---

Unwavering, glowing yellow eyes stared at her.

Screams erupted from her throat then morphed into howls.

Tara shot straight up in bed, terror coursing through and over her sweat-drenched body. The eerie and forlorn howls came from the wolves on the sanctuary, not her, and the realization grounded her.

Another nightmare, that was all. She was in Oregon now, hiding on a remote wolf sanctuary.

Tara gulped air.

I’m safe now. I’m here and safe.

She sucked in more breaths to calm her pounding heart. Though it still beat erratically, she would regain her composure eventually. Had the wolves howled in response to her screams?

Throwing off the soaked sheet, she edged closer to the RV’s window and peered out into a night bathed in silver moonlight.

This wolf sanctuary had become her haven.

And her prison.

That is, until she could find a way to safely escape. The hellish nightmares from the massacre two months ago came on strong every night. Maybe if she exposed those responsible for the evil, the dreams would no longer torment her.

If she secured justice for Jamila and Mercy and their village, justice for Sandra, the dead would let her rest. Except Tara didn’t believe in ghosts. Still images of that day two months ago continued to haunt her.

Tara scraped her leather-bound bible off the nightstand and flipped to Psalm twenty-three and read, letting the scriptures soak into her being and chase away the demons in the shadows.

I will fear no evil…

She glanced at the clock. Four in the morning. Too early to get up and too late to go back to bed. Someone pounded on the door, startling her. The whole RV shook with the force.

“Just a minute.” Tara scrambled to pull on her sweats and a hoodie. She peeked out the small window then shoved the door open.

At the bottom of the steps, Matthew stared up at her and tugged off his baseball cap. “Are you all right?”

“You heard?”

“Kind of hard not to.”

“I’m about to make some coffee. You want some?” The fifty-something man hesitated then pushed his cap back on, nodding. “It’s going to be a long day.”

He made short work of the three steps and the small Casita travel trailer rocked back and forth when he stepped inside. The thing belonged to him anyway.

Tara flipped on lights and got busy making coffee. “How come you never ask?”

Matthew settled into the booth. “Ask what?”

She poured coffee grounds into the basket. “You know.”

“Now, if I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask. The way I see it, what’s the point of a sanctuary, of a safe haven, if you have to answer questions.”

She grinned to herself. “I just thought you might want to know what you were getting yourself into by helping me.” Matthew had saved her life. There had been only one person she could trust, that she could call, when fleeing mercenaries in the middle of a hard-to-reach equatorial African country—Matthew Craig.

“Let this be the last time we speak of it. I told you I owed your father. He saved my life.” They’d served in the Navy together. “I never got to repay him. But I can repay him by helping you if there’s anything you ever need.”

“And you’ve done that. You’d repaid him by getting me out of that place.” But he’d continued by protecting her and keeping her safe here.

The slow-brewing coffee eating at her patience, she poured two cups from the first dregs of the dark liquid, then handed one over Matthew.

He took a sip and scrunched his face. “I’m not offering you a place to stay because you can make coffee. You’ve got a knack with the wolves, and I don’t have to call Wills, the local vet, that conniving old coot.”

Forcing down the bitter brew, she nodded, allowing a half smile. “Well, so long as we’re clear on that. I don’t want any free rides.”

“And you’ll not get any.” He chugged the rest, then winked. “I’d better get started on that long day.”

He let himself out, slamming the door and rattling the trailer.

She should have stayed hidden in Africa. Here, technology accosted her everywhere. She’d never been much for social media, which served as an advantage to her now, but with security cameras in most shopping places, even the gas station, she didn’t dare venture out too often. The man she’d seen at the village, the man she’d watched kill Jamila and Mercy—and had likely orchestrated the village’s destruction—had powerful connections. Government and corporate alike.

Once again she closed her eyes, sickened that Dr. Bruce Parker, a man she’d considered her trusted mentor, had been at the scene of devastation, committing a heinous crime before her eyes. If only she could erase the image from her mind. At least she’d caught it on camera. Kept the images in a safe place. Now if she could figure out what to do with them.

As long as she was thought dead, she remained safe.

Tara figured the authorities were still sifting through bodies in the village, if they even bothered to be that thorough. She couldn’t even be positive anyone knew she and Sandra had been there. She’d reported in that she and Sandra were going to check out a rumor. After all these weeks, the WHO had to believe she and Sandra had died. The only good news was that Tara had no next of kin to contact. No one to mourn her death except for a few friends, and some of those at the WHO.

Like Dr. Jason Steller. She’d sent him Mercy’s blood sample as soon as she’d arrived in the States, but gave him no contact information. She trusted him enough to explain the delicate situation, and that he should tell no one. She would be the one to contact him. Since the virus was unknown, Jason would try to culture it and then run tests to learn the DNA or RNA sequence. Those tests took time.

But she’d waited a sufficient length. It was time to make contact. And once she knew more about the virus, then what? How did she find out what exactly had happened back in Africa? Why had men come to make sure no one survived? Someone had to learn the truth about the massacre, and Tara might be the only one to deliver it.

But to whom?

Since she’d recognized one of the men involved, there could be others she knew working alongside him, so she didn’t know whom to trust. The thought sent chills over her.

Tara couldn’t rush into sharing what she’d seen or she would end up dead and then no one would ever know. She peeked through the shabby purple curtains. The twilight before dawn turned the woods around her gray.

She felt exposed, and hoped the mercenaries believed she was dead. Hoped Bruce believed she’d been killed along with the villagers.

But just getting out of the country had compromised her. The pilot who’d returned Matthew’s favor knew she was alive. And Jason knew she was alive. Matthew, his pilot and Jason—they all knew. That was three people too many.

Tara changed into jeans and her work boots and got ready to help around the sanctuary. She needed to look in on Shane, a very sick wolf. Fortunately, her degree studies had included veterinary microbiology.

Don’t worry, Matthew, I’ll earn my keep.

She clomped down the awkward steps, slamming the door behind her and froze.

A strange man roamed the woods near the habitats. Oxygen whooshed from her lungs. She backed up the steps and pressed against the door. He paused long enough to look through the lens of an expensive camera.

Then turned the camera on her.

Gotcha.

Grant McCall peered through the lens of his Cannon EOS 5D camera. Zoomed in. One look at her and his heart pounded.

Dr. Tara Blackburn.

After studying numerous images of the woman he sought, he’d recognize that face anywhere. In fact, he’d spent hours staring at her picture, wondering how to find her, once he discovered she was alive. She might have cut her long, dark brown hair to shoulder-length and dyed it blond. She might have donned tortoiseshell glasses to make her look studious, but he easily recognized her beautiful face.

By her reaction, maybe this hadn’t been the best way to approach her.

She appeared immobile. Shocked. She inched up the steps and flattened her trim body against the Casita.

He lowered his camera and jogged toward her.

Not his best move either.

The petite scientist fumbled with the door behind her.

“Wait.” He continued to head her direction, pushing the greenery out of the way in the cool morning.

She almost tripped over herself rushing back into the permanently parked travel trailer.

He would have been subtler, getting his pictures without anyone’s knowledge, except he couldn’t get close enough with the sophisticated fencing system in place to allow the arctic wolves space to run. And he needed more than pictures if he’d finally found the woman. The search had taken him weeks of digging.

Since he couldn’t conduct surveillance the way he needed, he’d used a different tactic to get inside the compound, and had presented himself as a photojournalist researching a story about Arctic Wolves founder Matthew Craig, assuring the man that Grant’s work would bring Matthew and the sanctuary much-needed funds. A previous military photographer serving in a combat unit, Grant now used his extensive experience and skills as an operative on a multi-agency task force that focused on counter-terrorism, specifically investigating and eliminating threats of bioterrorism.

After he completed this mission, he could still make good on his reassurances to the man. Sanctuaries that housed abused or injured wildlife existed solely on the generosity of soft-hearted animal lovers and activists. Grant had the necessary contacts to help Matthew.

At the bottom of the steps to the trailer where Tara had retreated, he glanced at the windows. Curtains drawn. Nothing moved inside. Not like she could even climb out of the thing through the back window without him knowing. Her reaction had given her away. Confirmed her identity if he hadn’t been certain already. How had she made it out of Africa with her life if she acted that skittish?

Maybe he hadn’t been subtle in his approach, but he’d be subtle from now on. Win her over and learn what he could.

He didn’t need to hike up the steps to knock on the door. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he called, knowing she could hear him through the door. “I’m Grant McCall. I’m working on a spec project so I need to photograph and document the wolves.” If she had any digging skills, she’d easily learn he’d been a military photographer so his story would stick. Stating it was a spec project would give her nothing more to check.

He had no intention of leaving the compound until he’d completed his task. She would come around. He turned his back on the trailer and headed toward the main building and Matthew, who lived in a cabin at the back of the visitor center used to educate the public on rare occasions. Grant had learned that Matthew preferred obscurity, but that attitude had limited the number of donors and much-needed funds for the wolves.

Behind Grant, the trailer shifted. Movement. The door creaked opened.

“Wait.” A feminine voice called.

Grinning to himself, he kept walking like he hadn’t heard her. Soft footfalls came up behind him, until finally Tara’s athletic figure sidled up next to him and kept pace.

“Hey.” She sounded breathless. “I’m sorry about that.”

He stopped and glanced down at her much shorter form—by at least five inches. Grant smiled, but not too much. As wary as she’d acted, she would be suspicious of him from the start. Best not to lay it on too thick.

“No need for you to apologize. I’m sure it’s not every day you open your door to a stranger on the compound, especially one that practically holds a camera in your face. I was in image capture mode; so didn’t think about what I was doing.” He let his grin edge a little broader.

And was rewarded with a soft, trusting smile. “And I panicked. Matthew’s had his share of un-friendlies on the property, and I wasn’t sure who you were.”

“Well then we can give him a hard time for not giving you a heads up about my presence.”

She finger-combed her golden blond hair. “Yeah, about that. I think he might have mentioned someone taking pictures of the wolves.” Her forehead slightly crinkled.

“And that bothers you?”

Tara didn’t answer right away and started hiking toward the visitor center. With much longer legs, Grant had to make a concentrated effort to slow his strides.

Studying her boots as she walked, she said, “I just don’t like to see the wolves exploited.”

“Believe me, I just want to help defenseless creatures, wolves or otherwise.”

She stumbled a little. He hadn’t meant to snag her on those words, and in fact, they caught him off guard as well. Her gaze jerked up to his, then she focused on the visitor center. He took in her features more closely now, her face framed by the ethereal, gothic woods behind her. Both were stunning.

Grant forced his attention back to his mission which was to covertly investigate the atrocity in the African village—the massacre hadn’t made the headline news, what with yet another political story taking center stage. He needed to know who killed the villagers and the two World Health Organization workers. Make that one WHO worker.

Tara Blackburn was very much alive.

He didn’t want to even consider that she’d been somehow involved. But he couldn’t ignore that possibility.

When they reached the entrance, she gazed up at him again, her striking blue eyes searching his soul. He could only hope he’d hidden his deepest secrets from eyes that seemed to see right through him. One question burned across his mind—who was Tara hiding from? She acted like someone on the run, and had kept the fact she was alive a secret.

She was the only survivor.

She’d witnessed the massacre. There was no doubt there, but something more had sent her into hiding. If his worst fears were founded, the world was at stake.