Finally, there it was, tucked away in the greenery like something from a postcard. Seeing the cabin revived her. There, she could sit. Massage her aching feet. Drink a gallon of water.
She crept onto the porch. Cautiously, she pushed through the door, thinking back to that moment when she’d spotted the man who meant to kill her. She’d seen it in his stance, his prowling around the cabin, and then in his eyes.
But he wasn’t a problem right now. Even if he’d survived the fall, he had to be badly injured, and would need a recovery period before he could attack again. If someone else came for her, she was counting on that taking some time. Either way, she had a little breathing room—which was a very good thing. She needed a chance to catch her breath. Get her feet under her.
Hadley dropped in the old rickety chair in the corner and hugged herself, her insides turning over. She gulped the old musty air in the room. If she wasn’t safe here, in the middle of this wild backcountry—then where could she go?
But she had to leave now, because that man—Cooper Wilde—would bring the local authorities to her door. The sheriff’s office had to investigate the report of the death of an assassin and his attempt to kill Hadley. Then she would be questioned. And if they discovered she had a fake passport and a bag of cash, they would get even more suspicious if not take her into custody. She could already be wanted for questioning in her father’s death, especially since she ran from the scene after calling the police to begin with.
And once in custody, she would be an easy target for a contract killer.
No. She couldn’t let that happen.
She had to find a solid hiding place or keep moving, at least until she knew who was behind this. So far, she’d been simply trying to survive. She hadn’t had time to worry about discovering who was after her. Yet she had a feeling none of this would end until the person who wanted her dead was truly unmasked.
But that was a problem for another day. Today, her focus was on staying alive.
Drawing on strength she didn’t feel, Hadley gathered the few items she’d purchased in Medford. She thought back to how she’d gotten to Gideon, Oregon, the small town smack in the middle of the Wild Rogue Wilderness.
Once she had arrived at the Portland airport, she’d learned from the agent at the ticketing counter that the next available flight was to Medford, Oregon. Hadley had almost gasped. That was perfect. From there she could drive to Gideon. Hadn’t she always wanted to spend time in the Wild Rogue Wilderness? She could hide out and paint.
But her attempt to salvage her dream hadn’t lasted long. She hadn’t been here a day when the assassin had shown up to kill her.
She grabbed the backpack with the cash and her new identity. How had he tracked her? Had he known the name on her passport? If so, then she’d need a new one. But Hadley didn’t have a clue how to change her identity.
With a quick intake of breath, she let the pack slip to the floor and thought back to those last moments with her father. She couldn’t get them out of her head.
He’d taught her skills. Yes. The self-defense training had kept her alive. But why hadn’t he taught her other skills—like how to hide, or create a false identity? She had no experience with deception—but her father, it seemed, was a master. He wasn’t the man she had thought he was. There was so much more she wished she had known, and now she never would.
Had he lied about her mother, too? Hadley had been told that her parents had lived happily in that small house on the Oregon Coast until her mother died in childbirth. What was the real story behind the house where they spent Christmas every year? Was it all a sham?
Oh, God. What do I do now? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why couldn’t You at least have let my father live, so we could have run away together? He could have protected me.
She had to pull herself together to survive another day.
Hadley could do this. She must if she wanted to live.
She picked up the pack and pulled it on again. If only she had the luxury of telling her story to the sheriff like a normal person experiencing a normal crime.
But there wasn’t anything about this situation that was normal. Her father had said she should trust no one and she would adhere to his advice for now. There was nothing anyone could do for her, not even Cooper Wilde, the assassin killer.
She thought back to the wild intensity in his eyes, the visible strength of his body springing into action. A protector on steroids.
He had skills. Part of her regretted leaving him so abruptly. But surely it was for the best.
A faint noise, the hint of a sound, drew her attention. She held her breath and listened.
Not-so-subtle footfalls clunked on the porch.
Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t had a chance to grab her weapon like her father had told her. Nor had she had a chance to buy a new one.
She’d give anything for that protection now.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
If it was another assassin, he could shoot her right through the wall. Fear gripped her. She held still and kept quiet. She wouldn’t give herself away if it weren’t already too late.
Someone knocked. “Are you there? It’s Cooper.”
Sweat bled from her palms. If only they were wrapped around her Glock.
Trust no one.
Never mind this man had saved her life. Maybe he was a threat to her, maybe he wasn’t. Right now, what bothered her was that he’d found her too quickly and easily. Why was it so hard to disappear?
* * *
“What do you want?”
Cooper scraped a hand down his face, wishing he’d had a chance to clean up.
“To talk. That’s all.”
“Is the sheriff with you?”
He leaned against the door, wanting to break through, but that would send her running quicker than anything. “No.”
Not yet.
He’d called once he’d gotten a signal but there wasn’t a deputy on duty for another four hours. The county seat where the sheriff’s office resided was sixty miles from Gideon. Still, the dispatcher said she’d make some calls and see if she could get someone out to Cooper.
Good thing the town wasn’t under siege. The joy of living in an actual designated wilderness region.
Never mind the location was so remote mail arrived via boat service. Oh well, if it was good enough for novelist Zane Grey, who wrote in a nearby cabin, it was good enough for Cooper.
“I don’t have time,” she said.
That’s right. She was in a hurry to run away.
“Could you at least open the door?”
The door creaked open slowly. Her posture was defensive. She would to fight her way out of here if he forced her.
He threw his hands up in surrender. “Whoa. I’m not the bad guy here, remember?”
Her wary expression didn’t change, but she stood aside, albeit reluctantly, then waved him in.
Cooper shut the door behind him.
“I can’t stay here. If there’s someone coming for me, I need to disappear. You’re holding me up.”
“I thought you should know it’ll be a while before anyone shows up to check on the guy who went into the river.”
Her face scrunched up. “So you did call the sheriff.”
“I tried. But deputies run thin around here.” He wouldn’t