on her heels and ran straight into a man holding an automatic gun.
Her heart clambered behind her rib cage.
His face scrunched up. “Do I know you?”
In his fifties, silver weaved through his black hair and Van Dyke beard. Menacing dark eyes flashed at her. She’d seen him before, but where or when, she couldn’t remember. Panic incapacitated every thought. No time to respond. No time to think. All she could do was act.
She whipped her weapon up and aimed at his face. He didn’t seem worried in the least. She fingered the trigger and stepped sideways, giving herself a wide berth around him as she backed away from both him and the operation.
“Put your weapon down,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
If Alice shot him, or even fired off her weapon as a warning, she would bring the rest of the illegal operation down on her and Marie.
His eyes narrowed. “I do know you.”
She couldn’t say the same.
Alice turned and dived into the foliage, her cell slipping from her sweaty fingers, and ran. Trees and bushes scratched her face, tore her clothes, and fear that any second she’d receive a bullet to her back accosted her. A smattering of shots ricocheted off the woods behind her. The shouts of many men bounced off the trees. She didn’t dare go back and retrieve her cell phone. It wasn’t worth her life.
Without slowing, she caught Marie by the arm and yanked her forward. Through her gasps, she said, “We have to run and keep running, Marie. Forget the bears and rattlesnakes. There’s something more deadly in these woods.”
* * *
Griffin Slater downshifted to slow his motorcycle—a silver-and-blue Suzuki Hayabusa—or Busa as he called it, and the fastest motorcycle in the world. Slowing the vehicle didn’t come naturally to him, but this hazardous, curvy mountain road was unmanageable at the speed he was going.
Dusk fell quickly in the woods and Griffin turned on his headlights. Two miles left before he arrived in Gideon, Oregon, in the Wild Rogue Wilderness. Weeks ago he’d contacted the sheriffs in various counties along the West Coast and informed them of his journalistic project regarding illegal marijuana grown on public land, so when his sheriff uncle called him to report a new lead, Griffin dropped everything to get there. As valuable as this could be for his story, he didn’t like to think this kind of activity had sprung up in the wilderness area in his uncle’s county.
The area surrounding Alice Wilde.
The fact that she’d been the one to stumble on the operation had plagued him. She could have been killed.
He’d driven in tonight because he’d wanted to get to Gideon ahead of his uncle who was coming from Gold Beach in the morning. Moisture bloomed on his hands at the thought of facing Alice for the first time since he’d walked away two years ago.
* * *
Rubbing her arms, Alice stared out the front window of her home.
You’re fortunate to be alive...
Sheriff Kruse’s words echoed through her. Once she and Marie had made it to a lodge where they could use the emergency radio, she’d immediately called the sheriff’s department. Alice had left her pack with the SAT phone behind on her frantic run from deadly bullets. Stupid, stupid. Then someone had driven her and Marie back to Gideon and Marie left to fly home to Missouri, where she would be safe from all this mess Alice had stumbled into.
As a trained wilderness guide, she knew the signs, knew what to look for and avoid, and yet she’d walked right into it, endangering herself and Marie. Her brothers, Cooper and Gray, would be more than furious when they found out. She didn’t even want to think about Dad’s reaction. She could almost be glad they were all out of town, but at the same time, she was terrified to be on her own.
The man in the woods claimed he knew her. Did he also know where she lived? Did her pack contain any identifying information? Then again, it probably wouldn’t be so hard to find out who she was or where she lived if he didn’t already know.
The sheriff wouldn’t arrive until the morning. Unfortunately, he had a large county and not enough deputies to go around. Alice had a long night ahead of her. She doubted she would do more than hold her weapon, stare at the ceiling and out the windows until dawn. Might as well get out of the house while there was a little light left in the day.
Grabbing a light jacket, she left the house and headed to Ricky’s Rogue Bar-B-Q. The place had practically burned down in the winter, but they’d built it back and put in a new and bigger kitchen. You could hardly tell anything had happened. At least she didn’t have to spend the first part of her evening alone.
Hiking the short distance to Gideon proper took her through the woods and brought back the trauma of the last few days of running, hiking, barely sleeping as they made their way out of the wilderness to civilization.
A shiver ran through her, and she picked up her pace.
On the street, she took comfort in the still-busy small town, the familiar faces, and headed to the restaurant.
And...sensed someone following her. Or was she being paranoid?
A chilly evening breeze swept past and Alice tugged the jacket tighter.
Footsteps.
She heard footsteps behind her. She again increased her pace.
The footfalls increased as well, keeping in rhythm with her.
Then she slowed, almost stopping. The person behind her did the same.
Heart hammering, Alice wanted to look over her shoulder to see who followed her, but she knew if she saw him—the man she’d seen in the wilderness—fear would paralyze her.
I do know you...
Who was he? His face had been familiar somehow, but living in a tourist town and running a tourist business, she couldn’t remember the name behind every face. She should turn and confront whoever followed her now. She palmed the weapon at her side, but residual fear from her narrow escape in the woods squashed her courage.
A few yards from her up the street, a figure dressed in leather stood next to a big blue motorcycle and tugged off his helmet, revealing a thick head of mussed hair. He turned and walked across the street toward her, filling her with a rush of relief. She didn’t know who he was, but maybe his sturdy presence would scare her stalker away.
Bolstered, she risked a glance over her shoulder and spotted someone ten yards back watching her, his face hidden by his hoodie. Goose bumps crawled over her, and she’d learned long ago never to ignore that sensation.
She turned her attention back to hurrying across the street toward the stranger.
Though...wait. Something about his cadence seemed familiar.
No. It couldn’t be.
But...it was.
Griffin Slater?
Her mind
