The internal alarms he’d silenced sounded again. A scream meant trouble, regardless of setting.
He cut a diagonal path toward the river’s edge. Once he’d pulled the kayak onto the bank, he checked his supplies. Nothing in the way of first aid. And he’d finished his lunch. He stuffed a granola bar and napkins into his back pockets and grabbed a bottle of water. As he climbed the slope at a stumbling jog, rocks and roots threatened to trip him. Had someone lost their footing and fallen? Or was the scream related to the shots?
He drew in a breath, ready to bellow a loud “Hello,” then snapped his mouth closed. Three years in foster care, six in a group home and eight on the force had honed his instincts to a fine point. Right now, something warned him not to give away his position.
For several minutes, he scaled one steep slope, skidded down its opposite side and tackled the next. Briars and other thorny vines grabbed at his clothing and scraped his arms. More than once, his foot found a rock and he caught himself before landing facedown on the hard ground. If he found someone injured, carrying the person over the rugged terrain wouldn’t be easy. His best bet would be to call 911.
He stopped and listened for any sign of movement, a moan or whimper. But there was only the whisper of the wind through the trees and the occasional call of a bird. Even the sound of the river had faded and disappeared.
He set out again at the same hurried pace and crested another ridge. Contrast snagged his gaze—faded denim blue against the greens of early spring. He half ran, half slid down the steep grade. As he drew closer, his pulse kicked into overdrive. Trees and underbrush concealed the rest of the body, but what he’d seen were jeans-clad legs ending in well-worn hiking boots.
He dropped to his knees and placed the water bottle on the ground. A woman lay on her right side, eyes closed, lips parted. Her black hair was woven into a thick braid, and her left hand rested near her face. She held remnants of a tan, a band around her ring finger one shade lighter than the rest of her hand. A lightweight jacket was tied around her waist. Judging from the scrapes on her arms, she’d run or rolled through some nasty thorns.
Was she simply unconscious or... No, she didn’t have that pallidness of death. He’d seen it on enough occasions to know. The first time was up close and personal at eight years old.
Just to be sure, he placed two fingers against her neck, where her pulse beat strong. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was alive but needed help. She could have head trauma or internal injuries.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. No service. Not surprising, so far from civilization. His gaze dipped to the woman again, and his jaw tightened. Were the people he’d assumed hunters shooting at her? Had any of the bullets found their mark?
He leaned over her to check her back. There were no patches of moisture on the black tank she wore. She wasn’t bleeding from her left side, either.
Maybe the right or front. Twenty minutes had passed since he’d heard her scream. He needed to turn her over. She could have spinal injuries, but if blood was pouring from a bullet wound, she wouldn’t last long enough to worry about possible paralysis.
Decision made, he gently rolled her onto her back. She released a small moan but didn’t open her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. There were no signs of blood.
He expelled a breath. No one had shot her. Maybe no one had tried. Maybe the shots really had come from hunters.
He looked beyond her to where the ground rose sharply. Had she been hiking and lost her footing, emitting a brief scream of panic as she’d tumbled downward?
It was possible. The Appalachian Trail crossed Highway 19 at the Nantahala Outdoor Center some distance northeast of where they were. He’d seen it when he’d left his truck there, before Colton had taken him to the launch site several miles upstream. Maybe the woman had ventured off the trail.
He gave her a gentle shake. “Can you hear me?”
No response.
Another shake. “Ma’am?”
Her eyes snapped open, the dark brown of their irises almost disappearing into the pupils. She sat up and tried to scramble away. But a boulder at her back stopped her. If someone had been after her, that boulder had likely saved her, shielding her from the view of anyone above.
He held up a hand. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her fear-filled eyes widened further, and she released a blood-chilling scream. The next moment she was on her feet, running away from him. She apparently didn’t have any of those spinal injuries he’d worried about.
“Hold up.” He took off after her. No way was he leaving her to fend for herself. He’d thought she might be a hiker who’d wandered off the trail and fallen. Now his gut told him it was a lot more. And he always listened to his gut.
He closed the distance between them. It wasn’t difficult. Her balance was off, her gait faltering. He wrapped both arms around her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth to cut off a second scream. Though she was a good head shorter than him, she was firm and athletic. He could tell she was an outdoor kind of woman, based on the build and the tan.
An elbow came back to jab him in the ribs at the same time a boot caught him in the shin. He released a grunt, thankful she wasn’t functioning at 100 percent. When he tightened his hold, she struggled harder. The other elbow shot back, but this time he avoided it.
“Stop fighting me.” He hissed the words in her ear. “I won’t hurt you. I came to help you. I’m...” He hesitated. “A nice guy.”
He’d almost said cop. But if it was her own bad deeds that had gotten her into trouble, gaining her trust as law enforcement wasn’t going to happen.
“We need to get you out of here. But no more screaming. We don’t want to give whoever you’re running from any more hints of your whereabouts.” He paused, letting his words penetrate her panic. “I’m taking my hand away now.”
He loosened his hold but didn’t relax his vigilance. If she tried to scream or run, he’d have her back in his embrace before she could draw another breath.
She turned to face him. Her eyes still held wildness, and she looked ready to bolt. But she nodded agreement.
“I’m going to get you to safety.”
He retrieved the water, and when he offered it to her, she drank almost all of it without stopping to breathe. While she finished, he looked around them. He needed to get her medical aid as soon as possible. Since he’d found her unconscious, she obviously had a head injury. Without cell service, he had no option but to walk her out of the woods. Once they made it to the highway, they could flag someone down and catch a ride to the Nantahala Outdoor Center. After an ambulance arrived, he’d ask a Good Samaritan to give him a ride back to where he’d left Colton’s kayak.
Of course, that was all contingent on someone stopping. Actually, there was a more serious problem. If someone was after the woman, he’d expect her to hike toward the highway. They could walk into a trap. Maybe the kayak was their best option.
After he took her empty bottle, he waited while she untied her jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then he extended his arm, palm up. “Let me help you.”
Her
