No Place To Hide - Chapter Four

In the moment between one heartbeat and the next, Mitch pushed her down behind the kitchen counter with a tight grip on her shoulder.  She struggled against the pressure, freeing herself for a moment only to have him crouch beside her and growl like a rabid dog, his eyes feral and dangerous.

“Get away from me,” she snarled, scooting across the floor on her butt.  “If you didn’t bring them here, then they followed you.”  She narrowed her eyes and snapped, “Some bounty hunter you are!”  Reaching out, Mitch grabbed her ankle before she made it around the counter and dragged her toward him.  Squirming on her back, she kicked out to loosen his grip, hitting him hard in the upper arm.  His eyes blazed and lightning quick, he twisted her leg in a move that spun her onto her stomach, then he threw himself on top of her, pinning her to the floor as he wrenched the gun out of her hand.

Breath rasping, his furious whisper scorched her ear.  “You want to die? For fuck’s sake, woman, calm down.  I’m trying to help you!”  His weight was crushing, forcing her to gasp for what little air she could pull into her lungs.  “Get off,” she panted, the words almost lost in the commotion coming from the front as the two men began to kick at the door.  Mitch rolled off her body, but kept her down with a large hand in the middle of her back.  They could hear the deep growls escalating in the hallway.  Ace could handle most situations, but he was just as vulnerable to a bullet as anyone else. She fought to break away from Mitch’s hold, hissing low and furious, “Ace.”

He rolled her over, one arm tightening around her waist before whistling a soft bird-like trill that brought Ace charging into the kitchen and skidding around the counter where he dropped to his belly and wedged himself beside her, his massive body vibrating with the need to protect her.  Flinging Mitch’s arm off, she rolled toward Ace and buried a hand in his ruff, grateful to have him close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mitch muttered as he popped the clip out of her gun, checked it was stacked, then slammed it home.  “This is my punishment for messing around, losing sight of the objective.”  He made to stand and move toward the door, but she grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked hard.  “You’re not leaving me without a weapon.”  He shook her loose, his words sharp with authority.  “You will stay here while I take care of this.”

If her house wasn’t currently being attacked by unknown assailants , she would have shrieked with frustration and made every effort to beat the crap out of the arrogant jerk to get her gun back.  Years—four long, bitter years—she’d taken care of herself, prepared, trained, expecting the worst while she stayed off the grid, flew under the radar.  She might not have a love life, friends or family, but by god she’d had her dog, her weapons, and the intelligence to keep the devil from her door.

Until today.  And this man.  This pushy, overbearing ass had not only brought the devil right to her, but left her weaponless and trapped in her own damned kitchen.  She unfastened the strap on her knife sheath and went after him.

It was quiet.  Too quiet, Mitch considered as he crouched at the edge of the kitchen doorway and risked a quick look down the hall just as the front door burst open, smashing roughly into the wall.  Fury rose as he watched the door swing wildly back and forth, the thought of her dealing with this on her own adding fuel to his rage.  What if he hadn’t gotten here first?  His head snapped around when she dropped down next to him, and he fumed that she hadn’t listened to him. Again.  Her face was a blank, emotionless mask of cold detachment, then they locked eyes and he saw the truth.  She burned, her anger red-hot and palpable.  He wasn’t at all sure at that moment, looking down at her fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of her knife, if she wanted to stick him first or the intruders.

“Give me my gun.”

“No.”

Her glower could have shattered concrete.  “Hand over the weapon.”  When he ignored her, she had her knife under his jacket and pressed against his body before he could draw another breath.

“Goddamn it, can you just hold on a fucking minute?”

“Not without a weapon.”  She pressed the blade.

Mitch snorted.  “You’ve got a weapon, it’s sticking into my ribs.”

“I have to be close to use it.  I don’t like close.”

Dipping low, he spoke in her ear, quiet and soft.  “Use your head, honey.  We can’t fight what we don’t know.  Judging by the shouting, breaking in the door, we’ve got at least two guys who don’t care about being polite and friendly.”

“I’m not feeling too polite myself right now.” 

He shook his head.  “I’m not putting you in the line of fire.”

Her turn for a head shake, anger flaring hotter as she whispered sharply, “I’m not your business, Cartwright.”  She gave the knife a slight twist.  “If you hadn’t come back, I would be long gone by now instead of trapped in my own fucking house,” she grated.  “Enough. I want my gun.”

Mitch edged back a step, relieved as she sheathed her blade, but it was relief short-lived when she held out a hand, her glare assuring him she wasn’t going to back off without a fight.  He had no idea what had happened to hone her into the woman facing him down, though he fully intended to find out.  Unfortunately, that would have to wait as the hushed murmur of voices refocused his attention on the front porch. 

Trying to resist the need to keep her safe, he slapped the Ruger into her waiting hand.  “Back to Ace.  Now.”  Mitch expected her to start shooting, but she spun away without an argument and disappeared behind the counter.  He shot a quick glance down the hall before following her to the kitchen.  Striding toward the door, he grabbed the rifle propped beside it, twisted the knob and quietly eased the door open.  Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as she checked her pistol before wrapping her free hand firmly in Ace’s collar.  Both woman and dog stared fixedly at him.  The moment was significant in ways he didn’t understand.

The sound of boots treading closer jerked him back to reality.  Pointing a finger at her, he mouthed, “wait here” and slid out the door.

The second it was shut, she was throwing on her jacket.  Pulling both packs off the counter, she quickly adjusted the saddlebags over Ace’s back, strapping them securely around his girth before moving to the back door with her own gear.  Slipping out, she signaled Ace to guard, dropped her pack beside him and followed Mitch.

Moving silently, her back against the side of the house, she clutched her gun and edged toward the front.  She could hear men talking, one voice agitated, one sounding furious, another laughing.  She froze when Mitch said in a cold, hard voice, “What the fuck, Solares. You know this is a Cartwright retrieval. What kind of bullshit move is this?”  At his next words, the rush of disbelief and anger that roiled in her belly convinced her she’d not only been an utter fool to think of trusting this man, but it was well past time to escape.  “You maybe thinking to fuck up my contract?”  Someone began a heated reply in a rapid-fire Hispanic accent.

She didn’t wait to hear more.  He’d played her like a banjo.  Pluck, pluck here and twang, twang there.  She’d fallen for every move, every sincere look and hot kiss.  Her cheeks flamed and if she hadn’t been outgunned, she would have shot him where he stood, talking to his cronies, no doubt fellow bounty hunters, or contract killers, or whoever the bloody damn hell they all were. Shit!  If not for her determination to get her Ruger back, she’d have been virtually weaponless. He even had her rifle now. The bastard had disarmed her on every level.

Moving back to Ace, she gave him the command gesture for stealth, slid both arms into her pack and they quickly walked down the back steps, circled the garden and entered the thick forest behind the house.  Her feet glided over the heavy bed of pine needles, leaving no trace of their passing, one of the main reasons she’d bought the cabin in the first place.  Falling for centuries, covering the ground nearly a foot deep with fragrant, durable needles, not even the best tracker would be able to follow their trail.

At first her outrage and fury kept her moving, then embarrassment and humiliation fueled her for another hour as she followed Ace through the dark wilderness, guided by the little beacon affixed to his pack, until the three-quarter moon rose over the mountains. 

Calmer now, anger and shame just a bitter taste in her mouth, she softly whispered to Ace.  He stopped immediately, turned and pressed into her thigh as if he knew she needed comfort.  Crouching, she wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into the soft fur at his neck.  Ace.  Her one and only, a true friend, her family.  Tears burned at the back of her throat but she wasn’t about to let them fall.  Screw that.  She’d learned a valuable, painful lesson today, one she wouldn’t forget any time soon.

Unzipping one of the pockets on Ace’s saddlebags, she dug out a bottle of water and filled his travel container.  He eagerly lapped it up, then crunched a large dog biscuit as she shrugged off her backpack and sat down, resting against the trunk of a tall pine.  The late September air was chilly in the mountains though the hike—and her mortification—had helped to keep her warm.  It was getting cold, but they were nearing the forest service cabin now and she wanted to stop for a break, make sure no one was following before the last push, just one more mile, then she could settle in for the night. After taking a long drink of water, she rubbed a hand over her face, fatigue washing over her. It had all happened so fast today.  One minute she was making cookies, the next her life was in tatters at her feet.  She should be used to the feeling, it certainly wasn’t new after four years on the run, but each time felt like she'd dropped one level deeper in her own personal hell.

Sighing, she finished off the water and tucked the empty bottle back into the saddlebag.  She was tired, like really tired.  And not just from the hike tonight, but from everything.  She needed time, to think, plan, figure out what to do next.  Tipping her head back, she caught the bright twinkle of stars between the long branches, the sight jamming her throat with a raw, aching pain.  Oh, if only wishing on a star could change things.  It hurt so much to remember that once she’d had a home, happiness, a life.

Ace stirred at her side, looking into the trees. She held her breath, closed her eyes to concentrate on the night sounds, but other than a soft, throaty rumble from Ace, nothing in the forest seemed alarming.  “Silly boy,” she murmured, scratching behind his ear.  “You’re hearing ghosts.”

“No ghosts.  Just a very pissed off guy who told you to wait,” the voice growled out of the darkness.

No Place To Hide - Chapter Three

“What—” She stopped, swallowed the shock as her brain tried to wrap around the fact that somehow this man had done the impossible.  “What have you done to my dog?” she hissed.  Visions of leaping across the distance between them and pounding him into a bloody pulp made her smile, though it was more a baring of teeth and must have conveyed a small measure of her fury because his irritating grin abruptly turned to a scowl.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“He’s been trained to—”

Shoving the huge dog off his lap, the guy got to his feet.  “I know what he’s been trained to do.”  He put a large hand on the dog’s head, her anger rising as she watched Ace lean into the man’s hip like it was an everyday occurrence.  “I’m the one who trained him.  He’s my dog.”

She blinked.  Shaking her head, she growled, “What are you talking about?  I bought Ace from Mike two years ago in Montana, and I've got the papers to prove it.”  Her eyes were lit with fire.  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with if you think for one single goddamn minute you’re going to take my dog.”  Raising the Ruger, she thumbed off the safety and aimed.

The bastard laughed, completely unfazed by her gun pointed at his chest.  “He was my dog first and Mike shouldn't have sold him without my okay, but I’m willing to discuss terms of ownership.”

“Really?  You think this is funny?”  She took a step toward him, almost against her will, but the urge to do some damage was overtaking her smarts.  “He’s my dog!  Mine!”  She really would shoot him if he tried to take her boy.  “Ace! To me!”  And damn if her dog didn’t first look to the man for permission before trotting to her.  Once he was sitting at her side, she wrapped a tight fist in his collar and focused on the guy.  Leaning casually against the house, arms crossed over his chest, he returned the scrutiny, his eyes covering her body, her face, settling on her mouth.  She felt a wave of heat rise from her neck to flame across her cheeks. She knew he saw it, couldn't mistake the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured, “glad it’s not just me.”

Who was this jerk?  It didn’t matter, she’d had enough.  With a calm she definitely didn’t feel, she said quietly, “Can’t read, doesn’t understand English, and now plays the sex card.”  She shook her head.  “Neanderthal isn’t on my list of desirable assets in a man.”

Cocking his head, he ignored her sarcasm, an intent look of interest on his face.  “You have a list of desires?”

“That’s not what I meant!” she snapped, then scowled when he smiled.  Taking a deep breath, she tried a rational approach.  “Look, I don’t know how you tracked me down, but really, I don’t want or need your help. I do just fine on my own.  So for the last time, go away.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “I’m seriously warning you now.  Get off my property and stay off.  If I see you again, I won’t hesitate to take action.”

As if his brain hadn’t heard a word she’d just said, his voice deepened as he asked, “What kind of desires?”

“Oh my god!”  She stepped to the screen door, opened it and shooed Ace through before shutting him inside.  Ignoring his whine, she turned back to the man and was startled to find he had moved right behind her.  Standing so near, she had to tip her head back to look at him.  Up close, his eyes were magnetic, sucking her in, trying to drown her in the blue depths of his gaze.  Fighting the pull, she barked, “I’m about one second from kicking your ass, buddy, so I’d advise you to get going while you can still walk out of here with functioning man parts.”

He smiled, and against her will tremors flowed down her body, a low, almost painful stab of need awakening deep inside her.  What was wrong with her?  Okay, so it had been a while since she’d been with a man—a really, really long while—but this wasn’t happening, and sure as hell wasn’t happening with him.

Lazily, voice deep and rumbling. “Think you can take me?”  He waggled his eyebrows, swept his eyes over her body, then lifted his hands and beckoned her with his fingers in a come-on gesture.

She returned the head to toe appraisal, taking her time, scanning from his scuffed boots to his tousled dark hair before meeting his eyes again.  “Let me count the ways.”  Wait. Did that come out wrong?

His laugh was as big as he was, boisterous and loud.  Genuine.  And against her will, she felt a smile tug at her lips.  When his gaze settled on her smile, or more accurately her mouth, heat flared between them like static electricity.  She tried to step back, break the unwanted connection, but he reached out and with a large hand snared her upper arm.  “You can take me any way you want, beautiful, but unfortunately, not right now.  We really need to motivate.”

She tried to wrench out of his grasp.  “How many times do I have to say this?  I’m not going anywhere with you, you damn lunatic!”

He pulled her close, wrapping large fingers around her pistol hand before pointing the weapon at the ground. Drawing her against his body, he held her with a strong arm around her lower back, then said softly when she glared up at him, “Name’s Mitch, Mitch Cartwright.  And yeah, honey, you are going with me. We’ve wasted enough time, should have taken you out of here earlier.”

Struggling, she realized, was pointless.  He just tightened his hold.  Now she was pressed so close, she could feel the zipper on his jacket pressing down the length of her torso, ending in what was either a very substantial weapon tucked in his jeans or an incredible erection.  Maybe one and the same.  Gulping, she tipped her pelvis away from the contact.  “Let me go.”  Her voice wobbled.

“I don’t want to,” he murmured, dropping his head into her neck.  She felt the slow inhale as he breathed in her scent, sending shivers down her spine.  “God, you smell like cookies.”  Brain disconnected from mouth, she whispered inanely, “I baked some today.”

He chuckled into her ear and said softly, “I’m thinking you smell this good even on days you don’t bake.”  He pulled her close again, his arousal straining as he rode the shiver that coursed down her body.  Teeth gently nibbled her ear lobe, then he paused just a breath from her mouth and said, “And I can’t wait to test that theory.”  He sighed and stepped back.  “But not now.  Now we leave.”

Slightly dazed, she felt like she’d just staggered off a ship after a turbulent voyage when he released her.  The ground didn’t seem steady under her feet and neither did her thoughts.  He turned her toward the front door, opened the screen and propelled her through, coming up behind her, closing and locking both doors.  With a low, two-note whistle, he instantly had Ace standing at attention guarding the front.  His actions abruptly reminded her that somehow he’d taken control, not just over her, but also her dog.  In a heartbeat she was clear-headed and angry.  Losing Ace just wasn’t going to happen, no matter what steps she had to take to ensure that.

When he tried to move down the hallway, she stepped in front of him, gun again lifted in his direction.  Eyes burning with resolve, she said fiercely, “You can’t have me, and you sure as hell can’t have my dog.”  She narrowed her eyes, then hissed, “And stop bossing me around.” 

Moving right into her, he put big hands on her shoulders, ignored the pistol and backed her into the kitchen.  “I should maybe warn you, baby, that every time you get all pissed and point that thing at me, I get hard.”  Without thinking, her eyes immediately dropped to his groin and yeah, there it was.  “I never knew I was into bloodthirsty women,” he grinned.  “I’ll probably need therapy when this is over,” he muttered, “won’t be able to get it up unless you point weapons at me.”

“I’ll quit pointing my pistol at you,” she dropped her gaze to his crotch for a moment, then raised her eyes to meet his, “if you stop pointing yours at me.”  Ignoring his burst of laughter, she glared. “You need to back off.  I don’t want any part of you or your…arsenal.”

Grinning, he leaned in and whispered, “I bet there’s at least one part of you that does.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, her tart reply ruined by the breathless way the words came out of her mouth even as she thumbed the safety and tucked the pistol at the small of her back.

“I’m not being stupid.”  He held her gaze, his tone slightly puzzled.  “Honestly, I don’t know what this is,” he said, waving a hand between them.  “It could be your sweet sugar scent, or your temper, or maybe,” he paused, looking down at her bare feet, “it could be your red toes.”  Staring at her for a moment, he said thoughtfully, “Though, I suspect it’s just…you.”

“What does that even mean?  You never met me before today!”  She glared as a new thought crossed her mind.  “Is this some kind of ploy to steal Ace?”

He reached out a hand, ran the back of his fingers down her cheek and smiled.  “How do you feel about sharing?” he teased.

“I don’t share,” she retorted.  “He’s mine.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t playing anymore. “Good to know.  I don’t share what’s mine either.”  His eyes were hot, intense and focused on her.  She felt like she was missing something, an important something, but he was talking in man-code and she didn’t understand it.

“I can’t lose Ace.”  Just the thought hurt, making her voice hoarse as she forced words past the painful lump in her throat.  “He’s all I have, Cartwright.  He’s just…all I have.”

Her admission made something shift in his chest.  Who was she, this strong, yet oddly vulnerable woman?  How had she come to be here, alone in the wilderness with just a dog for company—albeit a seriously badass dog.  “Sweetheart,” he said gently, pulling her into his arms, “you’re not going to lose Ace.”  He hugged her for a moment, then lifted her chin until she was looking up at him.  “Though we'll have to discuss visitation rights.”  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose when she frowned.  “And at the risk of going lightheaded if you point a weapon at me again, we really have to go, whether you want to come with me or not.”

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes shadowed with loss and fear.  Again he felt something shift, this time in his gut.  He decided at that moment on a new mission, one that would utterly change his world as he knew it, and strangely he didn’t care, actually looked forward to it with a rush of anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.  What he wanted to see in her eyes was burning passion as he moved inside her, the feel of her breath on his skin as she moaned his name, the afterglow of satisfaction when he held her safe in his arms.  He ached to tell her these things, take her out of harm’s way, assure her of his protection, but it was way too soon and her cautions ran deep.  As did his.  He didn’t understand what was going on between them, but this clearly wasn’t the time or place to find out.

“Get your shoes on, baby.  Tell me what needs doing, then we’re gone.”  He waited for her to move, but she stood frozen in place, staring at him with a look of bewilderment on her face.  Frowning, he said impatiently, “What?”

She blinked, shook her head, then said tersely, “How can I trust you?  You’ve commandeered my dog and now you’re just…just taking over like that’s supposed to be okay with me.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “I’d be a fool to go anywhere with a man like you.”

Quietly he asked, “Do you trust Menace?  Trust him to know good from bad?” 

“I did until you came along.”

“You trust that dog?”  He snapped the question.  Her face softened as she looked down the hall where Ace stood on high alert, then jerked her chin once.  “Okay then, get your damn shoes on woman, and tell me how you want to shut down the house.”  He gave her a long look.  “You might not be back for a while.”

Her eyes searched his implacable face, then resigned, she sat in a chair at the kitchen table and pulled on warm wool socks as she told him to lock all the windows and close the curtains, then dump the compost bucket in the garden at the back of the house. Once he was gone and she had her boots laced, she rechecked her gear, redistributed the weight a bit, and after a moment’s reflection, took two chocolate chip cookies out of one saddlebag and set them on the counter.  She was turning to close the curtains over the kitchen sink when he came in from the garden.

“Chores done.  Are we ready to...”  His voice drifted to a halt.  She looked over her shoulder and couldn’t help the smile, or the warmth that bloomed in her stomach.  He was staring at the cookies like a kid ready to die of hunger.  His eyes met hers, then a devilish grin curled his lips. “I hope those are for me,” he murmured, “otherwise there might be bloodshed.”  He reached for a cookie and took a bite that demolished half of it.  He closed his eyes while chewing and moaned.  Flushed, she turned back to the window and whisked the curtains closed, his sounds filling her head with thoughts and images she couldn't afford to dwell on.

When he’d finished the last bite, he came up behind her and bent to her ear. “Those were the best cookies I’ve ever eaten,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek.  “I love those big chunky bits of chocolate.”  He slowly turned her around.  His kiss started slow and soft, just a touch, the flavor of cookie on his lips adding an extra sweetness.  The sensation of his tongue running along her bottom lip made her gasp for breath, but he took it as invitation and with a low groan yanked her hard against his body and plundered her mouth, his tongue tasting and savoring.

Before she could think how many ways this was a bad idea, his hands were under her shirt, one large palm spread over her breast, his arousal pressing hard into her belly.  She was just sliding her arms around his neck when a deep warning growl came rolling down the hall, followed immediately by a loud pounding at the front door and two threatening male voices demanding entrance.  Shocked at the unexpected intrusion, they both went still, then she pushed him away with all her strength—a move that never would have worked if Mitch’s brain hadn't been taken over by his dick—and had her gun out in an instant.

She was furious, tense and trembling with rage—at herself, at him, at whoever was trying to beat in her door.  “You led them here?”

“No," he hissed, shoving her behind him, "I just got here first.”

No Place To Hide - Chapter Two

Mitch Cartwright stood under a large Ponderosa pine and silently watched the woman moving about the house.  She was preparing to leave.  He smiled to himself.  Good to know his instincts were still right on point.  Because even though she had an impressive poker face and appeared to have no tells that gave anything away, the fact she went stone cold whenever his words hit home was the tell.  He grinned outright, looking forward to how pissed she was going to be when he reappeared on her doorstep.

There was no way she was hightailing it out of these woods without him.  Whatever was driving her, whoever was after her, didn’t matter anymore because now that he’d gotten a good look at the mysterious woman that Mike had coerced him into finding, he would be keeping her safe, whether she liked it or not.  She might be tough, but from what his brother was hearing through his contacts, whoever was looking for her was deadly serious.  Emphasis on dead.  And he was way too intrigued to let that happen.

She was in the kitchen now, scraping what looked like burnt cookies into the garbage. Her rich, dark auburn hair was probably shoulder-length when it wasn’t piled in a messy heap on top of her head.  When she’d come out onto the porch earlier to confront him, the sunlight had shot sparks of fire off the strands, vivid and bright as the anger in her eyes.  Mitch grinned.  He thought her eyes were some shade of green, but hadn’t gotten close enough to see, although he’d had no trouble spotting those full, sweet lips.  She had a cleft in her chin that was tantalizing and yet for some odd reason also made her seem more vulnerable.  Slender but with nice curves, she’d been in jeans, a thermal tee and an oversized flannel shirt. With bare feet and painted toes.  His grin widened.  Red toes, red hair, and a red-hot temper.  Add in the weapons—because yeah, he knew she was carrying more than that rifle—and he’d just found the woman of his dreams.

He leaned against the tree trunk, eyes fastened on her movements: efficient, calm, precise.  She washed the cookie sheet and other dishes, straightened the kitchen then packaged up cookies she’d obviously baked before he’d shown up.  His mouth watered. He hoped they were chocolate chip, with the big chunks.  The cookies and other food items went into what looked like saddlebags, along with bottles of water and a large Ziploc bag of dog food.  She turned in a wide circle, like she was memorizing the space, then scrubbed her hands over her face a couple of times before shaking her head and walking out of sight.

Wanting to get closer, still trying to work out exactly how to approach her without losing body parts, he straightened away from the tree.  The low growl at his back made the hair on his nape rise in primitive awareness.  Slowly he turned, then braced as the dog padded silently toward him, head down, fangs bared, eyes filled with hungry promise.

~*~*~*~

 Thumbing through the handful of false identities, a sense of hopelessness swamped her.  She’d used them all.  Ella Bennett was her current alias, and her last.  Four years of running, hiding, endlessly starting over and yet she’d never imagined this moment, never thought there would come a time when she’d be out of options. She’d read once that—just in America alone—over a million people disappeared every year and were never heard from again.  How was it possible then that no matter what she did, how many names she’d used, places she’d left behind…here she stood, found in the middle of the freaking wilderness.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she shuffled through the drivers’ licenses, Social Security cards, birth certificates.  Chloe had long blond hair—a wig that had itched like crazy—and blue eyes, contacts that also irritated by the end of each day.  Sara had been a brunette, with brown eyes, frumpy clothes and wire rim glasses.  Jane, blond again, hair short and spiky, blue-gray contacts.  Marissa, long black wig, brown eyes, lots of tats and piercings, all fake.  Ella had been as close to her real self as she’d been in years: her own auburn hair and hazel eyes.  She raised her head and stared across the bedroom into the mirror above the dresser.  Her face was leaner, eyes calculating and sharp, body honed.  There was nothing left of fashionable Katherine Lancaster, concierge extraordinaire for the exclusive Fordyce Hotel in Washington, D.C.  That woman was well and truly gone.

Stomach churning as she forced the memories away, she shoved her alter egos back into the small zippered pouch, then into the side pocket of a leather pack.  Grabbing underwear, socks, another pair of jeans, two sweaters and a thermal shirt, she crammed them into the bag as well, then walked into the bathroom.  She filled a small cloth make-up case with bathroom essentials, then grabbing a handful of hair ties, a brush and the first aid kit, she walked to the bed and stuffed everything into the pack with the other items.  After another long look around, her heart aching at having to leave a place she’d finally thought would be her home, she went back to the kitchen and dropped the pack next to the saddlebags.

The plan was to leave as soon as it got dark. She wasn’t leaving in her car, or going down the drive to the highway, just in case Scary Biker Dude was out there somewhere on the road waiting for her. In the nearly two years she’d lived in her cabin, she and Ace had hiked, camped and explored the area for miles in every direction.  She had an escape route in case of emergency, a safe passage through the forest that she’d never thought would be necessary, not after all this time.  So stupid.  And stupid would get her killed if she didn’t get her head back in the game.

Opening the hall closet, she punched in the code for the safe and took out three boxes of ammo for her pistol, two extra clips and a box of bullets for the rifle, stashing everything in the pockets of her winter parka along with a small gun cleaning kit she’d found in Montana at a military supply store. Her eyes closed as another glimpse into the past bubbled to the surface.

Missoula.  Running on empty, no idea where to go after leaving Wichita two days before, she’d been reading the local newspaper at a diner on the outskirts of town.  She always had a book or a paper when she was in a public place.  It kept people away and gave her a reason to keep her head down.  On that day, eating a piece of very tasty cherry pie, she read an ad for survival training being taught in the Rocky Mountains at a compound close to the Montana/Canadian border; an intensive three-week program, catering to body guards, security personnel and retrieval agents.  She finished her pie and drove north.

It had taken some serious convincing, but eventually Mike had let her take the course.  It had been a defining moment for her, changing everything.  Mike said she was a natural, Lisa argued that it was time women were included in their training program.  And she'd learned how to survive in almost any situation.  Against her better judgment she’d stayed on for a few weeks after the course finished because she really liked Mike and Lisa and it had been so long since she’d allowed herself to make friends.  She helped out around the compound, then one day discovered the kennels.  One look shared between her and a two-year-old Rottweiler named Menace and the rest was history.  Mike said the dog was promised to someone else, but when he saw the instant connection, he gave in.  It took a huge chunk of change, but she didn’t regret a penny.  He was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

When Mike and Lisa tried to get her to open up, made overtures that she could stay and work for them, she knew it was time to go.  It was hard, almost too hard.  She’d made her first friends in years, but she also realized her mistake.  Her life had been reduced to a few simple rules:  Head down, keep moving, no contact, but for a brief moment in time she'd forgotten all three.

Shaking her head to dislodge the thoughts, she lifted out the last bundle of cash.  The twenty thousand would have kept her safe in her forest hideaway for a long time, but now she had to move and with no destination in mind, no ID to cover her ass—which meant finding someone to make a new set—the money was going to be gone before she knew it.  With a sigh, she closed the safe and grabbed her jacket, gloves, wool scarf and hat.  Dumping them on the kitchen counter next to the rest of the gear, she glanced out the window at the gathering dusk.  Almost time to leave.  Going to the back door, she whistled for Ace, surprised he wasn’t already waiting on the porch.  With a frown when he didn’t come bounding into the house, she paused, trying to think how long it had been since she’s seen him.

Maybe twenty minutes?  While cleaning the kitchen she’d watched him chase a squirrel around the side of the house, then before going into the bedroom to pack, she’d seen him stalking something in the woods by the big Ponderosa pine.  Still, no matter the temptations, it wasn’t like him not to come running the minute she whistled or called.

She walked to the front door, opened it and pushed the screen.  Even in the forest gloom, the bright white card that Scary Biker Guy had flicked at her seemed to glow on the landing.  She bent to pick it up, then heard an odd snuffling noise to her right.  Her hand whipped to her back, the Ruger out and pointed before she had fully straightened.

The sight before her was so strange and inexplicable, she froze in jaw-dropping astonishment.

Her dog.  Her beloved partner was laying on his back, feet in the air, all one hundred and thirty pounds of lethal sprawled across Scary Biker Guy’s lap.  The guy who was currently sitting on the porch, lounging with his back against her house, rubbing Ace’s stomach while the dog's tongue hung nearly to the ground in rapturous joy.  But it was the man's wicked grin and his expression as he held her gaze that made her finger itch to shoot the smug right off the rat bastard's face.

No Place To Hide - Chapter One

     As she started to pull the last cookie sheet out of the oven, the soft purr of a motorcycle in the distance sent ice down her spine while the blast of heat from the oven billowed around her.  The combination made her whole body shiver.  Closing her eyes, she focused, quickly estimating sound and location, judging how much time she had.  When the purr grew louder—Harley by the throaty rumble—she spun, tossed the cookie sheet into the sink and ran toward the hall, Menace on her heels, his deep growl announcing that someone was determined enough to ignore the No Trespassing signs, the double-locked steel gate and two miles of bad mountain road.

     Wrenching the knob to the hall closet door, she tapped a code into the key pad on the right-side wall.  Before the gun safe had opened completely, she had the Ruger in her hand and was reaching for the clip.  Menace was standing by the front windows, his growls deeper, hackles standing straight up like the Rottweiler version of a Mohawk.

     “Quiet,” she murmured, “stand down, Ace.”

     The glare as he looked over his shoulder at the command was so male, she wanted to laugh.  “No tearing a lost biker limb from limb, my man.  Let’s see who’s come calling first.”  She grinned at his low grumble of dissent, though Ace obeyed and sat facing the front door, no doubt hoping a tasty chew toy was headed his way.

     Slapping the clip in place, racking a bullet in the chamber, she tucked the pistol at the small of her back, then quickly unbuckled her belt and added a sheath with her favorite blade, re-buckled and covered both weapons with her long flannel shirt. Just as she reached for her rifle the motorcycle’s engine cut off in front of the house.  Ace stood, going rigid in the sudden silence, his intensity ramping up to ballistic.

     Stock tucked into her side, she held the rifle in a loose grip and walked to the door.  Laying a hand on the dog’s head, she bent and whispered in his ear, “Down, Ace.  If this goes bad, you’re my secret weapon.”  He held her gaze, refusing to move away from the door for a moment, then reluctantly dropped to the floor.

     Opening the thick oak door, she pushed on the screen and walked out onto the porch.  The afternoon sun had warmed the boards and felt good under her bare feet as she crossed the landing, her eyes on the man still sitting astride his bike, hands on the grips, long legs balancing the heavy weight with ease.  The Harley was old, a bit beat up, but it was easy to see there was history between the man and his ride.

     They stared at each other over the fifteen feet that separated them, though she was at a disadvantage: his mirrored aviators blocked any chance of seeing his eyes. That annoyed her.  She shifted the rifle, raising the barrel a few inches.  “You speak English?”

     He lifted a leg over the bike, hit the kickstand, then sat sideways on the seat and stretched out his legs, crossing one ankle over the other.  “Yeah, I speak English.  What kind of question is that?”  His voice was rough, rumbling from deep in his chest.

     “You understand English?”

     He scowled.  “What the—”

     She cut him off.  “Because I’m wondering what you’re doing on my property, two miles off a dirt road that’s ten miles off the highway, not reading a dozen No Trespassing signs, or understanding a locked gate means the difference between my privacy and you sitting on that bike in front of my house.”

     He stood, took a step toward her.  She raised the rifle higher, held her ground.  Standing, he was huge and every inch of his six and a half feet screamed dangerous.  Arms loose at his sides, he stopped and said softly, “Cut right to it then.  You know a Chloe Jones?”  When she didn’t respond, he began a litany.  “Sara Matthews?  Jane Franks?  Marissa Wilson?  Ella Bennett?” 

     Outwardly, she didn’t give herself away, but hearing each name conjured images of the past and fear rocked through her belly.  Chloe Chicago.  Sara Wichita.  Jane Missoula.  Marissa Portland.  Ella log cabin in northern California wilderness staring at a man who had no business knowing any of this.  She was only marginally relieved that the only name not flying out of his mouth was her real one.  “Nope, never heard of those women and if you’re looking to add to your harem, I’m not interested.”

     He took off his shades, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She took the moment to study him.  Broad shoulders, dark brown hair tangled from riding with no helmet, long enough to touch the collar of his black leather jacket.  His tee shirt, faded jeans and scuffed boots were also black—his go-to color then.  And damn he was big.  If he got too close, she wouldn't stand a chance against his brute strength.  Then he raised his head and speared her with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.  Even from a distance the color was mesmerizing, vivid and intense, like falling into the heart of a sapphire.  He might be the poster boy for badass, and with those eyes, chiseled face and a body women probably worshiped on a regular basis, it was obvious he was a player.  A major one, with too much information about her and an unknown agenda.

     She opened her mouth to order him off her property, but he spoke first, low and serious. “You’re in danger here.”

     “Yeah,” she snorted, “and I’m looking right at it.”

     He took a step.  She raised the rifle.  He cocked his head.  “You willing to shoot me?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

     “I learned a long time ago that if you point it, you’d best be prepared to follow through.”  She smiled through cold eyes, the rifle not wavering from a spot dead center on his chest.  “I don’t know you, you’re trespassing on my land, I’m a woman alone in the middle of nowhere.  You think I’m not willing?”

     “Fuck,” he growled under his breath, no longer amused.

     “Like I said,” she snapped, “don’t know those women or why you want them, so you need to saddle up and go before somebody gets hurt.”

     Turning his back, he walked a few paces then stopped and bowed his head, hands clasped over his nape.  She let her grip loosen and lowered the rifle for a moment to relieve some of the tension in her arms.  At her back Ace chuffed softly at the bottom of the screen door, growing agitated by the confrontation.  She knew how he felt.  While her stomach roiled and her mind played a continuous loop of bad memories, she kept her eyes locked on the man.  Goddamn it.  She loved her little cabin, her hard-earned safe life.  Now she had to run.  Again.  Goddamn it!

      “Hey mister,” she half shouted at his back, “I need you gone.  I’ve—”

     “Okay, here’s the deal,” the guy barked as he spun to face her.  “No bullshit now. I know it’s you, all of those names belong to you.  I’ve been tracking you for weeks.  I don’t know your reasons for playing hide and seek.  Yet.” He paused, nailed her with a look. “But I will.”

     Her eyes iced over, the rifle again aimed steadily in his direction. Raising both hands, palms out, he said quickly, “Hold on now, just hear me out.”  After a long stare she tipped her chin in the barest acquiescence.

     “My brother sent me to find you.”  Scowling, he lowered his arms.  “Though I’m beginning to wonder why he thought you needed help.” 

     “I don’t.”  She hesitated for a second, then asked sharply, “Who’s your brother?”  Her only mistake in four years might have just come back to bite her on the ass.

     “Two years ago you took a survival course in Montana.  My brother was your instructor.  He liked you, his wife liked you, hell, I heard even his damn dog liked you.  Mike knew you were in some kind of trouble, wanted to help, but you left before he could offer.”  He took a deep breath, then said evenly, “Month or so ago he hears questions are being asked about a certain woman.”  He took a step toward her.  “My brother had a hunch, called me, I did some poking around.  I followed a lead, worked my way back and forth across the country, took a photo off a security video at the bookstore where Sara Matthews worked in Portland, showed it to Mike.  That woman looked real familiar to him, even with the short, blond wig.”  His gaze swept over her, taking in the tumble of auburn hair, the alabaster skin.  She'd felt secure enough here to be herself.  “After I left the military, I started my own business, but also do contract work, sometimes for my brother.  I’m good at surveillance, better at digging deep.”  His voice lowered, eyes locked with hers as he strode closer, paused a few feet from the bottom step and looked up at her.  “Best at finding things.” 

     Stalling for time, mind racing, she decided to drop the clueless act.  He knew who she was—or thought he did—so maybe admitting it would get rid of him faster, because if he could find her, they could too.  “I don’t remember hearing anything about a brother.”

     “Not around much, mostly on the road or out of the country.”

     She stiffened.  “So what, you’re some kind of bounty hunter?”  Her eyes narrowed as her grip tightened on the rifle. “You can claim to be Mike’s brother all day long and it still won’t mean a thing.  You’re trespassing.”  Her eyes blazed.  “Get off my property.” 

     Holding her gaze, he slowly reached into his jacket, pulled out a small white card and flicked it toward the porch. She didn’t move, didn’t try to catch it, didn’t break eye contact. The card bounced off her left leg and landed at her feet.

     A hint of respect flashed in his eyes for an instant before he muttered, “I’ve been all over the world, fought my share of battles, hung with some good men and bad, but I gotta say woman, you’re damn cool under pressure.”

     She shrugged.  “It really doesn’t matter what your little card says.  For one, anything can be faked, and for another,” she gestured with the rifle toward the Harley, “you’re leaving. Yesterday.”

     “Now honey, here’s the thing.  I promised my brother I’d find you.  I did.  I also promised him I would take care of you until he says it's safe.”  He took his last step before hitting the stairs.  “I intend to do just that.”

     “Well honey, here’s my thing.  Get on your ride, head back to wherever you came from and along the way tell your brother I appreciate his concern, but I don’t need anyone’s help.”

     “Okay, that’s it,” the man barked in frustration as he moved to climb the steps. “I’m only trying—”

     Before he could finish, there was a low, deeply serious growl from behind the screen door, followed immediately by a crash as it flew open and slammed into the side of the house.  A dog, huge, bristling, and way into the red zone stood solid beside the woman, vibrating with barely controlled aggression, dark lips curled back over sharp teeth.  The man stood frozen, one foot on the bottom step, held in place by the dog’s hard, unwavering focus.

     “I think that’s your cue to leave,” the woman said quietly.  He lifted his eyes, caught the smirk, knew she’d won this round.  One side of his mouth tipped up in grudging admiration, then he slowly backed away from the porch.  “If it will make things easier, tell Mike thanks, but like I said, I take care of myself.”  She gestured toward the Harley with her rifle.  “Please.  Go away.”

     He cocked his head, scanned her from head to toe, and stared intently at the dog for a long moment before turning on his heels.  Kicking the motorcycle to life, he adjusted his hands on the grips and slowly maneuvered the half-circle turn in her dirt and pine needle drive.  He stopped for a brief, taut moment, looking from her to the dog, then without another word slowly rode out of sight.  She listened to the low, unmistakable rumble of the Harley for several minutes until silence returned to the forest.

     “Good boy, Ace, good boy.”  She lowered the rifle and reached down to scratch behind one of the dog's ears.  “Extra treats for that dramatic entrance.”  Smiling, she turned and let them both into the house.  Heading toward the kitchen, the dog at her side, she began to laugh.  “You accomplished more in one minute than I did in ten with a loaded weapon.”  She propped the rifle near the back door and opened the pantry, grabbing two large dog biscuits.  “You eat these, then I’ll let you out while I pack things up.”

       Menace, dangerous and lethal when necessary, sat with tongue lolling and tail twitching, waiting patiently for his treats.  Gently he took first one, then the other from her hand, crunching happily.  When the last crumb was gone, she opened the back door and ordered quietly, “Patrol.”  He stood on the porch for a minute, head raised to sniff the air, then charged down the steps and began to circle the house, searching for something to chase, or better yet, something to catch.

3. Leap Of Faith

Kardeeb shoved an elder out of his path and started toward Rafe.  “Are you saying this woman is not yours?”  His dark, beady eyes heated as he stared avidly at the unconscious woman.

“No, I didn’t say that.”  Rafe held the woman against him with one large hand on her back, using the other to reach under his djellaba for the bag of gold.  Tossing it at Kardeeb, he said tersely, “Your payment. We're done.” 

Snatching the money pouch out of the air as it flew toward him, a cruel smile spread over the Mor’Abat’s face.  “I think not, my friend.”  Gesturing at the two guards, he shouted, “Seize them!”

Before the words had left Kardeeb’s mouth, Rafe had tossed the woman over his shoulder to free his fighting arm and was on the move.  It wasn’t his habit to unman a guy, but outnumbered, one-handed and hampered by dead weight, Rafe didn’t hesitate to boot the first guard in the balls and snatch the man’s sword as he dropped with a low, guttural cry. In the slight pause as the second guard eyed the painful writhing of his fellow tribesman, Rafe lunged forward, smashed his fist into the man's face and ran for the exit.

The two men who’d taken his weapons had scimitars drawn, blocking the only way out of the pavilion.  Behind him Kardeeb was screaming for his weapon, women wailed in high-pitched ululations, and the elders scrambled frantically to distance themselves from imminent bloodshed.  Rafe smiled, tossed the sword aside and pulled the cloth fully away from his face.  As the guards stared, transfixed in horror, Rafe slammed into one, sending him in a violent spin out of the tent, then wrenched his Jambiya out of the second man’s belt and hammered the pommel down on his head with a satisfying crack.

His way was clear, but now there was a loud, growing commotion outside the pavilion.  Over the chaotic sounds at his back, Rafe could hear the shouts of men rushing toward the Mor’Abat’s tent.  Spinning to his left, leaping over cushions and cook pots, he ran to the far wall, slashed an opening and vaulted through.

  

~~**~~**~~

  

“Master Treb!”  The shout from above was sharp, edged with excitement.

Treb looked up at the small enclosure circling the topmast.  Henri leaned precariously over the edge of the wooden basket as if she could get closer to the image in her spyglass.  “Aye lass,” he shouted back.  “You see him?”

“He’s on the run.”  She looked down at Treb, her grin slightly feral. “With half the Red Tribe on his arse.”  Laughing exuberantly, she climbed out of the basket, danced like a monkey along the yard and down the rigging, landing gracefully in front of Treb.  Henri was small, lithe, with a delicate face, guileless blue eyes and freckles sprinkled in a band across her nose.  She wore her thick auburn hair in two long braids, tied at the ends in bows of silk ribbon, color determined by her mood; today they were blood-red.  She exuded a child-like innocence, an illusion she cultivated.  No one ever saw stone-cold lethal, until it was too late.

“Guns primed and ready, Master Treb,” she said with glee.  “Time for a bit of fun?”

“Aman!” Treb bellowed.  He walked to the port side, raising his own spyglass as the quartermaster joined him at the rail.  “All provisions and supplies aboard?  Jai-Li’s medical paraphernalia?  The ballonets of lifting gas?”

“Aye, we’re loaded to the gunnels, ready to sail at your word.”

Lowering the spyglass, Treb turned, gave both Henri and Aman a broad smile and said, “Then let's go get the captain.”

With a loud whoop, Henri ran forward to the three men who worked under her command in munitions.  Handpicked and trained to her exacting standards, they could handle any weapon with calm efficiency, including the two long cannon protruding through either side of the prow.  Running a hand along one sleek barrel, stroking it like a beloved pet, Henri smiled at her team in anticipation.

     Treb kept his spyglass on the area outside the el-Ahmar compound as the Dark Wind began to ease away from the docking poles, bracing himself against the rail as the ship gently moved forward.  The soft whisper of lifting gas, drawn from a ballonet in the chamber beneath the deck, was as sweet as a lover’s kiss to his ears. Rafe might love wind billowing the sails, but for Treb, liquid helion transformed into lifting gas that would allow an airship to fly?  Well, that was just magical, as far as he was concerned.

Rafe suddenly came into view.  Treb frowned and quickly spun the outer brass ring on his spyglass to bring the image closer as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing: Rafe, firmly gripping a body draped over his shoulder before disappearing behind a row of tents. 

Aware Rafe’s plan had been to get in and out with the least amount of damage and make his way back to the ship by nightfall with Elissa, Treb knew the body had just buggered that scheme.  As a large group of red-clad tribesmen began to spread out in a search pattern around the marketplace, Treb barked an order to the helmsman, directing him toward the center of the city.

  

~~**~~**~~

 Rafe set the woman down, then crouched in the narrow space between two tents. Slumped against his thigh, her head lolled and she softly groaned.  Rafe leaned close to whisper, “Hush. No sounds.”  He watched her eyelids flutter as she struggled to lift them, but then she shuddered and went limp.  Sliding his dagger into its sheath, Rafe put a hand to her neck and quietly waited to feel a pulse, his mind racing with questions.  He went still at the approach of running feet and harsh voices.  Kardeeb’s men were close.

Laying the woman flat on the ground, Rafe stretched out beside her, gathered her close and swiftly rolled them under the bottom edge of the nearest tent.  He had chosen this area of the market for its selection of rugs, carpets and silks, tents that would provide ample places to hide. Pleased to discover row after row of colorful bolts of material, Rafe burrowed into a mound of sky-blue silk and held the woman against his body, one hand around her waist, the other securing her head beneath his chin, ready to cover her mouth if she made the slightest noise.

Minutes passed while Rafe listened to Kardeeb's men searching, shouting, threatening.  He breathed easier when the sounds moved further away, giving him a chance not only to consider his next move, but to ponder the unconscious woman.  What was wrong with her anyway?  Had she been drugged, or was she one of those females prone to swooning? And if that were the case, what insane circumstance had brought her—and supposedly Elissa—to this uncivilized and brutal corner of the world?  Rafe shook his head. Answers would have to wait for now.

     Prepared to rest until full dark, he was just getting comfortable when a familiar dark shadow passed over the tent, followed by a swelling roar of outrage and fury.  Rafe laughed out loud. It was strictly forbidden to fly over the city, yet his crew were blatantly making a point by putting themselves above the rulers of the Four Tribes.  And from the sound of it, the entire city was howling for blood.

Still chuckling at the audacity of his crew, Rafe eased his large frame over the woman's body, gently wedged her back into the fabric niche and slipped out the tent. Looking skyward he caught a glimpse of the rudder and the starboard propeller before the ship was out of sight. Digging under his robe for the small reflecting device that all airship sailors carried, he pulled out the round disk—a comfortable fit in the palm of his hand—and rubbed the battered, tarnished metal. It was probably time to get a newer, shinier version, but this one held far too many memories in each scratch and dent to ever be replaced.

Flicking up the lid, he walked to a small path that ran behind the silk merchant's tent and waited. When his ship came back around, Rafe quickly lined up the reflecting mirror with the sun and shot a beam of light toward the Dark Wind. The response was immediate. Flashes traveled back and forth until both he and his crew knew exactly what to do and where to rendezvous. Hurrying back to the tent, he yanked up the edge and pulled the still unconscious woman out of her hiding place. Settling her over his shoulder once more, he stood in the shadows, tense and ready.

When the first explosion shook the ground, sending shock waves through the tents, Rafe took off, running toward the center of the market.  He plowed into a few guards, too busy shouting up at the airship before being knocked flat and barely avoided a large, irate group of fist-waving tribesmen. Sliding around a corner, the fountain in sight, he hurdled over a fruit cart, and jabbed a hard fist into the nose of a basket merchant who foolishly tried to grab him.

Overhead he heard a crazed laugh—Henri in her element—followed by another explosion just as the hawser dropped through a veil of smoke and dangled near the fountain.  Tightly gripping the woman, Rafe put on a final burst of speed, bounded off the rim of the fountain and with a flying leap, grabbed the thick rope as the Dark Wind rapidly ascended. Grinning, heart pounding, he savored the heady rush of exhilaration that thrummed through his body as he was quickly hoisted aloft.

Treb was there to help him aboard, then they laughed with shared relief.  “Excellent rescue, my man,” Rafe said, pounding his second on the back.

“It was a joy to see you move, boy.  A pure joy.”  His gold tooth sparkled in the sun.  “And that great leap at the end?”  Treb shook his head in amazement. “Songs should be written.”

Rafe started to laugh again, but the woman stirred, reminding him that he couldn't plot their course until he had the necessary information. Swinging her off his shoulder, Rafe carried her determinedly toward his quarters, a frowning Treb on his heels.

“If memory serves, Cap’n, wasn't your brother’s wife a small and dainty thing?”

“Aye, indeed she was.  This is not Elissa.  I don’t know who this is, but I aim to find out right now.”

Stalking into his cabin, Rafe laid the woman in his berth, thoughts already on reviving her with the brandy in the bottom drawer of his desk.  As he turned, a shocked gasp from Treb stopped him cold.  “What?  What's wrong?”

“Damnation boy, you never said you were hurt!”

“I’m not.”

“What's all that then?”

Rafe peered down at his blood-soaked djellaba, met Treb’s gaze, then they both stepped toward the bed and looked at the woman.  Her hood had fallen back, revealing blue-tinged lips in shocking contrast to her white, nearly translucent face. Frail, labored breaths sounded ominous in the quiet cabin as the two men stared at several wet, dark patches on the front of her brown robe.

“She doesn’t get to die until I have answers,” Rafe hissed.  “Find Jai-Li.”