Linda O. Johnston - Colton First Responder

She finished soon and stood, waving the flashlight again toward where she presumed the garbage can would be. And—

What was that? A sound from outside—a scraping, maybe, from the front yard.

Had she imagined it? It could just be something moving after the quake....

She moved slightly to face a window near the front door—and saw light. Not moonlight, but a glow that could have come from a flashlight, only more heavy-duty than hers, since the light was really bright.

Had the cabin owners come back here now, in the middle of the night after an earthquake?

Or—might the van have been found, and any authorities sent out to find her?

Savannah looked hurriedly around, attempting to find something to use as cover but wound up staying where she was.

Had she locked the door behind her when she had ventured outside? Damn. She didn’t believe she had, since she had intended to peek out again.

She clasped the handle of the scissors tightly. If necessary, she could—and would—defend herself.

His search had actually led to someone.

Grayson hadn’t really believed he would find anyone out here in the middle of the night and this far out from town. It was his mission to continue to seek people in trouble after the earthquake, including whoever had left the back of the van, if anyone. Whether or not a criminal, any person in that position could have been injured.

Still, if someone had been inside that vehicle and gotten out—well, it was a van from the prison department, so Grayson did not forget his promise to himself to be careful. He didn’t want to lose his own life attempting to save someone else, especially someone who was dangerous and didn’t want to be found.

After the EMTs had taken away the deceased driver, he’d continued to look, finding no one else on the road or in the woods on his way here. He had reached a cabin, one of his last potential locations to scout before heading home. He had figured this cabin or another one nearby would be a logical place for anyone in trouble to seek out. It was a fishing cabin owned by one of the families in Mustang Valley. There was a small lake nearby, fed by a stream.

At first glance there seemed to be no one present, but he’d stopped to check. Especially when he thought he had seen a moving light through a window.

Using his own bright light to look around, he noticed that one side of the cabin, maybe a quarter of the whole structure, looked nearly destroyed. Would anyone really have gone inside?

Maybe, if they were injured or desperate. He had to find out.

Slowly, carefully, still using his own light to be sure he saw anything, he approached.

First, though, he knocked on the front door before testing to see if it was unlocked. It was. He pushed it and called as he walked inside, “Hello, anyone here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” He heard the voice at the same time he saw a woman standing there, facing the door he had just entered, holding a pair of scissors threateningly. “But you can go now.”

He aimed the light toward her eyes, hoping to blind her enough to stop menacing him. And then he blinked at the same time she did—but for a different reason.

He recognized her.

At least he thought he did. She was Savannah Oliver—but if so, this Savannah didn’t look exactly like the woman he’d seen at the various parties and fund-raisers he’d been dragged to by his Colton siblings, silently kicking and screaming, though he’d gone along anyway because...well, they were his brothers and sisters.

And now he had a good idea who had disappeared from the back of the prison van: she stood before him, still aiming scissor blades toward him.

Her hair was a lot shorter than he’d seen it before. Even so, or maybe even because of it, she was one beautiful, sexy woman.

A woman he’d avoided feeling attracted to. After all, she was married—no, she had been married—to one of the biggest investment bankers in Arizona, Zane Oliver.

The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.

“Hello, Savannah,” he said calmly. He wasn’t armed, had no weapon with him—and wouldn’t have used it on her even if he had.

For one thing, he had heard about her arrest, the charges against her, in the news. But he hadn’t believed them.

“Hello, Grayson,” she said without moving the scissors—except that her slender arm, in its long-sleeved beige shirt, was trembling a bit. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, although I can guess. You’re running away, right?”

She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after the quake. Well, if you’re looking for people to help, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s good, but—”

“But what? Should I make you stay here?” She waved the scissors toward him, but the expression on her face appeared more desperate than threatening.

Under other circumstances, he might have liked the idea of staying overnight in a deserted cabin with a woman as lovely as Savannah. But she was a fugitive, accused of murdering her ex-husband. And at the moment, another earthquake could hit at any time.

“No thanks,” he said.

“But—I don’t think I’d better let you leave. I mean, well—you own that first responder company, right?”

“First Hand First Responders,” he said. “That’s right.”

“So if I let you leave here—you’ll just go tell your cop friends or associates that you found me. Or—you’re not going to try to bring me with you now, are you?” She suddenly appeared panicked.

And why not? She didn’t know, no matter what he’d said, that he wasn’t carrying a gun or other weapon.

He glanced around what he could see of the cabin in the light he carried. It looked like—well, a regular fishing cabin, except for the area destroyed by the earthquake.

And Savannah? She wasn’t in any kind of jail garb, but everyday clothes of a light-colored shirt over darker slacks. Maybe he was wrong about her.

And maybe not.

“Look, Savannah,” he said. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then I can understand why you feel threatened by my being here.”

“I assume you heard the worst about me,” she said. “And—well, I didn’t kill my ex-husband.” Looking at him for a reaction, she raised her hand with the scissors even more. He just stayed calm, nodding his head. “I can’t let you arrest me.”

Grayson shook his head. “Let me tell you right now that I’m only the kind of first responder who tries to help people in trouble, both medically and otherwise. I don’t attempt to arrest anyone, or anything like that.”

“But you can get in touch with those who do,” she retorted.

“But I won’t,” he said. “Look, why don’t we sit down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table across the room where she had apparently been sitting and eating. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about you—and how much of it I believe. Which isn’t much.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. And even in the light he carried, he could see their lovely greenness glowing, even as her blond eyebrows narrowed in apparent disbelief.

Yeah, she was definitely good-looking—and he’d better be careful. He didn’t want to get too interested in her.

He might not intend to turn her in, but neither did he intend to try helping an accused murderer escape justice.

Did he?

“Really,” he said. But she still didn’t appear convinced. And why should she? “Hey, I see you have a bottle of water over there. I assume a place like this doesn’t have anything stronger, so is there any more?”