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The Guardian's Mission
Shirlee McCoy
Ma'am, I'm not one of the bad guys. So says the handsome man Martha Gabler encounters near her isolated mountain cabin. Tristan Sinclair claims he's an ATF agent working undercover. And that if she doesn't play along as his unexpected girlfriend, they'll both end up dead.Nursing a broken heart, Martha knows a thing or two about love that isn't real. Still, she calls up all her faith and turns her shaky trust over to Tristan. Soon she's hoping he'll take on a new mission: guarding her for the rest of her life.



“Hey! Hey, what’s going on? Why’s she running?”
Gordon Johnson’s question was one Tristan Sinclair could have answered easily—the woman was running because she’d walked into a cabin she’d thought was empty and into a man she didn’t know. She was terrified and trying to escape.
He could have answered, but he didn’t.
If Johnson realized the woman wasn’t with Tristan, that she hadn’t been invited to their little party, she’d die and the mission would end.
He raced after the woman and yanked her to a stop, praying she wouldn’t start screaming. Johnson had a reputation for acting first and thinking later. One bullet, that’s all it would take to spill innocent life out onto the rain-soaked earth. Tristan could prevent that from happening if the woman played along.
If she played along.

SHIRLEE MCCOY
has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Maryland and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com, or write her at P.O. Box 592, Gambrills, MD 21054.

The Guardian’s Mission
Shirlee McCoy


Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
—Matthew 7:13–14
To my dear friend Darlene Martha Gabler.
Though we are far apart, you are always in my thoughts and prayers.

Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE
First-aid kit?
Check.
Water? Protein bars? Check. Check.
Chocolate? More chocolate? Tissues? Triple check.
Not that Martha Gabler was going to need the tissues. She wasn’t. She was over her crying jag and done feeling sorry for herself. It was time to move on, to embrace singleness with the same joyful excitement with which she’d embraced being a part of a couple.
The fact that in one year and three months she’d hit the magical age that separated young-enough-to-hope from too-old-to-keep-looking didn’t matter at all. So what if women in Lakeview, Virginia, married young? So what if reaching thirty without heading down the aisle was tantamount to walking around town wearing a placard that read Past My Prime?
Did Martha care?
Yes!
She sighed, zipping her backpack and shoving a baseball cap over her unruly curls. She’d come to the mountains to put the past behind her. She didn’t plan to spend time dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed.
Like her newly single status.
Outside Martha’s Jeep, the day was as gray and gloomy as her mood, the deep oranges and brilliant reds of the fall foliage muted in the dreary morning light. Maybe visiting her father’s hunting cabin could wait another week, another month. Another year.
No. It couldn’t.
She hadn’t been to the cabin since she started dating Brian two years ago. Now that he was out of her life, it was time to enjoy the things she’d loved before Brian had pulled her into his high-society world. Time to start fresh, to look with excitement at the new horizons stretching out before her.
Martha snorted and shoved open the Jeep door, stepping out into cool mountain air. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she hoisted her pack onto her back and turned to survey her surroundings. The old gravel road she’d parked on dead-ended a hundred yards up. Beyond that, a dirt path wound its way up into the mountains. A steep and difficult climb led to the cabin, but Martha didn’t mind. Some good hard labor would get her mind off Brian-the-jerk.
She started to close the Jeep door and jumped as her cell phone rang.
Dad.
For a split second she considered ignoring the call, but the thought of seventy-year-old Jesse Gabler hiking up to the cabin was enough to convince her otherwise.
She pressed the phone to her ear, hoping her voice wouldn’t give away her emotions. More than anything else, she hated to worry her father, and if he thought she was upset, worried was exactly what he’d be. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Who said that’s why I was calling?” Gravelly and gruff, his voice reminded her of all the triumphs and losses they’d faced together since her mother walked out when Martha was five.
“Dad, it’s ten o’clock on a Friday morning. Why else would you be calling except to check up on me?”
“Maybe I’m just calling to say hi.”
“Right. You can’t stand it that I’m going to the cabin alone. Admit it.”
“Marti, the cabin has been closed up for two years. It might not be habitable anymore.”
“As long as it’s still got a roof and four walls, I’ll be fine. I don’t need more than that.”
“Need more for what? Grieving in private over that scumbag doctor? I knew he was no good the minute I met him. Wishy-washy, wimpy kid with a head too big for his scrawny little neck. If I’d had my way you would never have…” His voice trailed off and Marti could almost see his hazel eyes going dark with worry and regret. “Sorry, baby doll. You know how I am.”
“Yeah, I know.” Which was why she’d had to escape to the mountains. Between her father, her friends, her church and her community, Martha had nearly drowned in the outpouring of sympathy since she’d called off her engagement three days ago. That was the problem with living in a small town. Everyone knew everyone’s business. Most of the time, Martha didn’t mind, but right now she needed space.
She needed time.
She did not need to be smothered by well-meaning people who all claimed to have believed her relationship with Brian was doomed, but who hadn’t bothered to tell her that.
Her father cleared his throat the way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say, then launched into a safer topic. “It’s supposed to storm tonight. You know that, right? The creek might flood its banks. You might get stranded for a few days.”
“A few days isn’t going to kill me. Besides, I know how to handle myself out here. I was taught by the best.”
“Glad to know I taught you something.” Since I obviously didn’t teach you how to protect your heart from smooth-talking men.
Martha could almost hear the words, though her father loved her too much to say them. “You taught me plenty, Dad. So, listen, you take Sue out this weekend, okay? Somewhere fancy.”
“Why would I go and do a thing like that?”
“Because tomorrow is the three-year anniversary of your first date and she expects it.”
“Three-year anniversary of our first date? Who keeps track of that kind of stuff?” As Martha had hoped, mention of his wife of eight months was enough to distract her father.
“Sue. She’s been talking about it nonstop for two weeks. I’d have thought you’d have gotten the hint by now.”
“You know I’m no good with hints. You could have given me a heads-up before now.”
“Sorry, Dad. I just figured you knew.”
“I guess I’d better get to work planning something. You be careful, you hear? And if you’re not back by Sunday noon, I’m coming to get you. Love you, baby doll.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
She started to shove the phone in her pocket, then thought better of it and tossed it into the glove compartment. Reception was poor in the mountains. Besides, she’d lost three phones in the past two years. A fact her ex-fiancé, Brian McMath, hadn’t let her forget.
Not that she was going to think about Brian. Or their relationship. Or why she’d tried so hard to fulfill his definition of what a doctor’s future wife should be.
Organized.
Efficient.
Sleek. Slim. Beautiful.
Martha stomped up the gravel road, forcing her mind away from her ex-fiancé. He’d been an arrogant jerk. She’d been too focused on trying to build the kind of family she’d always dreamed of to notice.
Enough said.
Rain began to fall, but she ignored it as she moved up the trail toward the hunting cabin. She would put her disastrous relationship with Brian behind her, and she would enjoy her weekend alone. Just Martha and the great outdoors. What could be better?
Forty minutes later, she was thinking there were plenty of things better than walking soaking wet through thick foliage, with chilly air cutting through her jacket and jeans. Panting hard, her heels burning with blisters from new boots, she splashed across a creek and muscled her way up a bank. All the physical exertion should have forced thoughts of Brian out of her mind, but they were still there.
Frustrated, she stomped up the cabin steps, pulled the key from her pocket and swung the door open. The place hadn’t been used in a while, and watery light danced on dust motes as she hurried across the room to pull the curtains open. She’d barely touched the thick material, when she heard something behind her. Or maybe felt it. A subtle shifting in the air, a whisper of danger that electrified the room, made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
She wasn’t alone.
Her heart pounded, her hand froze in place, her mind screamed directions that she couldn’t quite follow.
Run!
No! Never run from a predator.
Walk back out the open door. Pretend you don’t know someone is here with you. Go. Go, go, go!
Her legs were lead, the pack ten tons of brick as she started toward the door. She’d barely taken a step when the door swung closed, cutting off light, sealing her in. It was like a nightmare, like a horror movie come to life. Dead silence. Pitch-blackness. Someone waiting in the darkness. Her heart thudded as terror pooled in her belly.
Please, God, I don’t want to die like some clueless victim in a horror film.
She stepped backward, bumping into something hard, tall.
Human.
A scream ripped from her throat, but died abruptly as a hand slammed over her mouth.
“You don’t want to do that.” The growl rumbled in her ear; a warning, a threat. “Do you?”
Martha shook her head. Anything to get his hand off her mouth and give her another chance to scream. Not that it would do any good. There was no one around to hear. The cabin was miles from civilization.
“Good. Just keep quiet, do what I say and everything will be okay.” As he spoke he moved backward, pulling her away from the door and farther into the darkness.
Don’t just let yourself be accosted. Fight!
She slammed her elbow into his stomach, but his grip didn’t loosen. “That wasn’t smart, lady.”
Maybe not, but she tried again anyway. This time slamming her foot down on his instep. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to jerk from his hold. She lunged forward, yanking open the door, racing outside and slamming into a short, wiry man.
“Goin’ somewhere, darlin’?” His eyes were pale, clear green, his lips thin and tilted up in a sneer. Freckles dotted his face, but they didn’t make him look any less like a coldhearted killer. If death had a look, it was in his gaze. Martha shuddered, stepping back.
“I—”
“Nowhere without me. Right, Sunshine?” A hand dropped onto her shoulder and hard fingers urged her around to face the man who had followed her from the cabin.
Over six feet tall. Light hair. Hard features. Icy blue eyes filled with a message Martha couldn’t decipher. He seemed to want her to agree, but Martha had no intention of going anywhere with him or his friend.
“No” was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say it, the guy behind her spoke. “She’s with you?”
“Sure is.”
“Buddy won’t like it.”
“I don’t see why he should care, but if it’s going to be a problem, maybe I’ll take my business elsewhere.” He grabbed Martha’s hand and pulled her down the porch steps, tension seeping through his palm and into hers. That only added to her anxiety and fear. Whatever was going on couldn’t be good, and the sooner she escaped, the better.
“Hey, now wait just a minute.” The smaller man hurried up beside Martha, his eyes darting from her to her captor and back again. “I didn’t say Buddy would care. I said he might not like it. But that’s your problem. My problem is getting you to the meeting place. So let’s go.”
“Ready, Sunshine?” Her captor cupped Martha’s chin, nudging her head up, gently but firmly forcing her to look into his eyes. Silvery-blue eyes that flashed with anger and something else, something softer, but just as fierce. Concern?
Martha blinked. No. That couldn’t be right.
“I said, are you ready?” There was an edge to his voice, a warning, and Marti nodded because at the moment, she didn’t have a choice. Eventually though, she would. And when she did, she’d take it.
Her gaze jumped away from his fierce intensity, landing on the thin man standing a few feet away.
He was still as stone, his empty eyes locked on Martha. Dead eyes. She wasn’t sure how she knew that. Maybe some primal instinct kicking in, warning her. Whatever the case, she was sure the guy would kill her in a heartbeat if she gave him a reason. As if he sensed her thoughts, he smiled, his thin lips twisting up into something that should have been friendly but wasn’t.
She looked away, meeting the other man’s eyes, her heart beating so fast she thought it would leap from her chest. “Where are we going?”
“For a walk. Just relax and enjoy the scenery.” He tightened his grip on her hand until it was just short of painful. He clearly didn’t plan to let her go, but Martha didn’t get the same sense of danger from him that she got from his friend.
She resisted the urge to pull away from his hold and make a run for it. After all, the key to winning a battle didn’t lie in acting quickly. It lay in weighing the enemy’s strengths, finding his weaknesses and exploiting them. Her father had told her that a hundred times, and she’d rolled her eyes just as many. Now what had seemed like useless information had value. She’d have to thank her father when she saw him again.
If she saw him again.
She shied away from the grim thought and focused her attention on the shorter of the two men. He had a cigarette pack sticking out of his pocket and was panting for breath as he hurried them toward a dirt road. Obviously out of shape, probably smoker’s lungs. Martha figured she could beat him in a footrace.
The man holding her hand was another story. Tall, well muscled, long-legged, he was not even breathing deeply let alone panting. From where Martha was standing, he didn’t seem to have any weaknesses. That could be a problem.
She stumbled over a root, rain slashing against her face and stinging her eyes as her captor’s grip loosened a fraction, his hand sliding against hers.
Forget about looking for his weakness. Run!
She didn’t consider the odds of success. As soon as she regained her footing, she yanked hard, her wet skin slipping from his grip, and ran toward the trees.

TWO
“Hey! What’s going on? Why’s she running?” Gordon Johnson’s question was one Tristan Sinclair could have answered easily—the woman was running because she’d walked into a cabin she’d thought was empty and into a man she didn’t know. She was terrified and trying to escape.
He could have answered, but he didn’t.
Instead, he raced after the woman, determined to regain control of a mission that, until five minutes ago, had seemed ordinary.
Meet Johnson at an abandoned cabin near the base of the mountain. Follow him to an undisclosed location. Bring down one of the biggest illegal weapons rings in the country.
Piece of cake. Or as close to one as any mission like this could be.
So how had things gone so wrong so fast?
Tristan scowled as he closed in on the fleeing woman.
She was fast, dodging around trees and doing her best to evade capture. Still, he managed to catch her easily, snagging the back of her pack and praying she wouldn’t start screaming. Johnson had a reputation for acting first and thinking later, and there was no doubt the gunrunner would be carrying a weapon. One bullet, that’s all it would take to spill innocent life out onto the rain-soaked earth. Tristan could only prevent that from happening if the woman cooperated. Judging from the expression in her eyes, that wasn’t going to happen.
She swung a fist in his direction, and he grabbed it, tugging her so close he could feel her body trembling with fear. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that he was one of the good guys and that he’d make sure she got out of this alive, but Johnson was jogging toward them, and Tristan had no choice but to play the part he’d been perfecting for months.
He gave her a little shake, hoping to convey the urgency of the situation. “What’s the deal with trying to run off on me, Sunshine? I thought you were over our little spat.”
“Let me go—” She jerked against his hold, and he tightened his grip, afraid he might leave a bruise, but figuring a bruise was better than a bullet.
“I guess you’re still mad. Which is too bad, because difficult women aren’t my thing. For you, though, I might make an exception.”
“You’re insane. I don’t kn—”
He pressed his lips to hers, cutting off her words in the only way he could think of that wouldn’t make Johnson suspicious. Warmth, softness, the sweet scent of chocolate. He inhaled, drinking in the scent, the sound of rain fading, his heart leaping.
Pain shot up his leg as she slammed her foot down on his instep.
Again.
He maintained his grip, but jerked back, staring down into her eyes, surprised by his own reaction to the kiss and to the woman. Johnson was hovering near his back, just waiting to pull his weapon. There was no time for wondering about the woman who was staring up at him. No time for anything but action.
He leaned forward, holding her tight when she would have wrestled out of his grasp, and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t want the day to get a whole lot worse, calm down and play along. Otherwise, we’ll both be six feet under come daybreak. Understand?”
She didn’t, of course. She’d wandered into her worst nightmare and all she’d be thinking about was escape.
Tristan, on the other hand, was thinking about turning potential failure into success. As long as Johnson didn’t suspect the truth, the woman would be fine, the mission could continue and nearly a year working undercover and playing a role he had no liking for wouldn’t go to waste.
“Do you understand?” He hissed the question into her ear, hoping she’d sense just how important the right answer was.
Maybe she did. Or maybe she was too scared to argue. She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, sandy curls plastered to her cheeks, the baseball cap she wore sodden and dripping. She looked young, vulnerable, scared.
“Good.” He kept his voice low so that it barely carried above the rain. “Here’s how we’re playing it. I’m Sky. You’re my girlfriend. Got it?”
She nodded again, her gaze darting toward Johnson who was moving closer, apparently trying to hear their conversation.
“Whatever you say, Sky.” Her voice shook, but she looked right into his eyes.
“Good,” he said, speaking louder for Johnson’s benefit. “Like I told you before, we’ve got this gig this afternoon. The rest of the night is ours.” He squeezed her hand, hoping she’d take it as it was meant—a gesture of reassurance.
“You didn’t tell me the gig would involve hiking in the rain. I came here to have fun. I’m not having fun. I’m going home.” She huffed the words, managing to sound irritated and angry rather than scared. As if she really had been out on a lark with him and was annoyed that things weren’t going the way she’d expected.
Not only did she seem to be gaining control of her emotions, she also seemed to be trying to take control of the situation. She’d offered a plausible explanation for walking away. Maybe Johnson would believe it and let her leave. “Go, but don’t think I’ll be calling tonight. I’ve got better things to do with my time than chase after a fickle woman.” Tristan pulled keys from his pocket and tossed them her way, trying to play the part well enough to be convincing.
She caught them, her eyes widening a fraction. “I wasn’t planning on waiting by the phone. See you around, Sky.”
She pivoted away, the picture of an irritated woman, and Tristan started to believe they’d won this round. She’d return to civilization, report what had happened to the authorities. By that time, the raid would be over and the police would be able to tell her what she’d walked into and how close to death she’d been. Maybe she’d think twice the next time she went hiking through the Blue Ridge Mountains alone.
He should have known things wouldn’t be so easy.
“You’re not going nowhere. You wanted to come along. You’re coming.” Johnson moved in close, pulling a gun and pointing it at the woman, then Tristan. He’d use it, too. Kill them both the same way another person might swat a fly.
In other circumstances, Tristan would have tried to disarm him, but these weren’t other circumstances. There was an innocent civilian to worry about, and he couldn’t take chances with her life. “Cool it with the gun, man. You keep swinging it like that and someone could get hurt.”
“Your lady friend keeps causing trouble and someone will.”
“I’m not causing trouble. I’m saying I want to go home, but if you’re going to get hot about it, I’ll tag along with you two instead.” She shrugged as if she really didn’t care, her movements confident and easy as they started moving again.
Who was she? Not your typical civilian, that was for sure. No panic. No begging or pleading. If Tristan hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was a fellow agent. He took a harder look. Short. Pretty. Athletic build. Dressed in jeans, a nylon jacket and hiking boots, she looked like any other weekend camper, but most normal people were tucked inside cozy houses sitting beside blazing fires, not traipsing through the mountains in frigid rain.
Normal?
As if he knew what that was anymore.
Living undercover didn’t leave room for normal. It only left room for the job. And right now the job suddenly included the woman trudging along beside him. He kept a firm grip on her arm as they walked. No way could he let her go running off again. Not when he knew Johnson was just waiting for an opportunity to get rid of her. Permanently.
She slipped and nearly went down on her knees, but he managed to tug her up before she landed. “Careful. The leaves are making things dangerous.”
She laughed, the sound choking out and cutting off almost before it had begun.
Surprised, Tristan scanned her face. Rainwater slid down smooth cheeks, freckles dotted her pale cheeks, gold and green mixed in the depth of her eyes, soft lips pressed together.
Lips he’d kissed.
Lips that had been softer and warmer than he’d expected.
Whoa! That wasn’t the direction his thoughts should be heading. He forced his attention back to the moment, to the mission, to his role. “I’m glad you’re keeping your sense of humor, Sunshine. It makes life a lot easier.”
“I wouldn’t call it humor.”
“No?”
“No. I’d call it hysteria, and if I wasn’t afraid your friend would pull out his gun and shoot me dead for it, I’d probably be laughing uncontrollably right now.”
“You’re right to be worried about that. Johnson isn’t known for his self-control.”
“Maybe if you’d tell me what’s going on—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off her words before she could say something that would get them both in trouble. Johnson might seem oblivious to the conversation, but Tristan knew him well enough to know he didn’t miss much. Not when it had to do with the business he was in. The business of death. “Nothing is going on that we haven’t already discussed. You need to relax and enjoy the experience.”
“Right. Sure. Enjoy it.” She wiped rain from her eyes, or maybe those were tears. It was hard to tell with so much water pouring from the sky.
Up ahead, Johnson was shoving through more brush, leading them northwest toward the abandoned logging camp that served as meeting place and auction house for Johnson’s boss Buddy Nichols’s gunrunning activities. There’d been other auctions before today, other buyers leaving with weapons meant to kill and maim, weapons that even the most sophisticated armor couldn’t stop.
Today, though, was going to be different. Johnson might think Tristan was clueless about their destination, but informants had been willing to leak the auction’s location to the ATF for a price. A few hours. That’s all that stood between the men who were dealing in illegal weapons and justice.
Tristan smiled with grim satisfaction, holding a thorny branch back and motioning for the woman to step past. One gunrunner, one gang leader, one weapon at a time, he was doing what he’d pledged to do after his brother had been shot and almost killed—evening the odds, adding one more good guy to the fight against the bad guys. Now, though, he had something else to think about. Someone else. An unknown player in an unpredictable game.
As if she sensed his thoughts, the woman glanced his way, her expression hiding whatever she felt. “How much farther?”
“Not much.”
“Which could mean anything.” She frowned, wiping at her face again. Rain. Not tears. Tristan was pretty sure of that.
“Which means we’ll be there soon. Then this will be over and we’ll be out of here.” Anything else was unacceptable. Anything else could leave one or both of them dead. “Just keep your head together, Sunshine, and everything will be fine.”
“Hurry it up, you two. We’ve got places to be.” Johnson shot a look over his shoulder, his flat eyes settling on the woman.
Tristan didn’t like the surge of interest that blazed in his eyes, the flash of heat that brought the only hint of life he’d ever seen into Johnson’s gaze.
He dropped his arm across Sunshine’s shoulder, praying she wouldn’t jerk away and give Johnson something else to speculate on. “Pick up the pace then. We’ll keep up.”
As Johnson turned away again, Tristan let his arm slip from Sunshine’s shoulders, grabbing her hand instead, squeezing gently and silently sealing their partnership. Whether she liked it or not, they were in this together. Lord willing, they’d make it out together, too.

THREE
Martha told herself she shouldn’t be comforted by the warm, callused palm pressing against hers, or by the well-muscled arm brushing her shoulder. Somehow though, she was. Which proved just how scared she was. She didn’t know Sky, and she didn’t trust him.
What she did trust were her instincts, and right now they were telling her that flat-eyed, freckle-faced Johnson was a killer. The gun he’d pulled had been a Glock 22, a weapon so powerful that the bullet would kill her before she had time to realize she was dying.
The thought made her shiver.
She didn’t want to die today. She wasn’t going to die. She had too many things she still wanted to accomplish. That cross-stitch project she’d planned to make for Dad and Sue’s anniversary but had never finished. The missions trip to Mexico. The vacation to Australia she’d been dreaming about since she was old enough to have dreams. The ten pounds she wanted to lose so she could fit into flirty little summer dresses.
Not that her size was going to matter when she was lying inside a coffin.
Don’t even go there, Marti.
You are not going to die.
At least, she hoped she wasn’t going to die. Who knew what God’s plans were? She sure didn’t. Every time she thought she had a handle on what He wanted for her life, He spun her around and started her in a new direction. Case in point—Brian. She’d been so sure he was the one, so certain God had brought them together. Funny how easy it was to believe something was right when you wanted it badly enough. Even funnier how little all of that mattered in light of the fact that she might not survive the next few hours.
Rain continued to fall as they picked their way along an overgrown road, the raindrops like tears that streaked the earth and trees, muddling the colors so that they blended and bled. Probably washing away any evidence that Martha and the two men had passed this way, too. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings, and realized with a start that they were heading toward an abandoned logging camp. She and her dad had hiked this way many times before, even staying overnight in the cabin that had once served as an office. There wasn’t much left of the place—a couple of rusted trailers, the cabin. Another half century and the entire place would be overgrown and covered with vegetation.
What kind of business would take place so far from civilization?
What kind of men would be there?
Not the kind of business she wanted to be involved in. Not the kind of men she should be around.
Yet here she was, going where she didn’t want to go, with men she shouldn’t be with, and she had absolutely no idea how to get out of the situation.
Any time you’re ready, Lord, I’m open for suggestions.
She hoped for sudden inspiration, a quick solution to her troubles. She got nothing.
Her fingers itched to unzip her pack and pull out one of her chocolate bars. A little sugar, a little energy and maybe her brain would start functioning and she could figure a way out of the situation. She started to shrug out of the pack, but froze as Sky speared her with a hard stare. “What are you doing?”
Johnson must have heard because he turned, his dead eyes jumping from Martha to Sky and back again. “What’s going on?”
Don’t panic. Be a ditzy, stupid woman who thought it would be adventurous to wander through the Blue Ridge Mountains with Sky and his friends.
She forced herself to let the pack slide the rest of the way down her arms. “Just thinking I’d have a snack.”
“A snack?” Sky’s jaw twitched, his blue eyes boring into hers.
She forced strength back into legs that had gone wobbly and did her best to act as if she didn’t know how much danger she was in. “Yes. A snack. A girl’s got to eat. Right? It’s not like you gave me a chance to have lunch before we left.”
“Let me give you a hand with that.” Johnson yanked the pack from her hands, his eyes gleaming with the hard gaze of a predator and filling Martha with cold dread.
“Knock yourself out.”
He rifled through the pack, then thrust it at Sky. “No more stops.”
“Or else” hung in the air, unspoken, but Martha heard it clearly enough. She was also pretty sure that if she looked hard enough, she could see the outline of Johnson’s gun beneath the lightweight jacket he wore. It would take only seconds for him to pull it, fire it and wash his probably-already-stained-with-blood hands of the situation.
Fear loosened her muscles and joints and made walking almost impossible. Only Sky’s firm grip on her hand kept her going. She wanted to go home to her little cottage in the woods, sit on the front porch and watch the sunset behind the mountains one last time; bask in the colors, the feel, the scent of it. Crisp, cool, alive. She wanted to hug her father, tell him she loved him, kiss his leathery cheek just once more. Wanted to go out with her girlfriends, have a slice of Doris’s apple pie, inhale the scent of laughter, the heady aroma of joy.
Hot tears worked their way down her cheek, mixing with cold rain.
“Chocolate?” Sky’s question pulled her away from her maudlin thoughts.
She glanced at the candy bar he was holding out and knew she’d choke if she tried to eat it. “I changed my mind.”
“A little energy will do you good.” He unwrapped the chocolate, pressed the bar into her hand. “Eat and stop worrying.”
To her surprise, he wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, pressing his palm against her chilled flesh, his voice warm as a spring day. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
“Promises are a dime a dozen.”
“Not mine. You will be okay. There is no other option.” He stared into her eyes as if he could pass his confidence to her with a look.
Then the moment was gone. He reached for the candy bar, broke a piece of chocolate off and popped it into his mouth. “Looks like we’ve reached our destination. Showtime.”
With that, he hiked her pack onto his back and pulled her toward the skeletal remains of the logging camp.
Fear was a terrible thing. It made thinking impossible. It made smart people act dumb. And that’s exactly what it was doing to Martha. She wanted to yank her hand from Sky’s and run, but that would not only be the stupidest decision of her life, it would also be her last. Sky would catch her before she got three feet away if Johnson’s bullet hadn’t already knocked her to the ground.
The way Martha saw it, she’d done enough stupid things in the past few months to last a lifetime. First she’d dated a guy who had a reputation for being arrogant and thoughtless. Second, she’d continued to date him even after she’d begun to suspect those rumors were true. Third, she’d decided to run and hide rather than face more pity from her friends and family when she’d finally broken things off with the jerk.
Now she was officially done with stupidity.
It was time to be smart. That meant waiting no matter how much she wanted to run. Eventually she’d have a chance to escape. She had to believe that.
Up ahead, thick trees opened into an overgrown field filled with the remnants of a once bustling logging camp. Martha hadn’t been there in years, but from what she remembered, things hadn’t changed much. The place was just a little older, a little more overgrown, a lot more creepy. Then again, maybe Martha was just more creeped out. To the left, an old trailer sat atop a cinder-block foundation, graffiti bleeding down the side in reds and blues and greens. Stumps and fallen logs stood to one side, skeletons of the life that had once been there.
In the distance, the clapboard cabin where Martha and her father used to stay stood blurry and gray in the pouring rain. Several men moved toward it ahead of Martha and her escorts, their tension filling the clearing and adding to Martha’s fear. She didn’t much care for the men she’d already met. She definitely didn’t want to meet more.
“Maybe I’ll wait out here.” She tugged against Sky’s hold, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Nor did he slow his pace. They were heading toward the kind of trouble Martha had never dreamed she would find herself in, and it didn’t seem as though there was much she could do about it.
“You’ll wait where I tell you to wait. Right in that trailer over there. After me and your friend are finished with business, we’ll decide what to do with you.” Johnson speared her with a cold, hard glare, his voice chilling in its callousness.
What to do with her? As if she were some disposable thing. Martha’s heart raced, her breath came in short, shallow spurts. This was terror. Pure and stark and ugly. She forced it back, not wanting Johnson to see just how scared she was. “I’d rather—”
“I don’t care what you’d rather. In the trailer. Now.”
Johnson pulled his gun, pointed it at her chest.
“Cool it, Johnson.” Sky stepped between Martha and the gun, his hand still wrapped around Martha’s wrist.
“Do we have a problem?” The words were smooth as honey and cold as ice. A new voice, a new player, another danger. Marti didn’t need to see the man to know it, she could hear it in his voice.
“Nothing that isn’t being dealt with.” Johnson still had his gun out, but his focus had shifted, his eyes on the man who was walking toward them—medium height, well dressed. Power. Wealth. Danger. They oozed off him. It was his eyes, though, that turned Martha’s insides to mush. If Johnson’s eyes were dead, this guy’s eyes were death. There was evil there, a blackness that no amount of polish could hide.
He moved toward them, his gaze resting on Martha briefly before he turned his attention to Sky. “You’re Sky Davis. We were wondering if you’d show up.”
“I got a little sidetracked.”
“So I see.” Soulless eyes rested on Martha again, and she resisted the urge to look away. “I’m Buddy. You’ll have to forgive Johnson’s overreaction to your friend. He’s very zealous about his job. We’ve got client confidentiality to protect.”
“Understood.” Sky spoke before Martha could. Which was for the best as she could think of nothing to say.
“Then maybe next time you won’t bring a…friend.” He glanced at Martha again. “It makes things complicated.”
“She’s a member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Militia. I’m teaching her the ropes.”
“Not here you’re not. She’ll have to wait in the trailer. We’ll deal with her after we’ve concluded our business.” He nodded toward Johnson who strode forward, grabbing her arm.
“Hold on a minute.” Sky pulled her back toward him, and she was sure he was going to protest, come up with some reason they had to stay together.
Instead, he pulled her close, leaning forward, staring into her eyes. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. This won’t take long.”
He pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh behind her ear, his words barely a whisper. “Sorry about this.”
Then he kissed her.
Not the bland, almost sterile kind of kiss Brian usually offered. Not a hard, quick kiss to silence her. A searing kiss that burned its way down her spine. A toe-curling, heart-pounding, honest-to-goodness, Prince-Charming-I’m-gonna-love-you-forever–type kiss.
Too bad the guy was a stranger.
Too bad Martha was scared out of her mind.
Too bad.
Because if he wasn’t, if she hadn’t been, she just might have enjoyed it.
“Mr. Davis.” Buddy’s voice drawled into the moment, cold and slithery as a snake. “Sorry to interrupt your moment, but we’ve got business to attend.”
Sky released his hold on Martha and she nearly fell.
He didn’t give her another look, just walked toward the cabin with Buddy, while Johnson moved closer to Martha, waving the gun toward the trailer. “Let’s go.”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, nearly dragging her the few yards to the trailer, his grip painfully tight. She didn’t complain, though. No way would she give him that power over her. Let him think she was tough, that what he was doing didn’t scare her. Let him think that she really was Sky’s girlfriend, out for a jaunt and too dense to realize she wasn’t going to survive it.
Please, Lord, let him think that.
Because if he did, if they all did, then they wouldn’t be expecting her to escape—they wouldn’t waste the time and effort guarding her, and she just might have a chance.
Johnson opened the trailer door and shoved her with enough force to send her sprawling on a pile of dirt, trash and other things she’d rather not examine. Before she could right herself, the door slammed shut, cutting off light. A key scraped in a lock, and Martha heard a bolt slide home.
Obviously, Marti wasn’t the first to be locked in here. She’d be the last, though, because once she escaped, she was going to the authorities and she was going to shut down whatever illegal activities were going on here.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she surveyed the room. Trash. Debris. Probably snakes, rats and mice, too. Not her favorite things to share space with, but a lot better than the men outside.
And at least here she wasn’t in danger of having a bullet put through her heart.
The thought got her moving across the room to a plywood board that she was sure covered a window. All she had to do was pry it off, slip out the opening and run. She searched the debris for a tool, her mind ticking away the seconds and telling her she was running out of time. Finally, desperate, she wedged her fingernails under the board and pulled. Pain speared through her hands, her nails bending back as the board gave slightly. Blood seeped from the wounds, but she ignored it, shoving her fingers into the wider space she’d created.
“Please, Lord. Please let this work.”
She braced her legs, yanking against the plywood with all her strength. It gave with a crack, and she tumbled backward, landing hard on a pile of garbage. Stunned, she lay still for a moment, her pulse racing frantically, demanding that she get up and go. Now. Before someone decided to check on her.
She stood, her thoughts jumping forward, planning a path through the forest that wouldn’t be easy to follow, but that would lead her back to her Jeep and her cell phone quickly. She’d call for help while she was driving away.
Her keys!
They were in her backpack. The one with an identification card that listed her name and address. The one that Sky had taken from her. The one that Johnson could just as easily take from him.
This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
For a moment she didn’t move, just stood frozen in place unsure of what to do.
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course you’re sure. If you don’t get out of here soon, Johnson won’t have to use the identification card to find you, because you’ll be dead.” She muttered the words as she hurried to the window and peered outside.
Rain still poured from the steel-gray sky, the sound masking any noise she might make as she dropped to the ground. For a moment she hesitated, her mind conjuring an image of Sky as he’d looked when he’d stood between Johnson’s gun and Martha. Fierce, protective. Heroic. Would he be blamed for Martha’s escape? Would he be hurt because of her?
She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. Sky knew what he was doing, and whatever it was had only become more complicated because of Martha’s presence. Without her to worry about, he could easily do whatever it took to survive. She knew it as surely as she knew that staying and waiting for him to return might get them both killed.
She eyed the tufts of overgrown grass that were fifteen feet below, scanned the area, then hoisted herself onto the window ledge.
“Lord, I just need a little head start. Can You help me with that? Because I’m pretty sure that on my own, I’m in big trouble. And while You’re at it, could You watch out for Sky, too?” She whispered the prayer as she twisted, grabbed the windowsill and slid out into the rain. Suspended by her throbbing fingers, she took a deep breath and willed herself to drop.

FOUR
Tristan glanced at his watch as Buddy pulled a sleek M16 from a box Johnson handed him and held it up for his audience—a ragtag group of militia men from various organizations around the area. The auction was underway and in two minutes an organized team of law enforcement officials would stream from the woods and take everyone present into custody. It was what Tristan had spent months working toward. Knowing it was about to happen should have filled him with satisfaction. Instead, he was worried. If guns were fired, if bullets flew, Martha Gabler was a sitting duck. The trailer she was in offered about as much protection from Buddy’s arsenal of weapons as a sheet of aluminum foil.
He waited until Johnson stepped into a back room to retrieve another case of weapons, then slipped from his position at the back of the crowd and walked out the open cabin door. By the time Johnson realized he was gone, Tristan would have Martha out of the trailer and to safety.
That was the plan anyway. Tristan prayed it would go off without a hitch.
He jogged across the clearing, planning to open the front door of the trailer and hustle Martha out. Before he reached the steps, a muffled scream and quiet splash sounded above the pouring rain.
Apparently the woman he’d dubbed Sunshine hadn’t needed his help escaping after all.
Tristan switched directions, racing around the side of the trailer just in time to see Martha struggling to her feet. He didn’t give her time to react, just lunged forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the trees. “Next time you attempt an escape, you might want to keep the volume down.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time, because if I live through this one I’m never leaving my house again.” Her teeth chattered on the last word, her face devoid of color.
“You’re going to be fine, Sunshine.” He’d barely gotten the words out when the world exploded. Gunfire. Shouts. White-hot pain sliced through his upper arm, warm blood seeping down his bicep. Dark figures swarmed from the trees, surrounding them as Martha screamed.
“Freeze! Police! Hands on your head. Down on the ground. Down! Down! Do it now.”
Tristan did as he was commanded, pulling Martha with him. Cold, wet earth seeping through his clothes. It was over. Martha was alive. He was alive. God had gotten them both through. The rest was gravy.
An officer frisked him, cuffed him and pulled him to his feet, calling in a request for hospital transport as he eyed the blood seeping down Tristan’s arm. Tristan barely heard. He was looking around, searching for something he didn’t see. Someone he didn’t see. Martha stood a few feet away surrounded by uniformed men and women. Her baseball cap gone, her hair plastered against her pale face, mud streaking her cheeks. She must have sensed his gaze, because she met his eyes, tried to smile, but failed.
Tristan wasn’t smiling, either.
Something was wrong. Really wrong.
No way had law enforcement started the gunfight. Someone else had pulled a weapon, and Tristan was certain he knew who that someone was. Gordon Johnson had no qualms about shooting a man in the back. No doubt he’d been intent on doing just that. And no doubt he would have been successful if his aim hadn’t been ruined by…what? A gunshot wound?
Tristan turned to the police officer. “Who started the gunfight? Your men? Did they shoot someone?”
“We’re the ones asking the questions here.”
The officer shoved Tristan forward, apparently not knowing Tristan was one of the good guys and not caring that blood was seeping down his arm, or that the bone was most likely broken.
Tristan couldn’t say he blamed the guy. The guns being auctioned today were the latest in advanced armor-busting weaponry. The kind that killed cops.
“Look, if the guy who shot me isn’t in custody, you’d better make sure you find him. He’s Buddy’s right-hand man. If he escapes, there’s going to be trouble.”
The officer stopped walking and turned to Tristan, something flashing in his eyes. Maybe concern. Maybe recognition of Tristan’s humanity. Whatever it was, he shrugged. “The guy was coming around the trailer with his gun drawn as we were moving in. Must have seen something that spooked him because he jumped back behind it just as he fired.”
“And he’s not in custody?”
“Couldn’t tell you. Seems to me, though, that you should be a little bit more concerned about yourself and less concerned about your buddy.”
“He’s not my buddy.” Tristan couldn’t say more. Not here. Maintaining cover until he was brought away in handcuffs was part of his job. If the wrong person saw him being chummy with cops, he’d have a difficult time working undercover again.
“Right.” The officer said something to one of the other uniforms, and walked away.
Tristan tried to relax. Tried to tell himself that he’d accomplished his goal—Martha was safe.
He didn’t believe it. Not if Johnson had escaped. The man didn’t believe in leaving loose ends, and Martha was definitely that.
He grimaced at the thought, blood seeping in warm rivulets into his palm, his head swimming as the officer he’d been left with marched him toward the other handcuffed felons in the center of the clearing.
Officers and agents milled around, relaxed. Smiling. Box after box of weapons were being numbered and photographed. Thousands of dollars’ worth of death confiscated. Hundreds of lives saved. The raid had been a success. A huge one.
Tristan should be happy. He wasn’t.
It was over, but not over.
The knowledge edged out pain and frustration, his worry throbbing hotly as he was escorted to an ATV and taken to the main road.

It was over. Marti told herself that again and again as she sat in a small room at the Lynchburg Police Department, visions of cold-eyed killers and blood filling her head. Her hands trembled as she lifted the cup of coffee a female officer had brought in forty minutes ago. Forty minutes. It seemed like hours.
She stood, testing her still-shaky legs as she moved to the door. They held her weight. Barely. Since the moment she’d turned and seen blood seeping from Sky’s upper arm, her body seemed to have a mind of its own, her muscles loose, her limbs ungainly. Shaky, unsure, out of sync with her brain. It was like walking in a dream or a nightmare. Only she wasn’t asleep.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Martha stepped back as a stocky, dark-haired man strode into the room, his expression neutral. “Ms. Gabler? I’m Officer Miller. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“It’s okay.”
“Can I get you something else to drink? A soda? Water?”
“No. Thanks. I’d just like to go home.”
“We’ll let you go soon. Right now, I need you to tell me what happened this afternoon.”
Tell him what happened? Martha wasn’t even sure she knew what had happened. One minute she’d been stepping into her dad’s hunting cabin, the next she’d been running. Guns going off, men shouting. Total chaos. Sky bleeding. She shuddered, taking a seat again. “I just wanted to spend a weekend in the mountains.”
She told the rest as quickly as she could, filling in as many details as she remembered until her words ran out and she had nothing more to say. “That’s it.”
“Great.” Officer Miller looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in. “I think that’s all I need. Let me just check on a few more things and we’ll get you out of here.”
“Before you go, I was wondering, is Sky okay?”
“Sky?”
“He was shot in the arm.”
“Sky. Right. He should be fine.”
“Should be fine? How bad was his injury?”
“As far as I know, it’s not life threatening.”
“But—”
“Ma’am, you’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home. Give me a few minutes and I’ll make sure that happens.” He cut her off, closing the notebook and leaving the room, firmly ending the conversation.
Which should have been fine with Martha.
After all, he’d said Sky’s injuries weren’t life threatening. She didn’t need any more information than that. As long as he hadn’t died trying to save her, she should be willing to let the matter drop.
She wasn’t. She wanted to know more. Was Sky in jail? Was he going to be charged with a felony?
How had a guy who’d willingly risked his life for a stranger ended up a criminal? It took uncommon courage to step between a bullet and another person. It took valor. Heroism. It took the kind of grit most people didn’t have.
Sky had it, yet he’d been in the mountains to buy illegal weapons. That’s what Martha had been told by police, and she’d seen the evidence of those weapons as officers led her to waiting vehicles. Still, the gunrunning militia member didn’t seem to mesh with the courageous hero, and the dichotomy bothered Martha.
She shook her head, forcing her mind away from Sky Davis. Hero or not, he’d committed a crime. He was going to pay for it, and she was going to forget him and move on with her life.
She really was.
She was still telling herself that as Officer Miller returned and escorted her outside into the cool gray evening. Her car was still parked in the mountains where she’d left it, so she accepted Miller’s offer of a ride. Her only other choice was to call her father or a friend, and either of those options would have involved explaining everything that had happened.
She didn’t want to go there again tonight.
Tomorrow, she’d find someone to help her get her car.
Tomorrow, she’d tell everyone about her experience.
Tonight, she’d just pretend that her life hadn’t changed. That she hadn’t become a different person. A person who suddenly understood her own limitations. Her own mortality.
Dusk tinged the white siding of Martha’s story-and-a-half blue-gray Victorian and shadowed the small front porch with darkness as Officer Miller pulled up the dirt driveway. Cute and quaint when the sun was bright, the place looked lonely and old in the twilight.
Martha hesitated as Miller pulled her door open, suddenly not so sure she wanted to be alone.
“You live here by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I should call someone to come stay with you. A friend? Relative? Boyfriend?” His dark eyes scanned her face, and Martha wondered what he saw. Certainly not the delicate fragility that embodied so many of her female friends. She was more likely to be called tough than vulnerable, strong than weak. Sometimes she thought that was a good thing. She didn’t want or need to be taken care of by anyone. Other times, like now, she wished she looked a little more like a delicate rose than a hardy dandelion. Then maybe Officer Miller would have taken the decision out of her hands instead of giving her a choice.
Because, really, there was no choice. Dad had taught her to face her fears head-on, not to rely on others when she could just as easily depend on herself. She’d learned the lesson well. “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.”
“All right. Here’s my business card. Call me if you have any questions.” He walked her to the door, watching as she lifted the welcome mat and pulled out the spare key.
“Might be best not to leave that there anymore. It’s the first place an intruder will look if he’s trying to get in.”
Twenty-four hours ago, Marti would have scoffed at the idea of someone wanting to break into her modest home. Now, she could imagine it happening; imagine a man skulking in the nearby woods, waiting until the lights went out and then creeping up onto the porch. She shuddered. “I won’t.”
Her hand shook as she shoved the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Safely inside, she offered Officer Miller a quick wave, then shut the door and locked it again. Maybe she should put the couch in front of it, too. Just for a little added security.
Of course, that would mean she’d also need to block all the windows. And the back door. Maybe even the chimney.
“You are not going to turn paranoid because of what happened. You’re not.”
She spoke out loud as she turned on the table lamps, letting their bright yellow glow chase away some of the shadows. This was her house. Her safe haven. A place she’d bought because of its peaceful ambience and tranquil setting. She wasn’t going to let Gordon Johnson or his boss take that away from her.
Tomorrow would be a whole new day. The sun would come up. The sky would lighten, and today’s nightmare would fade from memory. Until then, she’d just cling to the knowledge that God was with her, that He hadn’t saved her life for nothing. He’d keep her safe. No matter how dark the night, or how dangerous the monsters that lurked in it.

FIVE
The phone rang just after seven Sunday morning, dragging Marti from restless, nightmare-filled sleep. She scowled as the answering machine picked up and Jennifer Gardner’s soft southern drawl filled the room. “Marti? Jenny, here. I heard what happened Friday and was calling to see if you needed me to fill in on nursery duty for you. Adam and I just got back from Cancún. It was absolutely the most relaxing, fantastic place to honeymoon. Maybe you and Brian…Oh, I am so sorry. I did hear that the two of you broke up.” Her pause was dramatic and typical Jennifer. Marti could almost imagine the dark-haired beauty pressing the phone close to her ear, hoping Marti would feel compelled to answer.
She didn’t.
She’d spent the previous day fielding calls from friends, acquaintances, local newspaper reporters. She did not plan to add to that by explaining the situation to Jennifer, who, if she’d taken the time to check things out, would have realized that Martha had found someone to replace her in the nursery as soon as she’d decided to spend the weekend in the mountains.
“Marti? Are you there? You do know you’re signed up to work in the toddler nursery, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know. And, no, I don’t need anyone to fill in for me. Even if I did, I wouldn’t ask a lacquer-nailed, overly hair-sprayed former homecoming queen who knows as much about kids as I do about curling irons.” Marti muttered the words as she turned down the volume of the answering machine, muting the rest of Jennifer’s long message.
Her attitude stunk, and Martha knew it, but she seemed helpless to get a handle on her irritation. Chalk it up to lack of sleep, or too many nightmares. Whatever the case, there was no way she planned to spend another day answering the phone and being nice to people who were more interested in gossip than in her well-being. She was going out. Not just out. She was going to church. At least there most of the people truly cared about how she was doing.
She grabbed a dress from her closet, barely noticing the color or style as she hurried to shower and change. Her ears strained for sounds that didn’t belong, her heart pounding a quick, erratic beat. No matter how many times she told herself she was safe, she couldn’t seem to shake the fear that had been nipping at her heels all weekend.
When she was a kid, she hadn’t been afraid of monsters under the bed or bogeymen in closets. It seemed ironic that she was now. Every noise, every shadow made her jump. Every night was filled with potential danger.
Worse, her hands were still shaking, her pulled-back nails throbbing as she grabbed a brush and raked it through her hair. The pain reminded her of the desperate moments in the trailer; the danger just outside the metal prison she’d been trapped in. Johnson’s dead eyes staring at her. Memorizing her.
Her heart leaped at the thought, and she took a deep breath. Johnson was surely in jail now. She would never see him again. The thought should have been comforting, but wasn’t. She swept blush across her cheeks, hoping to liven her pale face. It didn’t help. She still looked pale. Still looked scared. But she was going to church.
Because there was no way she was going to let fear control her. She smiled at her reflection. There. That was better. All she had to do was pretend she was fine. Eventually, she’d believe it.
She grabbed her purse and Bible. A few hours away from the house would be good for her. Maybe after church she’d visit Sue and Dad, beg a home-cooked meal off them. At least then she wouldn’t have to be alone.
Until tonight. When it was dark again and memories of gunshots and blood filled her dreams.
She shuddered, stepping out into cool, crisp air.
“You clean up good, Sunshine.” The deep rumble cut through the morning quiet, and Marti whirled toward the speaker. Tall. Light hair. Icy blue eyes that raked her from head to toe. A slight smile curving firm lips. Left arm in a sling that couldn’t hide the thick muscles of biceps and shoulders.
“Sky?”
“Actually, it’s Tristan. Tristan Sinclair.” He moved up the porch stairs, and Marti took a step back, not sure if she should run into the house or stand her ground. He’d saved her life, but he’d also been responsible for dragging her through the mountains with Gordon Johnson. He was a militia member. A man who dealt in illegal weapons. Who hung out with murderers and felons. Who was supposed to be in jail.
“What do you want? Why aren’t you in prison?”
“To make sure you’re safe, and because I didn’t commit a crime.”
“You were in the mountains to buy illegal weapons. That’s a felony.”
“It would be if that’s what I had been doing.”
“So you’re saying you weren’t?”
“I’m saying things aren’t always what they seem. Now, how about we go inside to discuss this?”
“Anything we need to say can be said out here.”
“It can be, but that might not be for the best. You’re not safe, Sunshine. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
“Is that a threat?” Her heart slammed a quick, hard beat as she reached for the doorknob. He was close, but not so close that she couldn’t get inside the house and lock the door before he grabbed her. She hoped.
“It’s a warning. Gordon Johnson escaped into the mountains Friday. He still hasn’t been apprehended.”
Johnson had escaped? A shiver of fear raced up Marti’s spine. “Why didn’t the police tell me this?”
“You’ll have to ask them that.”
“I will.” The hollow thud of her heart echoed in her ears as she turned and shoved the door open. Of all the men she’d run into Friday, Johnson was the one she most feared. The one whose lifeless eyes haunted her dreams. If he was really out there somewhere, she wanted to know. She’d call Officer Miller. He’d be able to tell her what was going on.
The soft click of the door and the quiet slide of the bolt pulled her from numb fear. Or maybe dumb fear was a better term. She’d just let the man who’d kidnapped her walk into her house!
She whirled to face Tristan.
He stood just a few feet away, leaning against the door, blocking her escape. She could run for the back door, but he’d be on her before then.
The phone! Grab the phone and call for help.
She lifted the receiver. “I’m calling the police.”
“Good idea. Tell Officer Miller I found your place just fine.”
Marti hesitated with the phone halfway to her ear. “You spoke to him?”
“He said you were asking about my injury.” He flashed white teeth, but Marti wouldn’t exactly call the expression a smile. “He also said you lived off the beaten path at the end of a dead-end street. Not the most secure house in the world. He was right.”
He was telling the truth. She knew it. What she didn’t know was why he was in her house and not in jail. She hung up the phone. “Who are you? And I don’t mean your name.”
“Tristan Sinclair. ATF agent. I was working undercover the day we ran into each other.”
ATF? It made sense. A sick, crazy kind of sense. “Ran into each other? You kidnapped me and pulled me into the biggest illegal firearms raid in a decade.” Something the newscasters had made mention of over and over again as they’d covered the story. Something everyone but Marti seemed to find fascinating.
“I kept you safe until reinforcements could come in and bring you out.”
And he’d saved her life. He didn’t point that out. Brian would have. He would have been announcing his feat to the world, making appointments with television shows and radio programs, planning a book and movie deal, telling Marti again and again how fortunate she was to have him.
“Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. You saved my life, and I really do appreciate it. Thanks.”
“You saved yourself, Sunshine. I just helped a little.”
“And got shot doing it. How’s your arm?”
“Better.”
“Than?”
“Than being dead.” He smiled, but Martha didn’t think Tristan’s potential death was amusing.
“That’s not funny.”
“No, but I’m celebrating survival, so I’m trying to find a lot to smile about.” He smiled again, and some of the tension that had been coiled inside Martha eased. It felt good to be talking to someone who knew what had happened to her and didn’t need to ask questions about it. Someone who had shared her experience and could show her how to put it in perspective.
“I guess if you can smile about it, I can, too.”
“And you should. You’ve got a beautiful smile.” His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there for a moment before he met her eyes again.
Her cheeks flamed, her heart jumped, and she resisted the urge to smooth her hair, fidget with her dress. She did not need to look good for Tristan Sinclair. Sure, he’d saved her life, but he was still a man. And men were something she’d decided less than a week ago that she could do without.
She needed to keep that in mind, or she might end up exactly where she didn’t want to be—nursing a broken heart and mourning the death of her dreams. Again. It was time to put some distance between herself and Tristan.
“Look, I hate to shove you out, but I’ve got to be at church in less than thirty minutes.”
“Good. Let’s go.” He took her arm, started walking toward the door.
That was easy. A lot easier than Martha had expected it to be. Relieved, she allowed herself to be ushered out the door and down the porch steps.
A cool breeze carried the scent of Tristan’s aftershave. Pine needles and campfire smoke, crisp fall air and winter wind. Everything outdoorsy and good. All the things Marti loved most about God’s creation.
“Thanks again for saving my life, Tristan. I know you said I saved myself, but we both know it’s not true.”
“Do we?” He took the keys from her hand, unlocked the door and carried the key chain with him as he rounded the car.
“Hey! I need those if I’m going to get to church.”
“I know. I’ll give them back to you in a second.” He opened the passenger door, slid into the car and held the keys out to her, a grin easing the hard angles of his face.
Her heart leaped, her brain froze. He was in her car. In. Her. Car. And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. She leaned in the open door, stared him in the eye, hoping she looked less flustered than she felt. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you get to church in one piece.”
“I’ve been driving to church on my own for years. I’m sure I can manage it today.”
“Unless you run into Johnson.”
“He won’t try anything in the middle of broad daylight when anyone might see him.” At least, she didn’t think he would.
“Sunshine, you don’t know much about men like Johnson. He’s not going to just forget that you saw him Friday, that you heard his name, that you could sit in court and identify him. He and I both saw your name on the card inside your pack. There’s no way he forgot it. He’s going to come after you and he’s not going to wait until it’s dark, or you’re alone, or until some time when it’s convenient for you. He’ll strike when he’s good and ready. For all either of us know, he’s ready now. Until he’s caught, you need to be careful.”
“I know I need to be careful. And I will, but that doesn’t mean having a personal bodyguard.”
“I think it does.” He grabbed her hand, tugged her farther into the car. “And since I took a bullet for you, I think I should have some say in these things.”
“I can’t believe you’re using that against me after you said I saved my own life.”
“Whatever works, Sunshine.” He tugged hard, and she almost tumbled across the seat and into his lap.
“It’s Marti, not Sunshine.” She muttered the words as she pulled away from his grip and settled into the driver’s seat.
“Right. Martha Darlene Gabler. Born September 18. Twenty-eight years old. Two and a half years of college. Working as a veterinary technician at Lakeview Veterinary Clinic. Recently engaged. Even more recently no longer engaged.”
“I’m not even surprised you know all that about me.”
“There’s more.”
“Of course there’s more. Since I know myself pretty well, and you now seem to know everything about me, let’s save some time and not rehash all the details of my boring life.”
“Who said anything about boring?”
“Compared to yours—”
“Why would you? Compare your life to mine, I mean?” He watched her with those striking eyes, leaning toward her, his body language, his posture saying he was really listening. That he really wanted to hear what she had to say.
Which was, of course, part of the courting game and meant absolutely nothing.
Courting?
As if.
Men like Tristan Sinclair did not notice women like Marti, let alone court them.
“I’m not comparing. I’m just saying that my life is pretty mundane and yours…well, yours isn’t.”
“I’ve got news for you, Marti. Your life is anything but mundane right now. And, by the time this is all over, you’re going to be wishing for boring.” The words were a grim reminder that Gordon Johnson was free, and Marti’s hands tightened into fists around the steering wheel.
“You really think Johnson is coming after me?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. Johnson is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows you’re bound to be the state’s key witness against Buddy and him. He’s going to make it his goal to keep you from testifying.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“Good. The less comfortable you are, the happier I’ll be.”
“Gee, thanks.” She shoved the keys in the ignition, but he put a hand over hers before she could start the car.
“Johnson is a cold-blooded killer, Marti. If making you uncomfortable keeps you safe from him, that’s exactly what I want to do.”
“Look, Tristan, I know you’re trying to help, but—”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture easy and warm. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
She should keep arguing, tell him to get out, remind him that she was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but something told her that Tristan Sinclair was not going to be dissuaded and that short of getting out and walking to church, Marti had no choice but to accept her unwanted passenger.
Or maybe not so unwanted.
The fact was, having Tristan around didn’t seem like such a bad thing. As she pulled up her long driveway, she imagined a million eyes watching from the woods that lined the street, a million dangers lurking just out of sight. Silly, she knew, but as real as the air she was breathing. Anyone could be hiding in the thick fall foliage, ready to jump in front of the car, shoot out a tire, force her to a stop. And if that anyone happened to be Gordon Johnson, Marti figured that having Tristan in her car might not be such a bad idea after all.

SIX
Chocolate. Cinnamon. The warmth of family mixed with the cool, crisp fall breeze.
Tristan had smelled more exotic perfumes, but none had tugged at his awareness the way Martha’s scent did. It hovered around her as he escorted her through the church parking lot and made him want to inhale, to hold the fragrance deep in his lungs, let it fill the part of him that had been emptied during the months he’d worked undercover.
A time of renewal.
He needed that as much as he needed to get the cast off his arm and get himself back into working shape.
“I’ll be fine from here.” Marti spoke quietly as they approached the church’s open front door. It seemed she actually thought he was going to leave her there.
“I know, but I think I’ll join you anyway.”
“You might want to rethink that. I’m planning to volunteer in the toddler nursery.” They might not need her there, but at least closed in the nursery, Martha knew she could avoid the questions her women’s Sunday School class was bound to ask.
“And you think that will scare me away?”
“I’ve seen lesser men felled by the prospect.”
Tristan laughed, the sound dry and a little harsh. It had been a while since he’d found anything to be truly amused about. Life as Sky Davis hadn’t been something to laugh at. “Good thing I’m not lesser men.”
She leaned back, giving him a slow appraising look that was more joke than flirtation. “Yes, it is.”
He laughed again, hooking his good arm around her waist and tugging her the last few feet to the church door. “Thanks for the laugh, Sunshine.”
“Thanks for playing bodyguard. Of course you know that as soon as church is over, I’m sending you on your way.”
“I know you’ll try.”
“Martha!” The strident male voice greeted them as they stepped into the building. The speaker, a lean blonde with hard eyes and a weak jaw, hurried toward them, his gaze on Martha. “I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.”
Marti stiffened as he approached, but her smile was pleasant. Unless Tristan missed his guess, this was the fiancé. The ex-fiancé.
“Yes. I know.”
“And you didn’t think it necessary to answer the phone, or to return the calls?”
“A lot of people were calling me, Brian. I couldn’t get to everyone.”
Brian. Yep, the ex-fiancé.
“If you organized your time better that wouldn’t be a problem. What you should have done was make a list and—”
“Prioritize. Yes, Brian. I know. Fortunately, that’s not something you need to concern yourself about anymore.” Marti smiled again, her teeth gritted in an obvious effort to keep from saying something she’d regret.
Tristan had no such compunction. “I’m sure you did prioritize, Sunshine. There’s no doubt in my mind you managed to contact the people who warranted it.”

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