Hannah Alexander - Last Resort

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In loving memory of Ray Overall,

February 2, 1913 to August 9, 2004,

stepdad extraordinaire, whose kindness

and gentle support gave hope and renewed life to

his wife and stepsons.

Acknowledgments

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

As with every book we write, we depend heavily upon others to help us reach our deadline with integrity. We very much appreciate our editor, Joan Marlow Golan, for enthusiastic support, patience and kindness. She and her excellent staff make our job so much easier.

Our agent, Karen Solem, guides us with expertise and wisdom when we stumble through the often confusing world of publishing.

Cheryl’s mom, Lorene Cook, keeps us going when deadlines loom and the world threatens to fly apart around us. What would we do without you, Mom?

Thanks to Vera Overall, Mel’s mom, who never stops spreading the word about the books she loves to read.

Thanks to Marty Frost, who has always believed in us, always served as a sounding board and inspiration.

Thanks to Barbara Warren, who rubs her hands in glee, red pen in hand, eager to attack and critique our latest work until it shines.

Thanks also to Jackie Bolton, for serving as an expert into the mysterious mind of the teenager.

Thanks to brainstorm buddies, Nancy Moser, Steph Whitson Higgins, Deborah Raney, Colleen and Dave Coble and Doris Elaine Fell, for helping us plot late into the night.

We owe a debt of gratitude to some wise individuals who helped us mold this book with insight into the spiritual gift of discernment. Sylvia Bambola, Till Fell, Brandilyn Collins, Janet Benrey, Carol Cox, Brenda Minton, Sharon Gillenwater, Barbara Warren, Colleen Coble and Kris Billerbeck, thank you for your patience as we pestered you with questions. Dr. Bill Cox and Jerry Ragsdale, thank you for additional input as you took time out of your church duties to give us direction.

We are always blessed by an online group of writers called ChiLibris and by the combined wisdom, Christian love, support and troubleshooting that is always available just a keyboard away.

Another group of prayer warriors, WritingChambers, constantly blesses us with their writing—the thing they do the best.

Praise and thanks go, most of all, to our Lord, without whom we would have no reason to write.

Not again. I can’t let it all start over again. I’ve got to stop this madness, even if it costs me everything. I can’t live if I take another life…and now Carissa.

She’s the light that fills Cedar Hollow. She brings sunshine from the gloom that seems to haunt Cooper land. I’ll take my own life before I lay a hand on—

But she knows too much about me. She’s been searching for secrets that have to stay hidden, telling everybody she’s gathering information for her school report. What if she’s lying? Maybe the report is a cover-up….

Now that I think about it, she’s been looking at me differently.

The kid is too smart for a twelve-year-old. She has other ways of knowing about me. I can’t trust her. I trusted before and look what happened. I can’t ever let my guard down or I’ll lose everything.

I can’t let Carissa tell what she knows.

Carissa Cooper stepped carefully along the muddy lane that led from the sawmill to the house, hugging the old business ledger that Dad had asked her to fetch. Aiming her flashlight at the tire tracks in front of her, she glanced into the darkness. Fear crept up and down her spine like spiders on patrol.

She wasn’t usually scared of the dark anymore, but something about the movement of shadows bugged her. They shifted, changing shapes, skittering along the forested roadside with the movement of her flashlight, like the monsters that had waited for her in her closet and under the bed when she was six. She’d been scared of everything then, right after Mom left.

Now she knew better. Still, tonight she couldn’t help imagining that eyes were watching her from those waiting clumps of brush and weeds.

If only her big brother Justin had come with her. If only he weren’t still so mad at her.

“Should’ve kept my mouth shut,” she muttered under her breath.

The sound of a quiet thud reached her from somewhere deep in the forest to her right. Horse’s hooves? She stopped and listened, but all she heard was the whisper of leaves brushing against each other in a puff of wind. The branches made shadows leap across the trunk of the old walnut tree in the glow of her flashlight…like bony arms reaching out for her….

The breeze died and the movement stopped.

Carissa swallowed hard, sweeping the light around her. She had less than an eighth of a mile to go, and here she was acting like a ’fraidy cat. She brought the small circle of light back to the muddy track as she stepped forward again.

What was all the fuss about with Justin anyway? So he was weird. Nothing new. He wasn’t the only weird person in their family; he was just acting a little weirder lately. His habits were always making them late to church, late to school. It was embarrassing. This morning she’d counted the number of times he’d checked the front door to make sure it was locked before they left for school. Seven. Same as yesterday. Monday it had been fourteen. Probably to make up for missing his counting process Sunday morning, since they hadn’t gone to church.

And she was getting sick of him turning out all the lights in the house at night before everyone went to bed. Last night she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when he turned out the light on her, and when Carissa shouted at him, Dad got onto her. It wasn’t fair.

She shifted the business ledger under her arm. If she dropped it in this mud, Dad would freak. He didn’t like his stuff dirty. He and her cousin Jill were probably already wondering what was taking her so long, even though the whole family knew she was doing research on the history of the Cooper sawmill and the deaths ten years ago that nobody would talk about. She could get a good grade on this report if she could dig up enough information, but did they care? No. What she wanted never mattered.

This morning had been the worst thing yet, when Mom had called and Dad wouldn’t let her talk to Carissa or Justin. Then Dad had freaked when Carissa picked up the extension. How could he pretend Mom never existed? Sure, Mom had been a jerk, but she was their mother. How could kids be kept from seeing their own mother?