She started walking again, and trembling. Where was she? How did she get there, and when could she leave? Why could she remember nothing, and what had been there before the void and the blackness?
Where had she been before she’d been here?
She glanced down at the corduroy blazer and slacks she had on. They were soaked through, and clung to her exhausted body like a second skin. She felt no ownership, no connection to them. They looked alien and unfamiliar to her, just like this barren world around her.
When the lights first appeared over the horizon, her initial instinct had been to run, to hide, but she fought the fear. Darkness was falling fast, and the thought of being alone in a world of blackness was more terrifying than those small, ominous lights moving over the horizon like eyes of the monster seeking her out.
“Stop,” she said, the word taking more energy than she’d expected. Suddenly she was running, running toward the light, her deadened arms waving above her. “Please. Please stop.”
Joe stepped out of the car, one hand carefully hovering over the holstered gun inside his jacket.
“Stop right there, ma’am. Don’t move.”
“Please,” she said, staggering a few steps forward. “Please…please help me.”
“I said stop,” he demanded, raising a hand up. “Don’t come any closer.”
But she did come closer, stumbling and weaving, her footsteps growing more erratic, more uneven the nearer she got.
“Oh, please,” she pleaded again, ignoring his orders. “Help me. Please help—”
She fell forward, lunging toward him with both arms outstretched. Reflex had him diving forward, had him reaching for her. Procedure would have been to let her fall, would have been not to drop his guard until he’d assessed the situation completely—and this whole thing had the earmarks of a setup. She could have lured him to stop, could have a band of cohorts hiding out of sight, ready to swoop down and jump him the moment his back was turned. Only…for some reason, he had been unable to let her fall. For the first time in his professional life, Joe Mountain forgot about procedure, forgot about suspicion and precaution—and he forgot about the gun in his holster. There had been something in her cry for help, something that couldn’t be faked or fabricated and the look on her face had told him all he’d needed to know. This was no setup, no highway crime in progress. She wasn’t lying in wait, she was terrified and he had to help.
Reaching out, he caught her in his arms, carefully lowering her to the pavement and pillowing her head in his arms. Rain and wind pelted them and he shielded her as best he could.
“Ma’am, can you hear?” He felt for a pulse in her neck and at her wrist. “Wake up. Can you hear me?”
She gave no response, but he could feel the soft, steady throb of a pulse beneath her chin.
He glanced up, looking for signs of a disabled vehicle—skid marks, spilled oil, highway debris, a suitcase, a purse—anything that might explain what had happened to her, but there was nothing.
“Ma’am,” he said again, looking back down at her and giving her cheek a tap with the palm of his hand. “Can you hear me?”
Her clothes were drenched, and her long hair streaked down her face. She looked as though she’d been wandering around out there for a while. Running a hand inside her jacket, and around the pockets of her slacks, he felt for evidence of a wallet, of car keys, but her pockets were empty.
“Ma’am, wake up. I’m a police officer, I’m going to get you to a hospital. You’re going to be okay.” He cupped her chin in his palm and gave her head a small shake. “Can you hear me?”
She breathed out a groan, and her head fell to one side. Then suddenly, with no other warning, her eyes popped open and her head sprang up.
“Logan, no,” she screamed, clutching at his jacket. “No, Logan, Loga—”
“L-Logan?” Joe stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst.
But she didn’t answer him. With her head falling back, she slipped into unconsciousness again.
“Ma’am?” Joe said, giving her a small shake. “Ma’am?”
Only, there was no reaction this time. A sudden bolt from the clouds sent a brilliant flash of white light over everything, and a thunderous roar from the sky above.
Gathering her up into his arms, Joe carried her to the passenger side of his vehicle, carefully lowering her into the front seat. Securing the seat belt around her, he closed the door tightly.
Stepping away from the car, he took a moment to scan the area. But with the wind whipping at the rain and sending it stinging into his eyes, it was impossible to see more than a few feet. Turning, he made his way back around the car, and climbed inside.
“Base station, this is mobile one, do you read me?” he said, flipping on the radio and looking at the woman slumped against the back of the seat beside him. “Ryan, come on, answer damn it. Do you read me?”
He waited a few anxious seconds for his deputy to respond, the water dripping from the brim of his hat making a small pool on the seat. The storm had made the radio useless all day, but he had to try, had to make an effort.
“Base station, this is mobile one, do you copy?” he said, his impatience growing. “Work, you stupid thing,” he growled, giving the radio a slam with the flat of his hand. “Work!” But there was only static on the line, making him all the more furious. “Piece of sh—” He slammed the microphone down, flipping the radio off and shifting the car into gear.
The thick tires of the Jeep squealed loudly against the wet blacktop as he put the pedal to the metal and started down the highway. Glancing at the woman beside him, he swore under his breath.
Where the hell had she come from? What was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? He needed to investigate, to look around and try to figure out what had happened, but that required time and decent weather—neither of which he had at the moment. What he did have was a useless radio, and an unconscious woman who needed immediate medical attention and about sixty miles of highway between them and the hospital.
As the Jeep picked up speed, he flipped on his siren and glanced out the windows at the nearly dark countryside. It had been a cold, miserable day—starting at dawn with the report of a five-car pileup along the Nevada-Utah border.
Given the choice, he would have liked nothing more than to have weathered the miserable storm holed up in his office—warm and dry and comfortable. But this was Mesa County—his county—and that meant he didn’t have a choice. When something happened in this rugged, remote corner of the state, Sheriff Joe Mountain wanted to know all about it.
He glanced back to the woman on the seat beside him. She didn’t need to be conscious to tell him something had definitely happened out here, something pretty unusual. He may not have lived on the reservation in years, but there was enough Navajo left in him to know something was out of harmony, out of balance. In the dim light of the dashboard, her lips looked blue with cold and her skin was an ashen white. No wonder she’d collapsed. Wandering around in weather like this, she had to be half-frozen.
Wedging his knee against the steering wheel, he shrugged out of his jacket. The buckskin leather was soaked, but the white, wooly lining was warm and dry. With one hand, he covered her with the coat, tucking it around her tight.
Looking at her, he felt something tighten in his chest. This whole thing had him feeling restless and unsettled. Things didn’t fit; she didn’t fit. She didn’t belong here, wasn’t dressed for rough weather and rough country. She looked more like she belonged in a trendy coffeehouse somewhere sipping caffe lattes, or shopping in some stylish boutique.
He reached across the seat, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Even against his cold hands,