Alaskan Mountain Pursuit

by Elizabeth Goddard

  And Summer wasn’t going out like this.

  She took a deep breath. Watched him. His right shoulder. Was it her, or was he holding that oddly, like he was more conscious of it? Could that be where he was wounded?

  She waited as he walked toward her, prayed he’d continue circling her rather than stop in front of her. She glanced down at her foot quickly, then back up at him, calculating exactly where she’d need to kick to hit him the hardest.

  He shifted his weight to the left, exposing his shoulder perfectly.

  Summer kicked fast and hard. He yelled.

  Seconds passed in a blur, flashes of activity catching Summer’s attention. The man’s screams, him clutching his arm. Footsteps, coming from somewhere.

  Then Ryan was on her, grabbing her arms, rage evident as he channeled all his strength into fighting her. Summer tried to fight back but he was enormous compared to her. For an instant she felt like she understood what had gone through the heads of the women who had ended up dead at Ryan’s hands. Fighting was useless. Futile.

  But no, it was the only choice she had. She struggled, punched him in the nose, kneed him like she’d seen Sandra Bullock do in a movie once.

  He shoved her hard against a wall, and then advanced toward her. Summer stood tall, readying herself for whatever blow was coming next but knowing she couldn’t take many more. She could already taste blood on her lip.

  The front door slammed open.

  Clay was there. Within seconds he was inside, taking Summer’s place and drawing Ryan’s attention to himself. The two men were fighting and Summer backed away, experiencing the first small taste of freedom and glimmer of hope she’d felt since Ryan had burst into the cabin. She watched the men fight, wondered how she could help Clay. He was hurt. He had a long, deep gash on the side of his head. She winced—he’d been hit by something. A rock? That could explain why he hadn’t come back when he should have and why she hadn’t heard anything.

  Smoke billowed through the open front door, and when Summer looked back she realized the back wall of the cabin had flames growing, from the base of the wall near the fireplace.

  Ryan had set the cabin on fire?

  Ryan.

  She turned her attention back to him, found Ryan and Clay still fighting. Ryan had an inch or so on Clay, but Clay hit hard. It hadn’t taken him long to discover the spot where Ryan was wounded, either, and Summer could see he was focusing his hits on Ryan’s right side.

  Summer ran to the front door and pushed the door shut since more smoke seemed to be coming from outside than from the fire inside. She didn’t want them to die of smoke inhalation before they had a chance to end this. She knew they didn’t have long before the entire cabin was in flames but she didn’t know how long. It was fire-treated wood but it wouldn’t withstand direct fire for long. Seconds? Minutes? She wasn’t sure.

  She hurried back to where the fighting was taking place, did her best to stay out of the way. Maybe she should run? But no, what if Clay needed her later?

  He was starting to seem unsteady on his feet, she noticed, but she couldn’t tell why. From what she could see, Clay seemed to be getting in the best hits.

  But still, he stumbled backward. Summer rushed toward him, not sure how much help she’d be but determined to try.

  The door slammed open again and relief almost overwhelmed Summer as she caught a glimpse of her brother Noah, still alive after all. Summer looked back at the killer, watched as Ryan’s attention went to the door. Ignoring the throbbing in her foot, she landed one more hard kick against his shoulder. As she did so Clay seemed to gain just a little more strength and no sooner had she kicked Ryan than Clay landed one last punch, directly on the side of the man’s head.

  He fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Everything stilled. Summer took a breath, listened to her heart pounding and looked around the cabin. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The back wall was engulfed now, flames dancing and advancing toward them.

  “Noah,” Clay called to the other man. “Summer, get out.”

  She wanted to argue but Clay’s tone made it clear that wouldn’t go over well. She went to the deck, which was as far as she dared go in case they needed her help, and waited, holding her breath almost from fear, for them to come out.

  We’re alive, God. You did it. You saved us.

  She swallowed hard. God wasn’t finished with her, wasn’t ignoring her because she’d made mistakes. Wasn’t punishing her.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  Just when she was about to run back inside to make sure her brother and Clay both got out, they came through the door, dragging Ryan behind them. They’d handcuffed his hands together.

  Noah nodded behind him. “The SAT phone. It’s on the counter.”

  Clay ducked back inside. Summer didn’t think she took another breath until he emerged.

  There he was safe. Both of them safe.

  He tossed the phone to Noah. “Call the troopers. We need to get this guy off the mountain.”

  NINETEEN

  The troopers had managed to get a helicopter close enough to get Ryan loaded into it. He was on his way to Spring Creek Correctional Center in Seward.

  He wasn’t going to take any more innocent lives.

  Clay finally took a deep breath when that man was gone from the mountain, out of their lives. Summer would have to testify, more than likely both of them would, but that wouldn’t be for months or years to come. For now, it was over, and for today that was enough.

  The remains of the cabin were burning down behind them. Emergency personnel had decided the best course of action was to let it burn, since it was surrounded by rocks that wouldn’t be able to spread the fire. Unfortunately saving the cabin itself would have required too much resource-wise, and the cost and risk would be higher than it was worth, especially since the scene would be compromised anyway from a crime scene perspective.

  Clay had detected a note of relief on Summer’s face when that decision had been made.

  “I’d rather our family rebuild anyway. Start over.”

  The words had seemed to carry a double meaning for her that Clay suspected had something to do with how she felt she’d let them down. Did that mean she wasn’t holding the past over her head anymore?

  He wasn’t sure. But he walked over to her now, to where she stood a safe distance back watching the flames finish the work Ryan had started. The sky overhead was still blue and cloudless, the air warm. It was a gorgeous summer day.

  A day for new beginnings.

  Clay took Summer’s hand in his. “Are you okay?”

  She turned to him, glacier-blue eyes clear. “I’m better than okay.” She sniffed as she wiped what he thought might have been the remains of a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Want to take a walk down the ridgeline or did you want to stay here?”

  “A walk would be good, I think.”

  Hand in hand, they walked back toward the trail where they’d come up. Had that just been yesterday? The last twenty-four hours had seemed like days, moving slowly and quickly all at the same time, so packed full of changing and near-death experiences.

  Clay reminded himself to take a deep breath. It was over, the danger, the case. And hopefully, he and Summer were just beginning.

  “I noticed this spot yesterday, when we hiked up here.” He looked at Summer. “I thought it was the most beautiful place in the world.”

  She smiled up at him. His heart caught.

  “And I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Clay was surprised at how easily the words came. They were true. He felt them with everything in him. “And if everything that happened to me in Treasure Point had to happen for me to get here, to meet you, it was worth it.”

  Summer squeezed his hand, and somehow it meant more than sentenc
es full of words ever could have. She understood.

  “I know...” Clay cleared his throat, tried to breathe around the tightness in his chest. It wasn’t every day he asked a woman to marry him and he wanted to do this right. He’d already messed up by not having a ring ready, but he’d learned from the last week that life was short. Some risks were worth it, and loving Summer, asking her this question today, here on the mountain where they’d both been given a fresh start, it was worth everything despite not being perfect.

  Because she was. Perfect for him. He hoped he could be half the man she deserved. And if she said yes to his question, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure he was.

  “I know we haven’t known each other for long. And I know everything has been crazy. But I also know I love you, Summer.”

  “I love you too.”

  The words, said quietly but with certainty, relaxed the tightness in his chest. He tightened his grip on her hand. She squeezed back and he turned to face her, lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

  Her eyes widened. Hopefully in a good way. Clay kept talking. “I want to marry you, Summer Dawson, and live up here with you, having adventure upon adventure, watching you run up mountains and along ridgelines. Would you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

  She laughed, full hearted, her eyes shimmering with so much hope Clay felt it too.

  He brushed a tear from her face. A happy tear, the only kind he ever intended to be the cause of for the rest of their lives.

  “Yes, Clay. I would love to marry you.”

  He wrapped her in his arms, squeezed her in a tight hug and then released her just far enough back that he could tip his head down and claim her lips in a kiss.

  Their happily-ever-after was just beginning. And Clay couldn’t wait to see what their future held.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Hidden Amish Secrets by Debby Giusti.

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  Hidden Amish Secrets

  by Debby Giusti

  ONE

  Thunder rumbling overhead was as troubling as the guilt that still weighed heavily on Julianne Graber’s heart even after five years. Losing her father and brother in one horrific night had been hard to accept. Having it ruled a murder-suicide made their passing even more tragic. The bishop’s callous comment about Gott’s will had been the final blow. She had vowed never to return to her Amish home, yet here she was driving back to Mountain Loft, Georgia, on a stormy night that matched her mood.

  The rain intensified, and wisps of fog impeded visibility. She lowered the headlights on her small Honda, activated the windshield wipers and checked the GPS on her smartphone. Her estimated time of arrival was close to midnight. She groaned and chastised herself, yet again, for leaving Dahlonega so late in the day.

  Her upset increased as she glanced at the notice from the county authorities that was lying on the passenger seat. After reading the letter too many times, she could recite the words by heart.

  Due to a rise in vagrancy and vandalism, buildings left unoccupied for more than five years will be considered abandoned unless efforts are made to either occupy or sell the property.

  She wouldn’t let conniving county bureaucrats lay claim to the farm, two-story house and outbuildings she had inherited from her father. Even if she didn’t want to live there herself.

  Over the last five years, she had learned to manage her grief and was better able to handle the memories of the hateful crime that had claimed her father’s and brother’s lives. Aunt Mary, her father’s sister, had been her lifeline back to reality for the first two years. Eventually, needing to test her wings like a small bird leaving the nest, Julie had abandoned her Amish faith, moved to a quaint college town in the North Georgia mountains and worked in a gift shop on the square in Dahlonega for the past three years. If not for the letter, she would be in her apartment getting ready for bed instead of navigating the twisting mountain road.

  A curve appeared ahead. Easing down on the brake pedal, she hugged the shoulder as an approaching delivery truck in the opposite lane swerved around the bend. Frustrated by the aggressive driver, she laid on the horn, hoping to remind the trucker that speeding on the treacherous mountain road was anything but wise.

  A rockslide had stopped traffic earlier and delayed her for more than two hours. She didn’t want her arrival to be pushed back even later. Not that anyone expected her. The only welcome would come from an empty farmhouse and a row of graves on the hillside. Her father and brother were buried there, along with her mother, who had died a year earlier.

  The road wound higher up the mountain and eventually leveled into a plateau. A sign appeared on the left-hand side of the road:

  Welcome to Mountain Loft, Established in 1840 by miners seeking their fortune in the Georgia Gold Rush.

  She checked her speed and drove through the sleepy town, grateful the stoplights remained green and her progress was unencumbered.

  In the daytime, she would see the Amish farm community that laid claim to the area west of town. This late at night, the farmers and their families were asleep in their beds, and their homes were bathed in darkness.

  She passed her once-upon-a-time best friend’s house. Rachel Hochstetler had driven Julianne home from the teen gathering at the lake the night her father and brother had died. With the memory of William Lavy’s kiss still on her lips, Julie had entered her house to find her father lying in a pool of blood.

  She grimaced at the memory and rubbed her forehead, thinking again of the sharp inhale of breath she had heard behind her, along with her whispered name, before a hard object had slammed against her skull. After awakening hours later, she had stumbled to her feet and glanced at the far side of the room. Her brother, Bennie, sat propped against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. Mouth open. Eyes wide. She could still see the hole in his stomach and the gun clutched in his hand.

  Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. She yanked a tissue from her purse, wiped it across her cheeks and pulled in a ragged breath as her father’s house appeared in the distance. Correction—her house. Grateful that her Honda made better time than a horse-drawn buggy, she steeled her resolve, turned into the drive and braked to a stop near the back porch.

  The rain had eased and the moon hung low in the sky, as it had that night so long ago. The sheriff had determined Bennie and her father had argued, and in a fit of anger, her brother had shot Datt and then turned the gun on himself. She still struggled to make sense of something so senseless.

  Her mouth went dry, and a lump of grief filled her throat, but she was determined to face the past. Pulling in a fortifying breath, she grabbed her flashlight from the console, stepped from the car and climbed the back steps to the kitchen entrance.

  Fisting her hand, she hesitated before keying open the door. The house was dark and silent as a tomb. She inhaled the stale air that wafted past her, half expecting the stench of pooled blood to fill her nostrils.

  For a long, agonizing moment, she stood at the threshold, willing herself to step inside. A shrill, high-pitched scream replayed in her memory—her scream, when she’d finally regained consciousness and seen not only her father, but also her brother, dead. Heart pounding from the memory, she slammed the kitchen door and locked it with trembling hands. Morning would be soon enough to deal with the memories.

  Needing to distance herself from the crime scene that cut into her heart, she raced back to the safety of her car.

  A twig snapped.

  She stopped, cocked her ear and listened, her pulse pounding. Silence, except for the pitter-patter of raindrops falling from the tr
ees. Relieved, she reached for the door handle.

  Leaves rustled. Heart in her throat, she turned. A man dressed in black sprang from the darkness. A red bandana covered his face. He grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground.

  “No!” She landed with a thud. Air sailed from her lungs. Gasping, she crawled to her knees and attempted to stand.

  He thrust his leg forward and slammed his boot into her ribs.

  She fell and clawed at the muddy drive.

  Grasping her ankle with both hands, he dragged her toward the bushes. She thrashed and kicked her other leg.

  His grip eased ever so slightly.

  She kicked again. He groaned.

  Again, she kicked. And again.

  He tumbled backward.

  Scrambling to her feet, she lunged for her car, opened the door and fell into the driver’s seat. He reached for her and she slammed the door, catching the tips of his fingers. He screamed in pain and pounded his fist against the window.

  She started the engine and floored the accelerator. The car fishtailed out of the drive. Yanking on the wheel, she turned onto the main road, heading toward Mountain Loft.

  Her heart pounded nearly out of her chest. She had to get away. She glanced in the rearview mirror, her stomach rolling. Headlights followed after her onto the country road.

  Her secondhand Honda wasn’t built for speed. The man in black would overtake her before she got to town.

  On the opposite side of the road, the Lavys’ neighboring farm sat dark in the night. A narrow path behind the house led from the road to a stand of trees and a pond where her brother and William Lavy had played when they were young. If she could turn off the main road and hide near the pond, she might elude the attacker. She switched off her headlights, eased into the turn and bounced along the muddy path. The pond appeared ahead.

  She stopped behind a cluster of pines, grabbed her phone and jumped from the car into a quagmire of mud. Pulling free, she stumbled toward the house and glanced at the main road just as a car raced by. All she saw was a flash of white.