Lone Survivor. Jill Elizabeth Nelson
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