by Stone, Kyla
“I was stuck on the side of the road at night. My stupid phone died. And then this guy stopped to help me. I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought. The man—he stole me. He stole me from my family, from my home. He kept me locked up in his basement, in a hunting cabin somewhere in these woods. Five days ago, on the day of that EMP thing, the power went out. I don’t know how it affected his security system, but the door opened.”
She sucked in a ragged, hitching breath. She clutched her deformed hand to her chest and rubbed the broken, twisted fingers absently, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it. “I took what I could and I ran. I ran before he could come back and find me. But I knew…I should have known…that he’d keep looking for me, that he wouldn’t just let me go.”
“You knew?” Liam sputtered, anger warring with his shock and dismay. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything?”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she said, the barest hint of accusation in her voice. She had him there.
“You didn’t think to mention the psycho stalking you?”
The tears dried on her cheeks. Her eyes flashed with something behind the fear. A hint of will, of defiance. “I—I didn’t trust you.”
He spread his arms, gesturing at the mutilated carcass behind him. “And now?”
She visibly deflated. “I didn’t think he’d find me so quickly…I didn’t think…I’m so sorry.”
It was difficult to maintain his own anger. She was clearly petrified. Her shattered fingers told Liam everything he needed to know. Anyone who would torture another human being by repeatedly and painfully breaking their bones was a sadistic psychopath.
And now he was on their trail.
Her trail. Not theirs. Not Liam’s.
He owed nothing to her. Nothing at all.
What are you going to do?
He gazed at the woman, every cell in his body screaming at him to walk away, to turn his back, to leave this drama—this burden—far behind.
He was a man haunted. Unmoored and untethered. Meant to be alone.
He couldn’t stop staring at her deformed hand. At her rounded belly. The vulnerable child inside her.
Memories flooded through him. His blood rushed in his ears. That instinct to protect and defend still somewhere deep inside him.
Almost against his will, he thrust his free hand into his coat pocket. It was still there. The incredibly soft, tiny little slip of knitting. His fingers closed over it.
He squeezed the fabric a single time, let it go. Felt his broken heart shatter all over again.
The woman pulled herself to her feet, bracing herself against the door frame, her bad hand resting on her swollen belly beneath her opened coat. She watched him, wary and silent, waiting.
Waiting on him to decide the next move. To determine their fate.
The big white dog stood at her side, pressing himself protectively against her legs, his old-soul eyes locked on Liam. Like he, too, was asking Liam what he was going to do.
Don’t walk away, Jessa’s voice said in his head. Please don’t walk away.
Liam didn’t.
32
Hannah
Day Five
Hannah and Ghost weren’t alone.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about it yet.
Liam Coleman trudged ahead of her, breaking through the thick snow, creating a trail for her to follow. He kept his strides shallow so she could easily step inside his footprints.
He carried his pistol in both hands, constantly scanning for any threat. He kept a close eye on Ghost, too, in case he smelled anything.
She hadn’t asked for Liam’s help. She’d been terrified to accept it.
But she couldn’t do this on her own, and Liam knew it.
“I’ll take you home,” he’d declared that morning after he’d secured the area and made sure Pike wasn’t lurking nearby.
“You don’t have to,” she’d said. Ghost had bounded from the cabin and pressed himself against her side. She buried her good hand in his fur, letting his strength seep into her. “You’re not obligated.”
Liam glowered at her. “You have a psychopath stalking you. You’re pregnant and exhausted. How were you planning to protect yourself?”
She opened her mouth, closed it. Everything in her wanted to push him away, to deny his help, to claim she didn’t need it. She didn’t trust him.
Sensing Hannah’s anxiety, Ghost growled, rumbling deep in his throat. She tightened her grip on his fur. “It’s okay, boy. We’re just talking.”
Ghost settled down but didn’t take his gaze off Liam. He didn’t totally trust the man, either.
She didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself. Depending on someone else felt like walking over thin black ice, already cracking beneath her feet, just waiting to give way.
Her captor had hunted her down. He’d left the dead animal he’d tortured and flayed as a threat—as a promise—to her.
Likely the only reason he hadn’t killed her last night was because of Liam’s presence. That and he liked to play games. She knew that.
Liam had already saved her life once. This made twice.
It wasn’t simply that Liam Coleman was a man, and therefore a fit protector. This particular man was a soldier. A warrior. Strength and power radiated off him.
It was in the way he held his pistol low and ready, the wicked-looking knife at his belt, how he moved with precision, confidence, and control. How he was always watching, always assessing, always alert.
He was a man who knew what he was doing.
She felt a flutter in her belly. A slow turning slide. An elbow against her ribs. A head or a butt pressing against her bladder. Always her bladder.
She thought of her family. Of getting home to Milo.
She wasn’t making decisions only for herself.
In the end, it wasn’t even a choice.
“Okay,” she’d said.
He’d looked simultaneously relieved and discomfited. “I’m gone the second I get you home. Understand? I’ll take on no obligation beyond that.”
They stared hard at each other for several long seconds. Him scowling, her trying not to flinch, Ghost intently watching them both.
Maybe Liam really wanted to help her after all. Though ‘want’ was too strong a word. He acted like being with her was the last thing he wanted.
And yet, here he was.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “Truly.”
Ghost tilted his head at her and chuffed doubtfully, as if saying, Are we really doing this?
“Yes,” she answered him. “We are.”
Liam turned away from her. “Get your things.”
She collected her stuff, Ghost right beside her, nosing into everything. It didn’t take long.
It took longer to dress in her multiple wool socks, her sweaters, her coat, scarf, gloves, and finally to sit awkwardly on the cot and yank her boots on, her belly constantly in the way.
“How long until we’re out of this forest?” she asked once she’d shouldered her pack and joined Liam in the clearing.
She carefully avoided looking at the flayed coyote carcass a few yards away. Ghost investigated it before shaking his head and sneezing in disgust.
He’d studied the map while she was getting ready. He traced a tiny dotted red line with his gloved finger. “I passed by the town of White Cloud not far off the NCT on my way up. It’s about forty, forty-five miles south. We stay on the NCT until then. Three or four days.” He looked at her and frowned. “Maybe five.”
She blanched. “Five days?”
“We’re breaking trail in two feet of snow in freezing temperatures. And you’re pregnant.” He eyed her. “You can’t do it?”
He was looking at her with pity. She despised that look. Hated how weak and pathetic it made her feel. She drew herself to her full height. “I can do it.”
“Good.” Still, he glanced down at the map again. “Branch is closer to twenty miles, but it’s southwest and a bit out of t
he way. We’ll see how it goes.”
“And after that? Will we walk the entire one hundred and fifty miles?”
“Not if I can help it. We’ll stock up on supplies and find an older snowmobile, a UTV, something. Maybe even a car, if we’re lucky.”
She didn’t ask how they would find this magical transportation, like they’d just stumble over it in the snow, keys in the ignition and the tank full of gas.
They stayed off the road. Liam used his map and compass to find the North Country Trail. It hardly looked like a trail with all the heavy snowfall—only a break in the trees. Everywhere she looked, trees and snow and more trees.
It was easy to get confused, to get lost.
But Liam trekked on with confidence. Clearly, he knew his way around the woods, knew how to survive anywhere. Of course he did. Why was she not surprised?
For the next several hours, she trudged after him, step by weary step. She took two pee breaks. Liam hated stopping for anything, and so did she, but it couldn’t be helped.
As the day warmed into the teens, they were careful to discard layers to keep themselves from sweating. Evaporation would lower their core body temperatures and heighten their risk for hypothermia.
Hannah had no desire to go through that again. She’d gotten lucky once.
Ghost brushed against her legs, thrust his head beneath her hand, then darted off through the trees after some invisible quarry. Sometimes he trotted on her right, then her left, then he busied himself checking out some bush or tree or squirrel behind them.
A second later, he’d bound ahead of them, black nose sniffing the air, plumed tail pointed straight back.
He looked healthier already, his coat shinier, his ribs filling out. She wished she had more beef jerky to offer him. It was a good thing he could find his own sustenance. They didn’t have any to spare.
What would Ghost do if he came face-to-face with his former master? Would he return to him obediently? Or would the dog remember that her captor had enslaved them both?
Hannah hoped to never find out.
Around noon, they took a break for lunch: more cold food out of cans.
The sun shone bright in the clear blue sky. The pristine snow sparkled. The air was sharp and crisp in her lungs and smelled like pine needles.
Surrounded by such wild beauty, she could almost forget the evil that hunted her.
Almost.
Still, she was tense and edgy. She kept looking anxiously over her shoulder, searching the shadows, jumping at every rustle, crackle, and swish.
She felt him. In the ache of her broken fingers. In the icy pit of her belly.
He was coming for her. Coming for what she carried inside her. Because of that, he’d never stop. Not until he found her and got what he wanted. Then he’d gut her like the poor creature he’d left for her in the snow.
She was traveling with a strange man she distrusted, a killer hot on her heels. In the middle of a crisis the likes of which this country had never seen.
Fear dogged her every step. Hannah quickened her pace, as if she could ever outrun her own terror.
33
Liam
Day Six
Liam paused at the crest of a hill and pointed. “There’s a house up ahead.”
It was late in the afternoon, only a few hours before sundown. They’d need to find shelter soon. They’d been hiking south for two days, and by Liam’s count, had traveled about twenty miles.
Using Hannah’s axe last night, he’d built a sturdy shelter with chopped branches which he covered with his reflective-side-down emergency blanket and an insulating layer of snow. Inside the shelter, he layered thick pine boughs, and used his pack and more pine branches to block the entrance.
It was barely large enough for the two of them, but their own body heat warmed the small space and made it bearable, even comfortable.
Ghost dug himself a den in the snow right outside. Liam remained alert, Glock in hand, all night.
He was tired, but he was used to going long periods of time on only three to four hours of sleep. In training, he’d lasted months. He kept a stash of caffeine pills in his go-bag for situations just like this.
Now, he studied the house below him. They were still within Manistee National Forest, but they were getting closer to the outskirts, to roads and homesteads and tiny blink-and-you’d-miss-it towns.
He’d been on the lookout for empty houses. This was the first one they’d come across, only he didn’t think it was empty.
The woman—Hannah—came up beside him. She was short, the top of her head just below his shoulder. Everything about her was small and fragile and vulnerable.
His heart beat a little harder. He couldn’t help himself. She stirred that protective instinct in him, the one he’d been sure was dead.
No matter the pain that haunted him, she deserved protecting.
“Where?” she asked, her voice muffled beneath her scarf.
“Across the meadow through the trees. There, at your nine o’clock. See the clearing?”
She nodded. “I smell smoke.”
So did he. It was faint, drifting invisibly on the cold, crisp air. “Means it’s probably occupied.”
“Good. Then we can ask for help. And maybe some food.”
“They won’t want to help us,” he warned her.
“How do you know?”
“Experience.”
Her eyes flashed. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He tucked his gun into his coat pocket, unslung his pack, and dug through it for his binoculars. He peered through the trees, trying to make out the shape of the house. A row of thick spruce still partially blocked his view.
He needed to get closer.
“You have your knife on you?”
She nodded.
“Keep it ready. I’m going to get a better look.”
She lifted her coat, unknotted her big, unwieldy kitchen knife, and gripped the handle in her right hand. It took her too long to reach it. In an emergency, it wouldn’t help her.
The blade looked like it was about to fall out of that awful knot job at any moment. She needed something better. A better knife, to start with.
One more thing to add to the list.
Ghost pushed up between them. He wasn’t just huge, he was incredibly heavy—one hundred and forty pounds, maybe more—and nearly knocked Liam off balance.
It was almost like he was elbowing Liam out of the way. He clearly didn’t want Liam anywhere near Hannah.
“Deal with it,” he said to the dog.
Ghost glared at him.
“What?” Hannah asked.
“Nothing.” Liam shook his head and turned back to Hannah. The dog was a good thing. He’d protect Hannah while Liam did what he needed to do. “I mean it. Stay here. And keep the dog with you.”
Light snow had begun to fall. Thick wet snowflakes twirled slowly from the gray sky and landed on his head, his shoulders, his nose and eyelashes. They needed another heavy snowfall to fill in their tracks and slow down their pursuer.
He could be right behind them, but Liam didn’t think so. The psychopath had left the dead animal two days ago, and then he’d retreated, like a coward. Maybe he liked the waiting, the watching, the hunting.
He’d show up again, but he’d likely attack on his own terms.
Glock in hand, Liam circled the house, keeping a few rows of trees between himself and the clearing. The two-story clapboard house’s white paint was peeling, the snow-covered porch sagging. Smoke spiraled from the chimney.
The garage door was closed. A small shed and a larger barn or storage building were set back thirty yards behind the house. Tracks zigzagged back and forth between the barn, the shed, and the house. It was definitely occupied.
He preferred to break into empty houses, but they didn’t have a lot of options. With two people eating through his supplies, he only had some nuts and two MREs left.
They needed high-quality calories to keep their bod
y temperatures and energy up to slog through all this snow. And Hannah needed even more for the baby.
A direct approach was best. He hated to do it, but he’d need to holster his pistol beneath his coat. Knocking on a stranger’s door while armed didn’t send the friendliest message. The homeowners might decide to greet them with a hail of buckshot before they had a chance to introduce themselves.
He backtracked to where Hannah waited obediently, Ghost standing guard beside her. At least she could follow directions. As could the dog.
“I’m going to the door. You stay here.”
She shook her head. “I’m going with you.”
“No.”
Her chin lifted slightly. “They’re more likely to open the door to a woman.”
He saw it again—that flash of something. Stubbornness, a hint of defiance. A glimpse of who she might have been before the psychopath got his claws in her.
She didn’t like to be told no.
And she was right, anyway. What lay behind the door was less dangerous than what waited out there. “Fine. We both go. I do the talking. You don’t speak. The dog stays.”
“The dog comes.”
He holstered his pistol and glowered at her in frustration. “I said—”
The hairs on his neck lifted. He sensed something out there. Something watching.
Liam went for his gun.
The crunch of snow behind them.
Ghost whirled around, abruptly on full alert. He let out a resounding bark, hackles rising.
The distinct racking of a shotgun echoed in the crisp air. “Don’t either of you move a muscle!”
34
Liam
Day Six
“Raise your hands! Now!” a raspy voice demanded behind them.
Liam raised his hands, cursing himself for putting away his Glock a moment too soon.
“Turn around now. Nice and slow.”
Adrenaline surging, Liam turned around. Beside him, Hannah did the same. She still held the butcher knife.