Left to Die

by Rita Herron

“You may be repressing the memories because someone you loved hurt you. Have you considered the fact that it was your husband?”

  * * *

  “I HAVE.” SHE’D OBVIOUSLY seen something that had been so horrible she didn’t want to remember it.

  But she couldn’t move on with her future until she did.

  The wind picked up again, howling off the mountain. Snow was starting to melt quickly, tree limbs cracking and breaking off.

  She glanced back at the dead man, willing him to talk to her.

  “We’d better get going,” Fletch said. “I’d like for us to make it down the mountain before dark tonight.”

  Jane’s stomach churned as they left the body lying on the rocks and began to hike again. Fletch adjusted his pack to alleviate extra weight on his injured leg, then led her down another path.

  After two more miles, everything looked the same to her. Endless miles of forest, trees so thick they practically hugged each other and let in very little light. A gray fog covered the sky, adding to the dismal feel.

  She was grateful for Fletch’s experience on the trail or she would have been lost. The frozen ground became slushy and slippery, her boots sinking into freezing water that went all the way through to her socked feet. The trees swayed in the wind, and melting snow began running downhill like a river.

  Another mile, and suddenly a loud noise sounded. Fletch went still, and cocked his head to listen. A shudder coursed through Jane as a rumbling noise boomeranged off the mountain. Fletch pivoted, and eyes widening, grabbed her hand.

  “Avalanche,” he shouted. “Hurry. Let’s go.”

  Jane spotted the mounds of snow beginning to barrel down the mountain toward them.

  She and Fletch tried to outrun it, but the landslide was so fast and sudden that the force of it nearly knocked her down. Fletch clutched her hand to steady her and pulled her to the right.

  “Cave. Inside,” he shouted.

  She ducked her head as he yanked her into the opening. Snow and debris rained down in a thunderous roar, rocks and ice tumbling.

  A second later, the avalanche dumped mounds of snow and ice in front of the door, blocking their exit.

  Jane’s lungs squeezed for air. They were trapped.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dammit to hell and back. How much more could go wrong on this trek?

  Fletch had undertaken countless missions, some involving major emergencies, some where they recovered bodies instead of rescuing individuals.

  But never one where he was ambushed by a shooter and then found a man murdered. And now, on top of the blizzard, a freak avalanche.

  “Jane, are you hurt?” He quickly glanced at her as he urged her away from the cave entrance.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “But what caused that?”

  Fletch sank back on his heels, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior of the cave. Stone walls, dirt floor and wooden braces indicated it had once been an active mine. “Happens sometimes after a big snowstorm when the weather changes abruptly.”

  Jane fingered her tangled hair from her cheek. “It sounded like an explosion, like dynamite exploding.”

  He’d thought the same thing.

  Which meant the avalanche might not have been caused by nature, but it could have been intentional.

  Someone else after Jane? Or Bianca, if that was her name? He still couldn’t reconcile the name Bianca or her job as an interior designer with the skilled fighter and shooter he’d witnessed.

  Although it was possible she’d taken a self-defense class as she’d suggested. God knows, women needed to these days. There were too many damn predators on the streets.

  “Fletch, do you think someone set off dynamite?”

  Fletch chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to alarm her when he had no answer, just suspicions. “I don’t know. We can’t jump to conclusions, Jane. Sometimes the sound of ice breaking and the force of the wind sound like an explosion. Remember my teammate said they were rescuing people from another avalanche.”

  Jane propped herself against the wall of the cave, eyes flickering with fear as she glanced at the doorway. “What do we do now?”

  “Don’t panic.” Fletch removed his radio from his pack and tried to connect, but static rattled in the air. Dammit. “I gave Jacob the coordinates for the dead man we found on the rocks. It’s not far from here. When a team comes to recover his body, they’ll find us.”

  “But they don’t even know we’re missing.”

  Fletch pasted on an encouraging smile. “My brother was expecting us to be down the mountain in a couple of hours. When we don’t show, he’ll try to make contact. If he can’t get through, he’ll organize a search party to look for us.”

  Jane released a wary sigh. “How can you be so confident?”

  “I trust my brothers,” he said. “They’ll look for us. And Jacob is logical. He knows the path I’d travel from those rocks, and he’ll follow it. It’s only a matter of time.”

  A frown puckered the skin between Jane’s eyes. “It must be nice to be so close to your family, to know that your brothers are there for you no matter what.”

  A wealth of sadness weighted her words, and Fletch tilted her chin up with his thumb and looked into her eyes. “You’re going to remember, Jane, and whatever happened, you’ll get through it. You might even have someone in your life looking for you. Another family member. A friend. Someone who loves you.”

  Emotions clouded her eyes. “I don’t know, Fletch. I...feel like I’m alone, that I have been for a long time. That I don’t have anybody.”

  Jacob’s warning echoed in Fletch’s mind. But he had to trust his gut instincts instead. And they were screaming at him that Jane was an innocent victim who needed understanding and protection.

  Unable to resist, he raked debris from the avalanche from her hair, then drew her to him and kissed her.

  * * *

  THE AFFECTION IN Fletch’s voice when he’d spoken about his family made Jane long for that kind of closeness with someone.

  Made her want a family that she could count on, someone to love.

  Fletch’s lips closed over hers, moving gently with a mixture of erotic teasing and tenderness. The sincerity in his eyes just before he’d kissed her moved something deep inside her.

  She lifted one hand and pressed it against his jaw, her senses heightened by the intimacy of the dark, cold interior. The fear and panic that had nearly immobilized her earlier dissipated as he deepened the kiss and threaded his fingers through her hair.

  He angled his head, drew closer and teased her lips apart with his tongue. Desire surged through her.

  Heart hammering, she met his tongue thrust for thrust. He trailed one hand down her shoulder to pull her against him. Her breasts tingled at the feel of his hard, muscular chest.

  Craving more, Jane stroked his back and made a low sound of need in her throat. Fletch tore his lips from hers, his breathing erratic. Passion glazed his dark chocolate eyes, hunger flaring between them.

  He was asking for permission.

  She obliged and pulled him back to her, then unbuttoned the top button of his flannel shirt. His breath rushed out, and he lowered his head and dropped kisses along her throat then lower to the sensitive skin between her breasts. With a low groan, he peeled back her shirt and tasted her skin.

  A frenzy of hunger seized them, and their movements became more frantic. He kissed her again, deep and long and greedily, then suckled at her neck until she unfastened the buttons on his shirt and pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders. He tossed the garment aside, then tugged his T-shirt over his head, exposing bare flesh, corded muscles and a dark sprinkling of hair that trailed from his chest down to the waistband of his pants.

  Warmth pooled in her body, and an ache built, which made her run her hands over his bare skin. H
eat tingled through her at his sharp intake of breath.

  “Jane?”

  “Yes,” she said in a ragged whisper. Passion and need overcame reason, and she leaned forward and pressed kisses along his chest.

  Fletch groaned, then pushed her onto her back and dove in for another long, sensual kiss. His hard length pressed into the V of her thighs, stroking her through her pants, and she lifted her hips as erotic sensations pummeled her.

  Fletch dipped his head and nibbled at the sensitive skin between her breasts, then suckled her through the thin lace of her bra. Jane whispered his name and clung to him, welcoming the cool brush of air as he unfastened the front clasp of her bra, exposing her breasts. Her nipples stiffened to peaks, begging for his touch.

  He tugged one into his mouth and suckled her, driving her mad with desire. She raked her nails over his back, urging him on, and parted her legs in invitation.

  He moved to her other breast, giving it the same loving attention, and she tugged at his belt. He moved lower, pulling at her pants, and she lifted her hips to give him access.

  He gazed at her with such hunger that her body tingled with need. He paused, eyes flaring with lust as he traced a finger along the edge of her black lace panties.

  Hungry for more, for all of him, she freed his belt then tossed it aside. Then she pushed at his pants. But the sight of his bandage made her pause.

  “Fletch?”

  His body braced on his elbows, he looked down into her face. “Jane...we shouldn’t.”

  Hurt battled with the realization that he was right.

  “I’m sorry.” He moved off her and handed her clothing to her, then snatched his and turned his back to her.

  She stared at the beautiful hard planes of his back and longed to draw him back to her and finish what they’d begun.

  But the stiff set of his shoulders and his apology felt like a rejection. She wouldn’t beg him to make love to her.

  But he had seemed to want her.

  Why had he suddenly changed his mind?

  * * *

  FLETCH QUICKLY BUTTONED his shirt, silently berating himself for allowing things to go so far.

  He knew damn well better than to get personally involved with Jane. She had amnesia and was vulnerable. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He’d never had trouble keeping it in his pants before.

  But he’d never felt so drawn to anyone the way he felt drawn to Jane.

  The fear and loneliness in her eyes completely shredded his common sense and willpower.

  But if she was an interior designer and came from money, she might want to return to that world. Just as Hannah had.

  That life was the polar opposite of his. One he would never fit into.

  Needing to regain his composure, he forced himself not to look at her. Instead he tried the radio, but once again, only static crackled off the rocky mine walls. Deciding to hunt for another way out, he told Jane to stay put and he carried his flashlight to look around.

  Damp moss clung to the stone walls, the ground solid dirt. He found an area where he could stand, then noticed there was an opening leading to another area, so he followed it. He had to crouch low to keep from hitting his head in several places. Water trickled down the sides of the interior, and he rounded a curve. He wove through a few other turns and followed the tunnel hoping to find an exit, but the tunnel ended with a hard wall.

  Damn.

  Irritated, he turned and started back toward Jane.

  Breathing out, he shined the light around, his pulse clamoring when he spotted another clearing to the right. He inched through the narrow path to it, and found an old glove on the ground.

  There were also bits of wrappers from dried food packs and boot prints. He knelt to examine them and determined they were large, probably a man’s. From his vantage, he noticed a small spiral notepad on the ground wedged between some rocks.

  With gloved hands, he tugged it free and opened it to examine the pages. A crudely drawn map of the trail. He flipped a page and paused, his heart hammering.

  An article about the Whistler Hospital fire was folded and pressed between the pages.

  The newspaper clipping could mean nothing. But for five years, he’d wondered if the person who’d set that fire was hiding out in these woods. What if he was right?

  What if that man had been staying in this cave?

  Adrenaline spiked his blood, and he ran back through the cave to retrieve his camera and bags for the evidence he’d discovered. Jane was sitting with her knees up, arms around them, staring at the doorway, her expression a mask of worry.

  “I found some things in the back of the cave,” he said. “I need to collect them to give to Jacob.”

  Jane glanced at him. “Do you think they belong to the dead man we found on the rocks?”

  Fletch shrugged. “It’s possible.” Although he’d rather believe they belonged to the arsonist. Then he might catch a break and give Jacob and Liam a lead.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for her to comment. He hurried through the tunnels and collected the glove and notebook.

  Excited at the prospect of finally catching the bastard who killed his father, he carried the evidence back to where Jane waited and stowed it in his pack.

  He was anxious to give them to Jacob for processing.

  Jane looked ashen-faced in the dim light, and he fought the urge to return to her and comfort her. If he touched her again, he might not be able to stop himself from making love to her.

  Instead he retrieved a tool from his pack and began to chisel at the fallen snow and ice trapping them inside.

  * * *

  JANE SENSED AN urgency about Fletch’s rush to dig them an escape hole. “What did you find in the cave?”

  Fletch sat back on his haunches. “A glove and a notebook indicating someone had been staying here. An article about the fire was tucked inside the book.”

  Hope tinged his voice. “Maybe the crime lab can lift prints from the items,” Fletch said. “If they belong to the person who set the fire, we can identify him. If not, maybe they belong to someone with helpful information.”

  She admired his determination. Fletch was obviously not the kind of man who gave up on a cause.

  “If he is the person who cost all those lives, he should pay,” Jane said and meant it.

  His gaze locked with hers, his dark eyes probing. The fact that she was wanted for murder taunted her.

  The air suddenly became harder to breathe. She had to look away from Fletch for fear he’d see the self-doubts plaguing her.

  Desperate for the truth, she crawled over to him. “If you have another tool, I’ll help.”

  “I’ve got it,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes at his macho tone. “I may have amnesia but I’m not helpless, Fletch.” She scanned the interior of the cave and found a jagged rock on the ground, so she snatched it.

  Then she began to hack away at the top edge of the opening. Fletch didn’t comment. He chiseled away alongside her.

  “Tell me more about your family,” Jane urged as they worked.

  Fletch sighed. “My mother was a great cook,” he said. “She took pride in feeding her boys. She made the best pot roast in the state, and her peach cobbler was to die for. She loved big Sunday dinners and would have really enjoyed having grandkids.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “She volunteered with a children’s charity and devoted her free time to help provide underprivileged children with meals at school and during summer break.”

  “She sounds like a great lady,” Jane said.

  “She was. We lost her not long after we lost Dad. I think she died of heartbreak.” Sadness filled his voice. “What do you recall about your mother?”

  Jane bit down on her lip. She and her father shared
the crosswords. But her mother... “Not that much,” she said. “I think she was social and liked to entertain.” And she sensed she was the opposite. Not a girlie girl as her mother wanted. “In one of my dreams, I saw law books on my father’s desk. I think he might have been a lawyer. Maybe a judge.”

  Fletch jabbed the tool in the ice again. “Do you think their murder had something to do with his job? That it wasn’t a random home invasion?”

  Jane paused in her chiseling. “I...don’t remember, but I suppose it’s possible.”

  Fletch rubbed her shoulder. “Things are starting to come back to you, Jane. When we get home, maybe everything will come back.”

  All the more reason to keep chiseling.

  Jane turned back to work, and so did Fletch. They chipped away ice and snow, digging to create an opening, but after an hour they’d barely made a dent. Fletch refused to give up, though. He continued until a sliver of light and air appeared.

  But a noise outside rumbled, then suddenly rocks and dirt inside the cave began to tumble down. Jane screamed. The ceiling was caving in!

  Fletch grabbed her hand. “Come on, get away from that side!”

  They crawled toward the tunnel leading to the back, then another thunderous noise and rocks and dirt started raining down.

  Fletch threw himself on top of her and covered her with his body to protect her as the deluge pummeled them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rocks thundered to the ground, the crashing sound reverberating off the cave walls. Jane coughed as dust flew into her face, but she lay still, praying the entire cave didn’t crumble on top of them.

  She didn’t want to die here buried in rubble without clearing her name. Or even knowing who she was.

  Slowly, the downfall slowed, the ping of stones and debris lessening. Fletch slowly lifted himself off her. “Are you okay, Jane?”

  She nodded, brushing dirt from her mouth as she raised her head and peered toward the cave entrance. The opening was completely blocked with inches of dirt and rocks. “I am. Are you?”