“You’re a cop? Let me take a look at that badge.” She approached and examined the badge on his uniform. The harsh glint in her eyes softened, and she lowered the gun. “Sorry. I didn’t stop to see who broke in when I ran.”
“I identified myself as from the Sheriff’s department,” he said grimly. She might be pretty as all get-out and pretend compliance, but people weren’t always what they seemed. This job and his tour of duty had taught him those lessons well. “Now gently lay down the gun and step away from it,” he ordered.
She kept her eyes on him as she bent her knees and placed her weapon on the ground. “No problem, Officer. I always—”
Her right leg gave out from underneath, and she swooned forward—which put her hands right by her gun, he couldn’t help noticing. Quickly he crossed the distance between them and kicked it several yards away.
“Suspicious much?” she drawled.
“I’ll call for an ambulance or drive you to the hospital in my vehicle. Do you have a preference?”
“Neither. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“There’s blood on the right side of your scalp. Not to mention your mangled leg. Might need stitches, at the very least. Antibiotics, too.”
“I said no.” She struggled to stand and then limped past him. “Just let me get dressed.”
“Not until you explain how you got hurt and what you were doing in my cabin.”
That got through to the woman, and she whirled around. “Your cabin?” She bit her lip and mumbled, “Of all the damn luck.”
“You can explain on the way to the hospital.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
She hobbled to the door, and he scrambled to retrieve the fallen weapon before following her, trying to deduce this stranger’s game. “You hiding from an abusive husband?” he guessed.
“No,” she said flatly, grabbing onto the porch rail and wincing as she climbed the steps.
“There are shelters that can help, you know. In fact, there’s one less than thirty miles—”
“I don’t need a shelter. I can protect myself.”
Like hell she could. “Fine. You want to clam up? Let’s go down to the station. I’ll run your license plate and clear up this mystery.”
She sighed, resignation rounding her shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my clothes on.”
Woman was probably freezing her butt off. “Of course. Look, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, we can help.”
She blinked and nodded her head. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry about intruding and...and pulling that gun on you.”
About time she saw sense. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” He took in her pale face, and his eyes traveled down to her right leg. “Can you manage by yourself?” he asked gruffly.
“Of course. Any chance I can have my gun back now? After you unload it, of course.”
What kind of fool did she think he was? “No, you may not.”
She cast her eyes down in a demure manner. “Be back in a minute.”
He watched as she made her faltering way down the hall, her back ramrod straight. What kind of man could hurt a woman that way? It looked as though she’d taken a hard tumble. Her ex was obviously dangerous. He’d see that whoever the man was, he’d get his due punishment.
James paced the empty den, thinking of his dad and sister Darla, both murdered at the hands of another family member. How sad that the ones we most loved were often our worst enemies and betrayers of our trust.
He shook his head and strode to the windows, stripping off the papers the woman had taped up to avoid detection. It shouldn’t matter, but he hated the thought of the cabin being shrouded in darkness night and day. Bad enough he’d abandoned it to die a slow death from neglect.
What was taking her so long? Had she passed out from loss of blood?
A flash of red in the barren landscape caught his eye.
Damn it to hell. She was running away again, this time fully clothed and with a backpack strapped to her shoulders.
Should have known the minute he’d seen those teal eyes and titian-colored hair that this woman spelled trouble.
Charlotte suppressed a wince as she collapsed into the seat across from his desk at the Lavender Mountain Sheriff’s Office. She glanced at his nameplate. Officer James Tedder. The name had a familiar ring.
“Driver’s license, please,” he said matter-of-factly, firing up the computer on his battered wooden desk. He examined her gun and wrote down the serial number before opening his desk drawer and locking it away.
“License. Right.” She made a show of rummaging through her backpack. “Shoot,” she mumbled. “It’s not here. Must have left it at the cabin. Sorry.”
He quirked a brow. “How convenient. Tell me your name.”
The officer was bound to get her real name from the truck’s license plate numbers. No use lying. “Charlotte Helms.”
He picked up his cell phone, and she saw a photo of the rental tag as he typed. But there was no need to panic just because he had her name. He’d run a standard background check and see she had no priors. No reason for him to look further and check out her employment record. A little fast talking on her part to avoid trespassing charges, and her cover would remain uncompromised.
“The truck’s a rental,” she volunteered. “Thought it would be easier to keep my ex-boyfriend off the trail that way.” She trembled her lips and let her eyes fill with tears. This wouldn’t be her first performance for getting out of a jam. And acting was so much easier when she actually felt like crying from pain. “You were right. I’m running from someone.”
“How did you wind up in my cabin?”
Bad spot of luck there. It’d looked perfect when she’d scouted the area earlier—practically deserted but sturdy, and the location so close to Falling Rock. She’d figured it would be less conspicuous to camp there than to rent a room at a local motel. The tourist season was long over and she didn’t want to attract attention.
“It...seemed safe,” she hedged. “I was afraid if I stayed at a motel he’d track me down. I don’t have much cash on me, only credit cards.” She added a hitch to her voice. “I left in a bit of a hurry.”
He paused a heartbeat, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How did he hurt you?”
His face and voice were neutral and she couldn’t tell if he was buying her story or not. Charlotte thought fast.
“It wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. I’d gone for a walk,” she lied. “Got a little stir crazy holed up in the cabin. I must have ended up on someone’s property because a shot came out of nowhere. Might have been an irate land owner. Or...maybe it was a hunter mistaking me for a deer? I didn’t stick around to find out. In my hurry, I stumbled and took a hard fall.”
“Exactly where were you when this incident occurred?”
“About a mile or two south of the cabin? I can’t say. I was focused on getting the hell out of there.”
A ding sounded on the computer and he turned to the screen. “Truck was rented from Atlanta,” he read. “Two days ago. The contract states you’ve rented it for two weeks.”
“That’s right.” Charlotte swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “I