churned in his gut. Anger won.
“Open up,” he bellowed, rapping his knuckles on the old wooden door. “Sheriff’s department.”
Silence.
He stepped back on the porch and noticed for the first time that every window was taped up with plain brown wrapping paper. This was his place, damn it. He’d chosen not to live in the cabin he’d inherited, but that didn’t mean just anyone could help themselves to it and move in. James rapped on the door again, louder. “Open up now, or I’ll break down the door.”
Still no answer.
With a quick burst of energy, he kicked the door. Splinters flew, and the frame rattled. He kicked again, and it burst open. James shuffled to the side and removed his sidearm, then proceeded cautiously inside with his gun raised. The room was abnormally dark from the taped windows, and only the light from the open doorway illuminated the den. At least his sister had gotten rid of most of the furniture. In this room, only an old couch remained. No place to hide.
James flicked the light switch, grateful he’d kept the power on. The Realtor had insisted on it so she could show the place to potential buyers. That was a laugh—the place had sat empty for months. Seemed fixer-upper cabins in remote Appalachia weren’t a hot commodity. Hardly a shocker.
He made his way to the kitchen, gun still drawn. Like the truck and the den, it was pristine, and mostly empty. No signs of forced entry or habitation. Three more rooms to check. He padded down the short hallway, gun at the ready. The guest bedroom and bathroom doors stood open, but the main bedroom door was shut.
Gotcha, he almost whispered aloud. He spared a cursory glance in the guest room that housed only a bed. Nothing was underneath the tucked comforter, so he eased toward the closed door. Spots of spilled liquid, still wet, stained the pine flooring leading from the bedroom into the bathroom. He flipped on the bathroom switch, careful to keep his gun aimed at the closed bedroom door.
Smeared blood and dirt formed a drag pattern on the floor and basin and continued their path to the side of the tub. A wet towel lay beside the tub, as well as strips of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Someone had been hurt—and recently.
A grating metal sound came from behind the closed bedroom door, and James barreled into the room. A mattress lay on the floor, and food provisions and clothes were neatly stacked in plastic containers along the side wall. But it was the open window that drew his immediate focus. Oh, hell no, they weren’t slipping away. He was going to get answers. James rushed to the window and stuck his head out.
Red hair whipped in the breeze. A petite woman wearing a camouflage shirt and black panties—no pants, no shoes—ran through the yard. Blood oozed from ripped flesh on her right leg, and she limped as she headed toward the truck.
Okay, that was far from the thug or drugged-out squatter he’d expected. “Halt,” he ordered.
She didn’t even bother looking back at him as she continued a gimpy run to the tree line.
“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, tucking his sidearm back into its holster and rushing through the cabin. He exited the busted front door and stormed down the porch steps to the side yard. “Stop right now,” he called out.
Again she ignored his command. Stubborn, foolish woman. He couldn’t let her get in that truck. But as he ran toward her, she spun around, raising a pistol in both hands and aiming it straight at his heart.
James threw up his hands and cautiously walked forward before pointing at his badge. “Lady, you don’t want to shoot an officer of the law.” He nodded at her leg. “Looks like you need medical attention.”
“You’re a cop? Let me take a look at that badge.” She approached and examined the badge on his uniform. The harsh glint in her eyes softened, and she lowered the gun. “Sorry. I didn’t stop to see who broke in when I ran.”
“I identified myself as from the Sheriff’s department,” he said grimly. She might be pretty as all get-out and pretend compliance, but people weren’t always what they seemed. This job and his tour of duty had taught him those lessons well. “Now gently lay down the gun and step away from it,” he ordered.
She kept her eyes on him as she bent her knees and placed her weapon on the ground. “No problem, Officer. I always—”
Her right leg gave out from underneath, and she swooned forward—which put her hands right by her gun, he couldn’t help noticing. Quickly he crossed the distance between them and kicked it several yards away.
“Suspicious much?” she drawled.
“I’ll call for an ambulance or drive you to the hospital in my vehicle. Do you have a preference?”
“Neither. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“There’s blood on the right side of your scalp. Not to mention your mangled leg. Might need stitches, at the very least. Antibiotics, too.”
“I said no.” She struggled to stand and then limped past him. “Just let me get dressed.”
“Not until you explain how you got hurt and what you were doing in my cabin.”
That got through to the woman, and she whirled around. “Your cabin?” She bit her lip and mumbled, “Of all the damn luck.”
“You can explain on the way to the hospital.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
She hobbled to the door, and he scrambled to retrieve the fallen weapon before following her, trying to deduce this stranger’s game. “You hiding from an abusive husband?” he guessed.
“No,” she said flatly, grabbing onto the porch rail and wincing as she climbed the steps.
“There are shelters that can help, you know. In fact, there’s one less than thirty miles—”
“I don’t need a shelter. I can protect myself.”
Like hell she could. “Fine. You want to clam up? Let’s go down to the station. I’ll run your license plate and clear up this mystery.”
She sighed, resignation rounding her shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my clothes on.”
Woman was probably freezing her butt off. “Of course. Look, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, we can help.”
She blinked and nodded her head. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry about intruding and...and pulling that gun on you.”
About time she saw sense. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” He took in her pale face, and his eyes traveled down to her right leg. “Can you manage by yourself?” he asked gruffly.
“Of course. Any chance I can have my gun back now? After you unload it, of course.”
What kind of fool did she think he was? “No, you may not.”
She cast her eyes down in a demure manner. “Be back in a minute.”
He watched as she made her faltering way down the hall, her back ramrod straight. What kind of man could hurt a
