Maggie K. Black - Silent Hunter

If only our days weren’t numbered . It was only a question of whether money troubles or George’s failing health sank Camp Spirit first. His tendency to take on the neediest campers regardless of their ability to pay didn’t leave much left over for new equipment and repairs. And while George’s only son, Trevor, worked there occasionally, it was clear the young man would rather sell than fill his father’s shoes.

Which is why tomorrow’s trip is way too important to mess up by having some Toronto journalist tag along. George had invited a handful of community and business leaders for a weekend of camping on an isolated Muskoka island. He’d pitched it as “three days extreme camping, followed by a serious discussion about investing in Camp Spirit’s future.” She wasn’t quite sure what kind of investment he had in mind, but even a donation of volunteers or equipment could mean staying open another summer or two. The trapdoor slid back easily. Dust and cobwebs filled the air.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, but inviting any media up at this point is just asking for bad press . ” She climbed into the attic on her hands and knees. “Do you want me to get a cabin ready for him?”

“Actually, he’s staying with me.” George looked up at her through the hole in the floor. He ran one hand along his white beard. “Mr. Wolf is coming up as a friend, not a reporter. He’s a really outstanding young man, and I wanted to make sure you had a chance to get to know him one-on-one, before everyone else arrived tomorrow. I’m hoping you two will really hit it off.”

What exactly did he mean by that? It would hardly be the first time the widower had invited someone to swing by in a misguided attempt at playing matchmaker. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Well, if he’s a friend of yours, I’m sure we’ll get along as friends just fine.”

She picked her way through mountains of old tarps and sports equipment. George was an old softie, but he had to know she had no intention of ever leaving these woods, let alone following some man to the city. Besides, it wasn’t as though the camp didn’t have a steady stream of healthy, God-fearing bachelors come tramping through.

Sure, the first time a cute guy held her hand by the water and said he liked her, she’d believed him with every beat of her foolish heart. She’d been eighteen then. Louie had been nineteen and a counselor from their rival camp, with sad gray-blue eyes and a white scar that curved at his throat. He’d left without even saying goodbye, and now after watching countless other camp romances flare up then fizzle out, it was clear that while the moonlight might bring out the romantic in people, they usually just ended up walking right back out of these woods as easily as they’d walked in.

A pile of old camp mats slithered apart underneath her. “Now, remind me what—”

The crash below was deafening. A wooden echo shook the floor beneath her. A cry rose to her lips but she bit it back. “George? What was that? Are you okay?”

Silence came from the hole in the floor. Her eyes glanced up toward the skylight for a second as she prayed. Please, Lord, don’t let it be another heart attack. He barely survived the last one. S he scrambled to the trapdoor and looked down. The ladder had fallen over. The dining hall was empty. Hopefully that meant he’d just gone to grab something. “Hey!” She kept her voice upbeat but loud. “Where’d you go? That ladder won’t stand on its own.”

Any response he might have given was lost in the sound of a powerful engine peeling down the camp’s gravel road. She slid over to the skylight and opened it. A black sports car pulled to a neat stop beside the lodge. A man stepped out. Nicky’s mouth went dry. The visitor was tall, with tousled black hair and just the hint of three-o’clock shadow along his jaw. His broad shoulders were cleanly framed by the lines of a gray suit jacket. Sunglasses hid his eyes, while the crisp dress shirt did nothing to disguise the solid strength that lay beneath it. He loosened his tie just enough to undo his top button. A frown crossed his lips. Then he disappeared around the corner toward the office door.

This was Mr. Wolf? Nicky sat back on her heels and pressed her palm against her chest. Probably just as well her first glimpse of him was through the attic window. It would give her time to get the flush of heat out of her cheeks. She ran both hands down her dirty jeans and brushed the cobwebs from her face. Then she made her way through the maze of equipment back to the trapdoor.

“Hey, George? I think your reporter friend has pulled up outside. Also don’t forget about the ladder.”

A fit of coughing overtook her lungs. The air was thick and bitter. Thin fingers of smoke curled through the trapdoor, setting every warning bell inside her clanging. She braced her body and hung her head through the hole in the floor. Dark smoke poured from under the door leading to the kitchen. Orange flames flickered at the serving window. Panic flooded her veins, nearly sending her headfirst through the hole.

She was alone. She was trapped. And the building was on fire.

* * *

Searing heat shot through Luke’s palm as his fingers brushed the doorknob. Gingerly he placed his hand flat against the office door. Warmth radiated through it. Bad sign. Very bad sign. The faintest whisper of smoke slipped from around the reinforced door and the lodge windows showed nothing but a reflection of trees. But somewhere inside the building a fire was raging.

He scanned the campgrounds. For a split second he thought he saw someone moving in the trees. A shadowy shape in what looked like hunting fatigues was pelting up a steep path through the woods.

“Hey! Stop! Someone needs help!” The figure disappeared and Luke grit his teeth. He didn’t have time to chase after him. And, if his old and regrettable memories of teenage mischief were correct, it would take him at least twenty minutes to run to the neighboring camp. But only moments ago he’d seen a woman in the attic window. Had she managed to get out safely? Being here is a painful reminder that I’m the last man any woman would want as a hero.

Hero or not, he might be the only chance she had.

Stepping back from the door, he called up to the empty window. “Hey! I’m going to call the fire department and then I’m coming to get you out.” There was no response but he couldn’t afford to wait. Flames were now pouring through a broken window at the back of the building. Tongues of fire licked toward the sky as he pulled out his cell phone.

He couldn’t get a signal, but he remembered seeing a red emergency telephone on a pole near the first-aid station. Luke ran for it, wrapped his jacket around his fist and smashed the glass. He wrenched the handset from the cradle. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

“Nine-one-one. Emergency services.” The voice was crisp and female.

“I’m at Camp Spirit on rural route eight. The lodge is on fire and someone’s inside.”

“Emergency vehicles are being dispatched to your location, can you describe—”

“No. Sorry. I need to get her out of there.”

He ran at the lodge and threw his weight into a solid blow aimed right at the center of the office door. It flew back off the hinges. Smoke poured out.

Sloshing his jacket in a rain barrel beside the door, he held it to his face and entered the building. A surge of hot air beat back against his body. He bowed his head and pushed through as smoke seared his lungs. It seemed as if the fire was fiercest in the back of the building, but it was only a matter of time before flames engulfed the office, too.

“Hello! Hey! Can anybody hear me?” A voice groaned in the darkness. “Hang on!”