Appalachian Abduction

They walked across the yard, but try as she might, a low hiss of pain escaped her lips as she started up the porch steps. James placed a hand on her right forearm, and she leaned into his strength, hobbling across the wooden porch.

Damn if it wasn’t heaven to feel his strong muscles taut and solid against her. For the first time since arriving at Lavender Mountain, Charlotte felt safe and protected. Not an emotional luxury she often indulged in with her line of work.

James frowned at the broken door frame as he ushered her inside. “Stay here while I check the cabin,” he murmured, setting down the jug of sassafras tea from Miss Glory.

She nodded, grateful. Ordinarily that kind of take-command attitude by male coworkers annoyed her, but he was the only one around with a gun and two good legs. And he was her best hope for rescuing Jenny.

* * *

“ALL’S CLEAR,” JAMES ANNOUNCED, returning to the den and placing the gun in his holster. “And I closed the back bedroom window you opened earlier this morning. You remember, the one you crawled out to run from me.”

Charlotte nodded, making no apologies, and limped to the couch. Instead of collapsing into an exhausted heap, she settled in primly, back straight and feet crossed at the ankles.

What a striking woman. In the dark shadows, her hair glowed like sun fire and her eyes gleamed with intelligence, determination and...sorry to say, still a trace of wariness. Not that he blamed her for the mistrust. She’d most likely seen the worst of human nature, just as he had in Afghanistan.

He picked up the jug of tea and strode to the kitchen, where he located a glass in the near-empty cabinets. Miss Glory’s tonic was purported to do wonders, and he hoped it lived up to its hype. He added ice to the glass and poured the pale, caramel-colored drink. Charlotte was being damn foolish about treating her injuries, but he couldn’t force her to accept medical attention. A wry smile twitched the edges of his mouth. He imagined Charlotte Helms could be mighty stubborn when it came to changing her mind.

That was okay—he could be as damn stubborn as Charlotte, and he meant to draw out everything from her about this case. The greatest lesson he’d learned in the military was to work with others as a team. It enhanced the chance of success for any mission. He preferred a quiet, solitary life these days, but when it came to his new job, he was all about teamwork.

James returned to the den. “Drink up,” he ordered, handing Charlotte the glass. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my tool kit.”

And his tablet, because he wasn’t letting this woman out of sight again. While she slept tonight, he’d double-check her story. Insomnia came in handy every now and then.

James scanned the yard and then strode to his truck, retrieving the toolbox, the tablet, a box of crackers and a cooler packed with water bottles. Another thing the military had taught him was to be prepared. The water and crackers would satisfy their basic needs for the evening, but he longingly recalled the smell of fried chicken and mashed potatoes at the Dixie Diner. Tomorrow he’d go back and eat his fill at the lunch buffet.

Inside, Charlotte sipped tea and raised a brow. “Quite an armful. You must have been a Boy Scout.”

“Lucky for you. What did Miss Glory whisper to you back at the shop?”

She blinked at the sudden question. “I couldn’t understand what she muttered. Her Southern accent’s pretty strong.”

Again, he suspected she wasn’t truthful, but in this instance, it didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. He let it go. “What do you think of Miss Glory’s tea?”

“Has a licorice taste. I like it. Either that, or I’m really thirsty. You believe in this stuff?”

“People who refuse standard medical treatment can hardly complain.”

A surprised chuckle escaped her lips, and her eyes sparkled. “Touché.”

James nearly dropped the supplies in his hand. He’d known she was attractive—that was plain to any fool—but when she smiled? Stunning.

Charlotte’s eyes widened and their teal hue deepened. The space between them grew electric, humming with energy. He swallowed hard and turned away, setting down the supplies and then gripping his hammer like a lifeline. Sexual attraction was the last thing he needed in this sticky situation.

“I don’t have replacement hardware, but I can nail up this door and make do for tonight. That is, if you still want to stay here?”

“You’ll let me stay?” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“For now. Unless your safety becomes compromised. First thing in the morning, we’ll—”

“We? I don’t need you to stay with me.”

“You think I’d leave you alone out here?” He might be reluctant to get involved with people, but he always did the right thing. Or tried to. “As I was saying, at dawn, we’ll get my four-wheeler, and you can show me where you were shot at.”

She slowly nodded. “Like I said, I don’t need your protection, but it’s your cabin, after all. As far as returning to that place, it’s a needle-in-a-haystack possibility, but if we can find those shell casings, it could be important down the road.”

He set to work, quickly repairing the door. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen with the cooler and put the water bottles in the fridge. The only thing edible in the refrigerator was a jar of peanut butter, and so James set the crackers and peanut butter on the table with two paper plates and a roll of paper towels.

“Dinner’s served,” he announced. “Basic protein and carbs.”

Charlotte took a seat. “I’m used to it. If we want to get really fancy, there are some granola bars and apples and such in my—I mean your—bedroom.”

She started to rise, but he motioned her to stop. “I’ll get them.”

It wasn’t fried chicken, but her contribution would add a little variety to the meal. In the bedroom, a plastic crate against the back wall was stuffed with dried foods. He lifted it, ready to carry it to the kitchen, when he spotted the laptop on her mattress. Stifling a twinge of guilt—there was a missing girl in danger, after all—he hit the space bar, hoping she hadn’t properly shut it down earlier.

The screen lit and filled with images of scantily clad young girls. And by young, he noted that most didn’t even appear to be sixteen years old.

“For the discerning customer,” he read.

James closed the computer, lips curled in disgust. What possible connection did it have to Lavender Mountain? This was no simple kidnapping.

Charlotte’s soft voice drifted down the hallway as he made his way back. “I’m doing everything I can, Tanya. I promise I won’t stop until I find her.” A slight pause, and then, “We’ll get her back. I know it’s killing you, but remember to let me call you. Not the other way around. Okay?”

As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Charlotte spun around, cell phone at her ear, as James entered the room. “Gotta go, hon. Later.”

“Sounds like this case is personal,” he observed, taking a seat across from her. “Who’s Tanya?”

Charlotte laid the phone down and sighed. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to pry every last detail from me?”

“Because I am,” he said with a grin, spreading peanut butter on a cracker. But his amusement faded at the memory of the computer photos. “Is Tanya the mother of the missing Jenny?”

“Yes. And my best friend.” Charlotte pushed away her plate. “You see why I can’t quit, don’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you do the same for your best friend?”

He flashed back to that night in Bagram when he’d awakened in the barracks and realized the cot beside him was empty. He’d waited, figuring Steve might be in the bathroom, but the minutes had ticked by, and he knew something was wrong. Against orders, he’d sneaked out of the barracks and searched the compound until he’d found Steve—huddled behind the garbage dump, holding a gun next to his head.

It still haunted James. Another minute and his friend would have committed suicide. He’d carefully taken Steve’s gun away and escorted him to the infirmary. To hell with alerting the sergeant first and following protocol for a missing soldier. He’d known in his gut that Steve was in danger. “You’re not the only one with a black mark on your record,” he admitted. “I understand that sometimes—”

A shot rang out.

James froze, his breathing labored. Had he imagined the sound? No, Charlotte’s hands gripped the edges of the table—she’d heard it, too. This was real and in the here-and-now.

“They’ve found us,” she whispered.

Chapter Four (#u27e0c70b-e09e-54b4-956f-35c9136a991b)