A loud sound jolted Maggie Leland awake. Springing bolt upright in her sleeping bag, she turned her head toward the mesh window of her tent. She saw no threats, only the gray light that comes before dawn.

The noise had stopped abruptly. And as she strained her ears, she detected nothing. Shouldn’t the birds be chirping in the trees?

Then she did hear something again—a rustling in the dry brush, like a creature sneaking up on the tent. No, not sneaking. As she analyzed the noise she’d heard, she decided an animal had been running amok through the underbrush out there—until the sound had subsided to the rustle.

She sat in her sleeping bag, listening, but now she could only hear the wind gently moving the branches of the oaks and sycamores above her. She’d picked this camping spot because it was isolated. And in the two-days she’d been here, living in her blue- domed tent, she’d seen no one else. But now she thought a forest creature was prowling around out there. Or maybe not.

Did she hear a groan? Was that just the wind—or her nerves?

Straining her ears, she tried to pick up something else, but heard nothing besides the tree branches skittering above her.

She had brought a semiautomatic on this camping trip because the woods were not as safe as they’d been when she’d come here as a girl with her dad and brother. Now she laid the weapon beside the sleeping bag while she wiggled out of the covering and pushed her feet into running shoes. She’d slept in warn jeans and a tee shirt. All she had to do to get ready was unzip the closure at the front of the tent and crawl through.

Outside, she crouched, shivering in the chill early morning air, listening intently as she gripped the gun and surveyed her surroundings. The stone circle where she’d built her campfire was as she’d left it. Her cooking pan and utensils were undisturbed. And the backpack she’d worn on her trek from the road was still resting against the nearby tree where she’d propped it.

Nothing seemed out of place—until she saw a pale form sprawled on the ground about thirty yards from her tent. She blinked. It looked like a naked human whose body was partially obscured by dead leaves and underbrush. With the gun in a two-handed grip, she approached cautiously, deliberately stepping on a couple of twigs to make a little noise. The figure didn’t stir, and when she reached his side, she saw it was a naked man lying prone. She took in his dark hair, his powerful muscles, and the curve of a well-toned ass. He looked to be in top physical shape except that scratches from brambles and twigs marred his skin, and a red circle on his left lower leg oozed blood.

She caught her breath, recognizing a gunshot wound. An entry wound, which meant that he’d been running away when he’d been hit.

Someone had clipped him, and she had no idea who or why. Had he fled from the cops? From thugs? Or had he been in an argument that had gotten out of hand?

She doubted there were any cops out here. But there was no way to find out what had happened without asking him—and no way to know if he was a threat to her.

As she stared at the man, she wondered if it was more dangerous to have the gun in her hand when she got closer to him—or put it out of sight. You weren’t supposed to tuck a gun into your waistband, but she didn’t see any alternative as she shoved it into the back of her jeans.

With the weapon concealed, she came down beside the man’s bed of leaves and put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was cold, but not icy. She was about to turn him over when he wrenched away.

She gasped as he pushed himself up, twisting to face her.

It looked like he was about to lunge, and for a terrified moment, she fumbled behind her for the gun. Then she saw puzzlement in his dark eyes—followed by relief.

“You’re not one of them?” he gasped out.

“Who?”

“Drug lab guys.” As he flopped back against the ground, his eyes closing.

“What happened to you?”“

When he didn’t answer, she thought he might have lost consciousness. Finally he said, “Long story.”

“A drug lab out here?”

“Somewhere.”

She might have asked how far he’d run, but probably he didn’t know. And speaking would sap more of his energy.

She saw him drag in a breath and let it out. When he opened his eyes again, he blinked. It looked like he was making a tremendous effort to focus on her.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Can’t see straight.” He pressed shaky fingers to his forehead, breathing hard. “Get . . . away from me. I could be dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Hallucinations from the crap they gave me.”

“I’m not going to leave you out here. You’ve been shot.”

“Bullet went through my calf.”

“Lucky for you. But you still need the wound dressed—and antibiotics if you don’t want an infection.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

As he lay with his eyes closed once more, she studied him. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, his male equipment impressive. She pulled her eyes away from his genitals and focused on his wound. Seeing the front of him, she knew he was correct. The bullet had passed through his flesh. Lucky for him.

“I want to check your leg,” she said, running her hand along his hair-roughened flesh.

“Doctor?”

“Nurse. There’s no obvious break in the bone.”

“If there were—I wouldn’t be here.” He breathed in and out again. “Stupid. Should have called for backup.”

“You’re a cop?”

“P.I.”

“We can talk later. I need to take care of you.” Thinking it would be easier to work out here than in the cramped confines of the tent, she turned. “Wait here,”

He managed a harsh laugh.

She stood and went back to the tent for the plastic box she carried with her on camping trips—since that time Campbell had tripped over a fallen log and whacked his shoulder on a rock. She’d had a hell of a time getting him back to the house.

She was sorry she’d let thoughts of her brother intrude. They hadn’t exactly been friends for a long time, and they needed to have a serious discussion. But not until she returned from this little vacation that had suddenly turned into an emergency.

The wounded man said drug dealers had shot him. No, drug manufacturers. She grimaced, wondering who they were and—more importantly—where they were.

After transferring the gun to the medical kit, she prepared to leave—then stopped. If she was going to bring him back here, she’d better open up her sleeping bag. At least it wasn’t one of those models that tapered down at the legs like a mummy case, she thought, as she spread out the quilted fabric. For a moment, she stared at the double bed she’d made. Was she really going to be lying next to this guy she didn’t know?

Well, she couldn’t see any alternative.

Before leaving, she gathered up some of the clothing she’d brought—sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt, then started back toward her patient. The pants would be too short, but they’d cover him up.

When she was halfway back with the medical supplies, she stopped abruptly. The wounded man had vanished.