Escape to Morning

by Susan May Warren

“This isn’t camping. This is make do and keep warm and don’t get hurt so we can find a young girl before she dies of exposure.”

  O … kay. She’d be a good addition to Special Forces if took took women. Will nearly saluted. “I’ll try not to be a burden,” he said instead, keeping his voice small and warm.

  “Just … don’t get hurt.” Dannette turned, headed back up the trail.

  Yeah, right. Don’t get hurt. This mission had the makings of a world of hurt, starting with the Hayata terrorists then on to the cold draft from the local K-9 handler. Only he had a feeling the deep freeze from Dani—no, Dannette—might hurt more than anything Hayata could dish out.

  He caught up to Dannette’s friend. “Are you her partner?”

  She gave him a half glance, with a matching smile. “Missy’s her partner. I’m a friend. We planned to go canoeing this weekend.”

  “Ah, right, the girls’-night-out canoe trip.”

  The woman frowned at him.

  He gave her his nicest I’m-not-a-bad-guy smile. “Before I turned into the reporter-slash-stalker, Dannette and I had a nice dinner date.”

  “Did not!” Dannette yelled, but she didn’t slow.

  “Will Masterson,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I promise, I’m not out to stir up trouble.” Well, sorta. At least he was out to make sure that if the pot got stirred, they’d all make it through alive.

  “Sarah Nation. From New York. And if you’re a reporter, I’m a cyborg.” She gave him an icy look, from the feet up. “You look like a creature from the Swamp Monster Returns.”

  He gave her a mock-offended look.

  She smiled. “Listen, I know that Dannette wears her skin scratchy side out during searches, but she’s really warm and cuddly when you get to know her. Sorta like Missy.”

  “Sarah, don’t talk to him.” Dannette glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll end up as quote of the week.”

  Sarah laughed, but Will couldn’t help but feel as if Dannette had kicked him low and hard in the stomach. What was it with her and reporters? So he hadn’t scored any trust points with his sneak-up-and-scare move, but really, it wasn’t like he was a terrorist, intent on wreaking havoc on her life, was it?

  Okay, maybe he looked like it just a little.

  He clicked on his flashlight as the darkness invaded the forest. Twilight still hued the sky, but the clasp of forest turned the light tenebrous and gloomy. The feeling mixed with the soggy smells of spring and the spongy crack of twigs breaking beneath the thump of hiking boots. A fine layer of sweat simmered between his sweater and his skin, and he tasted his worry in the pool of saliva in his mouth.

  Somewhere, lost in the tangle of pine, poplar, and bramble, Amina hid, hoping for her deliverer. Please, Lord, let us find her soon.

  Fadima dragged the coil of brush against the overhang of rock, climbed inside, and pulled more brush in to close off the entrance. She’d built a bed of pine boughs, berating herself for dropping her blanket. Although it had had more holes than cotton, it had staved off the sharpest bites of the cold air, and she dearly longed for it as she pulled her flimsy, torn jacket around her. How she longed for the arid heat of her home, the smell of steppe grass in the wind, even the feel of perspiration that lined the robes she wore to protect her body and face from the sun.

  She was lost. And hungry. And very, very alone. No Hafiz would come to her rescue. Her contact was dead, and if she didn’t find help soon, she and her family would follow him.

  Sorry, Father. Defeat filled her throat. What had her father been thinking to label her their rescuer? Couldn’t he see that she didn’t possess even an ounce of her mother’s courage? She curled into a ball, propped her backpack under her head, pulled her arms out of her sleeves, and wrapped them around her body.

  She’d filled her water bottle in the stream she’d crossed early this morning and eaten the rest of the scone she’d purchased in the London airport before changing planes. Her stomach clenched with hunger, but she ignored it. People could go weeks without eating if only they had water. She’d learned that while watching her father interrogate prisoners over the years.

  She had to focus on finding help. She’d nearly escaped this morning—she’d seen safety and compassion on the faces of the elderly couple. But she’d hesitated too long, trying to gauge their intent. She didn’t know if it had been Hayata operatives who screeched up to the rest area, but she hadn’t lingered to find out.

  They would have shot the old couple on the spot and left their bodies for the crows. And who knew what they would do to her? See, Father? I’m not brave.

  She had to put kilometers between herself and Hayata and then find help. Only … where was the nearest road? She felt as if she’d been walking in circles or perhaps just trekking farther into this immense tangle of woods. Blood dappled her skin where branches had snagged her jacket, scraped her wrists. She never felt so dirty, her fingernails embedded with mud, her hair inhabited with foreign forest creatures.

  She clenched her teeth and tried not to cry.

  Father, help me. She imagined his face and the face of her brother, Kutsi, and tried to soothe herself with their smiles, their warm assurances that they would soon all be safe.

  Yes, just like her mother had been safe. Her father had tried, three years ago, to send his wife and Fadima’s younger sister to safety, hoping they wouldn’t be detected inside a refugee camp. Yet Hayata had found them and made examples of them as traitors. Her father hadn’t allowed her to see inside their wooden coffins.

  But Fadima imagined enough images to wail and sob herself to sleep for months afterward. In fact, it wouldn’t be too hard to let the old grief consume her now. She took a deep breath, trying to clear the images out of her head. No. No, she wouldn’t be caught, wouldn’t allow them to do to her what they’d done to her mother and little sister.

  She would be Amina. Bearer of truth.

  If only in her father’s dreams. She closed her eyes, trying to relax in her cubbyhole, and let exhaustion wash over her.

  Dannette watched her dog’s movements, the circling, whining, lifting her nose to the wind. “C’mere, Missy,” she said. Missy trotted over, put her snout into Dannette’s cupped hand. “You need a rest.” Dannette rubbed her hands over her dog, debating her options.

  Darkness had closed in without absolution, and Dannette could barely make out her hand in front of her face. The wind rushed against the trees, and her stomach had begun to rub against her spine. More than that, Missy was getting frustrated. She needed a break, some playtime.

  “Let’s find a place to make camp,” Dannette suggested to the two other searchers. Sarah was out ahead, scanning the forest with her Maglite for tracks, while Will hunched over his topo map. Dannette found it more than suspect that he’d brought along not only a map but a few extras, like water, food, a sleeping bag, and a tarp. As if he might be serious about helping Dannette find this lost girl.

  She wished it didn’t dent the icy anger she felt at finding him. She wanted to knock herself upside the head. Pay attention to the facts, Dani. He wasn’t invested in the search; he just wanted a good story. A story he wouldn’t get, if she had her druthers.

  Still, he had kept up and had been relatively quiet about it. Most of all, he had the brains to keep his distance from Dannette, which also increased her respect for him.

  Or maybe it hurt. She wanted to flog her rebellious heart for jumping in traitorous glee when they’d found him treed by Missy. His all-black getup fed her soldier-in-hiding suspicions, not to mention accentuating the muscles that accompanied those mental images. As if he didn’t have enough in his arsenal, the dirt still caught in his five-o’clock shadow upped his stun power by a trillion.

  Just what she needed: Rambo in hiking boots shadowing her through the forest, tugging at her concentration. Thankfully, he didn’t smell good.

  If she let her musings loose, she’d even begin doubting his profession. He didn’t seem … ruthless enough for a journ
alist. Except he had dogged her into the forest, intent on spying on her. That behavior had the makings of paparazzi written all over it.

  Sarah walked over to Will, studied his map. “Looks like we’re not far from the Superior hiking trail. There are marked campsites.”

  “Okay, let’s head there.” Dannette unhooked Missy’s vest and snapped on her lead. “All done, girl.” Reaching into her pocket, Dannette found a treat and gave it to her.

  Will scanned his flashlight through the forest and checked his compass. “We need to go this way.” He let his light linger on a towering pine some fifty feet away. “We’ll take another marking there.”

  Dannette followed him, amazed at his confidence. So maybe he’d spent time in the woods. In fact, letting him lead felt like a balm on her razed, tight nerves.

  In ten minutes they emerged onto the hiking trail. He turned west and found a pocket of campsites within an eighth of a mile of each other.

  Dannette watered and fed Missy while Sarah shook out her single tent.

  “You ladies surprise me,” said Will, nearly invisible in the night, save for the dim light he held over Sarah’s movements. “I thought for sure you’d head back to your motel room.”

  Dannette glanced at him. “Not when we can pick up the trail tomorrow. But you’re free to go if you’d like.”

  He quirked a half smile. “And leave you here as bear bait?”

  Dannette shook her head, unsmiling. “Sarah and I both have single tents, so we don’t have one to loan you.”

  Will shrugged. “Don’t need one. I’m camping across the way.” He pointed to the campsite across the trail. “You ladies give me a holler if you need anything.” He swung his own pack off his shoulders and headed to another campsite.

  Dannette pulled her tent out of her bag and had it up in less than five minutes. She flung her sleeping bag inside, then began scouting around the site for firewood. Missy chewed on a rawhide treat.

  “He’s kinda cute,” Sarah said as she sought firewood behind her tent. “I don’t see why you don’t like him.”

  “He’s a reporter.” Dannette stepped on a large branch, breaking it in half. “Enough said.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a nice reporter. And I think he cares about you.”

  Dannette gave a derisive laugh. “He cares about a hot story. So he has incredible eyes; I’m not melting into a pile of mush. I know my priorities—and my history. I need a guy who is stable, honest, safe. And I want a man who is sold out for God. The dead last thing I need in my life is a nosy reporter digging around in my nightmares.”

  Sarah stood, a bundle of twigs in her arms. “He doesn’t have to know. Besides, that chapter of your life is over. Not every reporter is like Steve Oullette.”

  “I’m not taking any chances, thanks.” Dannette strode over to the fire pit and dumped her bundle. “I don’t see you taking any big leaps in the love area either. Hank likes you, but you won’t give him a second glance.”

  “Hank is a redneck from the hills. He’ll sit up and bark at anything that crosses his territory.”

  Dannette laughed at the solemn look on Sarah’s face. “Oh, give me a break. Hank helped us find Micah, helped us save Lacey. He’s a nice guy, and just because he talks with a Southern drawl and looks good in a pair of faded, holey jeans doesn’t make him a redneck. And he’s from Texas, not Tennessee, which puts him in a whole different category.”

  Sarah shrugged, dropped her pile of wood, knelt, and began propping her twigs into a teepee.

  Dannette stilled, staring at her movements. “You do like him.”

  “No, I don’t. He’s just … persuasive.”

  Dannette shook her head. “Yeah, well, after what you’ve been through, perhaps you need persuading. Even romance.”

  Sarah glanced up. Her eyes glistened. “Maybe it’s not Hank. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’ll never be ready.”

  Dannette wanted to weep. She touched Sarah’s arm, then pulled her into a quick embrace. “Hang in there. Give Hank a little room to woo you. Let yourself see what the rest of us do. I promise, we won’t let anything happen to you.” She pulled away from Sarah, her throat thick. Sarah deserved to meet a guy who respected her, who cherished her. “Maybe God put Hank in your life to remind you that His compassions never fail.”

  Sarah nodded. But her attention fell back to the fire she was assembling.

  Dannette’s own words rang in her mind: “His compassions never fail.”

  Please, Lord, don’t let them fail tonight with Your lost child. Keep her warm and safe. And help us find her.

  Dannette helped Sarah build the fire, and in a few moments, flames flickered from the kindling wood. Sarah banked it while Dannette pulled out a dehydrated packet of goulash.

  “Yum,” said Sarah. “Fine dining.”

  “Only the best.” Dannette filled her coffeepot with water. Missy rose from her treat, sauntered over to her, and settled at her feet.

  “What do you think? I saw Missy alert a couple of times today for scent. Are we on the right track?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t know … I hope so.” Dannette watched the fire chew at the wood. Somewhere out there a young woman might be trying to keep warm. The thought made her hollow, and she felt frustration pool in her throat. “Or … maybe I hope I’m wrong. That she’s somewhere else safe and warm.”

  Sarah gave her a soft smile, as if reading her torn thoughts. “You know I’m on your side, so I’m just going to ask it. You’re not overreacting to this report of a missing girl after the incident with Emily, are you?”

  Dannette closed her eyes. Ouch. Yes, the search for Lacey’s daughter, Emily, had dredged up her demons enough for them to play havoc with her emotions, but she wasn’t dreaming the blue fabric, the filthy blanket, or Missy’s reactions.

  Was she?

  Sarah knocked down the fire, added the fire grate, and set the pot on to boil. “Like I said, I’m on your side. If you want to talk about … well, out here it’s no one but you, me, and Missy.”

  “And our local Boy Scout.” Dannette forced a smile, listening to the breath of night in the trees and enjoying the smell of spring as it stirred up the damp loam. She touched Sarah’s arm. “I know you’re on my side. And I appreciate you trusting me and my gut feelings.”

  Sarah met her smile. “Yeah, if I were lost, I’d be thankful for your stubbornness.”

  “I’d better see how Will is doing,” Dannette said, suddenly feeling a flint of compassion for him despite his intrusion on their lives. He probably hadn’t brought any dinner, especially if he figured on their returning home for the night. Dannette and Sarah, already stocked up for the canoe trip, had packed provisions for three days. If they didn’t find the girl by then, they’d head back to Moose Bend. And then Dannette would decide whether or not she should throw herself over Sheriff Fadden’s desk and demand a call-out.

  Dannette ignored Sarah’s teasing smile and trekked across the trail to Will’s camp. Missy followed and Dannette dug out her ball, throwing it down the shadowed trail. Missy shot off after it.

  Will the Eagle Scout had a small fire going and had constructed a simple A-frame tent using a large poplar tree, a couple of ropes, and a tarp. He crouched beside the fire, spooning out his dinner from a brown packet.

  “Is that an MRE?” she asked, sitting on a log across from him.

  “Yep.” He glanced at her, held out the dinner. “Want some?”

  She made a face. “Sorry, but I had my share of those during a training exercise we did with the Iowa National Guard. How did you get them?”

  He shrugged. “Army surplus.”

  “Same with your getup too, I guess, huh?” Although, in his black fatigues and boots, he looked close enough to the real thing. Something about him—perhaps the sly smile, the casual confidence in his demeanor—made him look like a man who handled life with a shrug, not letting it get under his skin. No wonder he was difficult to shake—her pleas hadn’t done more than glance off him. />
  Still, the fact that he was camped here, close enough to hear a scream in the night, felt … safe. Sorta … sweet. She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, tell me, isn’t this a little over the top for a story? A lost girl … it’ll maybe make page B of the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Not exactly a Pulitzer-prize contender.”

  He finished his meal and sealed his trash into a Ziploc. “Nope. But like I said, I want to help.” He sat on the ground, leaned back onto his hands. “Your friend Sarah is nice.”

  Missy returned with her ball, dropped it at Dannette’s feet, then collapsed into a pile of fur. “Yeah. She’ll be an asset when we find the girl. She knows how to handle trauma victims.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows.

  “She’s seen some pretty bad stuff.” Not to mention, been a victim herself. Dannette shook her head, trying to escape the memory as she ran her hand through Missy’s fur. “So, how does a cowboy become a reporter?”

  Will picked up a stick and jabbed it into the campfire. Sparks shot skyward. “Just kind of ended up that way.”

  Dannette leaned forward, watching his lean, strong hands. “Okay, I gotta know. You have military written all over you. Did you do time in the National Guard or something?”

  She watched his face, and didn’t Mr. Cool swallow, as if caught. She even saw his Adam’s apple bob in the dim light. A muscle pulled in his face. Perhaps she could dig for a few secrets too.

  “Something like that,” he answered. He rubbed his whiskers, dislodging some dirt.

  The wind stirred the branches in the darkness beyond the ring of firelight. Her disappointment felt sharp as she realized that was his full, annotated answer. “C’mon, Will. Play fair. You invaded my life, so I get to know something more about you than you like to dress in black and make a pretty decent bivouac.”

  He glanced at his tent. “You like that, huh?”

  “I’m moderately impressed.” She clamped her hands on her knees. “Something like that?” she repeated.

  Will exhaled, and it seemed more from relief than stress. “Okay, yes, I did time in the military.” He didn’t look at her. “My pa was a cop. And when I graduated from high school, it felt like the only way out.”