—2 Thessalonians 3:3
To my mom, Esther.
Contents
Note to Readers
“She’s alive!”
Melanie Graham wasn’t sure if she just heard someone yell something, or if she’d been asleep and dreaming. Feeling groggy, she lifted her heavy eyelids and found herself gazing at a dark night sky, dotted with spiky silver stars. Her view was silhouetted with pine-tree branches high overhead that shifted back and forth in the cool, swirling breeze.
That was odd.
When she’d gone to sleep last night, it was in a bed in a hotel room. Her lodgings were across the street from the Community Attractions Arena in Leopold, Wyoming. After three hectic days the Wild Ride Rodeo had come to an end. She’d carefully packaged up all the jewelry she had left in the sales booth she’d rented in the merchandise-and-concessions area—and there wasn’t much left over, as sales had been good—and then she’d gone to her hotel to relax and get a good night’s sleep. She distinctly remembered setting her alarm so she could wake up early and start the four-hundred-mile drive back home to Bowen, Idaho, just as the sun came up. So what was she doing lying on the ground?
“Ma’am, are you Melanie Graham?”
She shifted her gaze to look at the young man kneeling on the ground beside her. He was holding a flashlight and wearing a jacket with the words Event Security written across the front in big silvery reflective letters.
Apparently he’d been talking since she’d first opened her eyes, but his words hadn’t registered. The sound of them was like hearing someone speak on TV, in another room, when she wasn’t watching the program. It felt like what he was saying had nothing to do with her.
Except, maybe it did. Whatever was happening right now wasn’t a dream. It was real.
A jolt of terror shot through her chest, and she sat up, screaming and trying to crawl backward, away from the man, even though she wasn’t sure why. The sudden movement made her head spin, throwing off her balance until she found herself pathetically crawling on her side, tearing her hands on exposed rock and pine cones and tree roots, but she didn’t care. From deep inside something screamed at her that she had to get away.
A second man stepped through the trees, into the small clearing. He was bigger than the event security guy. He, too, carried a flashlight. When he got closer, she could see the light shining on a badge, and that he wore the uniform of a Miles County, Idaho, deputy sheriff. The county where her home was located. It was one more thing that didn’t make sense.
Confusion made her head pound. And then she realized something else was making her head pound. It actually felt sore.
“Confirm, we’ve found Melanie Graham,” the deputy said in a deep voice into his collar mic. “Get emergency medical services moving toward my location.”
At the same time Melanie reached up to touch her sore, aching head. Her hair felt damp. Even before she looked at her fingertips in the glow of the two flashlights, she knew by the coppery scent that she’d touched blood.
What had happened to her?
Her body began to tremble. Her head started to spin even faster. She couldn’t catch her breath.
“Melanie.” She heard the deputy say her name, but she couldn’t stop staring at the blood on her fingers. Couldn’t stop trying to peer past the shrouded memories in her mind and figure it out. How did she get here?
“Melanie.” The deputy’s deep voice was louder now and it broke through her trance. She turned to him. He crouched beside her. Dark hair, dark eyes, the expression on his face focused and thoughtful, yet compassionate at the same time. “You’re safe,” he said.
Safe from what?
“I’m Lieutenant Luke Baxter,” he said. “I’m a deputy sheriff.” He reached out his hand, but didn’t actually touch her. He waited for her to make the first move.
Finally she took his hand. “What happened?” she asked, struggling to sit up.
“Wait,”