Lone Survivor. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

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      “Let’s call for help,” he said. “Then we’ll get that wound cleaned and bandaged.”

      “Please, yes.” Her assent carried to him in shaken tones.

      The radio frequency was preset to the main park station, where his brother worked. Jace would be able to get law enforcement and emergency services up here ASAP. Hunter keyed the mic and put in the call.

      “Umpqua Ranger Station,” a male voice answered. “Remy Nolan speaking.”

      Hunter let out a grunt under his breath. Not his brother. A ranger Hunter hadn’t met yet? He thought he’d met them all. Must be a new hire. Hunter identified himself as Jace’s brother, gave his location and then tersely described his issue with the woman and child. Stone silence answered him for several heartbeats.

      “Say again?” the man said. “No, never mind. I heard you. I’m just processing this strangeness on top of strangeness.”

      “Why? What’s going on?”

      “There’s been a bomb threat at the North Umpqua Hydroelectric Project. Everyone and their bomb-sniffing dog is there now, including Jace.”

      Hunter’s heart lurched. He swallowed against a dry mouth. Jace would be okay. He had to believe that.

      “That’s not the kind of danger a forest ranger finds himself in every day,” he told Remy. “I’ll sure be keeping them in my prayers, but right now, we need emergency services to pick up the woman and baby. All I’ve got for transportation is a motorcycle, and that won’t do for them.”

      “Understood. I’ll scramble someone as soon as I can.”

      “And send investigators to my cousin’s place,” said a soft female voice over Hunter’s shoulder.

      “What’s that address?” the ranger answered.

      The woman rattled off an address that would put it among the expensive residences just outside the park borders.

      “And your name?”

      The woman spoke a name Hunter had hoped never to hear again. A chill rippled across his flesh, raising the hairs on his arms and neck. Karissa Landon? Anissa’s twin sister? It couldn’t be!

       God, You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?

      As if moving through clotted mud, Hunter slowly swiveled, and for the first time, he looked full into the woman’s face, cleared of its veil of hair and forest debris. His heart came to a full stop then stumbled into a gallop. He found himself peering into the same vivid green eyes that haunted his nightmares. Eyes that pleaded with him to save her. Eyes that belonged to a dead woman. This one’s twin. The woman he’d failed to rescue from the fire that ended his career as a Portland firefighter.

      How long did he have before Karissa recalled the media coverage, including an unflattering photo of him, and figured out who he was now that she had obviously calmed? Seconds? He braced himself.

      But she merely blinked at him, neutral expression morphing into puzzlement. “Are you all right? You suddenly lost half your tan.”

      Hunter searched for his voice. Karissa clearly didn’t recognize him. Of course, they’d never met in person, but his picture had been well publicized not long after the horrible tragedy. He’d been clean shaven in those shots, though, and his hair had been short. Now, with a full beard and hair that hadn’t seen scissors in months, not to mention his scars, he probably looked like some kind of holdover from the Gold Rush days. However, he couldn’t count on facial hair to maintain his camouflage indefinitely. At any moment, she would recognize who he was, and she would despise him. Probably as soon as she asked him to introduce himself. He’d put that moment off as long as possible.

      “You two still there?” The ranger’s query from the other end of the radio snapped Hunter back into the moment.

      “Ten-four, Remy. We’ll be here waiting for the cavalry to show up.” How had his voice come out so upbeat when panic sought to devour him alive?

      “Hang tight. Over and out.” The airwaves went dead.

      Hunter got up and went for his gun case. He took out the rifle, loaded it, made sure the safety was on and then propped the firearm against his desk. A strangled noise coming from his female houseguest drew his attention. Had she recognized him at last? Stiffening, Hunter forced himself to turn toward Karissa. She wasn’t staring at him, but at his gun.

      “How did life suddenly turn so dangerous we might actually have to use that to defend ourselves?” Her hoarse whisper barely carried to him over the fussing of the baby, who was kicking and flailing on the hearth rug.

      He lifted one side of his mouth in a grim half smile. “We’ll be ready if we have unwelcome intruders before help arrives.”

      The tension around her lips eased marginally, and she jerked a nod in his direction.

      “Let’s get that wound cleaned up,” he said and went for his first aid kit.

      Soon, he had a bandage on the bullet crease that had nearly ceased bleeding since she was no longer exerting herself. It was impressive that she didn’t cry out, just gnawed her lower lip and kept her gaze averted. As soon as he was done with her, Karissa began rummaging in the diaper bag.

      “Thank You, Lord.” She pulled out a can of powdered formula and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You wouldn’t have any purified water, would you? I changed him while you were on the radio, but now this little guy is hungry as a bear. Might as well feed him while we wait.”

      “I think I can accommodate.” Hunter ventured a full smile, but her focus had already left him as she scooped up the baby. The little fellow was now alternating between howls and trying to eat his fist.

      A few minutes later, the baby was contentedly guzzling while Karissa held him on the threadbare sofa that served as Hunter’s main piece of furniture, other than his bed in the loft, and the steel-topped table where he ate his meals.

      Hunter hefted the rifle and kept watch at the window while he prayed for a rescue vehicle to soon emerge from the break in the trees where a one-lane dirt track led into the clearing. In a short while, muted thunder began to grow louder, closing in from a distance. Not thunder. An engine. No—engines, plural, and at least one of them was a diesel. Hunter’s insides tensed. Something wasn’t right. Too many vehicles to pick up one woman and a baby—especially with a bomb threat on.

      A large white SUV with the forest service logo on the side panel burst from the tree line, traveling recklessly fast. A second vehicle—this one a black-as-sin, heavy-duty pickup truck—followed nearly on the SUV’s bumper. Both vehicles braked suddenly and skidded to a stop.

      What was sticking out through the second vehicle’s windows? Waning sunlight reflected off metal. Guns! Pulse rate skyrocketing, Hunter whirled away from the window toward his innocent and oblivious charges.

      “We’re under attack!” he cried as a fusillade of bullets thudded into the cabin’s thick log walls, shattering the window where he’d been standing a split second before.

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