Conception Cover-Up. Karen Barrett Lawton
been on the opposite side. Using a tree branch to keep himself steady, he started across the now knee-deep rapids. Branches and stones pummeled his legs, mud sucked at his boots. Bruised and breathless, he pulled himself onto the bank. He allowed himself only a few moments to rest and fill his lungs.
“Brandon!”
Desperate to find his partner, he dug in the mud with his bare hands. He shoved aside branches and kicked at rocks, calling out Brandon’s name until he was hoarse. Still he found no sign of his partner, or Jim Driscoe.
A shaft of hatred went through him at the thought of the drug dealer, who had put them in this situation.
Suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ears and the night got darker. “Dammit! I am not going to pass out.”
Disoriented and dizzy, he leaned against a tree. Letting the bulky trunk take his weight, Caleb wiped the moisture from his eyes. When lightning flashed again, he stared at his fingers. They were wet with not water, but blood. He closed his eyes, the smell of wet earth and leaves filling his nostrils.
Fatigue overtook him. Suddenly the ground didn’t look so hard and rocky. Would it hurt if he just lay down and slept for a while?
His foggy mind recognized the signs of concussion, and he shook away the thought. Forget sleep, he ordered himself. He pushed away from the tree that had been holding him up and lost his footing on the slick ground. Reaching out, his left hand made contact with a branch, which he used to lever himself up.
Swaying on rubbery legs, Caleb had to admit he wasn’t going to be able to find his partner on his own. Sliding around in the mud was getting him nowhere. He had to have help.
Lightning flashed, blinding him temporarily, and the boom of thunder that followed reverberated in his head. The pain drove him to his knees. Get up, Caleb, get up! he ordered. On legs of oatmeal, he staggered to his feet.
And walked.
With a hammer using his brain for an anvil and his arm still throbbing, Caleb concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Rain saturated his clothing, weighing him down. After a while he didn’t even try to stop the shivering that racked his body.
Lightning and thunder dogged him every step of the way.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
The words became a litany.
His feet were cold, so cold. His toes squished numbly inside his boots, whatever water repellent they’d once had no match for the sopping terrain.
He had to stop. He had to sit. Only the thought of Brandon, unconscious and alone, kept him moving.
And then he saw it.
A light. Faint. Flickering.
Keeping his gaze focused on that dim welcoming glow, Caleb forced his tired body on. The forest floor was uneven, covered with dead leaves and needles. Wet ferns and vines grabbed at his knees. At one point he stumbled over a fallen log, wrenching his ankle and falling hard on his injured arm. He hissed in a sharp breath, then lay for a moment on the ground, his lungs aching. Angry for his weakness, he pushed up.
Pain bit at his arm, but he welcomed it. As long as the pain stood by him, he wouldn’t be able to surrender to the lethargy the concussion caused.
He limped toward the light. His head pounded as thunder reverberated through the night. But he kept moving. He was not going to let those drug-dealing dogs get the best of him.
After what seemed like an eternity, Caleb finally arrived at the cabin. He made his way around the Jeep parked out front. Not sure what he would find, he reached around to the small of his back for his gun.
It wasn’t there.
He checked the pockets of his soaked denim jacket. Nothing. Great, just great, he berated himself. You’ve lost your only weapon.
In the dim light from a window, he saw the outline of a woodpile on the porch. He eased up the steps and picked up a log, a piece of branch really, just thick enough to get someone’s attention if necessary. Then he made his way to the window and peered inside.
The interior seemed warm and welcoming. A rectangular chopping-block table divided the living room from the kitchen. The furniture was old-fashioned and comfortable-looking. Oil lamps provided light, along with the flames from a huge stone fireplace.
Then he saw a woman standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.
Caleb couldn’t smell the food, but his stomach growled, anyway. He hadn’t eaten since he and Brandon had stopped for doughnuts and coffee before heading up to the mountains.
Thinking about his friend and partner reminded him of his priorities. Food and bed could wait. He needed a phone.
For a few minutes he stayed at the window, but seeing no other signs of life, he turned to make his way to the front door.
The movement sent stars shooting through his head so violently that he fell to one knee. The branch dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the porch. Afraid he’d black out, he stayed still for a couple of moments, drawing in deep breaths, then cautiously rose.
But the buzzing in his ears wouldn’t go away, and the night started to close in on him. Caleb hung on to the railing, fighting the faint. One step at a time, he followed the porch to the front door, the hold on his consciousness beginning to slip.
As he raised his fist to knock on the door, he cracked his right arm against the jamb. The pain that shot through him was more than he could bear. Almost instantly he collapsed.
Chapter Two
A flash of lightning illuminated Shannon Garrett’s shadowy kitchen, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. Turning from the stove where she stirred the soup that was to be her dinner, she glanced through the window over the sink. Rain battered the diamond-shaped panes, blotting out her view. The wind outside howled like a wounded animal.
A strange prickly feeling came over her. This was going to be one hell of a storm, she thought. Thank heavens for propane tanks and oil lamps. It might be days before her electricity came back on.
She swung back to the stove and turned off the burner. The delicious smell of her homemade chicken soup wafted through the cabin, but she’d lost interest in eating. Suddenly, being alone, miles from civilization, didn’t seem like such a good idea. The storm and the dark were eerie. Shadows lurked in the corners of her small log cabin, making it feel claustrophobic, no longer the refuge it had been the past three years.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Shannon.”
The sound of her voice made her feel a little better. She was being silly. More for something to do than out of hunger, she took an oversize mug from the cupboard next to the sink and began to ladle soup into it.
A loud thump outside startled her. She paused to listen. A tree branch falling? When no other sound penetrated the howl of the storm, she went back to her soup.
Another loud bump made her heart rise to her throat. She stood absolutely still, head cocked, listening to the too-human sound of the wind groaning in the trees. Lightning illuminated the room like a strobe while thunder drowned out all other sounds. The silence that followed was broken by another skin-tingling groan. The door rattled as if something heavy had fallen against it.
Shannon put down the ladle, then opened a drawer and took out two large flashlights. Listening intently, she walked slowly to the front door. She wished it had a peephole. But then, without a porch light, she wouldn’t be able to see who it was anyway.
A flashlight in each hand, Shannon forced herself to be logical. It wasn’t likely that anyone was out there. The cabin was miles from her closest neighbor, even more miles from the main road. The few people who knew where she lived didn’t casually drop in on her. The noises that had spooked her were probably just those of a raccoon seeking