Stolen Moments. B.J. Daniels

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      She felt him paddle them out into the fast water, as if he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe he had. She had the feeling this man could do anything. Who was he anyway? And what was she doing with him, as if she had a choice? She shivered, remembering the look he’d given her when he’d taken the gun from her hand. Instinctively she knew he was dangerous. So why had he saved her life? Not once, but twice. Or had he?

      She stared into the fog, her brain and body numb. Part of her feared an attack from the banked whiteness. Another part feared she was in more danger from the man in the canoe than anyone who came out of the fog.

      The river lapped at the sides of the boat; the fog rushed by. Where were they headed now? She felt caught up in something bigger than herself as the canoe swept down the river with nothing to gauge distance by other than the feel of the wind on her face and the whisper of the fog as it sailed past. Time seemed suspended. She watched Seth paddle and felt like the water, racing toward something. But what?

      Then in the distance she heard the sound of a waterfall.