Dana Mentink - No End in Sight

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Title Page No End in Sight Dana Mentink www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

Sorrow could not find her in the forest.

In spite of the heavy weight permanently nestled in Valerie’s heart, she fancied the sun-dappled pines that bristled the mountain ridge somehow had the power to protect her, to wick away her grief with their delicate needles as she drove past. Temporarily, at least.

Spotting something at the side of the road, Valerie eased the truck along the dusty road past one more stretch of dense shrubbery and pulled to a stop, shading her eyes against the southern California sun. A red-haired man with pale eyes gave her a rueful smile. The tear in the knee of his khakis indicated he’d taken a fall. He wore an orange shirt, telling her he was part of the crew working on rebuilding park cabins that had been flooded in last winter’s deluge.

“Help you?” she asked. Though she was an arborist, not a park ranger, she’d lent a hand to many stranded hikers and workers during her tenure at Angel’s Loft National Park.

“Thanks,” he said, English accent strong, smile wide. “Went for a walk during our lunch break and took a bit of a tumble.”

He climbed in. No limp from the injury, she noticed. “First time working in the park?”

He nodded as she pulled the truck back onto the road.

She eyed the tear in his khakis, which looked neater than she’d first thought, more of a cut really. A second look convinced her he was in his thirties, older than she’d first imagined. Older than most of the guys on the work crews. “I’m Valerie.”

The pointy-toothed grin that split his face revealed something different than the friendly redheaded hiker she’d seen a moment before. Something malicious.

She swallowed. It was her imagination. Again. “Where can I drop you?”

The grin didn’t waver. “The cabin on Sharp’s Peak. You know it.”

There was only one cabin on Sharp’s Peak—hers. Terror rippled through her. “I won’t.”

“Sure you will,” he said.

The thought echoed crazily in her mind: Sorrow can’t find me in the forest … She kept repeating the mantra, even as he opened the pack on his lap and took out the pruning knife.

Her pruning knife.

The one she’d left on her kitchen table that morning.

Jackson would have enjoyed the ride to Sharp’s Peak a lot more in his 1958 Bel Air than the SUV he was driving, but the Bel Air’s pristine chassis wasn’t cut out for mountain roads. Picturing that car made his heart thump harder. Or was it the memory of Valerie sitting next to him in it, white-blond hair dancing on the breeze, that wondrous smile lighting her freckled face?

Let it go, Jackson. The day you got released from the hospital, she couldn’t run away fast enough.

The small box of her possessions on the seat next to him seemed a ridiculously pitiful representation of the months they had been together, months that apparently counted for nothing with Valerie.

He shifted, recalling how many times he’d cut things off with women in the past. Something about a firefighter’s uniform seemed to encourage female attention, but he’d never met a woman who impacted him like Valerie. She knew him inside and out, the real Jackson, and she’d loved him.

Or so he’d believed.

He pulled up her long drive, surprised to find her sitting in her truck, engine idling. Just get it over with .

Nerves taut as wire, he grabbed the box and marched resolutely to the open driver’s window.

“Can I help you?” Valerie said.

His mouth fell open from the combined shock of Valerie’s indifferent tone and the fact that there was a guy in the passenger seat with his arm around her.

The man waved. “Hello, mate.”

Jackson felt his jaw tighten. This redheaded clown was his replacement?

He tried unsuccessfully to wipe the scowl from his face. In mute surprise, he handed her the box.

She didn’t look at the contents. “Thank you. I’ll tell my father his tools have arrived.”

Jackson took a step back, a cold sensation washing over him.

Valerie’s father was dead.

Long dead.

Jackson returned to his car, pretending to pat his pockets for keys as he watched them out of the corner of his eye. The man got out of the truck first, going around to open Valerie’s door for her. He kept his hand hidden at his side. Knife or gun, Jackson guessed. He hoped it was the former.

“Tell your dad I said hello,” Jackson called as he got in his SUV and turned on the engine.

Valerie was faced away from him now, and the guy had her around the waist. With gritted teeth, Jackson backed out a few yards before he shifted the car into Drive. Breathing a prayer that he would not wind up killing them all, he hit the gas. Hard.

The SUV lurched forward, wheels pinging gravel all over the road. He bore down on Valerie and her companion. Two heads snapped around to look at him. He could tell by Valerie’s face that she was terrified, but that she had been expecting some kind of action on his part. The red-haired guy’s eyes widened in surprise. For a terrifying moment, Jackson thought he would pull Valerie closer, but instead he stepped away, a knife in one hand, the other reaching for something under his shirt.

Jackson pressed the gas to the floor and the vehicle hurtled forward. He aimed right for the red-haired guy, who came up with a gun in his hand. Five feet, four, three—

The stranger suddenly peeled away and headed for the trees.

Jackson slammed the car to a halt and leaped out, running for Valerie.

Valerie was on her feet. Jackson yanked her toward the cabin. They barreled inside and he shoved the bolt home, closing all the drapes while Valerie locked the back door. She was on her cell phone with the police by the time he finished.

“They’re on the way.” She clicked off and went to the birdcage where the little green parakeet he’d given her sat tranquilly on his perch. She murmured something soothing to the creature. Calming the bird? Or herself?

He stood on the braided rug in the perfectly ordered cabin, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She was deadly pale, almost as pale as her white-blond hair. She looked at him, her blue eyes still filled with fear, stark azure against the pallor of her face. No eyes should be that blue, he’d thought many times. At first he’d even wondered if she achieved the tint with the contact lenses she wore, but he’d later discovered it was God given, that exquisite sea-washed gaze that regarded him now. “You should be more selective about your driving companions.”