Lone Survivor

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Karissa subsided onto her pillow. “You mean, I put Kyle in danger by snatching him up? Should I have just left him in his crib in the house where his mother was murdered?”

  Hunter touched the hand she had fisted around the sheet. “I don’t think that was a good alternative.” He switched his attention to Sykes. “Detective, did your people ever catch up with the sheriff who abandoned us to that attack on the road and the two crooks she had in her back seat?”

  Sykes frowned. “We did. The sheriff’s vehicle was found in a ravine not far ahead of where you were ambushed. It took us a while to locate it because the vehicle had been covered over with brush. The sheriff was awake but groggy with a large goose egg on the back of her head. She was handcuffed to her own steering wheel. Claims she has no idea how the two suspects got to her, but they were gone.”

  Karissa groaned. “So, the two gunmen who tried to kidnap me—one of whom killed my cousin—are on the loose again?”

  “Sounds like it.” Hunter’s tone was thin.

  “At least the sheriff is okay,” Karissa said. “And she wasn’t in on the plot.”

  Hunter frowned. “We don’t know that. The scene could have been staged to make her look innocent.”

  “Don’t go leaping to conclusions about law enforcement personnel,” Sykes barked, scowling at Hunter.

  “Not leaping.” He answered the detective’s anger with a bland look. “I understand you defending your own, but I’m trying to keep an open mind to possibilities when we know from one of the bad guys that some kind of corruption is going on.”

  Sykes grunted. “I’ll believe that when it’s proven.” He turned the page in his small notebook and focused on Karissa. “You have no idea who might be after you or why?”

  She shook her head. “I’m clueless, which makes me feel as helpless as little Kyle. I mean, I’ve been out of the country for the past two years on the mission field in Belize. The conditions there were challenging at times, and some of the neighborhoods could be really scary, and yet I seem to be less safe after returning to my home country than I was in a third-world country. Can anyone explain that anomaly to me?”

  She glared from Hunter to Detective Sykes. Both men held their silence behind sober expressions.

  She sighed. “It was a rhetorical question, anyway. It’s just so strange that first my parents were killed in a car accident and then Anissa died in a fire right before I left the country.” The awful words tasted like bile on her tongue. She turned toward Hunter. “You started to tell me you used to be a firefighter. Were you stationed anywhere in Oregon? Did you ever hear anything about the fire that took my sister?”

  If she’d put a gun to his head, Hunter couldn’t have looked any more terrified. No, she’d seen him handle someone with a gun and deadly intent. The man didn’t scare easily. The horror in his wide eyes was more on par with being told that everything and everyone he cared about was being ripped from him. Sort of similar to the way Karissa was feeling about all the losses piling up around her. What was he hiding that could possibly be that bad?

  * * *

  Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. The moment of truth. He’d known it was coming but had hoped against hope that he would not have to be the one to personally tell her of his role in Anissa’s death. Of course, his prayer to be far away from Karissa when this moment came had been pure selfishness. God wasn’t going to allow that. Hunter had to look her in the eye and tell her the truth, then take whatever condemnation and fury she poured out on him. If he wasn’t already starting to care about her so much on a personal level—against his better judgment—he might be able to weather her contempt. Couldn’t be helped. He opened his eyes.

  Karissa’s gaze was still fixed on him, wide and expectant. Hunter opened his mouth, but the detective’s cell phone chose that moment to ring.

  The man checked the screen and held up a finger as he rose from the chair. “Just a sec. I’ve got to take this.”

  Hunter waved him off, and the man hustled from the room. Actually, not having a third-party audience might make the next few minutes easier, but not by much.

  “Until a couple of years ago, I was a firefighter in Portland,” he began in a low voice.

  “That’s where Anissa and I were living,” Karissa interrupted. “Not together, though. She had a little house, and I lived in an apartment, but we both worked in the city and saw each other quite often.” Karissa’s tone had turned warm and eager in the recollection of happier days.

  Hunter’s heart twisted. “Hear me out.”

  “I will.” She rolled onto her side, reached over and touched the scarred side of his face, her expression tender. “But let me say this first. You may well be the bravest man I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you in action saving my life and little Kyle’s more than once. If that’s what you were like with us then I can imagine you were like that as a firefighter. I suspect that’s how you got those burns—putting yourself at risk—so if anyone can explain with empathy what happened to my sister, you’re the guy, so go ahead.”

  Hunter swallowed hard. “I’m the guy, all right,” he rasped. “I got these trying to get Anissa out of her bedroom on the second floor—”

  Karissa let out a small shriek, eyes going wide. “You were there at that very fire? Oh, of course! I just made the connection—a firefighter in Portland, burned two years ago. It must have been a horrible shock when I landed on your doorstep in the backwoods. You were injured on behalf of my sister, and now I’ve put you through the wringer again. You probably wish you’d never heard of the Landon family.”

  “It’s not that at all,” Hunter rushed onward. “I am so thankful to have another chance to help someone in your family when I failed to save Anissa.”

  “You mustn’t feel bad.” Her gaze was compassionate. “Clearly, you tried your best—even to the point of getting hurt yourself.”

  “I did try my best, but it wasn’t good enough because some equipment failed. Instead of holding us until we could get pulled to safety, the harness broke when the floorboards gave way, and we got dumped into the worst of the blaze on the first floor. I lived only because the fire-retardant mattress from Anissa’s bedroom fell on top of me.”

  “Survivor’s guilt.”

  “Not at all. You haven’t heard the rest of the story. The equipment failure may have been my f—”

  “Miss Landon, Mr. Raines.” The detective’s voice boomed as he strode back into Karissa’s room. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I figured you’d want to know. Kyle has disappeared from his foster home. Every available unit is out looking for him now, and we’ve issued an Amber alert. I’m so sorry.”

  A wordless cry broke from Karissa’s throat, and her face turned deathly pale.

  Hunter surged to his feet. “You’re sorry? Clearly, you underestimated the threat to the little guy.”

  “It’s a possibility we considered, which is why we had an unmarked surveillance unit stationed outside the foster family’s house, but someone got to the child in spite of our vigilance.”

  Hunter glared at the detective. The detective glared back.

  The intern who had treated Hunter’s arm glided into the room bearing a suture kit and wearing a big smile. “Let’s get that wound restitched so we can discharge you.”

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Hunter pronounced and plopped into his chair. “I’ve got a baby to find.”

  Sykes jabbed a finger at him. “You need to stay out of our way and let us do our job, Mr. Raines.”

  “It’s an Amber alert, right?” He let the intern get to work. “Anybody can look for the kid.” Checking in on what contacts Buck might have in the area and activating them to look for Kyle wasn’t a move he felt he needed to mention to the detective, especially when he planned to see if any of those contacts had a firearm they could loan him. “I think it’s pretty safe to say that Karissa a
nd I may be the people left in this world who care about him the most.”

  “That’s for sure.” Karissa nodded, jaw firming. Her green gaze flashed as color rushed back into her face. “It sounds like I might be his only living relative. I’m going to look, too.”

  “No, you’re not!” The detective and Hunter spoke in unison.

  The intern stared down at her. “You have a serious concussion. If you try too much activity too quickly, you could not only pass out at any moment, but you may aggravate any existing brain damage. At the very least, you would delay healing.”

  “What he said.” Hunter seconded the intern with a stern finger stabbed in Karissa’s direction.

  “Plus,” added Sykes, “you’re under police protection until we discover and stop whoever is making these attempts on your life.” The detective sent a grim stare toward Hunter. “I promise we’ll have two officers at the door from now on.”

  “You’d better,” Hunter grated out.

  EIGHT

  Heart rate jumping all over the place, Karissa studied the medium-size, burnt-orange purse that had been laid on her tray table moments earlier by one of the officers guarding her door. “Here you go,” she had said with a grin. “Detective Sykes authorized me to return this to you. It’s been gone through—sorry—but nothing in here was deemed of evidentiary value so you can have your handbag back.” Then she’d turned and left the room to resume her post.

  Karissa sat up on the edge of her bed with her feet dangling over the side and swiped away a sheen of moisture that had popped out on her upper lip at sight of her purse. Her kidnapper in the woods had told her that her handbag and her car were in the possession of those who wanted her dead. How had the purse come back into police custody? Had her kidnapper lied? To what purpose? Or was this sudden return of her property another clue taunting her with the possibility that members of law enforcement were bought and paid for by her powerful nameless, faceless enemy? That possibility threw a taint over her bag. Touching it, much less opening it, seemed like a risky act, yet what choice did she have but to examine the contents to confirm that everything inside was indeed hers and nothing had been added or taken away?

  “Don’t be a coward,” she whispered to herself under her breath.

  It might have been nice to have a friend like Hunter present to walk through this potential minefield with her, but he’d taken off like a scalded cat as soon as his wound was freshly sutured. Now he was off looking for Kyle. Her heart cheered him on, but where he would start the hunt for the baby, she had no clue.

  Firming her jaw, she reached for the bag. Item by item, she emptied the contents and laid them out on the tray table in front of her. A mirrored compact. A small zipper pouch containing basic articles of makeup. A wide-toothed comb, needed to help tame her wild red locks—probably something that badly needed doing after all the racing around in the woods and then lolling in bed. A lady’s wallet containing a little cash, her driver’s license and a credit card. A travel-size first aid kit, complete with adhesive bandages, antiseptic wipes and a small container of acetaminophen. A key ring holding the key to her small apartment in Portland and her car keys—where was her car, by the way? A few odds and ends like dental floss and lip gloss. And her cell phone. All of her possessions seemed present and accounted for.

  She grabbed up her cell and clutched it to her chest like she’d discovered buried treasure. Now she could reach out and contact someone like...who? Nikki was dead with their reunion never having taken place. Her precious Belizean friends were thousands of miles away. Of course, there were a few old friends and former coworkers in her contact list from before she left for the mission field who she was sure wouldn’t mind hearing from her, but to what point and what would she say?

  Hi, I’m calling to hear a friendly voice because an unknown enemy is trying to kill me, and I don’t know why. If anything like that popped out of her mouth, they would think she’d lost her mind.

  The only person she really wanted to call was Hunter, and she didn’t have his number—if he even owned a cell phone. She’d seen no sign of one when they were on the run in the forest. Not that they would have had service out there anyway.

  Karissa frowned. She could contact her pastor. Her church had helped support her on the mission field, and they had an awesome prayer group with whom she’d often shared prayer needs. If this situation wasn’t a prayer need, she didn’t know what was. She brought up her contacts and tapped the listing for her pastor’s church office.

  The call rang and rang and then went to voice mail. Karissa’s throat constricted against tears that wanted to fall. This wasn’t the sort of situation about which she could leave any kind of coherent detailed voice message. The beep came for her to leave her message.

  “Hi, this is Karissa Landon,” she managed to rasp out. “Would you add my name to the prayer list? I’m having a little trouble. God knows what’s going on. Just...please pray for me.”

  She choked over the final words and tapped to end the call. Could she have sounded more pitiful if she tried?

  Her cell suddenly buzzed harshly and vibrated in her hand. She dropped it as if stung. The cell’s protective case hit the tile floor with a soft clunk. Gingerly, holding on to her woozy head with one hand, Karissa eased off the bed, reached down and retrieved the phone. Scarcely daring to breathe, she awakened the screen again. The number one next to the messaging icon told her that a new text had come in. In a couple of taps, the message, which originated from an unfamiliar number, slapped her in the face.

  Remember the Golden Days?

  You have two hours

  Or an innocent pays the price.

  No cops, no fireman.

  Your car is in the parking garage.

  The way is clear.

  Come to me now.

  The Golden Days Care Center? How did her enemy know about her family’s connection to that senior care facility? Then, again, how did whoever it was always seem to know details of her life? This person had somehow known she would be visiting her cousin Nikki and had gotten there ahead of her—with tragic consequences.

  Waves of cold followed by waves of heat washed over her body. She was afraid—terrified even—she admitted, but she was also angry. Who did this joker think he was, playing God with people’s lives?

  God, You know what’s going on here and who is behind it. Help!

  Her heart rate settled as if under a calming hand. Such a brief and simple cry for help, and yet it reminded her who had her in the palm of His hand. That sure and certain knowledge did not lessen the danger, but it did remind her to trust the outcome of events into His loving care. Nevertheless, her course of action was clear. The safety of her cousin’s innocent baby came first. Kyle’s sweet face appeared in her mind’s eye—all the motivation she needed to ignore her fears and take action.

  With delicate care, Karissa removed her hospital gown and dressed herself in the clothes that had been placed in her closet. The collar of her shirt bore bloodstains, but her long hair would cover those. Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she unwound the bandage from her head. A large yellowing bruise marred her temple on one side. She lifted a bright auburn lock and spotted a shaved area and a sutured cut only an inch or so back from her hairline. Her head ached, but a recent dose of extra-strength Tylenol had blunted the edges of the pain.

  What now? Walk out the door as if her two guards didn’t exist?

  She frowned at her reflection. The message had said the way was clear for her to leave. The guards must be gone. One way to find out.

  Karissa repacked everything in her purse but retained her car keys in her hand. With the other hand, she snatched up her handbag and peeked out the door of the hospital room. The beast who had Kyle was right. No uniformed officers stood guard. Further proof that she didn’t know who in law enforcement she could trust.

  A nurse at th
e main desk was consulting charts and didn’t lift her head, nor did the housekeeper look up from counting towels on her cart as Karissa made her soft-footed way to the elevator. Were they in her enemy’s employ, too? Apparently, anyone could be.

  Minutes later, she reached the parking garage. She pressed the unlock button on her key fob and was rewarded by a pair of lights flashing at her an aisle over from where she was standing. Hauling in deep breaths against the enormity of her course of action compared to her frailty, Karissa took steady, deliberate steps toward her little car.

  Her hand closed around the Toyota’s door handle just as iron fingers gripped her upper arm and whirled her about. Gulping back a scream, she stared up into eyes of fury.

  * * *

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Hunter demanded through gritted teeth.

  Karissa let out a small whimper, and he almost felt bad for being so harsh. Almost. What was this woman thinking in ditching her protective detail—how had she done that, anyway?—and taking off on her own while in the grip of a concussion?

  “It said you can’t come.” Her words gushed forth. “Kyle’s safety is on the line. They’ll hurt him if they see you or the cops.”

  “Whoa! Slow down. What it are you talking about?”

  “The text.” She pulled a cell phone from the orange purse she seemed suddenly to have acquired.

  Scowling, he read the message and then cocked a brow at Karissa. “You thought haring off alone was the thing to do in response to this threat?”

  “It was the only thing to do.” She drew herself up to every micrometer of her petite height and glared at him.

  If the situation were less dire, Hunter might have smiled at the ferocity. Then again, he’d witnessed her courage and endurance. Anyone would do well not to underestimate this one. Of its own volition, his hand reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. Her eyes widened, and his breath caught.