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Everything seemed to be in order, except for the woman asleep in his cabin.
Reece took in everything about the stranger – the wet clothes clinging to her body, the tousled, short blonde hair and a beautiful face that even in sleep was in obvious turmoil. He felt a definite tug on his reality, a strange combination of lust and concern.
Should he wake her and demand to know what she was doing in his cabin? He spotted her purse on the end table. As he reached for it she stirred, then jerked to attention.
Her eyes went wide with fright as her gaze landed on him.
Her voice was anything but firm as she eased her way out of the chair. She moved behind it in an obvious attempt to put a barricade between them. “Who…who are you?”
“Well, Goldilocks…this is my cabin, and I want to know why you’ve been sleeping in my bed.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Although award-winning author Shawna Delacorte has lived most of her life in Los Angeles and has a background working in television production, she is currently living in Wichita, Kansas. Among her writing accomplishments she is honoured to include her placement on the bestseller list. In addition to writing full-time, she teaches a fiction-writing class in the Division of Continuing Education at Wichita State University. Shawna enjoys hearing from her readers and can be reached at 6505 E Central, Box 300, Wichita, KS 67206, USA.
Her Hero and Protector
SHAWNA DELACORTE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Brandi Doyle – Why would someone stalk this quiet, unassuming woman? And worse yet, why would someone abduct her?
Reece Covington – He’s hiding away from society in his mountain cabin after serving a prison term for something he didn’t do. After his last experience, will he allow himself to be drawn in by another woman who claims to need his help?
Lt Frank James – Good cop gone bad or simply overzealous in his duties?
Lyle Hanover – Assistant DA who prosecuted Reece based on Lt James’ testimony. Should he have looked at the case a little closer?
Joe Hodges – Is this FBI agent the friend he pretends to be, or does he have an agenda of his own?
Chapter One
Brandi Doyle glanced back over her shoulder. Panic surged through her body, a panic driven by fear. The rain pelted against her face, stinging her skin. Had she managed to elude her pursuer? The stalker everyone kept telling her didn’t exist? The person who was only a figment of her imagination?
The very real man who just a few hours ago had abducted her?
She dug her shoes into the slippery mud as she fought to maintain her footing in the drenching downpour. Her heart pounded. Her chest heaved with each gulp of air she sucked into her lungs, but she didn’t dare slow down.
It seemed as if it had been hours since she’d managed to escape from her abductor’s car when he’d stopped for gas at the small service station on the mountain road—hours that she had been running through the woods. But a quick glance at her watch told her it had only been thirty minutes. Intellectually, she knew the rain would obscure any trace of her tracks, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her abductor was only a few feet behind her and closing in.
She headed in the direction where she thought the lake and some cabins were, a place where she might be able to get some help. It was an area where she had done a lot of photography. If only she could be sure of her exact location. If only she hadn’t been blindfolded. A shiver rippled through her body, part anxiety and part chill. She was soaked to the skin without even a jacket to provide a modicum of warmth.
It would be dark soon and she needed to find some sort of shelter. She forced herself onward, ignoring the ache in her legs. She had to put as much distance as she could between her and her abductor—and as quickly as possible.
Another hundred feet she came to a fire road. She ran parallel to the road, staying in the woods, hidden from view. Shrubbery attacked her legs and arms. Bushes scratched her face and hands, but she knew she didn’t dare venture out into the open—she didn’t dare expose herself to her abductor.
Then she spotted it through the trees—a cabin at the edge of the fire road. A little tremor of excitement tried to take hold. It was the off season, too early for summer vacationers. There was a good chance the cabin would be vacant. It would provide her shelter from the storm, a means of hiding from her pursuer and a place to gather her thoughts and make a plan of action.
The carport was empty—a good sign. She knocked on the door and received no response. She tried the door but found it locked. She circled the cabin, checking the windows until she found an unlocked one that opened into the kitchen. Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was out of the wind and rain and no longer visible to anyone looking for her.
Brandi took a quick look around, making sure the cabin was empty. It was—for the moment. The rumpled sheets and blanket on the unmade bed in the bedroom left her with an uneasy feeling. She paused in the bathroom long enough to towel-dry her dripping wet hair. She studied her face in the mirror. The scratches weren’t too bad, but they needed to be cleaned. She washed her face, then found some antiseptic in a bathroom cupboard.
She returned to the kitchen. The refrigerator was mostly empty—nothing perishable, such as fresh meat, vegetables or even a quart of orange juice. Hopefully the owner only used the cabin on weekends in spite of the evidence of the unmade bed. The shelves contained canned goods. She opened a can of soup. It wasn’t much, but it eased her hunger pangs.
Her guilt, however, wasn’t as easily appeased. She had broken into someone’s cabin and stolen food. Not a very admirable thing to do, even though it had been necessary. Her fears quickly overruled her guilt.
She made a quick trip through the cabin again, looking out each of the windows. She satisfied herself that she had not been followed, that there wasn’t anyone lurking outside. She also noticed that there wasn’t a phone. She slumped into a large, comfortable chair. For the first time in several hours she drew in an easy breath. She pulled the strap from across her chest and over her head, then set the small, attached purse on the end table. She had been wearing the purse when her abductor had grabbed her, and she had managed to hang on to it—an almost involuntary action of clinging to something she owned.
She needed to think, to make sense of what had happened, to figure out what to do next. Her eyelids grew heavy. She could not fight off the exhaustion, as much emotional as it was physical. A moment later darkness descended around her, and she slipped into an uneasy sleep.
REECE COVINGTON PULLED HIS four-wheel-drive SUV off the fire road, parking in the carport attached to his cabin. He had intended to enclose the carport, making it a garage and cutting a door from the garage directly into the cabin. Stormy days like today made him wish he had finished the project.
He dashed through the
