down. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he marched to the cabin. He had to get her dry, tend to her head wound and then determine what other injuries she'd sustained. It was obvious she had a severe headache, and most likely suffered from dehydration. He could treat those easily enough, but didn't have the ability to treat internal bleeding from her fall, or other, more serious injuries.

He'd do his best. The rest was in God's hands.

Taking quick, steady steps, he made it to the cabin and laid her on the single bed. He grabbed logs and started a fire to warm the room. Once he got it lit, he refocused on the woman.

The woman. He wished he knew her name.

He pulled her into a sitting position, leaning her head against his shoulder to remove her jacket. He noticed it was water-resistant.

“Smart girl,” he whispered.

Most of her clothes, except for her jeans, were dry thanks to the jacket. She could remove her jeans to dry out when she regained consciousness. He wouldn't do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable.

He adjusted her on the bed, covered her with a wool blanket and pulled the bed closer to the fire.

Rushing into the kitchen area, he grabbed more first-aid supplies from the cabinet. Her groan echoed across the small cabin. Cracking an ice pack a few times to release the chemicals, he grabbed a kitchen chair and slid it close to her.

“Let's get a better look.” He analyzed the lacerations on her face, retrieved an antiseptic wipe from the first-aid kit, and pressed it against the scrapes scarring her adorable face.

Adorable, Will? Really?

Shaking off the thought, he cleansed the debris from her head wound, and then placed a bandage over the cut. He pressed the ice pack against a lump on her head that was sure to swell and probably leave her with at least one black eye, if not two.

“Uh,” she groaned.

“I'm sorry, but this will reduce the inflammation.”

She pinched her eyes shut as if in extreme pain, which indicated a concussion.

“Where else are you hurt?” he said.

She didn't answer. He noticed she gripped her left wrist against her stomach.

“Your wrist?” he said. “May I see it?”

She buried it deeper into her stomach. Yeah, it was injured, all right. Her reaction was similar to Marissa's when she'd broken her wrist after falling off her bike last spring.

The mystery woman wasn't making this easy, but he wouldn't force the issue. He suspected that dehydration intensified her confusion and fear, and he wouldn't risk making it worse.

He grabbed a water bottle out of his pack. “You need to hydrate.”

Supporting her with his arm, he sat her up and offered the water. Slowly, her eyes blinked open.

“You really need to drink something,” he encouraged.

She pursed her lips, and her blue eyes clouded with fear. Ah, she thought he'd put something in the water.

“It's filtered water, see?” He took a swig, and made sure to swallow so she could see him. “Delicious.”

He sounded as though he was trying to convince five-year-old Marissa to eat her broccoli.

The woman nodded and he held the bottle to her lips. He tipped it and she sipped, but coughed. He pulled her against his chest and gently patted her back. How long had it been since he'd comforted a woman like this? Lord knew Megan wouldn't accept his comfort during the last months of her life.

The mystery woman leaned into Will and he held his breath. Maybe she'd decided to trust him?

“What's your name?” he said.

She pushed away from him.

He put up his hands. “I'm sorry.”

Clutching her wrist to her stomach, her blue-gray eyes widened, her lower lip quivering.

“At least let me wrap your wrist?” he said.

She glared.

“The longer we wait, the more it will swell. I'll wrap it, then ice it to reduce the inflammation. It might hurt less once it's iced.”

She didn't shake her head, so he thought she might be open to the idea. He pulled an elastic bandage out of his first-aid kit and extended his hand. “May I?”

She tentatively placed her wrist in his palm. It didn't look broken, but they wouldn't know for sure until she had it X-rayed.

“Did this happen when you fell in the creek?” he asked.

She nodded affirmative.

“It's probably a sprain.” He slid his palm out from under her wrist. “I need you to hold this steady between your thumb and forefinger,” he said, placing the bandage just right.

He wrapped the bandage down to her wrist and back up between her thumb and forefinger, noting how petite her fingers were.

“They'll obviously do this better at the hospital,” he said, guiding the bandage to circle her wrist a few times. He secured it with a plastic clip. “I've got some pain reliever.”

He dug in his backpack and found ibuprofen. When he turned to her, she'd scooted away from him again, her eyes flaring at the sight of the bottle.

“What do I need to do to convince you I'm a friend, not an enemy?”

“Give me my gun.”

“I'd rather not.”

She clenched her jaw.

“You're dehydrated and not thinking clearly,” he explained. “The gun could go off by accident.”

She pulled her knees to her chest, her hands trembling.

He grabbed an extra blanket off the foot of the bed and shook it open. He started to drape it across her shoulders, but noticed she'd gone white. He hesitated. Yet he had to get her warm somehow.

Gently draping the blanket around her, he pulled it closed in front.

“Hold it together,” he said, as softly as possible.

She reached up with her right hand and their fingers touched.

She burst into a more violent round of shivers.

It tore Will apart that she was having this kind of reaction to him. Maybe it was a physical reaction to near hypothermia.

“We need to warm you up. Let me try something.” He rubbed her arms through the thick blanket.

He thought he was being gentle, but after a minute she pinched her eyes shut as if suffering severe pain. He snapped his hands from her body and stood abruptly.

“You can't get warm with those wet jeans soaking your skin. You can take them off, and wrap this around your waist.” He pulled his spare blanket out of his pack and laid it on the bed. “And ice the wrist. I'll go try to get the phone working.”

He shifted his backpack onto his shoulders and turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said.

He hesitated, hopeful.

“My gun?”

His heart sank. He pulled the weapon out of his jacket pocket and slid it onto the kitchen table.

“I'll be outside if you need me.” Will shut the door and strode away from the cabin, kicking himself for his last remark. Of course she wouldn't need him. She thought Will the enemy, a man out to kill her.

“She's dehydrated,” he muttered. “And confused.”

Which made him a complete idiot for leaving her alone with the gun. Although he'd removed the clip, there was still one bullet in the chamber.

Talk about not thinking straight—he'd been thrown off-kilter since he'd found her. What else would explain his behavior? She'd practically broken his nose, yet he still wanted to help her. She'd tied him to a tree, and he'd cut his own skin to free himself so he could save her life.

He glanced at his wrist. He should have bandaged it while he was in the cabin, but had completely forgotten about his own wounds, and he'd left the first-aid kit behind. The cuts weren't that bad. A good thing since the woman would probably lock him out of the cabin.

The woman. He still didn't know her name.

He took the phone out of his pocket and removed the battery. Trying to power it up while wet could cause more problems, so he'd try to dry it out. He sat on a rock and dug into his pack for the small can of compressed air. His friends often teased him about the random things he carried in his pack, but after Marissa had dropped his phone into the town's water fountain, he knew anything could happen where his girls were concerned, and he had to be ready.

Glancing at the cabin, he realized he hadn't been ready for today's events. He hadn't been prepared to stumble upon a wounded, vulnerable woman in the mountains, nor had he been prepared to have to fight so hard to help her.

He aimed the compressed air nozzle at his phone and squeezed. As it blew away the moisture, he considered that maybe he should accept the fact he would never win this woman over. Perhaps he should cut his losses and head back to town, leaving her to her own devices until SAR could make the save.

He stilled, removing his finger from the compressed air button. No, he was not his father. He did not abandon those who needed him. Wasn't that exactly why he'd gotten involved in Echo Mountain SAR?

A crack of thunder drew his attention to the sky. Clouds rolled in quickly from the south. Not good.

Although the compressed air might have helped, he knew he'd have to wait a few hours before reinserting the battery and trying it out. He pocketed the phone and battery, and headed back to the cabin.

He hoped she wouldn't shoot him on sight.

* * *

As soon as he left, Sara grabbed the gun and sneaked out of the cabin. Maybe not the smartest move, but then staying with this man, this very manipulative man, could prove much worse.

She was actually starting to believe him.

As she trudged up a trail, clutching a wool blanket around her shoulders, she realized how close she'd come to dying back there at the hands of her captor.

Dying because he was so good at his job.

He'd nearly convinced her of his sincerity as he'd gently tended her wounds and warmed her body with his strong hands. And to think, when their fingers touched, she'd felt a sense of calm she'd never felt with another man.

Dehydration. A concussion. General insanity. Check on all of the above. LaRouche and Harrington must have paid big bucks to send such a master manipulator out here to find her.

At least she still had her gun. She pulled it out of her pocket, only then realizing the clip was missing. “Great.”