Page 3

TWO

Lord , Almighty...

The rest of Cullen’s prayer tapered off.

A baby.

Mechanically, he rocked the infant, seat and all, back and forth in his arms. He shot another look up toward the road, trying to process, ignoring the sputtering woman in front of him.

The fussing baby had instantly rocketed to the top of the priority list. Had Kit abducted the parent and child? He’d consider that if it wasn’t for the bloody handprint and bullet holes. The shots had originated from outside the vehicle.

Was she transporting them? Helping them flee? Or abducting them and the plan went wrong? The scenarios would have to wait.

Options , Cullen.

He wished he’d told his brother his intentions.

If Gideon knew the current situation, he would cuss up a storm about Cullen’s carelessness and roar in, skirting any police involvement with utter contempt for the raging volcano.

Gideon was listed in the dictionary under “fearless.” But he was prepping to teach a wilderness class in Olympia and he’d already let Cullen know he was a complete fool for staying in spite of the evac notices.

Fool or not, he wasn’t going to leave his six acres of property no matter what the scientists or newscasters or his brothers said until he was sure his handful of friends had gotten to safety.

He’d already moved his own horses to his parents’ farm and assisted with a neighbor’s sheep relocation.

His conscience kicked at him. Maybe there was more to his decision than stubborn allegiance to friends and property.

Leaving felt a lot like dying, and he’d already done that once.

Think , why don’t you?

Kit kept on with the questions, which he ignored as he tried to put a plan in place.

Head on a swivel , Cullen. No matter who’d been involved in abducting the baby or the baby’s parent, he’d see to it they wouldn’t get another chance at the kiddo.

Adrenaline buzzed his nerves. A flashbulb pop of memory sizzled before he could stop it.

“Gotta breach it!” he’d shouted. “They’re smothering in there.”

The abandoned truck, the women inside calling out feebly.

“Get back.” His partner at his side on the radio. “Wait.”

He’d barely heard her. He’d factored in the hinges and the precise point to hit the door, but not the crude, improvised explosive.

An explosion, the heat. Flying pieces of metal.

Officers down.

The baby grabbed at his chin, and the memory evaporated, leaving a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Kit was propped in the corner, tracking his every move, her expression still dazed.

Either she was an exceptional actress, or she really didn’t have a clue how the baby had come to roost in her rig.

Possibility three: She honestly couldn’t remember that she’d been involved in a crime.

Somebody should make a TV show about this.

He’d watch it, simply to see how they’d explain it all.

The baby was gearing up for a good holler.

No time to sort it all out. What’s it gonna be , Cullen?

If the three of them could reach his truck, they were likely still an hour from the nearest evacuated town along an unforgiving road.

As if to underscore the danger, the ground pulsed and rumbled.

Mount Ember was not joking around. The seismic monitoring of her swelling sides was the topic of every news station.

He’d listened to a reporter that morning zealously expounding on the possible dangers of pyroclastic flows, air currents filled with searing gas and pulverized rock that could travel at hundreds of miles per hour.

Most of it was white noise to him. The gist was that Ember was going to follow in the historic footsteps of her nearby cousin, Mount St. Helens, and blow her top.

A puff of air through the bullet holes swept another trickle of ash into the cab along with a spatter of rain.

He drew back farther into the sleeping area with the baby, shielding the infant.

If someone was desperate enough to shoot a truck driver on a red-zoned road, they’d likely be committed to sticking around.

To track the person who’d left the handprint?

Recover the baby? The parent? He texted his brother a quick message.

The little dots swirled and swirled with no result. The message would not send.

Another tremor shook the ground. Thunder from a burgeoning spring storm or Mount Ember getting ready for the main event?

It’d be pure folly, he decided, to lead Kit and the baby to his truck with the unsettled rubble all around them and the light failing.

But if they stayed put, who would reach them first?

National Park Service? Local cops? Or the shooter?

He could hike back up to his vehicle alone, go for help. Even solo, trekking over unstable ground in polluted air was going to be a problem. As big a problem as leaving the two behind in the truck? A concussed woman and a baby? That notion made his stomach churn.

With the weather worsening, he decided they had to shelter and pray that time was on their side, at least survive until dawn when they could try to hike for help.

He had his revolver in the truck. Not enough firepower if Big Guns came calling but better than nothing.

The baby would be warm and breathing relatively clean air at least.

Kit was now shuffling around the cramped sleeping area, staring at the baby as if she were a rattlesnake. He unbuckled and extracted the screaming infant from her carrier, turned down the pink comforter on the compact bed, and laid her on the mattress.

“Hey there, Tater Tot. You came through that crash like a champ, didn’t you?” He brushed his palm over her fuzzy scalp, along her spindly arms and legs, detecting no signs that she’d been injured.

He thanked the good Lord above for car seats and sturdy straps. Car seats, he knew for a fact, were built solid as space shuttles these days. Another lash of pain stung his heart.

The baby looked to be less than a year old, maybe nine months and change, as he considered his partner’s child when she’d been a similar size. He recalled the “Honorary Uncle” shirt he’d worn proudly when he’d arrived to watch Baby Mia.

The stowaway baby hoisted her legs, pulled one sock off, and managed to grab her tiny toes. He almost laughed at the oddness of it, this itty-bitty human, perfect and whole in the aftermath of a horrible wreck.

Kit’s mouth had actually fallen open as she stared at the infant, her pert lips a circle of disbelief. “This is ... impossible.”

He let her eyes catch up with her mouth before he spoke. “Her seat was strapped onto your chair back here. Do you remember doing that?” He watched her expression, body language, for any tell that she was lying. He didn’t think she was. Then again, maybe she’d honestly forgotten her crime.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

When she swayed, he guided her to sit on the mattress next to the baby. He was confused. She was confused. The only one at all satisfied was the baby now sucking on her impossibly small toes.

“Could be that was her mother’s handprint on the door,” he suggested. “I’m guessing a woman, by the size of it.”

“But ... why would a mother leave her child in my truck?”

He decided to rock the boat. “Maybe you kidnapped the mom and baby, put them in your rig to get them out of the county. Someone was trying to rescue her and shot up the rig. Mom escaped and went for help.”

She would have slid off the bed if he hadn’t grabbed her forearm.

“What? That’s completely asinine.” She stopped, looking from him to the baby, arms folded around her middle as if her stomach ached. “I didn’t kidnap any baby. I’ve never seen it before.”

“That you can recall anyway, and it’s a she. I’ve named her Tater Tot until I hear different. We’ll get her to the cops quick as we can.”

Fire sparked her ink-dark eyes. It suited her better than the dazed look.

“And why should I believe a word you say? Maybe you shot at my rig, tried to kill me and the mother and take the baby.”

He laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you when I climbed in and you were still half conscious, wouldn’t I? Maybe cut your throat? Strangled you?”

She blanched but didn’t flinch. Knock it off , Cullen.

She’s a civilian , remember? A moment later it flashed on him that he was too.

“My truck’s a half mile uphill from here.

In the morning, if no help arrives, we can try to reach it, but for now, when the dirt settles, I’m gonna climb out and see if I can get a signal.

I’ll try to keep a line of sight to your rig in case the shooter returns. ”

Her brows crimped. “Are you some sort of cop?”

The burn of it ... after almost a year. “No,” he said finally. Best he could do.

The baby flung the other sock off. He gathered it up and slipped both back on, then stroked her head to check if she was still warm enough.

“Hey, Tater Tot. Keep your socks on, huh? It’s cold in here.

” And only getting colder. Ticktock. “I’m going to look for your phone, Kit.

Could be yours works better than mine. Can you babysit? ”

Kit gasped. “Are you serious? I don’t even own a houseplant.”

“Don’t let her roll off the bed. You can do that.” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Does your rig have a GPS built in?”

“Yes. It can be tracked from my office in case there’s trouble.”

Trouble. Right. “Any employees? Would they be checking on you?”

She sighed. “I only have one. Normally, Cliff would keep tabs on me, but this was supposed to be my last run before evacuation. He cleared out yesterday.”

Of course he did. Cullen grabbed a flashlight from a clip attached to the back of the passenger seat and beamed it around the darkened interior. The light caught some scattered pencils, a hair scrunchie, paperwork. He scanned. “Manifest says you were hauling office supplies.”