A baby in need of protection—

A killer in pursuit.

Determined to connect with her last living family member, Karissa Landon tracks down her cousin—and finds the woman murdered and her baby boy in danger. Now she’s running for both their lives, and her only hope is a former firefighter. Hunter Raines is hiding secrets, but he’ll make it his mission to protect Karissa and her infant charge…at all costs.

JILL ELIZABETH NELSON writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. Parts of the year find her and her husband on the international mission field. Other parts find them at home in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and four grown children and young grandchildren. More about Jill and her books can be found at jillelizabethnelson.com or Facebook.com/jillelizabethnelson.author.

Also By Jill Elizabeth Nelson

Evidence of Murder

Witness to Murder

Calculated Revenge

Legacy of Lies

Betrayal on the Border

Frame-Up

Shake Down

Rocky Mountain Sabotage

Duty to Defend

Lone Survivor

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Lone Survivor

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90085-4

LONE SURVIVOR

© 2020 Jill Elizabeth Nelson

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“What’s going on?”

Karissa looked up at her protector.

Hunter’s bearded face had hardened into a fierce mask. “They’re burning the cabin. If anyone is alive in here, they expect us to run out where they can pick us off like tin ducks in a county fair target-shooting booth.”

Karissa sucked in a breath. “What are we going to do?”

“Not what they expect.” He tugged back a corner of the thin area rug they were squatting on, exposing a portion of a trap door.

“Of course! You have a cellar.”

Would the smoke penetrate the cellar? Or would the floorboards currently beneath her feet fall in on them, consuming them in flaming debris? Did she want to die in a hole like a rat?

Karissa met the stranger’s steel-gray gaze.

“Trust me,” he said, voice low and steady, like a rock of dependability...which didn’t match his appearance at all.

What choice did she have but to trust him?

Dear Reader,

I’m so glad you came along on this adventure with Karissa and Hunter and, of course, baby Kyle. Though everything came out well in the end for them, there were certainly sad times, scary times and hurtful times along the route. In a real sense, that’s life for all of us.

The truth is, we struggle with many problems and trials in this world. My hope and prayer for us all is that we walk in that “blessed hope” of Scripture that an eternity of joy in God’s presence awaits us. May we be able to express as Karissa did at the end of the story that death holds no terrors for us. Nor should anything this life can throw at us. The apostle Paul was adamant that nothing “shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).

We cling to promises like the verse above when doubts and temptations assail us and hurtful things happen. Even if we end up the last one in our family, as Karissa did, God is our heavenly family and will provide human connections to warm our hearts and lives. God is, indeed, a good, good Father.

I enjoy hearing from readers. You may contact me by email at jnelson@jillelizabethnelson.com or look me up on my website at jillelizabethnelson.com. I am also available to contact through my Facebook page: Facebook.com/jillelizabethnelson.author.

May your trust in the Lord grow deeper and richer as you read the stories God gives His writers for Love Inspired Suspense.

Blessings always,

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

A father of the fatherless...is God in his holy habitation.

—Psalm 68:5

To all those who struggle with the sense of being orphaned and alone in this world. You are not alone, and God will never abandon you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Karissa Landon gnawed her lower lip as she guided her compact sedan up the steep gravel driveway toward her cousin Nikki’s home in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. As excited as she’d been to reconnect with this long-lost relative—pretty much the last one on the bare branches of her family tree—now that she was at the moment of truth, her palms were sweating and her heart rate stuttered like she was about to undergo a particularly grueling job interview. Karissa and her cousin had both recently crossed the threshold of thirty years old, and it had been twenty-two years since they’d last seen each other. Would they like the adults the other had become?

Karissa and her twin sister, Anissa, had been inseparable with Nikki when their families lived next door to each other during their early grade school years, but after their families moved far apart, they’d gradually fallen out of touch. Now, this reunion meant a lot to Karissa—probably too much—which led to her arriving at her cousin’s place a good half hour earlier than their agreed-upon time. But with her parents and her twin sister gone from this world, she longed for connection with someone who shared her DNA.

She stopped the car at the edge of a circular drive in front of a log house. The structure was considerably bigger and more elaborate than Nikki’s reference to it as a “cabin” would have implied during their initial telephone conversation several days ago. Her cousin had sounded delighted to hear from her and fascinated to learn that Karissa had joined an ancestry website specifically to find any remaining relatives. Nikki had been excited to share about her three-month-old son, Kyle, but sad over her husband’s recent death due to prostate cancer.

Karissa’s insides knotted. Was it unrealistic of her to hope that she and Nikki would rebond after all these years? Regardless, she had to try.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, Karissa stepped out of her car and walked up the three steps onto a wide front porch populated by small tables and chairs, as well as a swing at the far end. The large front door was a unique blend of ornate and rustic. Massive, floor-to-ceiling picture windows to the right of the door suggested a great room that would offer a panoramic vista of the wooded valley below. No wonder her cousin delighted in the place.

Resolute, she knocked on the solid wood and waited...and waited. Not a sound carried to her from the interior. Had her cousin forgotten she was coming? Or maybe Nikki had run out on an errand and would soon be back at the time they’d agreed to meet. Probably that was it. So much for her puppylike eagerness to get this reunion underway.

However, with this view to admire and fresh pine air to invigorate her senses, waiting on the front porch would be no hardship. Karissa stepped toward a chair but halted in front of the windows. The curtains were wide-open, revealing a great room with a vaulted ceiling. The room was tastefully furnished with high-end, rustic-chic furniture. However, it wasn’t the loveliness of the space that snared her attention. Her gaze locked onto a pair of bare, feminine feet and legs poking out from behind the brown leather sofa.

Something was wrong. Had her cousin fallen? Was she hurt?

Karissa whirled and raced back to the door. She turned the knob. Thankfully, the door was not locked. She burst inside and rushed toward the woman on the floor then pulled up short with a thin shriek. Nikki lay sprawled on her back, slender arms flung above her head. Her long brown hair fanned out across the cabin floor, the color nearly blending with the medium-toned wood.

“Nikki?” The cry came out hoarse and strangled as Karissa dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse in her cousin’s neck. Stupid, futile gesture. There was no life to be found.

Swallowing hard, Karissa squeezed her eyes shut. Surely, this moment was a dream—or rather, a nightmare. Would she wake up soon? She opened her eyes, but the grim reality remained the same. Worse, if there was a worse in such a situation, it wasn’t even possible to believe that the death was due to natural causes—not with the neat, round bullet hole in the middle of Nikki’s forehead. Her cousin had been shot!

Who did this to you, Nikki? Is the killer still in the house?

Karissa’s stomach lurched, and she froze in place. Her gaze darted around the vast space. All appeared to be benignly normal—except for a real estate flyer on the floor nearby. With her senses in heightened awareness, the bold black words smacked her between the eyes: Buying or Selling, You Need Marshall Siebender and Associates on Your Team. Strange. Nicki hadn’t mentioned letting go of the place. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Focus, girl! Karissa snarled at herself.

She needed to know she was alone in this house. Emptiness and silence met Karissa’s senses, but that didn’t mean a murderer wasn’t lurking somewhere on the premises. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood to attention. She needed to get out of here.

Gripping the back of the couch, Karissa wobbled to her feet. On jellied legs, she managed only a lurching stagger in the direction of the door.

She needed to call the police or the sheriff or whoever handled crime this deep in the boonies. Karissa pulled her cell phone from her handbag and frowned at the screen. No signal. Great!

Gazing around, she spotted a landline telephone on the wall above the kitchen peninsula. Karissa rushed to it and snatch up the handset. No dial tone. Her insides went hollow. Now what?

Next best thing—get out of here right now, jump into her car and drive as fast as she could to the nearest law enforcement office. The physical paralysis ebbed, and she accelerated toward the front door. But as her hand closed around the doorknob, a sound arrested her. A soft, mewling cry came from somewhere up the hallway toward the back of the house. The sound escalated into an infant’s distinctive wail.

Baby Kyle. How could she have forgotten the child?

Karissa dropped her handbag on a small table next to the door and charged up the hallway. She would get that baby and go. It wasn’t like she could leave him here unattended for an indefinite period of time. Besides, as scary as this whole situation was, common sense suggested that the murderer was likely as far away from here as he or she could get by now. What killer shot someone then waited around to get caught? Karissa was going to have to lean into that thought, because a child needed her to be brave right now.

Guided by the infant’s howls, Karissa opened the door at the end of the hallway. Late-afternoon sunlight trickled between slight gaps in the curtain panels that covered two windows, allowing her a twilit view of a crib along the left-hand wall and its fussing, kicking occupant. A pang gripped Karissa’s middle. Poor, sweet baby. The little guy would never get to know his mother. Or his father, for that matter. Tears stung the backs of Karissa’s eyes, but she swallowed them away and marched toward the crib.

Forcing a smile, contrary to her knotted insides, she gazed down at the flailing infant. Did the child somehow sense that pitching a fit was appropriate behavior at the moment? Of course not. Karissa’s imagination was running away with her. She picked up the child and cuddled the squirming bundle close. The howling instantly toned down to a thin whine.

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” Karissa murmured as she whirled and headed out of the room.

Her foot kicked something soft, and she looked down to spot the infant’s diaper bag. Without a second thought, she bent, hooked the strap over her arm and continued her retreat with barely a hitch in her stride. When she got herself and Kyle to safety, it would be good to have a few of his things along.

Nearly to the front door, a sound halted her—a vehicle approaching up the driveway. Friend or foe? Barely daring to breathe, Karissa darted to the picture window and peered out. A black, four-door pickup truck crunched gravel beneath its tires. Suddenly the vehicle accelerated. No doubt the driver had noticed her little Toyota sitting under the shade of a maple tree that flanked the drive. The extreme reaction didn’t bode well. Was the killer returning to the scene of the crime? Why? To grab Kyle or do him harm?

Over her dead body! A possible outcome if this was the killer returning for some nefarious reason. Karissa’s breathing hitched.

The truck skidded to a halt, the driver’s door sprang open and a male figure jumped out. He had black hair and a sharp beak of a nose, but Karissa’s attention was caught by something else. The rays of the westering sun gleamed from the metal object in his hand. A gun! Her mouth went stone dry. Her dead-body vow might soon come true if she didn’t get out of this house right now. Making a break for her car was out of the question. The only route left open was out the back door and into the woods.

The baby let out a squawk and kicked her in the ribs. Karissa looked down. She was squeezing him too tightly. Loosening her hold a bit, she dashed for the rear door. Hand on the knob, she looked back over her shoulder. Her handbag sat on the table next to the door. A heavy footfall on the front porch boards alerted her that she had no time to go back for it. She darted outside with her precious cargo and closed it after her in rapid silence. Tiptoe running, she headed down the deck stairs onto the lawn. If the killer thought she was still in the house, he might waste time looking for her. They would need every second to make the cover of the woods.

Clutching Kyle to her chest, praying he would not cry out, she took off across the lawn. Good thing she was wearing cross-trainers and casual capris, not the skirt she’d almost put on this morning. Even so, her legs couldn’t seem to move fast enough. If only they pumped as rapidly as her heart. Or if only Nikki had a smaller backyard.

When she was two-thirds of the way across the grass, a masculine shout from the direction of the house let her know she’d been discovered. Electricity spurted through Karissa’s body, and her legs suddenly found new speed. Her breathing rasped in her lungs, and the diaper bag beat a tattoo against her thigh. A sound like a coughing spit rang out, and heat seared her right arm. Crouching low, Karissa burst through a loose-knit set of bushes and scuttled into the shelter of the trees. Another spit sounded, and a small branch next to her head snapped in two.

The killer was using a silencer on his pistol? Did that mean there were neighbors nearby that the shooter didn’t want to alert?

Oh, please, God, let it be so...and help me find them.

Karissa kept running, dodging tree trunks, leaping over roots and fallen branches. Her arms wrapped the baby close to her chest, shielding him with her body. But if the shooter knew his way around these woods, she and this infant who depended upon her would be easy prey.

Hunter Raines swung the ax toward the chunk of wood perched atop the chopping block. Beneath his light T-shirt, the muscles along his shoulders, arms and back bunched and flexed with only mild discomfort from the burn scars that ran down the left side of his torso. Thunk! The satisfying sound echoed deep in his gut. His lungs sucked in a pine-laden breath as he brought the ax high again and swung it downward. Thunk!

A light wind sighed through the branches of the Douglas firs hugging the forest service’s two-room cabin he’d occupied for many months now. Birdsong tickled his ears, soothing his senses. No sight or sound of human habitation intruded on the serenity—well, except for the rhythmic thud of his own ax, but he’d soon be done with the humble chore.

How thankful he was for this secluded retreat in the Cascade Mountains offered to him by his forest-ranger brother, Jace. He couldn’t think of a better spot to hunker down after his eleven months of torturous skin grafts and therapy and give his wounds—both inner and outer—time to heal. Even now, after more than a year here in the wild, the thought of returning to the claustrophobic beehive of city life in Portland turned him cold.

Yep, he owed Jace big-time for pulling strings to allow him to hole up for a while in this ranger cabin on the edge of Umpqua National Forest. Officially, Hunter was a temporary forest service volunteer tasked with fire watching from the nearby fire tower. Unofficially but more genuinely, he was a heartsick, wounded ex-firefighter struggling to make peace with senseless tragedy.

“Help!”

The plaintive female cry halted Hunter’s ax in midswing. His heart rate kicked into overdrive. Quivering, he lowered the ax, which then slipped from sweat-slicked palms. Another flashback from the woman’s death. Auditory this time. He gulped as blackness edged his vision. Easy now. Just breathe. He would not give in to another panic attack.

“Help me!”

The cry came again. Closer this time. Not a trick of his wounded mind.

Hunter whirled toward the northern tree line. A slight figure, laden with a bundle hugged to her chest and a large bag dangling from the crook of her arm, staggered toward him. The woman was dressed in casual clothes and sneakers, not hiking garb appropriate to this outdoor recreation area. Long, flame-red hair fluttered around her face, obscuring her features. A wail suddenly erupted from the bundle in the woman’s arms.

Hunter’s jaw dropped. What was a woman with a baby doing in the back side of nowhere yelling to him for help? If any road but a dirt track led to this area of the forest, he’d guess maybe a vehicle breakdown. Sure, a couple of miles away, beyond the perimeter of federal land, stood a few private houses owned by the elite who could afford fancy mountain getaway homes, but if that’s where she originated and she was for some reason without a vehicle, why had she headed deeper into the forest rather than toward the nearest highway? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

The woman tottered nearer. Her heaving breaths and whimpers betrayed stark terror. But it was the redness dripping down the woman’s arm and plinking in drops from her bent elbow that jolted Hunter out of inertia—a paralysis that would never have gripped him in the face of emergency in his Before Incident days. Mentally slapping himself, Hunter strode toward the woman and child.

“What’s going on?” He reached her just as her knees buckled.

With an exclamation, he caught her and her tiny cargo and lowered them both to the ground. The woman sat blinking at him through a veil of pine needle–strewn hair that blocked him from getting a good look at her face. Her mouth worked like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His hand around her upper arm was sticky with her blood.

“You’re hurt. Let’s get a look at the wound.”

“N-no.” She inhaled a loud, raspy breath. “I—I think it’s just a scratch.”

“A lot of blood for just a scratch.”

“Call the sheriff!” Her voice came out a thin screech. “That’s all I want you to do. Get someone up here. My cousin’s been murdered.” Her voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “I meant to surprise her by arriving earlier than expected. I thought it would be so much fun.” She choked on a sob. “But I found her shot d-dead. Then the baby started crying, and I grabbed him and then the killer came back before I could leave in my car, so I ran away, but the killer shot at us, and I’ve been running for miles, and...” Her flood of words trailed away between quivering lips.

A soft wail from the infant punctuated the sudden silence.

Hunter’s jaw hardened. The tale was completely wild, but if that was truly a bullet wound in her arm then he needed to believe her and take action. “Let’s get you inside first.” In the relative safety of the cabin, he could examine her injury and verify or disprove her story.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Can I take the child?”

She stiffened and pulled away from him, clutching her bundle. The little one kicked and fussed.

Hunter raised his hands, palms out, in a nonthreatening gesture. “Easy there. You’re safe now.”

She slumped toward him, and with a gentleness that contradicted the knots around his insides, Hunter helped her up. With him lending significant support, they made it onto the wooden porch. She was a petite thing, dwarfed by him, but she had an athletic build, evidently no couch potato, based on her ability to run miles while wounded and carrying a baby. First thing would be to triage that wound. Then he’d know whether to call for help or treat the injury first.

His training was starting to kick in, for whatever meager satisfaction that knowledge offered. It hadn’t saved the woman who’d depended on him before... No. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Not when he was once again thrust into a situation where lives depended on him. If a killer really was on the trail of this woman and her baby, he had to keep them safe or he might as well die trying. He’d never survive another failure.

Inside the cabin, Hunter guided her to the cushioned sofa. She sank onto it and began cooing to the baby and tickling his plump cheeks, which dialed the fussing back to a thin whine. Of course, the child could be a girl, but the blue sleeper with a train embroidered over the right breast suggested a boy. From this vantage point, gazing down at the top of the woman’s head as she focused on the child, he still couldn’t see her face, but he made out an angry red streak oozing blood on her upper bicep area where the short sleeve of her blouse was ripped. Could have been caused by a branch while running through the forest, but that sort of wound would likely be more ragged and contain debris. This wound was clean and straight—just like a bullet graze sustained from a distance. A burn settled deep in his belly. Some lowlife took a shot at a woman holding a baby.

The wound could wait a few more minutes. He turned on the heels of his hiking boots and tromped across the plank flooring to the two-way radio on his desk at the far side of the room.

“Let’s call for help,” he said. “Then we’ll get that wound cleaned and bandaged.”

“Please, yes.” Her assent carried to him in shaken tones.

The radio frequency was preset to the main park station, where his brother worked. Jace would be able to get law enforcement and emergency services up here ASAP. Hunter keyed the mic and put in the call.

“Umpqua Ranger Station,” a male voice answered. “Remy Nolan speaking.”

Hunter let out a grunt under his breath. Not his brother. A ranger Hunter hadn’t met yet? He thought he’d met them all. Must be a new hire. Hunter identified himself as Jace’s brother, gave his location and then tersely described his issue with the woman and child. Stone silence answered him for several heartbeats.

“Say again?” the man said. “No, never mind. I heard you. I’m just processing this strangeness on top of strangeness.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“There’s been a bomb threat at the North Umpqua Hydroelectric Project. Everyone and their bomb-sniffing dog is there now, including Jace.”

Hunter’s heart lurched. He swallowed against a dry mouth. Jace would be okay. He had to believe that.

“That’s not the kind of danger a forest ranger finds himself in every day,” he told Remy. “I’ll sure be keeping them in my prayers, but right now, we need emergency services to pick up the woman and baby. All I’ve got for transportation is a motorcycle, and that won’t do for them.”

“Understood. I’ll scramble someone as soon as I can.”

“And send investigators to my cousin’s place,” said a soft female voice over Hunter’s shoulder.

“What’s that address?” the ranger answered.

The woman rattled off an address that would put it among the expensive residences just outside the park borders.

“And your name?”

The woman spoke a name Hunter had hoped never to hear again. A chill rippled across his flesh, raising the hairs on his arms and neck. Karissa Landon? Anissa’s twin sister? It couldn’t be!

God, You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?

As if moving through clotted mud, Hunter slowly swiveled, and for the first time, he looked full into the woman’s face, cleared of its veil of hair and forest debris. His heart came to a full stop then stumbled into a gallop. He found himself peering into the same vivid green eyes that haunted his nightmares. Eyes that pleaded with him to save her. Eyes that belonged to a dead woman. This one’s twin. The woman he’d failed to rescue from the fire that ended his career as a Portland firefighter.

How long did he have before Karissa recalled the media coverage, including an unflattering photo of him, and figured out who he was now that she had obviously calmed? Seconds? He braced himself.

But she merely blinked at him, neutral expression morphing into puzzlement. “Are you all right? You suddenly lost half your tan.”

Hunter searched for his voice. Karissa clearly didn’t recognize him. Of course, they’d never met in person, but his picture had been well publicized not long after the horrible tragedy. He’d been clean shaven in those shots, though, and his hair had been short. Now, with a full beard and hair that hadn’t seen scissors in months, not to mention his scars, he probably looked like some kind of holdover from the Gold Rush days. However, he couldn’t count on facial hair to maintain his camouflage indefinitely. At any moment, she would recognize who he was, and she would despise him. Probably as soon as she asked him to introduce himself. He’d put that moment off as long as possible.

“You two still there?” The ranger’s query from the other end of the radio snapped Hunter back into the moment.

“Ten-four, Remy. We’ll be here waiting for the cavalry to show up.” How had his voice come out so upbeat when panic sought to devour him alive?

“Hang tight. Over and out.” The airwaves went dead.

Hunter got up and went for his gun case. He took out the rifle, loaded it, made sure the safety was on and then propped the firearm against his desk. A strangled noise coming from his female houseguest drew his attention. Had she recognized him at last? Stiffening, Hunter forced himself to turn toward Karissa. She wasn’t staring at him, but at his gun.

“How did life suddenly turn so dangerous we might actually have to use that to defend ourselves?” Her hoarse whisper barely carried to him over the fussing of the baby, who was kicking and flailing on the hearth rug.

He lifted one side of his mouth in a grim half smile. “We’ll be ready if we have unwelcome intruders before help arrives.”

The tension around her lips eased marginally, and she jerked a nod in his direction.

“Let’s get that wound cleaned up,” he said and went for his first aid kit.

Soon, he had a bandage on the bullet crease that had nearly ceased bleeding since she was no longer exerting herself. It was impressive that she didn’t cry out, just gnawed her lower lip and kept her gaze averted. As soon as he was done with her, Karissa began rummaging in the diaper bag.

“Thank You, Lord.” She pulled out a can of powdered formula and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You wouldn’t have any purified water, would you? I changed him while you were on the radio, but now this little guy is hungry as a bear. Might as well feed him while we wait.”

“I think I can accommodate.” Hunter ventured a full smile, but her focus had already left him as she scooped up the baby. The little fellow was now alternating between howls and trying to eat his fist.

A few minutes later, the baby was contentedly guzzling while Karissa held him on the threadbare sofa that served as Hunter’s main piece of furniture, other than his bed in the loft, and the steel-topped table where he ate his meals.

Hunter hefted the rifle and kept watch at the window while he prayed for a rescue vehicle to soon emerge from the break in the trees where a one-lane dirt track led into the clearing. In a short while, muted thunder began to grow louder, closing in from a distance. Not thunder. An engine. No—engines, plural, and at least one of them was a diesel. Hunter’s insides tensed. Something wasn’t right. Too many vehicles to pick up one woman and a baby—especially with a bomb threat on.

A large white SUV with the forest service logo on the side panel burst from the tree line, traveling recklessly fast. A second vehicle—this one a black-as-sin, heavy-duty pickup truck—followed nearly on the SUV’s bumper. Both vehicles braked suddenly and skidded to a stop.

What was sticking out through the second vehicle’s windows? Waning sunlight reflected off metal. Guns! Pulse rate skyrocketing, Hunter whirled away from the window toward his innocent and oblivious charges.

“We’re under attack!” he cried as a fusillade of bullets thudded into the cabin’s thick log walls, shattering the window where he’d been standing a split second before.

TWO

Kyle against her shoulder as she worked on burping him, Karissa froze in midpat. Had she heard right? They were being attacked?

Barely had she begun to process the answer when she found herself wrapped in great bear arms. Hugged against a solid chest, she and the baby were half dragged, half carried deep into the kitchen area. The man upended the thick, metal-topped table and thrust her and Kyle down behind its cover.

“Someone’s shooting at us.” The words exploded from her mouth.

“You think?” he growled. His firm square lips thinned into a pencil line as he trained his rifle barrel around the edge of the table toward the front door.

She glared at her protector as if he were personally responsible for the attack. Ridiculous reaction, but there was no one else to glare at as heat in her gut battled ice in her chest. There had been a couple of tense situations on the mission field in Belize when she’d had opportunity to experience this toxic mix of outrage and terror, and she didn’t like it any better now than she had then.

The automatic gunfire lulled then renewed. Karissa cringed at the thwap of bullets striking furniture, the tinkle of glass smashing and a sudden spate of metallic gongs as a ribbon of bullets played off the set of pots and pans hanging from ceiling hooks. Kyle thrashed and howled as she cuddled him close. An impact sent the heavy table scooting a few inches backward toward them.

Then the gunfire suddenly ceased. An eerie quietness descended on the cabin. Even the baby seemed to be holding his breath. Then he suddenly stiffened, and his sweet little face screwed up in preparation for renewed howling. Karissa shushed and bounced him. Gradually, his expression relaxed, and he apparently decided sticking his thumb in his mouth was a better alternative to straining his vocal cords.

The cabin owner’s intense gray gaze bored into her. “Are you both all right?”

Karissa quickly examined the baby, but he seemed unhurt. In fact, his eyelids appeared to be growing heavy. Poor kid had been through a lot of trauma and excitement that he had no way to understand in the past couple of hours.

“We’re good,” she said.

“Not yet, we’re not. They could burst in here any second to check their handiwork, and my rifle is a poor match for automatic weapons.”

A sudden whoosh and a crackling noise overhead sent Karissa’s gaze toward the ceiling. An acrid smell began teasing Karissa’s nostrils.

“What’s going on?” She looked up at her protector.

The mountain man’s bearded face had hardened into a fierce mask. “The good news is they don’t plan to rush in here. The bad news is they’re burning the cabin. If anyone is alive in here, they expect us to run out where they can pick us off like tin ducks in a county fair target-shooting booth.”

Karissa sucked in a breath. “What are we going to do?”

“Not what they expect.” He turned away from her and tugged back a corner of the thin area rug they were squatting on, exposing a portion of a trapdoor.

“Of course! You have a cellar.” Karissa scooted off the rug and allowed him to completely uncover the door.

The man grabbed an iron ring attached to one side of the door and lifted the hatch. Chilly air wafted upward, pebbling the skin on her bare arms. Her wound throbbed. Karissa glanced toward the ceiling, where heat already radiated downward, and then back into the cellar where utter blackness beckoned. Would the smoke penetrate the cellar? Or would the floorboards currently beneath her feet fall in on them, consuming them in flaming debris? Did she want to die in a hole like a rat? What was the alternative?

Karissa met the stranger’s steel-gray gaze.

“Trust me,” he said, voice low and steady, like a rock of dependability...which didn’t match his appearance at all. The shaggy brown hair and beard, along with faded, puckered scars on the left side of his upper cheek and forehead gave the guy a dangerous look—like a true wild mountain man.

What choice did she have but to trust him, regardless of appearance? He’d done nothing but show her kindness, while she’d brought destruction and possible death down upon him. She nodded. He smiled. The gesture softened his forbidding appearance.

“I’ll go down first,” he said, “and turn on some light. Then you can hand me the baby and come on down yourself. But we have to move quickly. This cabin will burn fast.”

How could this guy stay so calm, planning everything out neatly in a situation like this? Karissa’s shivers had become shakes that threatened to destroy the last of her sanity. The crackles from above were turning into a roar, and heat intensified atop her head.

“Let’s do this,” she said between gritted teeth.

The man nimbly disappeared into the blackness. Eternal moments later, a dim light came on, and she was gazing into his upturned face. He reached upward, and she handed him the baby. Strange how handing over her little charge of short acquaintance should feel like such a wrench.

“Now you,” he said, cradling the baby effortlessly in the crook of an elbow. “I’ll steady you if you lose your balance.” He offered his free hand.

Gulping, Karissa clambered down the ladder and found her feet on a cement floor. Immediately, the man returned Kyle to her and pulled the cord to bring the trapdoor down. It landed with a loud whump, sealing them off from the main floor. The light of a single overhead bulb offered only a dim view of their surroundings. Not much to see. Cinder-block walls, one side of which hosted a set of shelves that held fruits and vegetables in sealed canning jars. A long, wooden trough sat against the opposite wall. The black dirt inside it appeared to be the source of the pungent, earthy smell that filled the space that was about half the size of the cabin above.

“Worm farm,” her host said with a wry half grin. “I’ve done a lot of fishing over the past year I’ve been staying here, courtesy of the forest service.”

Karissa frowned. “Is this our big choice? Die down here with the worms when the smoke gets us or the floor collapses on us, or stay above and let the fire take us?”

The man cocked his head at her. “Intelligent questions, but I wouldn’t have led us down here if I didn’t have a plan for that contingency. Follow me.”

He grabbed his rifle and a large flashlight from a nearby shelf and headed toward the corner of the room. There, he opened a metal door that had been hidden from view by the shelving.

“Behold our sanctuary.” He motioned beyond the door.

A small laugh, born of strung-out nerves, escaped Karissa’s throat as she brushed past him into the dimness of a tunnel. “You are the quintessential oxymoron of a mountain man.”

“I’d like to ask you what you mean by that statement, but I think the question will have to wait.”

He pulled the thick door closed after them just as a loud crash from above signaled something, probably the roof, collapsing. The baby jerked out of his almost-sleep and started to cry. Karissa bounced him up and down in the comforting grip of both her arms.

“Follow me,” her rescuer said and led the way up the tunnel.

The flashlight’s beam played eerie shadows across the cinder-block walls. Karissa trembled, as much from tension as the dank chill. At least she could be grateful they weren’t caught up in the heat of the flames above.

Shortly, they came to another iron door. Her guide pushed it open. Karissa stepped into a small room set up with several cots, a small table and shelving that held nonperishable food staples and jugs of what appeared to be water. The temperature in the room was still cool, but at least it wasn’t dank.

“We’re in a bunker,” she stated matter-of-factly.

The mountain man placed the lamp on the table and grinned in her direction. “Good observation. We’re not even directly under the cabin any longer. This is a shelter in case a forest fire gets out of hand.”

“Handy for us.”

He chuckled, a mellow sound that soothed her frazzled nerves. “You can say that again. We’ll hole up here until darkness falls. Regardless of a bomb threat, the smoke should soon fetch real rangers to the scene, so I don’t figure our attackers will hang around long. But if by some chance the real rangers don’t show up, and our enemies aren’t satisfied that we’re dead but they’re hanging around somewhere to make sure, then darkness is our best cover to help us sneak away.”

“Real rangers? You’ve said those words twice. What do you mean?”

The man frowned. “I’m going to jump to a bit of a conclusion, but the guy we talked to on the radio was no one I knew, and I thought I’d met all the personnel at the park over the past thirteen months that I’ve been living here. A bomb scare—and hopefully that’s all it is—would be just the sort of thing to empty out the main ranger station so that an impostor could sit in and wait for a woman running for her life to show up or reach out for help. I can’t think of another way to explain how a truckload of gunmen knew where to come for you less than twenty minutes after our radio call.”

The strength suddenly left Karissa’s knees, and she plopped onto a wooden chair. “I can’t explain it another way, either.” Her voice came out as breathless as if she’d just finished her morning jog.

She swallowed against a dry throat as the implications of the attack on them sank in. She’d assumed she was fleeing from a single, desperate murderer who was trying to shut her up about his crime, but a plot that involved a bomb scare, a fake ranger and a posse of killers was a much larger conspiracy run by someone with far-reaching resources and considerable ruthlessness and determination. Clearly, he didn’t even draw the line at killing an infant. Suddenly, it seemed that her cousin’s murder might be the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

An opened bottle of water appeared under her nose. She blinked, coming out of her daze, and took the bottle from Hunter’s hand.

“Thank you.” She gulped greedily then inhaled a long breath and let it out in short, quivering puffs. “All right then.” She gazed up at her protector’s sober face. “I can’t thank you enough for being here and knowing what to do. I’m so, so sorry for getting you involved in this.”

“What exactly is this?” His tone was sharp, and his eyes narrowed on her.

“I wish I knew.” Tears stung the backs of Karissa’s eyes. “Everything happened just as I told you. I went to visit a cousin I hadn’t seen in—well, forever, found her dead, grabbed the baby, ran away from the killer and here I am. I’m asking the same question you are. What in the world is going on?”

His gaze seemed to sift through her, but at last his facial expression relaxed, and he nodded. “No need to apologize or to thank me. Thank God. This has to be more than coincidence that you showed up on my doorstep.”

An indefinable something in his expression seemed to be trying to communicate a message beyond his words, but Karissa had no idea what that message might be.

“You’re a Christian?” she asked.

“Yes.” The word was terse in a way that almost negated the answer.

Her rescuer looked away and set about lighting a nearby kerosene lamp, considerably brightening the room. Then he pulled a large rucksack off one of the shelves and plopped it onto a chair by the table. Karissa checked the baby in her arms and found him fast asleep. She gently laid him down on one of the cots.

“I’m a Christian, too,” she said. “Fresh off the mission field in Belize, actually.”

“Belize?” The man stopped transferring various supplies from the shelving to the rucksack and stared at her. “You’ve been out of the country? For how long? I mean, what caused you to go there?” The normal deep tone of his voice had morphed upward a few notes, as if the questions pushed through tightened vocal cords.

Karissa’s skin prickled as she studied his tense posture. What had suddenly raised this cool-under-pressure Galahad’s anxiety level? Shouldn’t she try to find out more about this man she was trusting with her and Kyle’s lives?

She forced a smile. “A bit late in our strange acquaintance, but may I get your name?”

The man’s body went from tense to rigid, and his facial expression became one of someone bracing for a blow. “I’m Hunter Raines.” The pronouncement came in a fatalistic tone.

Karissa furrowed her brow. What was the guy trying to tell her without actually telling her? Was the name supposed to mean something to her? Maybe this Hunter Raines had some sort of history that she’d know about if she’d been in the US in the past two years. Maybe she ought to be afraid of him. More afraid than of the killers who had tried to shoot and then incinerate them? Unlikely. Besides, he’d shown every sign of genuine caring and no sign of aggression. She’d lived her life thus far giving people the benefit of the doubt. Why stop now?

She stuck out her hand toward her benefactor. “Hi, I’m Karissa Landon.”

Hunter accepted her handshake, his palm rough, his grip strong without being overpowering. “Yes, you said so when we were talking with Remy on the radio, but I appreciate the formal introduction.”

His expression had gone from defensive to bewildered. Amazing how little that beard hid his reactions when his eyes were so expressive. An intriguingly rich shade of gray, too. Not that she needed to be noticing something like that in this situation.

“To answer your questions,” she said, “I was on the mission field for twenty-four months, living a dream of serving the poor in practical and spiritual ways. I came back three weeks ago on furlough, but, God willing, I plan to return to Belize in a year or so. While I’m Stateside, I wanted to connect with what family I have left...”

The last sentence trailed off as the enormity of her cousin’s murder flooded over Karissa once again. Her head drooped as a soft sob choked her.

“We’ll get through this.” Hunter’s voice was gruff. “And we’ll find out who did that to your cousin.”

Karissa lifted her gaze. “Nobody is promised tomorrow or answers to their questions or even justice. Not in this life. I keep my sanity by clinging to faith that God sees and knows and understands and will bring everything right in the end. If I didn’t believe that, my heart would be withered to dust by now.”

“You’ve been through some tough things, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Hunter winced and looked away.

“I sense you’ve been through a few things yourself,” she said.

Karissa barely restrained herself from asking point-blank how he got his scars. But if he answered her question, fair play might make her feel obligated to tell him about her parents’ fatal car wreck and her sister’s tragic death in a fire, and how going on the mission field had been a sanity saver at a horrible time in her life. These were not things she wanted to discuss with an almost stranger.

However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something about her had this guy spooked, and that sense of something being off spooked her. Until she figured out what it was, she was going to have a hard time taking Hunter Raines—extraordinarily competent and courageous as he obviously was—at face value.

Hunter busied himself with packing the rucksack. The mundane chore gave him a little space to get his head together. He put in everything they might need for a few days of roughing it if they were for some reason unable to reach the destination he had in mind for them tonight. However, diapers were not something he’d thought to stock down here, and the closest he could get to formula was powdered milk. Who knew how the baby would ingest any milk since his bottle had been left lying on the side table near the couch and was now as incinerated as the rest of the furnishings. Hopefully, they’d find help sooner rather than later and wouldn’t actually be forced to camp out, but he intended to be as prepared as possible for whatever eventuality.

Was it possible Karissa had never heard of him? She said she’d been in Belize for two years and had been back in the States for a few weeks now. The firestorm of media condemnation hadn’t broken over him until at least ten days after the fire, so it was possible that she’d buried her sister and left the country before his reputation had been publicly annihilated. Whether the condemnation was deserved or undeserved, he still wasn’t convinced in his own mind.

Under initial questioning, after he awakened in the hospital, he’d been so sure that he’d inspected the equipment right before the fire callout, but his initialed checklist was not on the clipboard or in the computer system like it should have been if he’d actually done it. In his dazed and suffering state, had he mixed up the memory of the inspection with the dozens of other times he’d performed that routine task? If his memory was faulty, and he hadn’t done the scheduled inspection, then he really was responsible for the equipment failure that led to the death of Karissa’s sister and his own serious injury. But if his memory was true, then what happened to the checklist? He had no answers, and the questions continued to torment him worse than his burns ever did.

At least it was a small mercy—well, a rather large one—that she didn’t know who he was...for the moment. Her ignorance about him wasn’t likely to remain permanent now that she was back in the country. Someone would tell her about him. He’d have to be grateful for whatever reprieve he was given and hope that they were no longer in each other’s company when his identity was exposed.

Hunter turned toward the chair where Karissa sat next to the cot watching the sleeping baby. He froze with a sucked-in breath. What was the matter with him? He’d seen women with babies hundreds of times and usually eyed them with a wistful expectation that one day he’d be a family man. Now, with that hope snuffed out by his ugly burns and uglier notoriety, what a cruel joke that the wish-I-had-a-family feeling should hit him like a truck at this moment with this particular woman as she sat smiling down at a sleeping infant that wasn’t even hers. The flickering lamplight drew out the warmth in her vivid hair and painted her face with pensive shadows that enhanced the natural beauty of her heart-shaped face, slim nose and delicately formed lips. He couldn’t be attracted to her. He would not allow that.

She lifted her head, and her green eyes met his gray ones. The smile was gone. If he had to summarize her expression in one word, he’d say dread.

“Do you think they’re still out there...? No, forget that question. You couldn’t possibly answer, and it was rhetorical, anyway.” Karissa visibly drew herself up straighter. “Thank you once again, by the way, for everything, and I’m really sorry about the loss of your cabin.”

“Not my cabin. Belongs to the forest service. They might not be too happy.” He lifted one corner of his mouth and shook his head. “I’d like to say ‘my pleasure,’ but this isn’t a pleasant situation. However, I can say that I’m glad I was here and able to help.”

More than you know. If only he could convince himself that saving her and the baby made up for the death of Karissa’s sister. But there was no possible compensation if his negligence had cost a life.

Her gaze traveled the small room. “Is it usual for ranger cabins to come with a bunker in the earth below?”

He forced a smile. “No, it’s not. Though after the rousing success of this one, it might become standard practice. I’ve been living out here over a year as a volunteer fire spotter, and last summer I had this idea about putting one in. Something to do to pass the time. My park-ranger brother got the go-ahead from the powers that be, since the project was going to be on my dime, and we worked on it together.”

“He sounds like another hypercompetent guy like you.”

Hunter cocked his head. “Is that how I strike you?”

She pursed her lips. “Self-sufficient, for sure, or you wouldn’t live out here on your own.” Her gaze on him was shrewd, assessing.

Was she asking him without coming right out and asking him if he was hiding from something? Maybe he was. If only he could hide from himself when the tormenting questions and memories attacked him.

“Here.” He handed her an energy bar from his stash. “Better eat this, because we’ll be leaving here soon.”

Her gaze skimmed the room. “How do we get out?”

He pointed upward. “There’s a camouflaged double-hatch opening in the ceiling with a telescoping ladder that will take us outside near the edge of the forest. I’m a little nervous that my brother hasn’t shown up and knocked at the top hatch. He may be the only one in the forest service who knows exactly where the hatch is. If the forest service hasn’t come by to check on the cabin fire then it’s remotely possible our enemies may be observing the clearing for any signs of life. It’ll be dusk now, but the darkness will be part of our cover. Stick close to me, and you’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t we just wait a little longer until the good guys arrive to check out the fire? Surely someone will come eventually.”

Hunter shook his head. “If the cavalry was going to arrive, it would have done so already—my brother leading the charge.” His jaw hardened against the knot in his gut. “It could mean that things escalated at the power station.” Jace, I hope you’re all right.

Karissa reached out and touched his arm. The gentle compassion in her gaze seemed to travel through her fingertips and touch his soul. “You must be so worried.”

Hunter rent his gaze away from hers. Of course, she would feel special sympathy toward someone fearing for a sibling’s safety.

He cleared his throat. “When we leave here, we won’t be heading for any ranger station or park outpost where hostile eyes might be watching for us. With the resources we’ve seen displayed so far by whoever is after you, I don’t trust approaching just anyone for help. We’re in for a long, rather uncomfortable night of walking, but I have a destination in mind. Are you up for it?”

The woman squared her delicate chin and rose to all of her no more than five feet three inches of dainty height. There was nothing dainty or delicate in the flash of those green eyes. “I’ve marched up mountains, slogged through swamps and chopped my way through jungles. Bring it!”

Warmth rushed through Hunter’s chest, and he couldn’t swallow his grin. This woman was in a class by herself. “You know what? I believe I’m the one who might have to struggle to keep up.”

Karissa jerked a nod and turned away, but not fast enough to hide the small answering grin. She picked up a light blanket and began folding it in an odd way.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Making a baby sling for Kyle that will keep my hands free. Belizean women do this all the time.”

“Good. The sling will help keep you and him warm, too. It’s summer, but the woods at night at this elevation can still be cool.”

The intricacies of her sling and how she got the baby into it without waking him up were mysteries to Hunter, but soon they were ready to head up and out. He opened the bottom hatch door and the telescoping ladder slid into place, just reaching the ground at his feet. Above him was a cement tube around four feet wide and about three-quarters his height. He climbed up to the fireproof upper hatch, but his hand hesitated on the lock.

God, please help us.

Despite his earlier words about their attackers not waiting around for the real rangers to arrive, the fact that those rangers hadn’t come set him on edge. Their attackers could still be out there, waiting for them to pop their heads up like gophers. Then again, it was highly improbable that their attackers knew about the bunker. No doubt he was uneasy over nothing. Still, Hunter held his breath as he released the locking mechanism and shoved the hatch open.

Smoke-tinged twilight air washed over him. An owl hooted nearby, and crickets fiddled their tunes. Hunter’s shoulders relaxed. If human beings were still lurking around out there, he wouldn’t be hearing those sounds.

He looked down at Karissa, who stood directly below, gazing up at him with questions in her eyes. “All clear, I’d say. Hand me the pack, would you?”

Her strained features relaxed, and she complied, handling the heavy article with ease. He thrust the pack, with the rifle strapped to its side, out onto the dew-sprinkled grass and climbed out of the tube after it. Sprightly as a spider monkey, Karissa climbed out after him, evidently not the least hindered by the precious cargo in her sling or her bullet wound.

While he donned the pack, Hunter’s gaze roamed the area. About thirty yards away, the remains of his cabin smoldered. Stray sparks winked at him from the burned wood. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what would have become of all three of them had there been no bunker retreat.

God, were You guiding me with that idea to build one?

At the time, it had seemed like nothing more than a useful way to pass the abundance of time he had on his hands. Of course, if it had been an inspired idea, the providential point would have been to protect Karissa and the innocent baby. In surrendering his life to the Lord during the time period he was undergoing physical therapy, he’d been humbly grateful to squeak through the door of salvation for his soul in the next life. He didn’t expect or deserve anything more in this one.

“Let’s get going,” he said to his petite companion and stepped up behind her.

An angry bee zipped past his head. At least that’s what it sounded like. His heart squeezed into a fist as his brain kicked out the truth.

Not a bee—a bullet.

Hunter grabbed Karissa and the baby and shoved them ahead of him into the trees.

“Run!”

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