A small-town cop must protect

a beautiful rogue undercover detective.

Trespassing, fleeing a peace officer...hell, she’d aimed a gun at his chest! Officer James Tedder can’t help but admire her fight. And undercover detective Charlotte Helms will never quit. She’s on a personal mission: rescue her best friend’s daughter...and bust the child-trafficking ring that lured her away. When they’re forced to become partners, James must trust Charlotte to have his back. But can he trust her with his heart?

DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal and romantic suspense novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. A 2017 Rita finalist, she’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her eldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young adult and paranormal romance, she loves to hear from readers!

Also By Debbie Herbert

Appalachian Prey

Appalachian Abduction

Bayou Shadow Hunter

Bayou Shadow Protector

Bayou Wolf

Siren’s Secret

Siren’s Treasure

Siren’s Call

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Appalachian Abduction

Debbie Herbert

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07864-1

APPALACHIAN ABDUCTION

© 2018 Debbie Herbert

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to all my author friends who

help me, especially: Gwen Knight, Lexi George,

Ash Fitzsimmons, Michelle Edwards, Tammy Lynn,

Fran Holland and Audrey Jordan!

And, as always, to my husband, Tim, my dad,

J.W. Gainey, and my sons, Byron and Jacob.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Only one road climbed Blood Mountain to the exclusive Falling Rock community and its luxury mansions. But Charlotte had no interest in accessing the gated community through the pretty lane lined with oaks and vistas of manicured lawns and gardens.

No, the backside view of the swanky neighborhood was where she’d find clues to the ugly mystery of Jenny’s whereabouts. And to get to this precious vantage point in the hollow, she’d hiked a good two miles down from neighboring Lavender Mountain. She raised her binoculars and focused on the nearest cabin’s massive wooden deck.

Nobody milling about there.

She slanted them to the cabin’s impressive wall of windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jenny—or any other young teenage girl, for that matter. The bastards.

Still nothing.

But she wasn’t discouraged. If nothing else, her career as an undercover cop had taught her patience. She waited and, after a few minutes, scanned the row of houses yet again before dropping the binoculars and taking a swig from her water bottle.

Faint voices rumbled through the air, low, deep and indecipherable. Quickly she raised the binoculars to search for the source. But the field glasses weren’t necessary. Near the base of the cabin, only one hundred yards away, stood two men armed with shotguns and wearing walkie-talkies belted at their waists. Where had they come from?

Suddenly the muscular guy on the left raised an arm and pointed a pair of binoculars at her.

Oh, no.

She’d been spotted, despite the fact that she was dressed in camouflage and had tucked her red hair into an olive ski cap. The man on the right raised a shotgun to his shoulder and scanned the area. Charlotte dropped to the ground on her stomach, praying she was out of sight. Three deep breaths, and she raised her binoculars again. The men had disappeared.

Strangely, she wasn’t comforted by that realization. They could be creeping their way downhill to find her. Time to get the heck out of Dodge. Charlotte tucked the binoculars and water bottle into her backpack and withdrew her pistol. Not the standard-issue one provided by the Atlanta Police Department—they’d forced her to turn that in—but the personal one she always kept stashed in her nightstand. If they found her, she’d be ready for them. The cool, hard wood snuggled in her right hand provided a surge of comfort, just as it always had on those nights when she’d been home alone and whispers of danger made her imagine some ex-con had discovered where she lived.

Charlotte eased the backpack onto her shoulders. Cocking her head to the side, she paused, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

Wind moaned through the trees, and dead leaves gusted in noisy spirals. Then she heard it: a methodical crunching of the forest underbrush that thickly carpeted the ground. At least one of the men was headed her way.

Damn it.

She jumped to her feet and ran, heart savagely skittering. Its pounding beat pulsed in her ears, loud as the echo of dynamite. A slug whistled high above her, and bark exploded from near the top of a pine sapling eight feet ahead.

Did they mean to kill her or merely frighten her off? Because if their aim was the latter, it was working. Charlotte kept running, this time darting behind trees every ten yards or so. No sense providing them with an easy target. The path seemed to stretch on forever, though, and a stitch in her side finally screamed in protest at the brisk pace. Charlotte stumbled behind a wide oak and sucked oxygen into her burning lungs.

Another shot rent the air, but she couldn’t tell where the bullet landed. Hopefully not anywhere nearby. She pushed off and ran once more. Wind blasted her ears and cheeks, stinging her eyes as she sped down the trail, mentally calculating her best escape. If only she knew how close they were.

There were three options. One, return to the nearby abandoned cabin and hope they didn’t see her sneak inside. Two, if there was enough time, hightail it to her truck hidden in a copse of trees and take off. The problem with the first two was that her cover might be compromised if she were spotted. The third option was riskier, but it would leave her free to continue her planned surveillance.

Another shot torpedoed by like an angry hornet, grazing the side of a nearby oak. This shot was much closer. Again, she ran. Gnarled roots gripped her right foot and she fell flat. A pained cry slipped past her lips. She stared down at her twisted knee and the ripped denim on the outside of her right thigh where brambles and rocks had cut deep. Blood oozed and created a widening stain on her pants. Her right temple throbbed and she knew a knot would form on her scalp. Charlotte swallowed hard, pushing back the sudden stab of dizziness that narrowed her vision. No allowing the blessed relief of unconsciousness to take hold. The things men like them could do...she’d seen way too many victims and knew a thousand ways evil people could inflict pain upon another.

Focus. You can’t let them catch you.

Option three it was, then. Quickly she ripped off her jacket and pressed it against her wound. Couldn’t let blood drip to the ground and become a trail that would lead the men to her. Not to mention the danger of passing out from blood loss.

She hissed at the wave of pain that slammed into her knee. It was as if someone had tripped a live wire inside her that burned through her veins and traveled up and down her body. Even her mouth had a metallic, coppery taste. Charlotte spit a mouthful of blood, clamped her teeth shut and crouched low. Plenty of time later to moan and groan. Right now she had to find cover.

It hurt like hell, but she managed a stumbling trot, forsaking the main path and stumbling through shrubs and bands of trees. Winter was a hell of a time to seek shelter in the Appalachian forest. The plants were practically stripped bare, their only foliage a few withered, stubborn leaves that had not yet broken loose. But there were patches of evergreen shrubs and small pine trees still to be found. She’d checked on that in her earlier recon of the area.

“Where’d he go?” one of the men shouted from afar.

The answering voice was much closer. “Lost sight of him.”

She dove behind a clump of rhododendrons and curled into a tight ball. If they hadn’t seen her, she had a chance. Her breath sawed in and out—to her ears, loud enough to doom any hope of going unnoticed. She crossed her left hand over her thigh and pressed down on the wound to staunch the bleeding. Those damn briars ripped flesh like tiny surgical knives. The pistol was in her right hand, loaded, with the safety off. If they came too close and found her hidey-hole, she might be able to fire at them first.

They tromped through the area and continued the search. Subtlety wasn’t their strength.

“You go that way,” one of them shouted, pointing in the opposite direction, “and I’ll head this way.”

A tide of relief whooshed through her body. One would be easier than two if it came to a showdown.

Footsteps approached, and she rounded into herself even tighter, not daring to breathe.

Please don’t stop. Keep walking, she prayed as the nearest man stomped not twenty yards away. He wore black leather boots and dark denims—that much she could see—but she didn’t dare lift her face and examine him further.

He stumbled on a rock and tumbled forward several steps, managing to catch his balance at the last minute. “Damn it,” he snarled, then yelled, “Anyone out there?”

Right. Like she was going to raise her hand and pop up like a jack-in-the-box to answer him.

“If you can hear me, you were trespassing. Stay away from Falling Rock, got it? Hey, Ricky, let’s get back to the house,” he called to his fellow tracker, then walked back toward the main trail.

Another voice, deeper and more gravelly, spoke. “Probably just a hunter, anyway.”

“I didn’t see no shotgun on him, but he was wearing camouflage. Scrawny little fella.”

“Might not have been hunting animals. Could be one of them ’sengers.”

What the heck was a ’senger? Whatever they were, she was grateful they provided another plausible explanation for a person roaming the woods in camouflage attire.

Her breathing slowed at the sound of receding footsteps. Today had almost been disastrous, and she wasn’t in the clear yet.

If those men were smart, they’d linger a bit, hoping that their prey would be cocky enough, or stupid enough, to reemerge on the trail, mistakenly believing the danger had passed. But six years on the force had honed her methods and instincts. Never believe your opponent isn’t as smart, or smarter, than yourself, she’d been warned.

And so she waited. As shock and adrenaline faded, the pain in her knee and temple increased. As soon as she got to the cabin, she’d clean the wound and patch it up with the first aid kit she’d brought along. She also had Ace bandages to wrap her knee. It had to be a superficial injury, since she’d been able to put weight on her leg and run. The air chilled her skin, although not enough to counteract the burn of ripped flesh. Were the men still lying in wait? She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay. Every moment the wound went unattended increased the likelihood of infection, and she desperately wanted to take something for the building headache.

Gingerly Charlotte rose and tested putting weight on her right leg. A bolt of pain traveled up from her knee, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Hurt or not, she had to leave. Those men might return with a larger force. And even if her damn cell phone worked out here in the boonies, who could she call? Right now, she was a pariah to her coworkers, and if she called the local authorities, they’d pepper her with questions.

She gripped her pistol more tightly and set off toward the main trail. Once she got there, she’d walk along the outskirts until she was sure the men were truly gone.

The trail looked as forlorn and barren as when she’d first hiked it that morning. Charlotte ran a hand through her hair and then stopped cold. At some point, her hat had been blown away by the wind. Good thing the men were gone. Now she needed to push through the pain and walk. She could do that. There was no choice.

It appeared she’d survived this encounter. Sometimes the best option was to hide and live to fight another day. Justice delayed beat justice denied. Besides, it wasn’t as if she harbored a death wish, though death would be preferable to what these men were capable of doing.

They might have succeeded in running her off for the day, but she wasn’t giving up. She couldn’t give up. Not today, not ever. She was the last, best hope for Jenny and the other lost girls.

* * *

THE NEAR-DESERTED roads suited James just fine. October, while beautiful in the Appalachians, had drawn crowds of tourists flocking to view the scenic foliage. But November’s gray skies and biting wind meant that Lavender Mountain was back to its usual calmness—and he could sure use some peace and quiet. Returning from Afghanistan hadn’t exactly led to the grand family homecoming he’d once envisioned. Instead, murder had wiped out half his family before he’d even set foot in Elmore County. That tragedy, combined with what the doctors deemed a mild case of PTSD, had left him edgy and filled with uncertainty about the future.

With no conscious plan, James meandered the deputy sheriff’s cruiser up the mountain road, and he startled at the sudden sight of his father’s old cabin. How often had he done this very thing on routine patrols? Ended up driving right here, precisely at the place he’d rather not be?

He shook his head in disgust and hit the accelerator. Memory Lane had zip appeal.

Twenty yards down the road, a flash of beige slashed through his peripheral vision. What was that? He did a U-turn and craned his neck, searching the brown-and-gray woods. There, he spotted it again. Curious, he pulled onto his father’s old property and exited the cruiser, shrugging into his jacket. He strode along the tree line until he solved the riddle: someone had parked their truck toward the back of the property behind a couple of large trees. He retrieved his cell phone and hurried over on the off chance that someone might be injured or stranded.

It was locked, but he peered in the tinted windows. No clues there. The interior was practically empty and spotlessly clean. He headed to the back of the truck and took a photo of the license plate. He’d call in the numbers shortly.

No damn reason it should be here. No good reason, anyway. Frowning, he went to the cabin and pulled out his keys. Better make sure some squatter hadn’t decided to take up free residence.

He inserted the key in the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. James withdrew it and checked—yes, this was the correct key. Someone had changed the locks. He felt a prickle of unease mixed with anger, and the twin emotions churned in his gut. Anger won.

“Open up,” he bellowed, rapping his knuckles on the old wooden door. “Sheriff’s department.”

Silence.

He stepped back on the porch and noticed for the first time that every window was taped up with plain brown wrapping paper. This was his place, damn it. He’d chosen not to live in the cabin he’d inherited, but that didn’t mean just anyone could help themselves to it and move in. James rapped on the door again, louder. “Open up now, or I’ll break down the door.”

Still no answer.

With a quick burst of energy, he kicked the door. Splinters flew, and the frame rattled. He kicked again, and it burst open. James shuffled to the side and removed his sidearm, then proceeded cautiously inside with his gun raised. The room was abnormally dark from the taped windows, and only the light from the open doorway illuminated the den. At least his sister had gotten rid of most of the furniture. In this room, only an old couch remained. No place to hide.

James flicked the light switch, grateful he’d kept the power on. The Realtor had insisted on it so she could show the place to potential buyers. That was a laugh—the place had sat empty for months. Seemed fixer-upper cabins in remote Appalachia weren’t a hot commodity. Hardly a shocker.

He made his way to the kitchen, gun still drawn. Like the truck and the den, it was pristine, and mostly empty. No signs of forced entry or habitation. Three more rooms to check. He padded down the short hallway, gun at the ready. The guest bedroom and bathroom doors stood open, but the main bedroom door was shut.

Gotcha, he almost whispered aloud. He spared a cursory glance in the guest room that housed only a bed. Nothing was underneath the tucked comforter, so he eased toward the closed door. Spots of spilled liquid, still wet, stained the pine flooring leading from the bedroom into the bathroom. He flipped on the bathroom switch, careful to keep his gun aimed at the closed bedroom door.

Smeared blood and dirt formed a drag pattern on the floor and basin and continued their path to the side of the tub. A wet towel lay beside the tub, as well as strips of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Someone had been hurt—and recently.

A grating metal sound came from behind the closed bedroom door, and James barreled into the room. A mattress lay on the floor, and food provisions and clothes were neatly stacked in plastic containers along the side wall. But it was the open window that drew his immediate focus. Oh, hell no, they weren’t slipping away. He was going to get answers. James rushed to the window and stuck his head out.

Red hair whipped in the breeze. A petite woman wearing a camouflage shirt and black panties—no pants, no shoes—ran through the yard. Blood oozed from ripped flesh on her right leg, and she limped as she headed toward the truck.

Okay, that was far from the thug or drugged-out squatter he’d expected. “Halt,” he ordered.

She didn’t even bother looking back at him as she continued a gimpy run to the tree line.

“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, tucking his sidearm back into its holster and rushing through the cabin. He exited the busted front door and stormed down the porch steps to the side yard. “Stop right now,” he called out.

Again she ignored his command. Stubborn, foolish woman. He couldn’t let her get in that truck. But as he ran toward her, she spun around, raising a pistol in both hands and aiming it straight at his heart.

James threw up his hands and cautiously walked forward before pointing at his badge. “Lady, you don’t want to shoot an officer of the law.” He nodded at her leg. “Looks like you need medical attention.”

“You’re a cop? Let me take a look at that badge.” She approached and examined the badge on his uniform. The harsh glint in her eyes softened, and she lowered the gun. “Sorry. I didn’t stop to see who broke in when I ran.”

“I identified myself as from the Sheriff’s department,” he said grimly. She might be pretty as all get-out and pretend compliance, but people weren’t always what they seemed. This job and his tour of duty had taught him those lessons well. “Now gently lay down the gun and step away from it,” he ordered.

She kept her eyes on him as she bent her knees and placed her weapon on the ground. “No problem, Officer. I always—”

Her right leg gave out from underneath, and she swooned forward—which put her hands right by her gun, he couldn’t help noticing. Quickly he crossed the distance between them and kicked it several yards away.

“Suspicious much?” she drawled.

“I’ll call for an ambulance or drive you to the hospital in my vehicle. Do you have a preference?”

“Neither. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“There’s blood on the right side of your scalp. Not to mention your mangled leg. Might need stitches, at the very least. Antibiotics, too.”

“I said no.” She struggled to stand and then limped past him. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Not until you explain how you got hurt and what you were doing in my cabin.”

That got through to the woman, and she whirled around. “Your cabin?” She bit her lip and mumbled, “Of all the damn luck.”

“You can explain on the way to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

She hobbled to the door, and he scrambled to retrieve the fallen weapon before following her, trying to deduce this stranger’s game. “You hiding from an abusive husband?” he guessed.

“No,” she said flatly, grabbing onto the porch rail and wincing as she climbed the steps.

“There are shelters that can help, you know. In fact, there’s one less than thirty miles—”

“I don’t need a shelter. I can protect myself.”

Like hell she could. “Fine. You want to clam up? Let’s go down to the station. I’ll run your license plate and clear up this mystery.”

She sighed, resignation rounding her shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my clothes on.”

Woman was probably freezing her butt off. “Of course. Look, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, we can help.”

She blinked and nodded her head. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry about intruding and...and pulling that gun on you.”

About time she saw sense. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” He took in her pale face, and his eyes traveled down to her right leg. “Can you manage by yourself?” he asked gruffly.

“Of course. Any chance I can have my gun back now? After you unload it, of course.”

What kind of fool did she think he was? “No, you may not.”

She cast her eyes down in a demure manner. “Be back in a minute.”

He watched as she made her faltering way down the hall, her back ramrod straight. What kind of man could hurt a woman that way? It looked as though she’d taken a hard tumble. Her ex was obviously dangerous. He’d see that whoever the man was, he’d get his due punishment.

James paced the empty den, thinking of his dad and sister Darla, both murdered at the hands of another family member. How sad that the ones we most loved were often our worst enemies and betrayers of our trust.

He shook his head and strode to the windows, stripping off the papers the woman had taped up to avoid detection. It shouldn’t matter, but he hated the thought of the cabin being shrouded in darkness night and day. Bad enough he’d abandoned it to die a slow death from neglect.

What was taking her so long? Had she passed out from loss of blood?

A flash of red in the barren landscape caught his eye.

Damn it to hell. She was running away again, this time fully clothed and with a backpack strapped to her shoulders.

Should have known the minute he’d seen those teal eyes and titian-colored hair that this woman spelled trouble.

Chapter Two

Charlotte suppressed a wince as she collapsed into the seat across from his desk at the Lavender Mountain Sheriff’s Office. She glanced at his nameplate. Officer James Tedder. The name had a familiar ring.

“Driver’s license, please,” he said matter-of-factly, firing up the computer on his battered wooden desk. He examined her gun and wrote down the serial number before opening his desk drawer and locking it away.

“License. Right.” She made a show of rummaging through her backpack. “Shoot,” she mumbled. “It’s not here. Must have left it at the cabin. Sorry.”

He quirked a brow. “How convenient. Tell me your name.”

The officer was bound to get her real name from the truck’s license plate numbers. No use lying. “Charlotte Helms.”

He picked up his cell phone, and she saw a photo of the rental tag as he typed. But there was no need to panic just because he had her name. He’d run a standard background check and see she had no priors. No reason for him to look further and check out her employment record. A little fast talking on her part to avoid trespassing charges, and her cover would remain uncompromised.

“The truck’s a rental,” she volunteered. “Thought it would be easier to keep my ex-boyfriend off the trail that way.” She trembled her lips and let her eyes fill with tears. This wouldn’t be her first performance for getting out of a jam. And acting was so much easier when she actually felt like crying from pain. “You were right. I’m running from someone.”

“How did you wind up in my cabin?”

Bad spot of luck there. It’d looked perfect when she’d scouted the area earlier—practically deserted but sturdy, and the location so close to Falling Rock. She’d figured it would be less conspicuous to camp there than to rent a room at a local motel. The tourist season was long over and she didn’t want to attract attention.

“It...seemed safe,” she hedged. “I was afraid if I stayed at a motel he’d track me down. I don’t have much cash on me, only credit cards.” She added a hitch to her voice. “I left in a bit of a hurry.”

He paused a heartbeat, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How did he hurt you?”

His face and voice were neutral and she couldn’t tell if he was buying her story or not. Charlotte thought fast.

“It wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. I’d gone for a walk,” she lied. “Got a little stir crazy holed up in the cabin. I must have ended up on someone’s property because a shot came out of nowhere. Might have been an irate land owner. Or...maybe it was a hunter mistaking me for a deer? I didn’t stick around to find out. In my hurry, I stumbled and took a hard fall.”

“Exactly where were you when this incident occurred?”

“About a mile or two south of the cabin? I can’t say. I was focused on getting the hell out of there.”

A ding sounded on the computer and he turned to the screen. “Truck was rented from Atlanta,” he read. “Two days ago. The contract states you’ve rented it for two weeks.”

“That’s right.” Charlotte swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “I apologize for staying at your cabin. I’ll be glad to pay for a new door and any other damages incurred.”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “A crime’s been committed here.”

“Please don’t arrest me for trespassing. I’ve never been in trouble with the law.” Then she remembered. “And, um, sorry for that other incident, too.”

“You drew a gun on me,” he stated flatly, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

“I thought you were my ex.”

“Again, I identified myself before entering the cabin. Fleeing an officer is a crime.”

“But I didn’t see you,” she argued. “I couldn’t be sure who you really were.”

“And then there’s the matter of someone taking potshots at you. I’m going to need more details on that.”

She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Why? I’m fine. I won’t be pressing charges even if you find the one who fired. I just want to move on. I decided during that long walk today that I want to stay with my parents in South Carolina for a bit. Get my life together and put distance between me and my ex.”

“Move on all you like, but I still have the problem of a rogue shooter in the woods. We’re going back there and you’re going to show me where you were when this happened.”

“But...my leg.”

“You claim the injury’s not serious enough for medical attention.”

Her temper rose. “But I can’t walk a mile and go scouting around the wilderness.”

“I have a four-wheeler. You won’t have to walk.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat and pressed a hand to her head injury. “Could we do this tomorrow?”

His blank expression never wavered. “You have a permit to carry a weapon?”

Charlotte blinked at the sudden change of topic. The damn gun. Once he ran the serial numbers he’d have her employment history. And then her cover was blown.

“Of course I have a permit.”

If only she could be sure he was a clean cop. It would be amazing to have assistance in saving Jenny. And he acted sincere with his direct manner. His face was rugged while at the same time maintaining a certain boyish charm. She couldn’t deny that she found him appealing and his forthright air inexplicably tugged at her to confide everything. But this was a small town, one that Jenny Ashbury’s kidnappers had chosen for a reason. And that reason might very well be that local law enforcement had been paid to turn a blind eye on the abductor’s comings and goings.

She couldn’t take that chance with Jenny’s life.

A middle-aged lady with dark hair and bifocals stuck her head in the door. “Harlan needs to speak with you ASAP.”

Officer Tedder frowned. “Can’t it wait?”

“Nope.”

Charlotte’s paranoia radar activated. Harlan Sampson was the county sheriff. Was there any way he knew who she was and why she was here? Was that why he wanted to speak with Officer Tedder?

“Be right back,” he said.

Alone, Charlotte leaned over the desk and peeked at the computer screen. Her not-so-flattering driver’s license photo was on display. Feeling restless, she stood and strolled to the open window, wincing at the burst of pain.

Downtown Lavender Mountain was picturesque with its gift shops and cafés. From here she could see the local coffee shop and a gourmet cheese store. Despite the off season, a few people were out and about.

Leave. Just leave. Now.

Charlotte bit her lip, debating the wisdom of her inner voice. It’s not like Officer Tedder had arrested her, right? And he didn’t issue an order to stay when he left. If she could keep out of sight for a couple of hours and then hitch a ride back to her truck, maybe he’d give up on questioning her.

Yeah...but then what? Stay the next town over? It wouldn’t be as convenient, but she could rent a different vehicle, find an inconspicuous place to park it near Falling Rock, and then continue on as before. All it took was one photograph of any of the lost girls by a window, one slip-up by the kidnappers transporting their captives, or one girl to escape their cabin and make a run for it. Then she’d have the needed proof to obtain a search warrant and rescue Jenny.

It was worth the risk. Hell, she’d already damaged her career by coming to Lavender Mountain anyway. So what if a local cop got angry with her and eventually charged her with trespassing? That was the least of her worries.

With a longing glance at the locked drawer housing her gun, Charlotte scooped up her backpack. She’d get another weapon. If nothing else, she was resourceful and a risk-taker. With that, and a whole lot of luck, she’d bring down that human trafficking ring.

* * *

SOMETHING ABOUT HER story didn’t jibe. James hurried back to his office. More than anyone, he realized these mountains were as dangerous a place as any city. He need look no further than his own family for confirmation of that sad fact. But hunters shooting at a woman didn’t sound right. Hunters around these parts knew you shot by sight, not sound. Was it an irate property owner? It was possible they’d fired a warning shot or two in the air. People ’round these parts didn’t take kindly to trespassers on their land.

And what was she so afraid of? If Charlotte Helms could afford to rent a truck, she could afford a motel. No reason an ex from Atlanta would ever think to look in this area.

Time for answers.

Squaring his shoulders, he stepped back into his office. His empty office. No, surely she didn’t run again. She wouldn’t, would she?

“Sammy,” he bellowed, scurrying down the hall.

“What’s up?” Samuel Armstrong asked, not looking up from his computer.

“Did you see a woman leave the building a minute ago? A redhead limping on her right leg?”

“Nah,” he drawled with a wry grin. “Saw y’all come in, though. You manage to lose her?”

“Maybe.” James hurried over to Zelda’s cubicle. “Did you see that woman in my office leave?”

Zelda laid down her pencil and crossword puzzle book. “No, my back’s been to the door. Want me to check the ladies’ room?”

“Please.”

She rose from her chair with a sigh. He followed Harlan’s secretary to the lobby restroom. But he guessed Zelda’s answer before she emerged half a minute later.

“She’s gone.”

Aggravating woman. “Thanks,” he mumbled, hurrying back to his office for his jacket. He pulled it on as he rushed out of the lobby. He’d spoken with Harlan about five minutes, tops. Charlotte couldn’t have gone far with an injured leg and no vehicle. He glanced up and down the road, but no flash of red was in sight. James crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. This was as good a place to start as any.

Myrtle waved as he entered. “What’ll it be, Jim Bob? Your regular with two sugars and one cream?”

His campaign to have people address him as James instead of his boyhood nickname was not a success. “No, I’m looking for a woman. A petite redhead. Seen her?”

“You have very particular tastes,” Myrtle said with a wink. “Didn’t know you were partial to redheads and leather.”

He was so not in the mood for jokes. “Sheriff’s business. Has she been here or not?”

“Touchy today, huh? Nope, haven’t seen your mysterious lady.”

“Call me if you do.”

He exited the shop and tried half a dozen others. No one had seen Charlotte. He stood in the middle of town square, hands on hips. Every minute that went by increased the likelihood that she’d succeeded in giving him the slip. Think. Where would he go if he were in her shoes? Probably slink around the alleys and slip into a shop’s back door if someone approached. He hustled behind the coffee shop and scanned the alley lined with garbage bins. Down at the far end, he spotted Charlotte rounding a corner, red hair flaming like a beacon.

I’ve got you now, he thought with grim satisfaction. He hurried to the end of the backstreet in time to see her slip into the Dixie Diner.

Now he’d get answers.

Inside the diner, the aroma of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy made his mouth water. Chasing Charlotte was hard work and it was past lunchtime. He scanned the tables filled with families.

No Charlotte.

He proceeded to the back exit and stuck his head out to check the alleyway.

Still no Charlotte.

Only one place left unchecked. He rapped on the ladies’ room door once and then entered.

Lucille Bozeman, an elderly member of the local Red Hat Society, shrieked and clutched her pearls. “James Robert Tedder,” she said breathlessly, “what on earth do you think you are doing?”

At least she’d used his full name instead of Jim Bob. Normally, he found her and the other members of the Red Hats a hoot—amusing older ladies with their red hats, purple attire and carefree spirit. But not today. Heat traveled up the nape of his neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Bozeman. I’m looking for a woman.”

“You’ve come to the right place, but this is hardly appropriate behavior. I’ll speak to Harlan Sampson about this. How dare you...”

But he tuned her out and bent over. No feet were visible under the stalls, but one door was closed. He knocked on it.

“Come on out, ma’am.”

A long sigh, and then a dry voice answered. “You going to order me to put my hands up or you’ll shoot?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he answered in kind. “Unless you try to flee from an officer of the law again.”

Charlotte emerged with a wry smile and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Sorry. You never arrested me so I’d assumed I was free to leave earlier.”

Despite her flippant attitude, James noted that her face had paled and her eyes were slightly glazed. “Right. So that’s why you ran and tried to give me the slip.” He nodded at the bump on her head. “You might be concussed. Change your mind about going to the hospital to have that looked at?”

“Not at all. I’m fine.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble, young lady?” Lucille walked over, the brim of her outlandish purple hat brushing against his shoulders. Her gaze swept Charlotte from head to toe. “You appear a mite peaked.”

Charlotte’s smile was tight. “Just a few superficial wounds.”

“Jim Bob, you should take her to see Miss Glory. She’s a sight better helping folks than any doctor.”

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea—and the healer’s shop was only two doors down.

He addressed Charlotte. “What do you say? No forms to fill out or insurance cards to process.”

“All I need is over-the-counter pain medication. If you could point me in the direction of the local pharmacy?” She pushed past them both and made for the bathroom door.

James took her arm. “You’re coming with me. Stop being so stubborn. It’s obvious you’re hurt. Miss Glory can fix you right up.”

He caught a glimpse of Lucille gaping at them in the bathroom mirror. News of this bathroom encounter would be all over town in an hour.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Mrs. Bozeman.” He leaned into Charlotte, whispering in her ear, “If you don’t want your business common knowledge, let’s continue this outside.”

He stayed near her as they walked through the diner. Charlotte briefly glanced at every face in the crowd, as if taking their measure. She opened the door and stumbled, pitching forward a half step. The full weight of her body leaned against him. She smelled like some kind of flower—a rose, perhaps. It was as though a touch of spring had breathed life into a dreary November day.

Charlotte stiffened and drew back. A prickly rose, this one—beautiful but full of thorns. James clenched his jaw. Didn’t matter how she looked or smelled or felt. This woman was a whole host of complications he didn’t need or want. He’d get her medical attention, find out why she came to Lavender Mountain and then escort her to her truck and wish her well.

“If you’re on the run as you claim, the last thing you want is an infection to set in that injury. Miss Glory really can help you.”

“If I agree, will you give me a ride to my truck afterward and let me go?”

“You’re in no position to negotiate. You trespassed on my property and pointed a gun at me, as well. I believe I’m holding the trump card.”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered.

She hobbled beside him until they reached the store.

Miss Glory’s shop, The Root Worker, was dark. Glory claimed the light deteriorated the herbs strung along the rafters. The placed smelled like chamomile and always reminded him of the time he and his sisters, Darla and Lilah, had all come down with the flu at the same time. Their mother had infused the small cabin with a medicinal tonic provided by Miss Glory.

“What brings you here today, Jim Bob?” Glory asked, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She swiped at the gray fringe of hair on her forehead. Her deeply lined face focused on Charlotte. “And who’s your friend?”

James quickly made introductions. “She’s here because of a lump on her head, a twisted knee and cut skin on her right thigh. She refuses to see a doctor, so I thought I’d bring her to you.”

Glory didn’t even blink an eye. No telling how many strange stories she’d heard over the years.

“I’ve already cleaned it out and bandaged it,” Charlotte said. “Don’t see the need for anything else.”

“How bad do your injuries hurt?” Glory asked gently.

“I wouldn’t turn down some aspirin.”

“Hope you’re not so stubborn that you ignore any signs of a concussion or infection. You start runnin’ a fever or see red streaks flame out from the flesh, you get to a doctor quick, ya hear?”

Surprisingly, Charlotte nodded her head slightly. “I will.”

“You seein’ double or got the collywobbles in yer tummy?”

“None of that.”

Every moment he spent in her company, his doubts about her story grew. He remembered her steady aim and fierce eyes as she aimed a gun dead center on his chest. This wasn’t a woman who ran away from danger. She’d confront it head-on.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do, darlin’. I’m sending you home with a gallon of my sassafras tea. You drink a big ole glass of it at least three times a day. That sassafras is my special tonic that’ll clear up any nasty germs brewing in yer body.”

Miss Glory went behind the counter and rummaged a few moments, returning with a couple of items.

“A little poultice to draw out infection,” she said, pressing it into Charlotte’s palm. “And a few capsules filled with feverfew, devil’s claw and a couple other goodies. Much better than an ole aspirin.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t—”

“Now don’t you fight me on this, child. I see the pain in them eyes of yers. You’ll need a sharp mind to be of any use to anyone and you can’t have that without rest. Take it before you go to bed at night.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, stuffing the poultice and pain packet in her backpack.

“Jim Bob, grab a gallon jug of sassafras tea on yer way out. It’s in the cooler by the door.” Glory rested an arthritic-weathered hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I see danger surrounding you, child. They’s people wish you would go away from here and never come back.”

James was used to Miss Glory’s eerie predictions. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that hocus-pocus, but people around here claimed she had the sight. Couldn’t hurt to pick her brain. “What do you know?” he asked sharply.

“Me?” She threw up her hands and cackled. “I’m just an old woman who’s been around too many years to remember, and can sense people’s energy.”

He was reading too much into the old lady’s ramblings. Wouldn’t have even bothered coming to her shop, but Lilah swore that Miss Glory was the only one who helped her get through a difficult pregnancy and then again helped with her colicky baby.

Charlotte backed away to the door, suspicion hardening her classical features. “Who am I in danger from?” she asked sharply.

“That’s not for me to say. But I suspect you know the answer to your own question.”

Charlotte nodded and continued edging to the door.

He wasn’t going to let her run again. James plopped down a couple twenties on the counter. “Will that cover everything?”

Miss Glory nodded and leaned in, her breath a whisper against his ear. “Watch after her. She needs help whether she likes it or not.”

James shook his head. “I’m no one’s protector,” he grumbled. He had his own demons to fight. His tour of duty overseas had left him unwilling to get involved in others’ problems, beyond what was required as an officer. Lilah often fussed that he’d become too withdrawn. But whatever—all he wanted was to perform his duties and be left alone.

Charlotte gasped suddenly and flung herself against the side wall, away from the shop door. A couple of mason jars filled with herbs crashed to the floor. The scent of something earthy, like loam in a newly plowed field, wafted upward.

“What is it?” Instinctively, his right hand went to his sidearm and he surveyed the scene outside. On Main Street, a sleek black sedan accelerated and turned out of sight from the town square.

“Are they gone?” Charlotte asked past stiff lips.

“Whoever was in that vehicle? Yes. What’s this all about?”

Charlotte lifted her chin and carefully picked her way through the strewn herbs and glass shards. “Sorry, Miss Glory. I’ll pay, of course. Where’s your broom? I’ll sweep up the mess.”

Glory shooed her off, then bent over and whispered something in Charlotte’s ear before addressing them both. “I’ll take care of this. You go on, now, and do what you have to do.”

Charlotte rummaged through the backpack and dug out a wad of bills. She lifted a hand at the sight of Glory’s open mouth. “Take it. I insist. And thanks for your help.”

James grabbed a jug of tea and followed Charlotte outside. He took her arm. “What really brings you to Lavender Mountain?”

Chapter Three

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn as hell?” Charlotte grumbled. She climbed into James’s truck, slowly swinging her injured leg into the cab, and then eased back onto the leather seat with a sigh. She wouldn’t admit it for a month’s salary, but running from his office had been a mistake. Her first instinct, born from years of busting street gangs and drug rings, was to flee until she’d formed a plan and was ready to strike.

James got in beside her and slammed his door shut. “Start talking.”

“You’re taking me back to my truck, right? I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

“That wasn’t the deal. What’s your game?”

She opened her mouth, and he started the engine. “Don’t lie,” he said. “You’re not running from some ex.”

She had no choice. Once he ran the gun paperwork, he’d know. “I’m an undercover cop. Atlanta PD Special Crimes Unit.”

He shot her an assessing glance, then pulled the truck away from the station and into town. “What are you doing ninety miles from the big city? Anything going on around here, we should be part of the investigation. Atlanta’s urban area may sprawl for miles, but this is still our jurisdiction.”

He might have her cornered, but she didn’t have to tell him the whole truth. “I don’t suppose you’d accept the proposition that the less you know, the better?”

James snorted.

“Right. Okay, I’m investigating a missing girl and have reason to believe she’s being held in the Falling Rock community.”

His brow furrowed. “Why? Give me details.”

“How can I be sure you’re trustworthy? Well, not necessarily you,” she amended. “But what about your boss and coworkers? Any of them could compromise—”

“I trust the sheriff explicitly,” he ground out. “Harlan Sampson is as honest as they come, and I’m not saying that because he’s my brother-in-law. I’ve known him all my life. We’ve been friends since third grade.”

“That’s fine for you, but it doesn’t assure me. Far as my research shows, the previous sheriff is doing time for twenty years of covering up moonshine and murders.”

“And Harlan has been working for over a year now to clean up the force,” James said with a scowl.

“Are you sure he’s finished? Most criminals don’t work in a vacuum.”

“Two officers were fired. That’s out of an office with a dozen employees. I have complete faith in the ones remaining.”

“But you’ve only worked with them six months.” She’d done a cursory background search on every officer.

He shot her a glance, eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve done your homework,” he noted, driving away from the downtown area and starting the drive up a winding mountain road.

“I know you’ve done a couple tours in Afghanistan. Army Special Forces.”

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he said coolly. “I know nothing about you. Yet.”

“No doubt you’ll check the gun paperwork and confirm my story. I’d do the same in your position.”

“So why did you break into my cabin? Couldn’t you survey the Falling Rock area more directly?”

Typical cop. A rookie one, no less. “That’s the difference between working undercover versus running routine patrols and answering callouts. Direct isn’t best in my line of work. I picked your cabin because it’s within walking distance of where I can get a behind-the-scenes view of most of the Falling Rock houses.”

“What do you expect to find? Are you hoping by some miracle that the missing girl is going to step outside? I don’t foresee that happening.”

Charlotte squirmed. Put that way, it did sound like a lame plan. But then, he didn’t know all the particulars. He didn’t know that she was investigating a ring, and as such, she hoped to observe vehicles pulling into backyards to hide the drivers’ comings and goings. Even license plate numbers would provide worthwhile leads to pursue. So let him think she was foolish. The less she revealed, the less interference and lower possibility of word getting back to the traffickers that she was closing in on their operation.

“Don’t make this hard,” James warned. “Either voluntarily give us the information so we can help find this missing girl, or drag your feet until we force the information out of your supervisors. Your choice.”

Damn it. If he contacted Atlanta, she’d be ordered—again—to stop searching. And that was the best-case scenario. Worst case, it was entirely possible she’d lose her job. But she’d weighed the risks from the start, and the decision had been easy. Jenny was her best friend’s daughter. If she didn’t try her best, how could she live with that knowledge? How would she be able to face her best friend for the rest of her days? She couldn’t.

“If I tell you more, can we keep it between us?”

“No way. I can’t keep this secret from Harlan and the others. Like you said, I’m pretty new here. Everyone else will have more experience. Don’t you want the full resources the sheriff’s office can provide?”

Hell, yeah. No question. Charlotte gazed out the passenger window, where shadows already lengthened with a hint of the coming twilight. To his credit, James didn’t press her as she weighed the pros and cons of telling him everything. But it wasn’t much of a choice, really. She had a bum leg now, and she’d been seen by the bodyguards who were obviously protecting the traffickers.

“I do need your help,” she admitted. “But if you go to the sheriff, he’ll contact my boss for verification of my story, and then all hell will break loose.”

James’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re on the up-and-up, what’s the problem?”

“I’ve been suspended.” There, she’d said it. Six years of exemplary service, and now she was in the hot seat. James would think she was a total screwup.

He pulled into the cabin’s driveway, shut off the engine and faced her, arms folded. “Why?”

She jerked her head from his piercing gaze and stared down at her folded hands. “Because I won’t give up on this case. That’s why. The official charge against me is insubordination.”

“Go on,” he urged at the beat of silence between them.

Charlotte lifted her head. Officer Tedder had been more than patient. He could have arrested her for trespassing, or even decided she was too much trouble and not searched for her after she’d fled. But he’d found her and coaxed her into getting help for her injury. A good man, she decided. Perhaps even a trustworthy one. She’d been burned before, but mostly, her gut and intuition had served her well in a dangerous profession.

“Can we talk somewhere other than here? Sitting in the open in your truck is an invitation for trouble.” Her stomach churned as she remembered the black sedan with tinted windows that had cruised through town.

He countered with a question of his own. “Is this where you run from me again?”

“No running. You can follow me in my truck while I get a motel room, or we can go in your cabin to talk.”

James drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “My cabin. I’ll park my truck behind yours. No casual observer passing by would notice it. Probably safer than you spending the night at the local motel with your vehicle in plain view, anyway.”

“Agreed.”

He drove across the yard and parked behind her rental truck. Charlotte opened her door and eased onto the ground, putting most of her weight on her left leg. If it came down to another chase by land, she was doomed.

They walked across the yard, but try as she might, a low hiss of pain escaped her lips as she started up the porch steps. James placed a hand on her right forearm, and she leaned into his strength, hobbling across the wooden porch.

Damn if it wasn’t heaven to feel his strong muscles taut and solid against her. For the first time since arriving at Lavender Mountain, Charlotte felt safe and protected. Not an emotional luxury she often indulged in with her line of work.

James frowned at the broken door frame as he ushered her inside. “Stay here while I check the cabin,” he murmured, setting down the jug of sassafras tea from Miss Glory.

She nodded, grateful. Ordinarily that kind of take-command attitude by male coworkers annoyed her, but he was the only one around with a gun and two good legs. And he was her best hope for rescuing Jenny.

* * *

“ALL’S CLEAR,” JAMES ANNOUNCED, returning to the den and placing the gun in his holster. “And I closed the back bedroom window you opened earlier this morning. You remember, the one you crawled out to run from me.”

Charlotte nodded, making no apologies, and limped to the couch. Instead of collapsing into an exhausted heap, she settled in primly, back straight and feet crossed at the ankles.

What a striking woman. In the dark shadows, her hair glowed like sun fire and her eyes gleamed with intelligence, determination and...sorry to say, still a trace of wariness. Not that he blamed her for the mistrust. She’d most likely seen the worst of human nature, just as he had in Afghanistan.

He picked up the jug of tea and strode to the kitchen, where he located a glass in the near-empty cabinets. Miss Glory’s tonic was purported to do wonders, and he hoped it lived up to its hype. He added ice to the glass and poured the pale, caramel-colored drink. Charlotte was being damn foolish about treating her injuries, but he couldn’t force her to accept medical attention. A wry smile twitched the edges of his mouth. He imagined Charlotte Helms could be mighty stubborn when it came to changing her mind.

That was okay—he could be as damn stubborn as Charlotte, and he meant to draw out everything from her about this case. The greatest lesson he’d learned in the military was to work with others as a team. It enhanced the chance of success for any mission. He preferred a quiet, solitary life these days, but when it came to his new job, he was all about teamwork.

James returned to the den. “Drink up,” he ordered, handing Charlotte the glass. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my tool kit.”

And his tablet, because he wasn’t letting this woman out of sight again. While she slept tonight, he’d double-check her story. Insomnia came in handy every now and then.

James scanned the yard and then strode to his truck, retrieving the toolbox, the tablet, a box of crackers and a cooler packed with water bottles. Another thing the military had taught him was to be prepared. The water and crackers would satisfy their basic needs for the evening, but he longingly recalled the smell of fried chicken and mashed potatoes at the Dixie Diner. Tomorrow he’d go back and eat his fill at the lunch buffet.

Inside, Charlotte sipped tea and raised a brow. “Quite an armful. You must have been a Boy Scout.”

“Lucky for you. What did Miss Glory whisper to you back at the shop?”

She blinked at the sudden question. “I couldn’t understand what she muttered. Her Southern accent’s pretty strong.”

Again, he suspected she wasn’t truthful, but in this instance, it didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. He let it go. “What do you think of Miss Glory’s tea?”

“Has a licorice taste. I like it. Either that, or I’m really thirsty. You believe in this stuff?”

“People who refuse standard medical treatment can hardly complain.”

A surprised chuckle escaped her lips, and her eyes sparkled. “Touché.”

James nearly dropped the supplies in his hand. He’d known she was attractive—that was plain to any fool—but when she smiled? Stunning.

Charlotte’s eyes widened and their teal hue deepened. The space between them grew electric, humming with energy. He swallowed hard and turned away, setting down the supplies and then gripping his hammer like a lifeline. Sexual attraction was the last thing he needed in this sticky situation.

“I don’t have replacement hardware, but I can nail up this door and make do for tonight. That is, if you still want to stay here?”

“You’ll let me stay?” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“For now. Unless your safety becomes compromised. First thing in the morning, we’ll—”

“We? I don’t need you to stay with me.”

“You think I’d leave you alone out here?” He might be reluctant to get involved with people, but he always did the right thing. Or tried to. “As I was saying, at dawn, we’ll get my four-wheeler, and you can show me where you were shot at.”

She slowly nodded. “Like I said, I don’t need your protection, but it’s your cabin, after all. As far as returning to that place, it’s a needle-in-a-haystack possibility, but if we can find those shell casings, it could be important down the road.”

He set to work, quickly repairing the door. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen with the cooler and put the water bottles in the fridge. The only thing edible in the refrigerator was a jar of peanut butter, and so James set the crackers and peanut butter on the table with two paper plates and a roll of paper towels.

“Dinner’s served,” he announced. “Basic protein and carbs.”

Charlotte took a seat. “I’m used to it. If we want to get really fancy, there are some granola bars and apples and such in my—I mean your—bedroom.”

She started to rise, but he motioned her to stop. “I’ll get them.”

It wasn’t fried chicken, but her contribution would add a little variety to the meal. In the bedroom, a plastic crate against the back wall was stuffed with dried foods. He lifted it, ready to carry it to the kitchen, when he spotted the laptop on her mattress. Stifling a twinge of guilt—there was a missing girl in danger, after all—he hit the space bar, hoping she hadn’t properly shut it down earlier.

The screen lit and filled with images of scantily clad young girls. And by young, he noted that most didn’t even appear to be sixteen years old.

“For the discerning customer,” he read.

James closed the computer, lips curled in disgust. What possible connection did it have to Lavender Mountain? This was no simple kidnapping.

Charlotte’s soft voice drifted down the hallway as he made his way back. “I’m doing everything I can, Tanya. I promise I won’t stop until I find her.” A slight pause, and then, “We’ll get her back. I know it’s killing you, but remember to let me call you. Not the other way around. Okay?”

As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Charlotte spun around, cell phone at her ear, as James entered the room. “Gotta go, hon. Later.”

“Sounds like this case is personal,” he observed, taking a seat across from her. “Who’s Tanya?”

Charlotte laid the phone down and sighed. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to pry every last detail from me?”

“Because I am,” he said with a grin, spreading peanut butter on a cracker. But his amusement faded at the memory of the computer photos. “Is Tanya the mother of the missing Jenny?”

“Yes. And my best friend.” Charlotte pushed away her plate. “You see why I can’t quit, don’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you do the same for your best friend?”

He flashed back to that night in Bagram when he’d awakened in the barracks and realized the cot beside him was empty. He’d waited, figuring Steve might be in the bathroom, but the minutes had ticked by, and he knew something was wrong. Against orders, he’d sneaked out of the barracks and searched the compound until he’d found Steve—huddled behind the garbage dump, holding a gun next to his head.

It still haunted James. Another minute and his friend would have committed suicide. He’d carefully taken Steve’s gun away and escorted him to the infirmary. To hell with alerting the sergeant first and following protocol for a missing soldier. He’d known in his gut that Steve was in danger. “You’re not the only one with a black mark on your record,” he admitted. “I understand that sometimes—”

A shot rang out.

James froze, his breathing labored. Had he imagined the sound? No, Charlotte’s hands gripped the edges of the table—she’d heard it, too. This was real and in the here-and-now.

“They’ve found us,” she whispered.

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