Читать книгу Colton First Responder - Linda O. Johnston - Страница 12

Sitting on a wooden kitchen chair in the remote and damaged cabin she had somehow found here in the middle of nowhere, Savannah breathed slowly, carefully—pensively, for that was what she was doing: thinking, while staring at her hands clasped in her lap.

Her unshackled hands.

Where was she? She didn’t know. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter.

So far, the earthquake had somehow brought her good luck. There’d been a couple of aftershocks from the quake, but they’d been mild.

Oh, she certainly hadn’t wished Ari the kind of harm he had suffered, notwithstanding the way he’d essentially ignored her. But at least she was free, for now and hopefully forever.

Especially if she could find her louse of an ex and prove she hadn’t murdered him.

But first things first. Tonight, she had at least located someplace to sleep, to bide her time till she decided what to do next. To ponder how to fulfill her promise to herself: find Zane, reveal his lies and treachery to the world, and return to as normal a life as she could.

A cabin. She’d never have imagined there could be one way out here in the woods. She had hardly been able to see anything once she’d left the place where the van had been smashed. Frightened, yet determined to survive, she’d needed to figure out what came next.

She’d heard a lot of animal noises around her and had nearly stumbled into a nearby lake before she’d found the cabin.

Eventually, the moon—only a half moon—had appeared overhead and provided at least a small amount of light.

And somehow, miraculously, it had helped her find this cabin. Lots of miracles, in fact, despite the fact that a portion of the cabin had crumbled because of the earthquake. But what was left seemed at least somewhat habitable.

In the undamaged area, the door was locked, but she had pushed open a window and climbed inside. None of the switches turned on any light, so she found herself in near total darkness, with no electricity, evidently. That was thanks to the quake, or thanks to the owner’s turning it off before leaving. But she had nevertheless located a flashlight someone had left on one of the counters.

Who and where was the owner? Were they coming back soon? That appeared unlikely, considering the location and the earthquake, but who knew?

Fortunately, she had at least found no indication that anyone was living here now. Looking around with the flashlight’s illumination, she had seen some dust here and there, but some of it could have been caused by the quake.

However, it seemed a nice enough cabin. There was even some furniture—a kitchen table surrounded by other chairs like the one she now sat on. A bed at the far side of the room with sheets on it. If she removed the sheets and turned them over, they should be clean enough for her to sleep on.

Assuming she found herself eventually calm enough to fall sleep. Exhaustion wouldn’t help her accomplish what she needed to do tomorrow.

But she also couldn’t forget that she was a fugitive. Once the van was found without her, she had no doubt that the authorities would be searching for her. She would have to remain careful.

For a better idea of her current environment, she unlocked the door and walked outside, using the flashlight to look around. She aimed it carefully, mostly toward the ground, although she had no reason to believe any other people were close enough to see the light. A narrow dirt road that ended at this house hadn’t been affected by the caving in of part of the cabin.

Where did it lead? Maybe she would find out tomorrow.

She also looked at the area at the back of the house that was crumbled. Fortunately, it still provided a wall of sorts, a barrier, so no person or wild animal would be able to enter that way.

For now, she went back inside. One thing she had to do was to find some water and food. Was there anything like that in this deserted cabin? If she found anything, would she dare to eat or drink it, or might it make her sick?

Well, first things first. She would at least look around a bit more. She stood up again and, using the flashlight, walked along the wooden floor, making as little noise as possible—not that she anticipated anyone was close enough to hear her footsteps. She first looked at the inside of the partially caved-in wall and the part of the cabin that had suffered some damage. She wasn’t certain what had been there—a storage area, maybe. But the rest of the place seemed fairly livable.

Next, she headed toward a kitchen with a sink and cabinets.

The door of the first cabinet creaked a bit as she opened it. All that was inside were some light green plastic plates and bowls.

She closed that door and tried another. A little better. There were some cans in it, of soup and corn and black beans. Yeah! Assuming she could find a can opener, she might be able to get both sustenance and a bit of liquid in her from one of those. She pulled out the vegetable soup, figuring it would potentially be the most nutritious. Since beggars couldn’t be choosers, she considered not even checking the expiration date stamped on the bottom of the can—but it probably would be better for her to know, if it was out of date, by how much.

Making herself ill after her escape wouldn’t be a good idea.

Still standing there by the cabinet above the sink, she moved the flashlight to examine the bottom of the can more closely.

And smiled. It had plenty of time left before its expiration date. That suggested people had used this cabin recently, but she remained glad they weren’t there now.

Okay. Now she needed to find that can opener, plus a spoon. She aimed the flashlight toward the areas on both sides of the sink, seeing drawers there.

The first drawer she opened had some gadgets in it, including a spatula, whisk—and, yes, a can opener and scissors.

Scissors. One of the things she could do to change her appearance was to cut her hair, make it a lot shorter than its current shoulder length. People who didn’t know her might not recognize her—since she was now on the run.

She had already gone inside the bathroom after her arrival and had noticed a mirror over the sink there. Now, scissors in hand, she hurried back across the wooden floor in that direction.

Was this too impulsive, especially in the darkness? The flashlight helped, but it wasn’t very bright. Sure, it might be a dumb thing to do, but achieving anything to alter her appearance even a little couldn’t hurt.

And so, after regarding herself and her current hairstyle in the mirror, she started snipping. Then snipped some more, creating short bangs, cutting her hair everywhere she could see, everywhere she could reach.

When she was done a few minutes later, she shook her head and laughed, just a little. Who was that waif with a chin-length haircut staring at her in the mirror?

Surely that couldn’t be Savannah Oliver, right?

And actually, she wasn’t an Oliver anymore. Zane and she were recently divorced, but, partly thanks to his disappearance and its consequences, she hadn’t yet legally returned to using her maiden name, Murphy. First on her list of places to go would be the DMV, where she could get a new driver’s license.

Someday.

For now, she used her hands to gather as much of her hair from the sink and floor as she could and placed it in a small pile on the floor near the wall. Once it was light out again, she would need to find a plastic bag or wastebasket to dump it in and hide it. No need to leave evidence of her changed looks if anyone searching for her found this place.

Okay, now she was finally ready to eat, and to drink what she could from the can she chose. She exited the bathroom and returned to the kitchen.

Before opening the soup, though, she went looking for bottled water. The refrigerator was turned off, but she found a few bottles of water inside.

Yes! Savannah took one out and closed the door.

She opened the can of soup while standing near the sink, pulled a spoon out of another drawer after looking around again and sat down at the kitchen table.

Even cold, the vegetable soup tasted good. She ate it slowly, savoring it, continuing to see in the near darkness thanks to the glow of the flashlight, and keeping the scissors with her, too, in case she felt compelled to cut even more hair off. She’d check in the mirror again once daylight arrived, to see if additional trimming was necessary to even it out.

And as much as she hated to think about it, the scissors could also become a weapon if she was attacked by anyone looking for her, or even a looter or wild animal, out here in the middle of nowhere.

As she ate, she felt exhaustion closing in. And no wonder. It had been one heck of a difficult yet promising day. She’d go to sleep after this. What would tomorrow bring?

She finished soon and stood, waving the flashlight again toward where she presumed the garbage can would be. And—

What was that? A sound from outside—a scraping, maybe, from the front yard.

Had she imagined it? It could just be something moving after the quake....

She moved slightly to face a window near the front door—and saw light. Not moonlight, but a glow that could have come from a flashlight, only more heavy-duty than hers, since the light was really bright.

Had the cabin owners come back here now, in the middle of the night after an earthquake?

Or—might the van have been found, and any authorities sent out to find her?

Savannah looked hurriedly around, attempting to find something to use as cover but wound up staying where she was.

Had she locked the door behind her when she had ventured outside? Damn. She didn’t believe she had, since she had intended to peek out again.

She clasped the handle of the scissors tightly. If necessary, she could—and would—defend herself.

His search had actually led to someone.

Grayson hadn’t really believed he would find anyone out here in the middle of the night and this far out from town. It was his mission to continue to seek people in trouble after the earthquake, including whoever had left the back of the van, if anyone. Whether or not a criminal, any person in that position could have been injured.

Still, if someone had been inside that vehicle and gotten out—well, it was a van from the prison department, so Grayson did not forget his promise to himself to be careful. He didn’t want to lose his own life attempting to save someone else, especially someone who was dangerous and didn’t want to be found.

After the EMTs had taken away the deceased driver, he’d continued to look, finding no one else on the road or in the woods on his way here. He had reached a cabin, one of his last potential locations to scout before heading home. He had figured this cabin or another one nearby would be a logical place for anyone in trouble to seek out. It was a fishing cabin owned by one of the families in Mustang Valley. There was a small lake nearby, fed by a stream.

At first glance there seemed to be no one present, but he’d stopped to check. Especially when he thought he had seen a moving light through a window.

Using his own bright light to look around, he noticed that one side of the cabin, maybe a quarter of the whole structure, looked nearly destroyed. Would anyone really have gone inside?

Maybe, if they were injured or desperate. He had to find out.

Slowly, carefully, still using his own light to be sure he saw anything, he approached.

First, though, he knocked on the front door before testing to see if it was unlocked. It was. He pushed it and called as he walked inside, “Hello, anyone here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” He heard the voice at the same time he saw a woman standing there, facing the door he had just entered, holding a pair of scissors threateningly. “But you can go now.”

He aimed the light toward her eyes, hoping to blind her enough to stop menacing him. And then he blinked at the same time she did—but for a different reason.

He recognized her.

At least he thought he did. She was Savannah Oliver—but if so, this Savannah didn’t look exactly like the woman he’d seen at the various parties and fund-raisers he’d been dragged to by his Colton siblings, silently kicking and screaming, though he’d gone along anyway because...well, they were his brothers and sisters.

And now he had a good idea who had disappeared from the back of the prison van: she stood before him, still aiming scissor blades toward him.

Her hair was a lot shorter than he’d seen it before. Even so, or maybe even because of it, she was one beautiful, sexy woman.

A woman he’d avoided feeling attracted to. After all, she was married—no, she had been married—to one of the biggest investment bankers in Arizona, Zane Oliver.

The husband she’d recently been accused of murdering.

“Hello, Savannah,” he said calmly. He wasn’t armed, had no weapon with him—and wouldn’t have used it on her even if he had.

For one thing, he had heard about her arrest, the charges against her, in the news. But he hadn’t believed them.

“Hello, Grayson,” she said without moving the scissors—except that her slender arm, in its long-sleeved beige shirt, was trembling a bit. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, although I can guess. You’re running away, right?”

She didn’t answer directly but said, “And I assume you’re doing your first responder thing out here after the quake. Well, if you’re looking for people to help, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s good, but—”

“But what? Should I make you stay here?” She waved the scissors toward him, but the expression on her face appeared more desperate than threatening.

Under other circumstances, he might have liked the idea of staying overnight in a deserted cabin with a woman as lovely as Savannah. But she was a fugitive, accused of murdering her ex-husband. And at the moment, another earthquake could hit at any time.

“No thanks,” he said.

“But—I don’t think I’d better let you leave. I mean, well—you own that first responder company, right?”

“First Hand First Responders,” he said. “That’s right.”

“So if I let you leave here—you’ll just go tell your cop friends or associates that you found me. Or—you’re not going to try to bring me with you now, are you?” She suddenly appeared panicked.

And why not? She didn’t know, no matter what he’d said, that he wasn’t carrying a gun or other weapon.

He glanced around what he could see of the cabin in the light he carried. It looked like—well, a regular fishing cabin, except for the area destroyed by the earthquake.

And Savannah? She wasn’t in any kind of jail garb, but everyday clothes of a light-colored shirt over darker slacks. Maybe he was wrong about her.

And maybe not.

“Look, Savannah,” he said. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then I can understand why you feel threatened by my being here.”

“I assume you heard the worst about me,” she said. “And—well, I didn’t kill my ex-husband.” Looking at him for a reaction, she raised her hand with the scissors even more. He just stayed calm, nodding his head. “I can’t let you arrest me.”

Grayson shook his head. “Let me tell you right now that I’m only the kind of first responder who tries to help people in trouble, both medically and otherwise. I don’t attempt to arrest anyone, or anything like that.”

“But you can get in touch with those who do,” she retorted.

“But I won’t,” he said. “Look, why don’t we sit down over there.” He gestured toward the kitchen table across the room where she had apparently been sitting and eating. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about you—and how much of it I believe. Which isn’t much.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. And even in the light he carried, he could see their lovely greenness glowing, even as her blond eyebrows narrowed in apparent disbelief.

Yeah, she was definitely good-looking—and he’d better be careful. He didn’t want to get too interested in her.

He might not intend to turn her in, but neither did he intend to try helping an accused murderer escape justice.

Did he?

“Really,” he said. But she still didn’t appear convinced. And why should she? “Hey, I see you have a bottle of water over there. I assume a place like this doesn’t have anything stronger, so is there any more?”

“Yes, in the refrigerator, though it’s not cold.” She still looked and sounded wary.

“That’s fine. I’ll go get a bottle for me, then sit down over there.” He gestured toward the table. “Then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” Her voice sounded hoarse and he wished he could say something more to reassure her.

But what?

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Only, I’m really not such a bad guy. Honest.”

“Honest?” she repeated. “Hah.” But when he looked at her, still standing not far from him, her posture seemed at least a little more relaxed. “Okay, let’s give this a try,” she said.

“Great. I’ll go get my water.” And Grayson headed to the refrigerator.

Oh, yes, he intended to talk with her. Maybe get her side of the story, since she had asserted her innocence.

And he didn’t think it was just their unusual circumstances at the moment that made him want to believe in her.