Jane’s head throbbed as she struggled to sift through the dark blankness in her mind.
If she was married, was her husband looking for her? Or had he hurt her?
Domestic cases were rampant. Abusive men could be charming. Chameleons who looked handsome in one light and changed their colors in another. Had her husband disguised himself as a good man until their wedding, then revealed a sinister side after the honeymoon was over?
She closed her eyes, desperate to see his face or hear his name, but the effort cost her and intensified her headache. Agitated, she stood and walked over to the doorway of the lean-to. She eased the edge of the tarp open and peered outside.
A sea of white filled her vision, the heavy downpour of snowflakes across the land obliterating any signs of greenery. The sky was a smoky gray and the wind howled like a sick animal, adding to the dismal feel.
Fletch was right. It was too dangerous to hike in this blizzard.
For some reason she didn’t understand, she instinctively felt she could trust him. His voice was smoky, gruff, layered with concern and tenderness. And when he’d described his family, emotions tinged his eyes.
Although how could she trust a virtual stranger she’d just met when she obviously had doubts about the man she’d married?
For a brief second, a shadow filled her vision and the world slipped out of focus. Then faces drifted through the fog coated air... A man and woman and a child. Laughter, then the man picked up the little girl and swung her around. The woman stooped, gathered snow in her gloved hands, then threw a snowball at them. The little girl laughed and giggled, then the man and girl made snowballs and laughed and shouted as they had a snowball fight.
Jane tensed, her breathing choppy as she realized there was no one in the snow. That the image was a memory from her childhood. A sense of peace enveloped her that she had had loving parents and a happy home.
Until they’d been murdered.
The realization made her chest ache as if she’d just lost them that second. Maybe because it felt like yesterday or maybe because it was the only real memory she could hold on to.
Why could she remember a part of her childhood and not her name or her husband’s or how she’d ended up out here in the storm, bloody and bruised?
A noise startled her, and a large branch broke and tumbled to the blanket of white on the ground. Then another shadow.
An animal maybe? A wolf? Mountain lion? Bear?
There it was again. The shadow. A movement...
What if it was the man who’d hurt her? Maybe he’d hung around to make sure she was dead...
FLETCH STOKED THE fire as he watched Jane at the door to the shelter. She was obviously struggling. How would it feel to wake up with no memory of your name or your life?
Although some things he wanted to forget, like the day his father died. Talking about his family reminded him of the huge hole in his heart left by his father’s death. In his mind, he saw the last few minutes they’d talked. They were having coffee at the diner when the call about the fire had come in.
They were joking about the local high school football game and the quarterback who’d put Whistler High on the map with his record stats. Fletch’s mother was home making her famous pot roast with the baby carrots and peas that he and his father requested once a week. Griff had asked for peach cobbler for dessert. Liam wanted her biscuits. And Jacob her sweet tea.
It had been an ordinary day. A hint of impending rain in the air, but no sign that Whistler was about to experience the worst tragedy in the history of the town.
Then the call... His father leaped up immediately, told him about the fire. Fletch wanted to ride with him, but his father said he’d meet him later at dinner. Neither one of them had any idea how serious the situation was.
Sirens from the fire truck raced by. Griff was on duty, so he would probably be late for dinner just like his father. He decided to keep his mother company till then.
So Fletch paid the bill while his father jumped in his car and raced to his death.
Pain and guilt squeezed at his lungs. If only he’d stuck with his dad, maybe he could have saved him...
Two hours later, just as his mother pulled the peach cobbler from the oven, Jacob called. He’d barely been coherent and said it was mass chaos. They needed more manpower to help evacuate patients from the hospital. Some might be trapped.
Fletch and Liam left their mother to keep the food warm while they drove like maniacs to the hospital. Just as Jacob said, the scene was chaos. Hospital patients in wheelchairs and on gurneys filled the parking lot. Staff members struggled to get out while tending to the needy. Firefighters raced in, geared up, to rescue victims and evacuate the building while other firefighters worked to extinguish the blaze and keep it from spreading. Screams and cries echoed from terrified staff and patients.
As soon as they parked, they hit the ground running and dove in to help. The heat from the blaze seared his skin. Flames burst into the night sky like an orange fireball. They had to hurry.
The next half hour he and his brothers helped carry the injured and sick outside.
Then Jacob emerged, shouting their names. He was pale and panting as he dragged their father out of the inferno.
Jane made a startled sound, jerking Fletch from the depths of the tragic memory. She clenched the tarp edge, her eyes wide.
Fletch hurried to her. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw someone,” she whispered. “A shadow moving. Maybe a man.”
Fletch urged her behind him, then peered out into the storm. Trees bent and swayed in the throes of the turbulent wind gusts, and snow swirled in a hazy sea of white.
She was right. Fletch saw the shadow. Something moved about a hundred feet away. His body tensed, senses honed as he searched the wilderness.
Wait... There it was. A movement again.
The bruises on Jane’s body taunted him. If the person who’d hurt her was still out there, he might have tracked them here.
Fletch rushed to his pack and removed his pistol. Jane’s eyes widened as she watched him, fear glittering in the depths. He lifted one finger to his lips in a silent gesture to keep quiet.
He carried the gun with him to the door of the shelter, braced it at the ready and waited.
FOR A MOMENT when Fletch retrieved his gun, Jane froze in fear. But the protective gleam in his eyes when he urged her behind him gave her a sense of safety. At least she wasn’t facing this situation alone.
“Do you see anything?” she whispered behind him.
“A movement,” he murmured. “Can’t tell what it is yet. Could be an animal or a hiker who got caught in the storm looking for refuge.”
Which meant he would help them.
Only the tense set of Fletch’s shoulders indicated he was prepared for trouble.
Tension vibrated in the small confines of the lean-to, Jane’s worry rising with each passing second. If only she could remember what happened to her, she could give Fletch insight as to her attacker’s identity.
And if he might still be looking for her.
The blizzard raged on, visibility worsening as the precipitation thickened. Fletch suddenly stiffened and tightened his fingers around his weapon. He’d seen something.
Jane searched the thick snowdrifts, anxiety needling her. An image of a gun in her hand suddenly flashed behind her eyes. A second later, the image disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her confused.
And with more questions.
Did she know how to use a gun? Did she own one?
The few things she’d remembered about her father taunted her. He hadn’t been a violent man and she didn’t recall him hunting, yet he’d kept a gun locked in a drawer in his study.
She closed her eyes and willed a mental picture of him to surface. His study, the big chair by the fire where they worked the crossword puzzles. Wall-to-wall bookcases held leather-bound books. She raked her gaze over the shelves, trying to decipher the titles. Had he liked novels? Mysteries? Were they nonfiction books?
She massaged her temple again, and saw the words Law Review on the spine of a large black book.
Was her father a lawyer?
Fletch shifted beside her, and she opened her eyes. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he heaved a breath.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Bear. She’s moved on up the mountain.” He pointed to a ridge in the distance. “Probably looking for a place to hibernate.”
A chill went through Jane. “Do you think she’ll come back here?”
“Could, but I doubt it. Looked like a mama. Saw a cub farther up the trail, so she went toward her baby.”
Relief softened Jane’s fears, and she walked back to the fire and sat down on the blanket again. Adrenaline waning, exhaustion took over.
“You okay?” Fletch asked.
He remained at the door, gun in his hand, like some kind of rugged lawman. But his eyes pierced her with worry.
“Just a headache, and I’m tired,” she said softly.
“Lie down and sleep a while. I’ll keep watch and wake you if the storm lets up.”
His gruff voice was so comforting that she murmured thanks, then succumbed to fatigue and stretched out, wrapping the blanket around her. Firelight flickered, the kindling popping in the quiet of the shelter. Yet outside, the wind howled, brutal and deadly.
Knowing Fletch was watching over her, she closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.
But in her sleep, the nightmares came. The blood... She was running... Death was near. She couldn’t escape it...
FLETCH KEPT WATCH by the doorway, ears alert for sounds of someone approaching.
He tried his radio again as the hours passed, aware each time Jane startled awake from a bad dream. Her sleep was restless, as if she was fighting off her demons—or her attacker all over again.
Late afternoon, Jane roused, mumbling incoherently. She shouted no, then opened her eyes, trembling as she looked around the shelter. She was still lost in the nightmare, her eyes glazed, her hands clawing at the covers as if she needed to hide beneath them.
“Shh, it’s all right, you’re safe now,” Fletch murmured.
At the sound of his voice, Jane turned her head toward him.
“It’s Fletch, Jane. You fell asleep and were dreaming.”
She inhaled deeply, chest rising and falling with her labored breathing.
“I found you in the snow, collapsed. Do you remember me?”
She slowly nodded, then shoved her tangled hair from her face.
“Did you remember something else?” he asked.
For a moment, her eyes looked blank, then finally she shook her head.
“I’m going to gather more wood, and then I’ll make us something to eat.”
She didn’t speak, so he decided to give her a few minutes to acclimate. He stowed his gun in the waistband of his pants, removed the small pot he carried in his emergency pack and stepped outside. He scanned the land as he left the shelter, then collected more sticks for the fire. He set those inside to dry, then dipped some snow into the pot.
The wind force was so strong that snow had blown across the land and formed knee-deep drifts. His face stung, the fog so thick he couldn’t see three feet in front of him. A noise made him jerk to the left and reach for his weapon, but it was only a large branch breaking off in the wind.
He hurried back to the shelter, anxious to make sure Jane was okay. He sensed she’d remembered something, but she hadn’t wanted to share it.
When he entered the shelter, he found her hunched beneath the blanket, watching him warily.
“I tried the radio again, but it’s still down,” he said softly. “Hopefully the storm will let up by morning and we can get through.” He set the pot over the fire on the grate, then fastened the tarp again.
While the snow melted and the water began to boil, he retrieved two packets of dried soup mix from his bag along with two tin mugs. He dumped the soup mix into the mugs, then poured water over it and stirred. He carried Jane a mug and she reached for it, her hand shaking.
“I figured you were hungry. You need to eat to regain your strength.”
She licked her lips. “You’re prepared.”
He shrugged. “That’s what I do.” While she sipped the hot soup, he sat down by the fire and did the same.
An eerie quiet settled through the shelter. The sound of their breathing mingled with the raging wind outside that beat at the lean-to.
“You want to talk?” he finally asked.
She heaved a breath and shook her head. “I’m just tired.”
Concern filled him and he rose, walked over and gently touched her forehead to see if she had a fever. Her skin felt cool, though.
“Mind if I look at that gash on the back of your head? I’d like to clean the wound to prevent an infection.”
She murmured permission, and he retrieved his first aid kit from his bag. She set her empty mug on the floor and turned her back to him. He gently eased her hair away from the wound and wiped the blood with alcohol wipes. She winced slightly when he touched it, but as he cleaned it, he realized it wasn’t as deep as he’d first thought.
“Looks like it’ll heal on its own,” he said. “Not so deep you need stitches.”
“That’s good,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” The emotions in her voice made him want to squeeze her shoulder for comfort, but he stepped back. “You cried out in your dreams,” he said. “What was that about?”
Her eyes widened, and she turned back to look at the fire, then tugged the blanket around her again. “I was running from a man, but I still couldn’t see his face.”
“Was that all?”
She nodded, then leaned her head onto her knees. Fletch studied her, his jaw tight.
Why did he have the sense she was lying to him? That she’d seen something she didn’t want to tell him about?