The Canadian wilderness can be deadly

A gripping True North Heroes romance

Solving his sister’s murder is Mountie Jacob Henry’s only priority—until his daring helicopter rescue of Grace Finch leaves them stranded in the Canadian wilderness. Now with a storm raging and escaped convicts in pursuit, Jacob and Grace must rely on each other for survival. But when Jacob discovers Grace’s deadly secret, can he look past it in the fight for their lives?

MAGGIE K. BLACK is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history-teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

Also By Maggie K. Black

True North Heroes

Undercover Holiday Fiancée

The Littlest Target

Rescuing His Secret Child

Cold Case Secrets

Amish Witness Protection

Amish Hideout

Military K-9 Unit

Standing Fast

True North Bodyguards

Kidnapped at Christmas

Rescue at Cedar Lake

Protective Measures

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Cold Case Secrets

Maggie K. Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09685-0

COLD CASE SECRETS

© 2019 Mags Storey

Published in Great Britain 2019

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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“Stop! Police! Let her go!”

Jacob aimed high and fired. The criminal froze like an animal caught in headlights. But Grace didn’t stop for a second. She spun back with her elbows high and struck Cutter in the face. The criminal bellowed and grabbed his nose. She broke free and pelted down the rock face toward Jacob.

“Jacob!” she shouted. “He’s got a semiautomatic! He just needs to reload!”

He ran toward her, reaching the rock face just as she reached the edge. She looked down. “How do I get down from here?”

“Jump! I’ll catch you!”

Her eyes scanned the drop, and then her chin rose. “Okay. I’m coming!”

He shoved his gun back in his holster. She took a deep breath and leaped.

But even as she jumped, Jacob saw the stocky figure of one of the convicts ahead, a fresh gun clutched in his hand. His heart stopped.

He had one convict ahead of them, one behind them, a forest to his right, a rock wall to his left...and a woman he had to protect with his life.

Dear Reader,

As this summer ended, I was sitting outside on a picnic table, working on the book in the hazy warm night. A man came by and asked me what I was working on. So I told him I wrote books for Love Inspired Suspense and started telling him about the Henry brothers. He told me that he was an RCMP officer and that two of his close friends and colleagues were recently killed in the line of duty just a few days earlier. I folded up my laptop and he told me about his friends—one male and one female officer—what they’d been like as officers, and what had driven them each to serve in law enforcement. Then after a while, he started telling funny stories about the line of duty too, like being called out to rescue a skunk who’d gotten a McFlurry cup stuck on its head.

Thank you so much to all of you who’ve shared the journey of Jacob, Trent, Max and Nick with me. Something affected me really deeply about these brothers—how their sister’s death impacted them, the way they were driven to serve others and the strong, extraordinary women who fell in love with them. I like how they each found healing, purpose, love and faith. I will miss writing about them very much. Thank you so much to all of you who wrote letters to me about these books, especially Nancy Tekulve, who asked me to include Trent and Chloe’s wedding, and Merianne Bawden, who asked for an update on Daniel and Olivia.

I’m also grateful for everything I’ve learned about Canada’s military, paramedics and law enforcement through writing these books, and the deeper appreciation I’ve developed for the work they do. May we always remember to appreciate the real heroes and heroines in our midst.

Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me,

Maggie

For I knew that thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repentest thee of the evil.

—Jonah 4:2b

With thanks to Constable Eran Schwartz for showing me around his helicopter, training with me at the dojo and answering countless questions. You are a shining example of the kind of person all those in law enforcement should be. Thanks to Pastor Josh Darsaut for the Bible verse and your unexpected grace on a rough day. Thanks as always to my agent, Melissa Jeglinski, and editor, Emily Rodmell, for your help and support on this journey. And finally, thanks to all of you who were there for me while I was writing this difficult book. I hope you enjoy it.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The thrumming of the helicopter rotors were like a steady drum beat pounding through Jacob Henry’s mind as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police detective scanned the monitor for any sign of life in the dense Ontario forest below. Outside the cockpit window, the summer sun was just beginning its descent behind thick and oppressive clouds. Silvery outlines of opal raindrops traced streaks down the windshield. Tense words between the young Search and Rescue pilot sitting beside him and the testy East Coast detective in the back seat filled his headset.

“I’m just saying that when the wind picks up and the rain hits for real, we’re going to be forced to turn back,” the pilot, Kevin Faust, said. “I don’t want to crash.”

“And I’m just saying when you’ve flown as many flights as I have, you know what you can get away with,” Detective Warren Scott shot back.

“As a hobby pilot,” Kevin said. “Not a professional with Search and Rescue.”

Jacob focused on the black-and-white screen ahead of him, searching for the bright glare of a human heat signature.

Wherever the escaped convicts are, Lord, and whoever ultimately finds them, please may those killers be recaptured tonight.

Authorities were scrambling across Ontario to find three convicted killers who’d overpowered their guards and forced the prison van transporting them to crash on the Trans-Canada Highway almost twenty miles north of the maze of trees and towering rocks that made up Algonquin Provincial Park. While local police searched nearby towns and buildings, and provincial police checked the roads, Jacob and Warren had volunteered for the aerial search of the almost three-thousand-square mile provincial park. Home to over two thousand lakes and seven-hundred-and-fifty miles of river, it was a haven for the kind of off-the-grid campers who enjoyed hiking and canoeing for days into the middle of nowhere.

They might as well have been searching for a quarter in a cornfield.

“They’re probably not even out here,” Kevin argued, speaking into his headset microphone to be heard over the sound of the rotors. “If I’d just escaped a concrete box, the last place I’d be hiding out is somewhere with no running water or electricity.”

Maybe not. But moments ago, there’d been a blip, a heat signature, that had lit up the screen for a fleeting moment like a beacon. They just had to find it again.

Jacob focused on the infrared monitor. “Just give me five.”

“You can have a whole twenty,” Kevin said, “if the rain doesn’t get worse before then. But in twenty minutes I’m turning around, one way or another, because otherwise we’re running out of fuel.”

“Heard that.” Jacob’s eyes didn’t flicker from the screen.

Lord, help me see what I need to see.

Nothing but his own pale face reflected back at him, reminding him of an entire summer spent indoors, reading evidence on screens. The light brown scruff that brushed his jaw was more from lack of shaving than intention and tinged with a bit more white than he liked admitting.

“I just don’t want to head back with nothing,” Warren said, then muttered, almost as if to himself, “I gave up a date for this.”

Jacob cut his eyes in the detective’s direction. He’d vaguely known Warren from their large regional high school, before the other man had moved out east for college, so he knew he was also getting close to forty. Warren had only transferred back to Ontario in the spring and already he was dating? How did people even date now? Where did they even meet? Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he himself had so much as gone out with anyone for coffee. At two years away from the big four-oh himself, Jacob had been in the business of stopping killers long enough to know that saving other people’s lives and having a life of your own didn’t mesh. Despite the fact that Jacob’s three younger brothers had recently all decided to prove him wrong.

“I gave up bowling with my league,” Kevin offered, with a grin that implied the twentysomething was trying to lighten the mood in their hovering box. “Canadian-style. Five pin.”

Well, guys, I’ve risked missing something way more important than that.

The words crossed his mind, but he had enough self-control not to say them out loud. He didn’t know either man well enough to confide in them and some things just cut too deep to say without thinking. It had been just over twenty-four years since his little sister, Faith, had been snatched off the side of a rural road at the age of twelve and died fighting off her attacker. Jacob had been fourteen, the eldest child and the one who was supposed to look out for his siblings. And while, over the years, his brothers had each found their own ways to make peace with the memory of their sister, for Jacob, Faith’s face was always there, like a picture he’d taped to the corner of his mind’s eye, reminding him of the one killer he had yet to catch. Then recently a fellow detective under very deep cover, named Liam Bearsmith, had reached out to say he’d found a fresh lead in Faith’s case and was willing to risk both his cover and his life to pass that information onto Jacob. They were supposed to meet at a highway coffee shop at midnight, after Jacob went to his brother Trent’s bachelor party.

And I’m here with you two scanning trees. But he caught his griping before it could grow and instead channeled it into prayer. Lord, please resolve this soon. May the three convicts be caught, help me get back to base in time to meet up with Liam and help me get the information I need to put my sister’s killer away for good.

“It takes days to walk or canoe across the park,” Warren said. “I know they shut the park down, but it’s possible there could still be campers out there who have no idea there are convicts on the loose. Let alone a serial predator like Barry Cutter who murdered five women, including two ex-girlfriends. Or Victor Driver who went around starting bar fights that put people into the hospital before beating his ex’s new husband to death and her brother into a coma. Or Hal Turner.”

Kevin shuttered. Jacob noted Warren didn’t bother to give Hal Turner’s crime résumé. There was no need. The dirty cop turned cop killer was notorious in law enforcement for having killed both his partner and an informant. He’d then tried to burn down a building to destroy the evidence of his thriving drug business and claimed he’d been set up by rogue cops.

Even though Jacob had been a teenager at the time, he’d known even then that God was calling him to a life in law enforcement. Here Turner had achieved everything professionally that Jacob was both hoping and striving for, only to then turn around and betray his brothers and sisters in blue, damage their reputation and give dozens of criminals grounds for appeal.

“I get it, we’re hunting bad guys,” Kevin said. “But that doesn’t change the weather or how much fuel we’ve got.”

A small building passed through the frame. It was a ranger cabin by the looks of it. There were a handful of small and very rustic cabins dotted around the expansive park that had been build back in the 1930s to serve some long-abandoned purpose like storage or lookout. Bare bones, with no electricity or running water, they still wouldn’t make for a half-bad hideout, if a person were able to find one.

A bright patch blinked onto the screen near the building. Jacob sat up straight, as he felt the sudden jolt of shock, surprise and relief combined. “We have a heat signature!”

“Please tell me it’s not another bear—” Warren started.

“No, it’s a person,” Jacob said. He heard Kevin whistle, but his eyes stayed locked on the screen. The figure was definitely human and female by the looks of it, willowy and slender with long hair and just the hint of curves visible through her jeans and survival jacket. “A woman.”

“Out there alone?” Kevin asked. Jacob glanced at him just long enough to see the flicker of worry cross his face. “In the middle of nowhere? Why didn’t we see her earlier?”

Jacob watched as she crept along a tall rock face that ran like a jagged uneven wall between thick trees on one side and a raging river on the other.

“Camera range isn’t that broad,” Jacob said. “She could’ve been in a cave, or there are some pretty big rock outcroppings that could’ve hidden her heat signature.”

Kevin’s finger jabbed at Jacob’s screen as a second larger figure stepped into the frame. “She’s not alone.”

Yeah, and judging by the way she was creeping along the rock face, that wasn’t a good thing. The second heat signature was large, heavyset and barging through the trees. The outline of his jacket did little to hide the telltale shape of a baggy prison jumpsuit or the handgun in his grasp.

“We’ve got to get down there!” Jacob said.

“There’s nowhere to land!” Kevin’s voice rose.

“It’s one of them!” Jacob said. “It’s a lifer. He’s going to kill her!”

“I know! I just can’t land!”

They watched, helpless, as the man chased after her, tackled her and brought her to the ground. Something lurched in Jacob’s core as if he were somehow viscerally able to hear her terrified screams. She thrashed and fought back hard. And Jacob realized, for the first time in his life, he was about to watch a woman’s murder. He yanked his seat belt off, pushed himself out of his seat and climbed into the back of the helicopter. “Warren, get into the front and take over for me. I’m going to rappel down.”

“From this height?” Warren asked. “In the rain? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Yes, yes and hopefully not. Jacob slid his arms through a safety harness and didn’t answer. He glanced back at the screen and his heart soared momentarily to see the figures had broken apart. Lord, just help her stay alive until I can get there.

“I’m going to need you to lower me down,” Jacob said. He double-checked his walkie-talkie, phone and his service gun were all on his belt. “Rappel rope is fine. Though I’m suggesting you use the rescue ladder or basket to pull us back up. For now, just get me as close as you can, stay in my ear and point me in the right direction.”

“It should be me,” Warren started. “You’re the one on infrared.”

Maybe, but Jacob was also the one who’d gotten his harness on first.

“There’s still a storm coming—” Kevin’s face was awash with fear “—and I’m still really low on fuel.”

Right. That twenty minutes was probably closer to fifteen by now.

“We’ll figure it out!” Jacob double-checked his clasps and opened the door. Wind and rain lashed at him. A deep breath of confidence filled his lungs. Nobody was ever going to die at a criminal’s hands as long as he had something to say about it. He cast one final glance at the outline of the woman below, now pelting through the trees with her attacker close on her heels.

Stay strong. Don’t give up. I’m coming for you.

* * *

The blow from behind came so hard and suddenly that Grace Finch felt the air knocked from her lungs even before she hit the ground. For a moment, her body’s own natural instinct to freeze threatened to overwhelm her. Then she reared, kicking up hard with both legs and felt herself break free. She rolled and tried to get her feet beneath her before a swift punch to the temple knocked her back against the ground.

The blunt and scarred face of Barry Cutter glared down at her, and Grace felt his entire rap sheet flash through her mind, just as clearly as if she’d been sitting at her crime reporter desk at Torchlight News, reading his bio in her news files. Bartholomew “Barry” Cutter, age fifty-four, convicted to fifty years in prison for the brutal murders of five women.

Help me! Someone! Anyone! Please!

A large hand with thick fingers grabbed her by the throat and pushed her down. The semi-automatic SIG he waved between her eyes looked police-issued. And suddenly she felt the journalist inside her wanting to ask him how he’d gotten there, what he was doing out of prison and if it had anything to do with the Search and Rescue helicopter she’d seen flying overhead. There was a major news story here, if she got out of here alive to tell it. She swallowed a breath and reminded herself that if Cutter wanted her dead, he’d have killed her by now. Then slowly she began to slide her right hand toward the stun gun in her jacket pocket.

“Where’s your car?” Cutter snapped. She felt her mind filtering out the threats and curses that peppered his voice, listening only for facts. “Take me to your car. Now! You’re driving me out of here!”

Didn’t he know where they were? Night was falling, and she’d spent the better part of the day getting this deep into the woods. Her car was at the entrance to the park, at least six hours of canoeing and portaging away. For that matter, how had he even gotten here?

As for her, she’d been coerced here, lured here, out into the middle of nowhere by another convicted killer, Hal Turner, on the promise of finding information that would clear him of his crimes, prove he’d been set up by some shadowy cabal of senior cops and free Grace of the specter of blackmail he’d been holding over her life. Ever since she had risen as a star crime reporter, Turner had been blackmailing her and threatening to destroy her life and career by telling the world a truth she’d spent her entire life concealing.

That Grace Finch was really Hal Turner’s biological daughter.

That the country’s most prolific and award-winning crime reporter was really the child of the so-called dirty cop turned cop killer.

In her business, reputation was everything. Her biological father was one of the most hated convicted killers in the country, especially as far as those in law enforcement were concerned. What if sources refused to talk to her because of who her father was? What if someone with a grudge against Turner decided to come after her? After all, he’d not only betrayed his badge and worked with organized crime, he’d then besmirched all of law enforcement with wild stories of a deep-seated conspiracy of criminal cops. No evidence had ever been found to back up his claims. What if she was fired from her job at Torchlight News and blackballed from the industry for keeping the truth about her identity secret? Even if Turner was somehow right—he had been set up by someone, and this evidence he’d sent Grace to find would prove it—how would anyone in her life ever trust her again for keeping her identity secret so long?

Let alone forgive her.

No, she’d worked too long and hard to build a life on her own terms to let it all be taken from her now.

Not to mention her incredibly strong mother, and Mom’s kindhearted husband, Frank, who’d raised Grace as his own, both deserved better than to have their lives dragged through the mud.

So she’d hiked and paddled into the woods in search of a secluded cabin where he’d claimed to have left evidence proving his innocence. It was a simple transaction. She’d publish the evidence, his lawyer and the courts would do their thing, Hal Turner would keep his mouth shut about the daughter no one knew he had and he’d disappear from her life for good.

But she hadn’t found the cabin. Instead, a killer had found her.

She’d been desperate. She’d been foolish. And now she was going to die.

Cutter leaned closer, shifting some of his weight off her body. The stench of him filled her nostrils. “Don’t fight. Don’t scream. We’re just going to get in your car and take a nice ride to the American border and then I’m going to let you go.”

No, he wouldn’t; he’d hurt her and he’d kill her, that much she knew with every fiber of her being. And she’d die fighting before she agreed to take him anywhere.

The helicopter’s spotlight flashed above them, dragging her attention to the sky. A figure, tall and broad-shouldered, now dangled from underneath it, suspended from a rope like something out of an action movie. She blinked. Cutter looked up and swore.

It was an unexpected distraction, but she’d take it. Her right hand dove into her jacket pocket, yanked out the stun gun, flicked it on and pressed it hard into his side. Cutter bellowed in pain. The gun fell from his hand. She kicked up, threw him off her and scooped up the gun. Then she stumbled to her feet and ran, pushing and pelting through the branches until she’d lost him in the trees.

The helicopter light swung above her again like a searchlight, filtering through the leaves and illuminating the rock face ahead of her, and that’s when she saw the gap. It was narrow, like a slanted alley only about three feet wide. She ran for the gap in the rocks, slid her body inside and pressed herself against the wall. She heard the sound of branches breaking and a voice swearing as Cutter ran by her hiding spot. It was only then she realized her hands were shaking. Hot tears filled her eyes.

God, if You’re even still listening to me, thank you so much that I’m still alive! Now, what do I do?

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed. But somehow the fear pounding through her had poured out into the need to cry out to the God she’d long stopped talking to for help. She put her stun gun back into her jacket pocket, but kept the gun she’d taken off Cutter clutched tightly in her hand. Could she really shoot and kill a man if it came to it? If his face appeared at the entrance of her hiding place, did she really have what it took to look him in the eyes and pull the trigger?

How much was she really her biological father’s daughter?

No, no, she wouldn’t let herself think that way. Her father had killed for his own selfish ends, not in self-defense. She was nothing like him. She never had been and never would be.

Her head leaned back against the rock and her eyes closed as she listened to the sounds of the helicopter in the distance, wind brushing the trees, light rain hitting the rocks around her and a river rushing somewhere nearby. Maybe if she could get up to higher ground, she could find a way to signal the helicopter. Maybe she could even spot the cabin, run there and retrieve whatever Turner had left for her. But for now, she was on her own, with a phone that hadn’t been able to get a signal in hours and a killer looking for her.

“Grace Miranda Finch!”

Her heart froze mid-beat as suddenly Cutter bellowed her name.

“Senior crime reporter!” His voice grew louder. Twigs snapped and branches cracked. It sounded like he was coming back through the woods, looking for her. “Torchlight News, Queen Street, Toronto. Born April third. Age thirty-six.”

No! She grabbed her side as if suddenly realizing she was missing an organ. He had her wallet! She hadn’t even realized it had fallen from her pocket.

But now he had her life, her address, her identity, he had—

“Hal Turner,” Cutter read like a man announcing a public execution, “was convicted today to two consecutive life sentences...”

He had the news clipping she’d cut from the paper at the age of fifteen about her father’s conviction and had kept folded small in her wallet ever since as a reminder to never stop working harder, aiming higher and pushing herself to be the best possible person she could be.

“...along with two counts of first-degree murder, drug trafficking, bribery, corruption, breach of public trust...”

Grace tuned Cutter out. She’d obsessively read every article about Turner when he’d first been arrested, hoping with all her heart that no one would ever uncover that the dirty cop had secretly fathered a daughter he barely saw and hardly knew with a twenty-two-year-old emergency room nurse he’d met at a crime scene and never deigned to give either his heart or home to. Turner had bailed long before Grace was born. She’d always had her mother’s last name, not his, and while he’d sporadically wanted to see her growing up, had insisted his name not be listed on her birth certificate. She’d never looked like him, not in ways that anybody had noticed, with the slender build and long black hair of her beautiful Afro-Caribbean Canadian mother instead of looking anything like her overweight German Canadian father, whose pale skin was frequently flushed red with anger. No one had ever seemed to suspect she was mixed race, especially after her mom and Frank, a fellow nurse and widower, had drawn close during the pregnancy and married when Grace was two. Gossipmongers speculated that Grace must have always been Frank’s, but her mom had consistently risen above others’ idle gossip.

But Grace had obsessively followed every moment of the trial. She watched television for hours, flipping through news channels to find his face and then hid in the computer lab when she got into journalism school, scanning the wires for his name. What had she even been looking for? Clues to what would lead a man who’d sworn an oath to protect his community to instead cut deals with drug dealers? Whether there was any credence to the story his lawyer had spun—that his partner had been the real criminal, the deaths had really been a murder suicide and that her father had set the fire in a noble attempt to protect his former partner’s name?

She’d been fourteen when he was arrested. She’d been there, in a restaurant-chain coffee shop, wondering why the father she’d barely seen had wanted to see her. His face had been white with fear and his hands had shaken so hard he could barely pick up his coffee cup. Then suddenly six police cars had pulled up outside. He’d leaped to his feet, told her to point the cops in the wrong direction, make up some story about where he’d gone and then quickly get to his apartment, destroy his computer and burn his files. Then he ran, leaving her to watch through the window with a gawking crowd of spectators and journalists as people in uniform chased him down the block. She hadn’t talked to the cops or gone to his apartment. Instead, she’d slipped out the back and gone home, the hair prickling at the back of her neck with every step, half expecting a journalist to stop her and ask her what she had been doing with him and who she was. But no one ever had. Seemed that for whatever reason, Turner had actually kept her existence a secret. The next time she saw her father’s face was his mug shot on the news.

She hadn’t heard from Turner again until she was twenty-eight, when her name was syndicated in newspapers across the country and he needed money.

“Listen to me, Grace Finch, wherever you’re hiding!” Cutter shouted, “You looking for Hal Turner? ’Cause I know him. He and I broke out together, and he’s real close by. He told me that he was coming here, looking for someone. I can take you right to him. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Her heart stopped. Her father had broken out of prison? Her father was here?

The noise above her was so faint she hadn’t even realized someone else was there until the uniformed police officer dropped down into the crevice beside her. Her breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted. But before she could let out a sound, one strong hand clamped over her lips while the other grabbed her hand, closing over the gun and peeling her fingers away from the trigger. The officer pulled her to him so that her back was against his chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The voice in her ear was strong, warm and compelling, with just a hint of danger, filling her with a sense of reassurance that was as unexpected as it was unfamiliar. “I’m Detective Jacob Henry of the RCMP. I’m here to rescue you, and I’ll keep you safe. Do exactly what I say, and I’ll get you out of here alive.”

TWO

He would, would he? Her relief at knowing she wasn’t alone and her irritation at having a man—any man—suddenly announce that he was in charge and all would be well if she just did what he said battled somewhere deep inside her core. Yes, he was a cop. Yes, there was something undeniably and extremely reassuring about the feel of him there. But she’d survived her whole entire life on her own, without ever being rescued by anyone and wasn’t about to just fall into anyone’s arms now.

Especially not if that someone was Detective Jacob Henry.

Her eyes closed for a moment as the background file she kept on Jacob filled her mind. He’d done more to save lives, rescue others and stop killers than anyone she’d ever known. Not that they’d ever actually met. She’d heard his voice before, usually saying no comment and telling her to get off his crime scene before he had her arrested. As for his face, she knew it had a handsome and rugged quality that was a bit rough around the edges, like a former movie star that had retired to build custom motorcycles. But right now, he was holding her too close for her to turn around and see it. She definitely had never let herself imagine what it would be like to be held like this in his arms. Well, at least not in a situation like this.

Jacob Henry had a knack for being the primary detective on practically every major crime scene she’d raced to, especially the worst and more grisly ones. Some veteran detectives—like the immensely charming Warren Scott who’d been supremely friendly since transferring to the Toronto division a few months back—were known to toss reporters like her at least a few scraps of information before politely sending them on their way. But Jacob never had. If anything, he’d avoided even looking at her, let alone making direct eye contact, as if something about her mere existence made him uncomfortable. And maybe it did. Reporters and cops did tend to eye each other warily despite the fact that, as she saw it, they were all on the same team, wanting to see truth win out and bad guys get locked away. She didn’t want to know how much worse it would be if he knew she was the daughter of a dirty cop who’d killed a fellow officer.

Of all the cops who could’ve dropped out of nowhere to rescue her, why oh, why did it have to be him?

In fact, just last week, when she’d heard that her boss’s sister, Detective Chloe Brant, was getting married this weekend to Jacob’s fellow detective, and brother, Trent, she’d sent Jacob an email, hoping that one point of connection would be enough to thaw the ice between them, enough to grab a friendly and professional off-the-record coffee. Not a date. She definitely hadn’t asked him out on a date. Just to grab coffee sometime to see if they could set up a better, less adversarial mode of communication. Instead, he’d ignored her.

Well, he could hardly ignore her now.

And if he didn’t get his hand off her mouth pronto, she just might bite him.

He leaned so close she could feel his breath on her face. He smelled like coffee and wood smoke. It was a scent that somehow seemed to match both the toughness and warmth of his voice.

“Hand me the gun,” he whispered.

She shook her head. He sighed and twisted it from her grasp so deftly that she had no choice but to let go. He slid it into his ankle holster with one hand and pulled his pant leg down over it. Then his hand was back on her wrist so quickly it almost impressed her.

“Now I’m going to peel my hand away from your mouth,” he said. “But I need you to promise not to scream.”

Who did this man think she was? No, of course, she wasn’t going to scream or start caterwauling with a serial killer lurking nearby. He did know about Cutter, right? That had to be why he was here. Jacob seemed to be waiting for a response, so she nodded definitively and firmly. He eased his hand from her mouth, but the other stayed firm on hers with his fingers brushing just against the inside of her wrist. Yeah, not distracting at all.

“Now,” he whispered, “I need you to—”

“Give me my gun back.”

Even with her back to him, it was like she could feel his whole body blink.

“Who are you?” His voice sharpened. “Are you law enforcement?”

“I’m Grace Finch, lead crime reporter, Torchlight News.” She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was expecting. But it wasn’t the stony and awkward silence that filled the space around them. “We’ve met before. You’ve ordered me off your crime scenes and ignored my phone calls. I sent you an email about coffee just last week you never responded to.”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit testier than she’d intended, but she’d never been one to beat around the bush.

“So you’re not law enforcement or the military?” His whisper came back swift and sharp. “Do you have a license to carry a handgun?”

The questions felt rhetorical.

“No, but I’ve passed the Canadian Firearms Safety—”

“Then it’s illegal for you to be carrying a handgun, and you’re not getting it back—”

Like she didn’t know Canadian gun law. “There’s an escaped convict in the woods!”

“Actually, there are three—”

“Three?” She fought and failed to keep her whisper from rising. Did that mean Cutter hadn’t lied and her father really had escaped prison? Enough of this. She spun around and turned toward him. Jacob let her go, and then she was facing him, standing so closely she was practically pressed against his chest. She looked up at him in the dying light. His green eyes were serious. His chestnut hair was tousled and spiky with sweat. His face radiated a sense of protection that she didn’t even know how to begin to process. “Who are the three convicts?”

“Who did you see?” He deflected her other question with one of his own.

Fine. Sometimes a person had to give information to get information.

“I was attacked by Barry Cutter,” she said. “The serial killer. He tried to force me to take him to my car, which is over six hours away by canoe from here. I fought him off and ran.”

Jacob let out a long breath and stepped back as far as the narrow space would allow. His voice softened. “How did you possibly get away?”

“I zapped him with a Taser and then took his gun.”

He blinked. “That would be the gun I just took from you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Where’s the Taser now?”

“In my pocket.”

“And did you take that off him too?” Jacob asked.

“No, it’s mine.”

A faint smile turned at the corner of his mouth. She wondered if he was debating pointing out it was also illegal for her to carry a stun gun.

“He also took my wallet,” she added. “And I assume it isn’t actually his gun—”

“No, I imagine he took it off a guard.” His face turned grim. “About four hours ago, three prisoners overpowered the prison guards who were transporting them. We don’t know how it happened yet, but they forced the van to crash and killed the guards. There’s a massive manhunt underway across Ontario to find them. I just thank God that I happened to be flying overhead when Cutter attacked you.”

Something about the way he said it made her think he actually believed there was a God who had helped him out.

“Was he the only person you saw?” Jacob asked.

“He was,” she said.

“Where’s Cutter now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But since you dropped down from above me somewhere, I’m guessing it’s possible to walk along the top of the rock face. I suggest we climb up, take a look around from there and hail the helicopter. Now, what can you tell me about the other escaped convicts?”

Was Cutter telling the truth? Was her father one of them?

Jacob turned his head away from her. “Henry here.” The shift in Jacob’s tone was so sudden that it took her a moment to realize he was talking into the shoulder microphone for his walkie-talkie. “I’ve secured the civilian. She claims to have sighted Barry Cutter. Do you have any other heat signatures in the area?” He paused. “Okay. Heard that.”

Maybe he’d heard it, but she was still out of the loop.

“So what’s going on? Who are you talking to?”

“That was RCMP SAR pilot, Kevin Faust,” Jacob said, and she felt oddly thankful he hadn’t felt the need to spell out Royal Canadian Mounted Police Search and Rescue. “Now I need you to stay here and hidden. I’m going to go out there and assess the situation.”

“There’s nothing to assess. I told you, there’s a maniac out there—”

“I wouldn’t say maniac—”

“He was convicted of killing two women,” she cut him off, “as well as being credibly accused of assaulting several others before then and of killing his own mother.”

“And how would you possibly know that?” Jacob asked. “We worked very hard to keep that information out of the public record.”

“Because, as I told you, I’m Grace Finch, award-winning crime reporter for Torchlight News.” Her chin rose. “If you’d ever bothered talking to me or answering my phone calls or emails, you’d know that we don’t ever report anything without proper verification, and in some cases authorization. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know an awful lot more than we let on.”

“What are you doing here, Grace?” He shook his head. It was like her mere existence baffled him. “How did you even get here?”

“I hiked and canoed,” she said. “It took me six hours. I left my car at the front entrance. I’m heading to a cabin, once I can find it.”

“And you honestly had no idea there were escaped convicts on the loose before you decided to come up here?” he asked.

“Absolutely none.” Besides, if they had escaped when Jacob had said, she would’ve already been deep in the forest when they broke out.

“And you just happened to have a Taser on you?” he added.

“Yes,” she said. “And bear spray. I’m not in the habit of going places unprotected. Now, who are the other two convicts that escaped?”

“Victor Driver and Hal Turner.”

So it was true. Her father had escaped prison. A pain-filled gasp slipped to the edge of her lips, but she slid her hand over them before they made a sound. Jacob looked down at her for a long moment, with an inscrutable look in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of.

“Stay here,” he said finally. “Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a sound. Once everything is secured, I’ll come get you and we’ll airlift out of here. Got it?”

“I hear you,” she said. “Now, can I please have the gun back?”

“You mean the gun you can’t legally carry that you lifted off a criminal?” he asked. “No. Be thankful that I’m choosing to overlook the fact it’s also completely illegal for you to have that stun gun.”

Yeah, she’d wondered how long he’d be able to go without mentioning that.

“Now stay here,” he said again, “and don’t do anything stupid. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said. “Nothing stupid.”

But even then he paused a very long moment with his eyes on her face. “Okay then. We’re down to maybe an hour of daylight, if that, and according to my pilot, Kevin, there’s a pretty bad storm coming that’s probably going to hit sooner than that.” Then, as she watched, his gaze rose to the clouds above. “Lord, help me do this. Help get Grace and myself out of here alive. And may somebody catch these killers before anyone gets hurt.”

Hang on, had he really just prayed? In front of her? He had, hadn’t he?

Jacob unholstered his weapon and slowly moved away from her. She watched as he paused and searched the world outside their hiding place. Then he stepped out and she lost sight of him.

Maybe the fact Jacob had prayed didn’t mean anything. She’d heard plenty of people claim to be religious, including a whole lot of criminals just looking for a break at their trial. Yes, Jacob’s reputation was impeccable, and maybe there were a few really good people of integrity out there, but she wasn’t about to risk her life on Jacob being one.

No, she couldn’t risk telling him about the cabin, her father or her real reason for being here. But if she could find the cabin, there was the tiniest possibility she could still retrieve whatever her father wanted her to find before being airlifted to safety.

She cast one last glance through the crevice to the empty space where Jacob had gone and saw nothing but trees. Then she reached up, grabbed hold of a jagged and jutting piece of rock and started climbing.

* * *

Jacob stepped into the clearing and paused with his weapon at the ready. It was empty. Water roared far below him to his left. The helicopter whirred above him just out of view. Cutter was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Warren, where was the heat signature again?” he asked, his eyes in the sky.

“Ahead about a hundred paces to your left.” The detective’s voice was back in his headset. “I can track him, but it means losing eyes on the civilian.”

Jacob frowned. “Do it.”

“Are you sure the man the civilian saw was Barry Cutter?” Now it was Kevin’s voice that crackled in his ear.

“Absolutely.” He started walking slowly, listening for the sounds of life. He had no doubt in his mind Grace had seen exactly who she’d said. As difficult as that woman was, from what he’d read of her articles, it seemed she was also fairly brilliant and knew her stuff. He took a deep breath and fought the urge to go back and talk to her. Something about the way they’d just left things felt awkward. But what else was there to say? He had an escaped convict to find, a helicopter to catch and an undercover detective to meet up with at midnight to collect new evidence, which would hopefully help him solve the one murder that had been tearing him up inside for over half his life.

And here his brain was having trouble focusing.

Okay, God. Help me do what needs to be done. Help me get my head in the game.

He’d been completely knocked off-kilter, to the point of feeling all of his words fall from his head, the moment Grace had said her name and he’d realized just who he was holding against his chest. Of all the women in the world it could’ve been, why did it have to be her? Grace Finch was difficult, challenging, a pain in his neck, impossible...and impossibly beautiful with her long legs, bold and determined eyes, and full lips. He’d never known anyone capable of knocking his breath from his lungs by just walking onto a crime scene like her.

Had she really had no idea that three lifers had escaped prison when she’d decided to come camping up here in the middle of nowhere? But how else would she have gotten here in time? The convicts had crashed in a secluded area north of the park, so it made sense they’d been able to travel as deep into the length of the woods as they had in four hours, which is why this was where they’d been searching. But if Grace really had parked at the entrance and hiked in that way, there was no way she could’ve heard of the prison escape and made it here by now. Not unless she was airlifted in.

But could it really be a coincidence one of the country’s best crime reporters just happened to be in the woods in the exact location where notorious serial killers who’d just escaped prison happened to be? Of course not. Not that he could come up with a plausible alternative theory. Or take the time to figure one out now. So much of this didn’t make sense. Starting with the fact that his mouth hadn’t been able to summon so much as, “Yeah, I know who you are,” when she’d told him her name.

He could still remember the first time he’d seen her walking toward him at the crime scene of a multiple homicide, striding right up to the yellow police tape. He’d hoped she was a detective, a colleague, someone he could grab a coffee and talk over cases with. Not that he’d ever considered looking for a romantic relationship with her or anything. He already had enough people who counted on him, what with two elderly parents, three younger brothers—one getting married on the weekend—three new sisters-in-law and two nephews. But he’d never been opposed to building a new professional and collegial friendship.

He also remembered the first time Warren had spotted her at a crime scene. The fellow detective had just arrived back in Ontario earlier after spending over a decade putting away an impressive array of criminal lowlifes out east. And somehow, just a few weeks on the job, she’d already caught his eye.

“That’s Grace Finch, the reporter, right?” Warren had nodded in her direction through the maze of flashing red and blue lights punctuating the night. “I heard she’s a force and a half.”

Jacob couldn’t even remember what he’d said next. Maybe, “Yeah, she’s pretty tough,” or something like that.

“I was thinking of asking her to a new show at the Art Gallery of Ontario,” Warren had started saying. Then he’d taken in the look on Jacob’s face and added, “Unless for some reason you’d rather I didn’t.”

And Jacob had realized in that moment just how very much he’d rather Warren didn’t. Not that he had any right to ask him not to date Grace. Sure, Jacob had been quick to assure him he had no intention of ever pursuing a relationship with Grace. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been kind of relieved that Warren hadn’t either.

He paced a few lengths into the woods, slowly, carefully following the broken branches and disturbed ground that told him someone had gone this way. “Hey, Kevin, how are we doing on the fuel situation?”

“I can give you fifteen minutes.” The pilot’s voice came back in his ear. “Twenty at the absolute max.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah.” The sound of Kevin blowing out a hard breath filled his ear. “That was adding in a time cushion just to be safe in case we got delayed by the storm. Now, we’re all out of cushion.”

“Got it. Warren, have you got eyes on me?”

“Heat signature on your own, moving north?” Warren confirmed. “Yup. But I’ve momentarily lost the one you were tracking.”

Jacob frowned. It happened. The camera’s range was not that broad. “How’s our civilian doing?”

“Hang on. I’ve got to move the camera,” Warren said. Jacob waited. “I’ve got no heat signatures near the rock formation. Your civilian is gone. But I think I’ve got two figures on top of the rock ledge to the east of you.”

Jacob turned on his heels. You have to be kidding me! Had she actually decided to ignore what he’d said and take off on her own? His strides turned into a full-out sprint. He reached the crevice. It was empty. No Grace. His jaw clenched. “She’s gone.”

Lord, help me hold it together...

A scream filled the air.

THREE

“Where are they?” Jacob shouted into his headpiece. He ran, pressing his body through the dense woods and keeping his weapon at the ready. The screams had stopped, but his heart was still rattled from the sound. No matter how many bloody crime scenes he’d walked through, grisly photos he’d looked at or difficult interrogations he’d conducted, the one thing that somehow always seemed to slip through the chinks in his cast-iron core and take him right back to being fourteen years old was the sound of someone screaming.

His sister, Faith, had fought for her life. That much he knew without a doubt about the attempted kidnapping that had ended her life. She’d thrashed, kicked and clawed at the would-be abductor. Her killer had strangled her and left her lifeless body there by the side of the road. But he hadn’t succeeded in taking her alive. No match had ever been found for the DNA retrieved from under her fingernails. But Jacob had never given up hope that it would and that, one day, he’d would have the satisfaction of knowing that the criminal who’d killed his sister had been sentenced to life in prison because Faith had died fighting him with every ounce of Henry blood pumping through her heart.

Jacob was the one who’d let her down. True, it had been their brother Trent’s responsibility to walk Faith home from school. But Jacob was the eldest and he’d been wrong to trust his younger brother to take care of something that important, instead of dropping out of track-and-field to make sure he did it himself. “Warren, tell me you’ve still got eyes.”

“Straight ahead,” Warren said. “A bit to your right. You should see them any minute now.”

What had he been thinking, leaving Grace alone like that? If she was now on top of the rock face, he imagined that meant she’d somehow climbed up from inside the crevice the moment his back was turned. And then what? And why? What possible reason could she have had for doing that? Did she think she knew better than he did? Grace Finch was more than challenging. She was trouble. And now she was going to get herself killed.

Another scream shook the air. But it wasn’t the desperate and panicked cry of a girl in trouble. No, this sound was determined, furious and angry, and something about it lifted his heart.

“Update?” he all but barked.

“Straight ahead!”

Jacob looked up as the trees parted and the top of the ridge he’d been following came into view. There they were, at least a story and a half above him. A bald and heavily tattooed killer named Victor Driver was holding Grace from behind, with one beefy, tattooed arm wrapped around her waist and the other trying to get around her throat. But she was fighting him, thrashing against his grip with all her might.

“Stop! Police! Let her go!” Jacob shouted. He raised his weapon. He’d aim for the shoulder or torso, hopefully taking the man down in a way that kept him alive to face justice. He’d take a kill shot if he had to and only as a last resort. But he didn’t have any hope of getting a clear shot as long as Grace was thrashing. Frustration burned inside him. Hadn’t she heard him? Didn’t she know he was there? If only she would go limp and give him a clean shot, he could save her life. Then it struck him—even if she knew he was there with a gun trained on her attacker, she might still try to take matters into her own hands.

He aimed high and fired. The bullet flew by barely an inch from Driver’s head. The criminal froze like an animal caught in the headlights. But Grace didn’t stop for a second, almost as if she’d been expecting it. She spun back with her elbows high and struck Driver in the face. The criminal bellowed and grabbed his nose. She broke free and pelted down the rock face toward Jacob.

“Jacob!” she shouted. “He’s got a semi-automatic! He just needs to reload!”

He ran toward her, reaching the rock face just as she got to the edge. She looked down. “How do I get down from here?”

“Jump! I’ll catch you!”

Her eyes scanned the drop and then her chin rose. “Okay. I’m coming!”

He shoved his gun back in his holster. She took a deep breath and leaped. He opened his arms and she tumbled into them, just as easily and smoothly as if she’d been made to be in them. Her hands latched around his neck. He held her tightly.

Grace Finch was in his arms...

“I’m sorry I left the crevice,” she said. “I just wanted to get a better look at what was going on.”

“That’s okay,” he said.

“Thank you for catching me,” she said and pushed back against his chest. He set her down. “He’s got a modified TEC-9. Don’t ask me how because he definitely didn’t take that off a guard. All I know is I don’t want to be here when he gets it working.”

“Me neither.” A weapon like that could shred the trees and take them down a dozen times over before they even known what hit them. And a serial killer and escaped convict had somehow gotten ahold of one? “Come on.”

Impulsively, he grabbed her hand. She let him take it and together they ran along the rock face.

“Kevin!” he shouted. “We need an airlift. Now.”

“Good!” Kevin said. “Because that ten minutes is running out fast.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jacob said. “We had a second criminal sighting—Victor Driver. Somehow he’s gotten his hands on a TEC-9.”

He could’ve done without the whistle Kevin filled his ear with.

“How’d he get an illegal black market semi-automatic?” Warren barked. “He must have outside help. There’s no way he lifted that from a guard.”

“Yeah, we know.”

“Are he and Cutter working together?” Warren asked.

“No clue. Just get us out of here, and I’ll fill you both in and call in the sightings while we’re in the sky.”

As much as he’d have liked to bring both Cutter and Driver back with him, saving Grace was enough. More than enough.

“Okay, there’s a sheer stretch of rock sixty degrees southeast,” Warren said. “I can lower the ladder there. Just follow the sound of the river.”

“What about the rescue basket?” Jacob asked.

“There’s something wrong with one of the tether points,” Warren said. “Ladder is safer.”

“Got it,” Jacob said. At least he already knew Grace was comfortable climbing, although a suspended ladder wasn’t exactly the same as the rock crevice. He ran with Grace by his side and her hand tight in his.

“Watch out!” Kevin said, “There’s another heat signature coming up on your right—”

But even as he spoke, he saw the stocky figure of Cutter ahead of them, a fresh gun clutched in his hand. His heart stopped. He had one convict ahead of them, one behind them, a forest to his right, a rock wall to his left...and a woman holding his hand who he had to protect with his life. Jacob pulled his weapon and fired, but not before Cutter was able to get off a shot of his own.

“Grace, get down!” Save her, Lord! Jacob leaped, throwing himself in front of Grace just as he felt the searing hot pain of Cutter’s bullet pierce his shoulder.

* * *

He’s been shot! Fear flooded Grace’s core, even as her body hit the ground. Jacob landed beside her, his cry of pain mingled with the sound of gunfire that still seemed to echo in the air.

Detective Jacob Henry had been shot.

She rolled, sliding her body out from under him as safely as she could without jolting him. Her eyes darted around the trees. She couldn’t see Cutter anywhere, but whether he’d been shot, run off or was just biding his time, he couldn’t have gone far. Either way, they couldn’t just stay here and wait for him to fire again. A large jagged rock, at least three feet high, lay to her right. She grabbed Jacob’s uninjured arm and crawled for it, half leading and half pulling him, feeling him crawl after her. They collapsed behind it and she turned to Jacob. He was lying on his side. Blood seeped from his right shoulder. “Jacob? Are you okay?”

“No!” He groaned. “I’ve been shot.”

She almost laughed at the sheer strength of the frustration in his voice. “Yeah, I got that. Tell me you’re left-handed.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Do you want me to check it?”

“Not right now. Thankfully it’s just a graze.” He yanked a bandanna out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Bullet’s not in the wound. Tie this down over my arm right here, like a bandage, not like a tourniquet. Hopefully this will absorb the blood and help it clot until we get somewhere we can get it properly bandaged.”

She took the bandanna and tied it over his sleeve in the place he pointed. She could tell he was trying not to wince, even through gritted teeth.

“Where are you?” Cutter’s voice came from behind the trees. “Get out here! Show yourselves!”

“Sorry, Detective, but I’m borrowing your gun,” she said and yanked the weapon from his holster. She crouched on the balls of her feet, set Cutter in her sights and fired twice. He swore and disappeared into the trees. She looked back down. Jacob was saying something in his shoulder microphone.

He looked up. “Tell me you hit him.”

“I don’t know.” She scanned the woods. “But I can’t see him or hear him. Driver either. But he can’t be far behind. Tell me your guy’s ready with that helicopter.”

As much as she wanted to reach the cabin and get that information, escaping the shadow of her father’s blackmail was way less important than getting them both out alive. Cut bait now. Circle back later.

“Warren says that it looks like Cutter is retreating, Driver’s climbing down the rock behind us and that there’s a clearing ahead of us to the left. He’ll lower the rope down and collect us there.” Jacob started to pull himself up, then winced. She reached out her hand for him and felt his hand grip hers for a few moments as he climbed to his feet. Then he let go. “Now give me back my gun.”

She bit her tongue to keep from asking him why he didn’t just use Cutter’s gun, partly because every inch of his tone implied that now was no time to argue, but mostly because he’d taken a literal bullet for her. She handed him back his gun. He took it. “Now, come on. Let’s go.”

She ran, dodging between the trees with Jacob right behind her, expecting at any moment to hear gunfire behind them. The trees parted and a long open slab of rock spread out in front of her, making a smooth gray platform. She stopped short, her feet on the edge of the tree line. Once she ran out, there’d be no cover.

The roar of rushing water ahead mingled with the thrum of the helicopter above.

“Go!” Jacob shouted. “Trust me!”

A rope ladder tumbled down from the sky, dangling out over the stone ahead, promising rescue and survival. She gasped for breath and ran for it, feeling her footsteps slip as they crossed the smooth wet rock. She leaped for the ladder, gripped it tightly and started climbing, rung after rung, as it shook and swayed beneath her, tossing her like laundry in the wind.

For a moment, she thought she was going to fall. Then she felt the rope ladder go tight like she’d suddenly been anchored. She looked down. It was Jacob. He’d holstered his weapon and was awkwardly clinging to the rope one-handed below her. The helicopter rose, sending the ladder flying out over the raging water below. She glanced past Jacob to the river churning beneath them. Her stomach lurched. This was reckless. She couldn’t do this.

“Grace!” Jacob shouted. “Look at me!”

She clenched her jaw and shifted her gaze to the strong and determined face of the man beneath her. His eyes met hers, a reassuring smile crossed his face and she felt something like a light switch on inside her.

“You’re okay!” he shouted. “Just keep climbing!”

A spray of bullets ripped through the forest beneath them. The helicopter lurched upward, nearly throwing her into the trees. Jacob shouted in pain. Then as she watched, he fell backward through the air, tumbling down toward the river below. A scream ripped from her lungs. No! His body hit the water and went under. Her heart pounded. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. The helicopter rose higher. Jacob’s body surfaced. Thank You, Lord! The spontaneous prayer surged through her heart, She watched for a moment as he swirled in the water, fighting one-handed against the current and struggling to shed the weight of his bulletproof vest.

Jacob had taken a bullet for her and now he was going to drown.

She glanced to the sky and the safety of the helicopter above. Suddenly the memory of being fourteen-years-old and watching her father run from the police filled her mind. No, she wasn’t like him. She didn’t run, not from someone who needed her, not to save herself, no matter what. Well, now was as good a time to try praying as any.

God, if You’re listening, help me save him. And get us both out of this forest alive.

She let go of the rope ladder and let her body fall toward the river.

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