Jax stopped in his tracks and whirled.  Peering through the falling flakes, he saw Sam sprawled in the snow several feet behind him.

His heart leaped into his throat as he dropped the bags he was holding and came down beside her on the frozen ground.

“Sam, what happened, Sam?” he demanded, fighting not to shout in case anyone was around to listen.

When she struggled to right herself, he helped her to a sitting position.  “What happened?” he asked again.

She looked up at him, her expression slightly dazed. “I was following you through the snow. Then I stumbled on something. Maybe it was a tree root.”

He felt under the layer of snow and found something. It wasn’t a root but a branch wedged against a tree trunk.  He pulled it up, inspecting it.  It was about an inch and a half in diameter and three feet long.

“A branch,” he answered, his hand playing with the thing. “Someone cut off the side shoots.

“How did it get there?”

“It looks like it was put there,” he muttered, not liking the implications.

“Why?”

That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. He’d been taking this route back and forth from his cabin. He’d been super careful. But what if someone noticed and thought to trip him up? Lucky it was just a tree branch and not an animal trap. But that would have been hard to hide—even in the snow.

“Why?” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, hating this sudden surprise.

If someone didn’t want him out here, it could be a property owner thinking to trip up a trespasser. But what if it was the killer?

He clenched his fists, remembering things he’d sensed in the past few days. Nothing he could prove. But he’d had the uneasy feeling that someone else had been around the cabin.  He’d been extra careful. Now he hated the idea of taking Samantha there.  But he had no choice. And maybe the snowstorm would help protect them.

He made a dismissive sound.

“What?”

“I’m getting into conspiracy theories, and maybe someone just tossed away a walking stick.”

She studied his face. “But you don’t think it’s innocent.”

“I hope it is,” he answered, when he was really wondering if Sam had tripped on some kind of silent alarm.

“What?” she asked, still studying his expression.

“Just considering the possibilities.”

If he’d had any other alternative, he would have retraced their steps and headed away from his cabin. But the storm had made escape impossible. He was cold. Probably Sam was colder. He had to get her into shelter before she ended up with hypothermia or frostbite.

“Can you stand?” he asked, praying that she hadn’t turned her ankle—or worse. Reaching out, he helped her up and watched her test her footing.

“I’m good.”

“You’ve already taken a beating tonight,” he muttered.

###

“I’m tougher than I look,” Samantha answered.

In a million years, she wouldn’t have picked a tramp through the woods on a day like this. Now she thanked God that she was here instead of lying in the back of the SUV, chained to a ring in the cargo compartment—headed for horrors she didn’t want to imagine.

“I’m lucky you came along,” she said to the man who had helped her up.

“Yeah, but we can’t stay here,” he said. “Not in this weather.”

“I know. But give me a minute.” She adjusted the duffel on her back.  When she indicated she was ready, he started off again, still breaking the trail through the mounting snow. She noted that he’d slowed his pace a bit as she walked in his boot prints.

It was almost dark now, and she hoped he knew where he was going because she saw no indication of any buildings ahead of them. But she kept doggedly following him, shifting the duffel on her back to a more comfortable position.

When he stopped, she almost plowed into him.

Looking up, she saw they were standing in the woods about twenty-five yards from a small wooden building that was almost invisible in the dark.

“This is where I’ve been camping out.” He turned to face her. “Sorry, but I wasn’t expecting company.  It’s pretty rough.”

“That’s okay,” she said, before she even got an idea of how rough.

“Wait here a minute.”

She saw him put down the carry bags and pull out a semiautomatic.

“You have a gun,” she breathed. “But you didn’t use it back there.”

“I couldn’t take the risk of shooting you.”

“So you tried to plow into his car.”

“Yeah.” 

She was still eyeing the weapon. 

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asked.

“Yes.  At a shooting range. Because we lived in a rural area, Dad used to take us out to a private range he’d set up. He believed that girls should have the same skills as boys.”

“Agreed.”

“But I’ve never used a gun against a person,” she added quickly, “only for target practice. And the targets were concentric circles, not silhouettes of people like you see in cop shows.”

“But if you had to defend yourself, you could do it?”

“I hope.” She gave him a long look. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“Hopefully, no. But I’m not going to break protocol,” he said as he moved carefully forward toward the cabin. When he reached the door, he unlocked it with one hand and held the gun in the other. Easing the door open, he reached inside.  She saw dim yellow illumination through the slim opening. After he looked around inside, he came back out, picked up the bags, and carried them inside. 

“All clear.”

Sam came out of the woods, crossed the snowy ground, and stepped into a small room that couldn’t be more than twelve by twelve.  A small table by the door held a lamp. There was a space heater in one corner, a narrow cot, a counter along one wall with a hot plate on top and one of those small refrigerators underneath.  A chest of drawers plus a table and two chairs completed the furnishings.

She looked around for windows and saw they were covered by blackout blinds.  The only door was the one through which they’d entered.

“Where do you get your electricity?”

“Mostly batteries. But I have solar and a generator if I need it.”                 She kept looking around. “Um, does this place have a bathroom?”

He jerked his hand toward the right. “Over that way.”

“You mean an outhouse?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you where it is—after I get some heat in here. It won’t be toasty, but it will be better than outside,” he said as he turned on the space heater.

“Okay.”

“Let me help you get the duffel off.”

He came around in back of her and eased the makeshift pack off her back.

“Leave your coat on,” he advised.

She nodded as she worked her shoulders to get the kinks out, then turned to him. “Lead the way.”

He grabbed a flashlight off the counter and took her back out. Again he was watchful as he scanned the area, then led her around the side of the cabin. Several yards away was a narrow little building that looked like it came straight out of the Kentucky hills.

She lighted her way to the door that had a crescent moon carved just above eye level, and he moved a few yards away.

“Are you going to stand there?”

“Safer. And while we’re discussing safety, I don’t want you outside by yourself—understood?”

“Yes,” she answered in a gritty voice. If she had to pee in the middle of the night, she’d have to wake him up.

Repressing a protest, she went inside, closed the door and used the facilities as quickly as possible.

When she came out, he was standing with his back to her but turned when he heard her emerge. 

After leading her back to the cabin, he checked the interior, then said, “I’ll just be a minute.”

She stood in the doorway and watched him retrace his steps to the outdoor facility.

Apparently he could have privacy but she couldn’t. When he returned, she ducked into the main cabin, twisting in a circle to survey his abode.  He couldn’t have been expecting company. But though the place was sparse, it wasn’t messy.

He caught her expression. “Until the car radiator started heating up, I thought I’d get you to Decorah headquarters.

“Which are where?”

“Beltsville.”

“Not in this snow.”

“I could have made it through the snow—but not with bullet holes in the radiator.” He made a wry sound. “And even if we had to stop at a motel, the more miles we put between us and him, the better.”

She contemplated that last statement as she pulled out a chair at the table and sat.

He broke the silence by saying, “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“You don’t have any food, but you’ve got chocolate?”

“I don’t neglect the necessities.”

“Yes, I’d like some,” she answered, thinking that another guy would have offered her brandy. But she supposed he had considered himself on duty while he was here and therefore wouldn’t have any alcohol on hand.

She glanced at the bags he’d set down. “I was bringing homemade chocolate chip cookies for Christmas. We could have some.” 

His eyes lit up, and she wondered when he’d last had home cooking. 

She watched him pour water from a plastic jug into a battered saucepan, turn on the hot plate burner, which she assumed ran on propane, and set the water to boil.

Crossing to the carry bags, she got out the cookie tin, put it on the table, and gestured toward the contents.

He took a cookie, bit in, and chewed—his expression going dreamy. “This is wonderful.”

“Thanks.”  She took a cookie and sampled her own work.

As she ate, she kept her gaze on him, tension curling through her. The easiest thing would be to just keep her mouth shut, but she knew she couldn’t do that. She was in a small cabin with a strange man, and she needed to know more about him. “I think it’s time you told me about that special talent you don’t want to discuss.”