Head high, she marched into the small clearing and stopped short. They weren’t there. Since she’d been drawn back to the place her world had completely changed, she’d foolishly imagined it would bring them back, too. She snorted. Her father didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He forced the family to move their campsite regularly simply to keep anyone from snooping around.
She took a steadying breath. There was one place they always returned to, though. Maybe they’d left a clue at the storage bunker her father had built when they’d first come to Florida. You couldn’t dig too deeply out here before things got muddy, but John Henry had found a small depression in the earth, what appeared to be the remnants of a sinkhole, and had used it to conceal some of their supplies. Her family wasn’t what people called “preppers,” so they didn’t hoard piles of food and nonperishables. Instead, they were survivalists who knew how to live off the land.
As she headed toward the nearby bunker, the smell hit her first. She covered her nose and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. Once you’d smelled a dead animal, you never forgot the stench. Out here, decomposition didn’t take long.
She moved closer, scanning the area, realizing whatever it was, it must be a larger animal. Possibly a deer, maybe even a hog. She eased around a stand of trees and almost tripped over the body.
And it wasn’t an animal.
She breathed in through her mouth and forced herself to squat down and look closer. He’d obviously been a hunter, given the bright orange vest. She squeezed her eyes shut. Half his face was missing, as were huge chunks of his chest. He was clearly dead.
Her head snapped up as she felt a vibration in the ground followed by a low rumble. An icy chill slid down her back. She knew that sound. “Stay calm,” she muttered to herself as she slowly eased to a standing position.
Moving nothing but her eyes, she scanned the area and spotted the black bear heading in her direction. Male probably, based on its size. Normally, she’d make a racket to let the bear know she was here, but if he’d picked up the scent of the hunter, she didn’t want him seeing her as competition.
She couldn’t run, either. If you run, you’re prey, her father’s voice reminded her. She slowly backed up, one quiet step at a time, and eased behind a tree, out of the bear’s line of sight. She forced herself to take quiet breaths as she melted farther and farther into the trees. She didn’t take off running until she was confident the bear couldn’t hear—or smell—her anymore.
She burst into the clearing and skidded to a stop when she spotted two white pickups parked by the bunker. Crap!
She slipped behind a tree and tried to catch her breath while she studied the scene. Two men were transferring a stack of wooden crates from one pickup’s bed into her family’s bunker while two others watched. Next to them sat an open black satchel with what looked like stacks of money inside.
One of the men grabbed an automatic rifle and put it to his shoulder. She jerked back behind the tree and then ducked at the sound of gunfire. Bark flew just above her head. She peeked out again, and when a second man raised his rifle and took aim, she realized they were using the tree next to her as target practice. She had to get out of here. She must have made a noise, because the first man’s head snapped up like a deer scenting danger. Delilah froze as their eyes met and held.
Her brother Aaron had aged in the past eight years and now sported a full beard. But his eyes were still the same, not just the color but the harshness in them.
She started to call his name before it dawned on her that he didn’t recognize her. The last time he’d laid eyes on her, her hair reached her backside and she’d been wearing an ankle-length dress. Now, here, with short hair, wearing “worldly” clothes, a ball cap, and sunglasses, he’d have no reason to suspect it was her.
One of the other men turned slightly, and Delilah gasped at the sight of her father. John Henry had aged, too, but still held himself ramrod straight, no softening anywhere. She’d seen the third man at the café but didn’t recognize the fourth. While her mind scrambled for what to do, Aaron seemed to have no such trouble. He lifted the gun and continued firing, as did the other man. When her father sighted a weapon, Delilah scrambled backward and dove behind the nearest tree, then leaped behind another and another, desperate to stay out of their line of sight. She crouched low and tore off into the forest, zigzagging the way she’d been taught. Bark rained down and sand spit up as she ran, the sound of gunfire in her wake.
Chapter 2
If Aaron had been trying to kill her, she’d be dead, Delilah told herself as she ran, though that did little to calm her racing heart. Same went for her father. Both were excellent marksmen. When she finally made it back to her truck, winded and shaken, more of her childhood training kicked in. She grabbed a palm frond and used it to wipe out her tracks. As she backed toward her vehicle, she heard the buzz of an airplane.
She finished erasing her trail and then hopped into the truck and sat quietly, waiting for it to pass overhead. When she glanced up through the trees and saw the Fish & Wildlife logo, her heart pounded harder.
Once the sound of the plane receded, she put the truck in gear and drove around in circles to be sure she wasn’t followed back to the tiny 1970s vintage camper she’d picked up for almost nothing. She’d set it in a thick stand of trees ten miles from where she’d grown up so she wouldn’t run across any family members unless she meant to and had painted the outside dark green to camouflage it further. The whole thing was barely big enough to turn around in, but given the size of the camper their family had lived in, it was plenty big.
Right now, it was the only safe place she could think to go. Her hands shook as she cranked open all the windows to let out the old, musty smell common to anything in Florida that was closed up awhile. Afterward, she still felt like the walls were closing in, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She debated firing up the generator so she could run the small window air conditioner, but both made a racket, which could carry through the forest. Plus, the generator was almost out of fuel, and she didn’t want to have to carry more gas cans out here.
She poured a glass of water and shook her head at her racing, disjointed thoughts. She had to calm down, think logically. She looked around the interior, wondering what Josh would think when he saw it. Assuming, of course, she decided to invite him. She was inordinately proud of the way it had turned out. The brown paneling was now a crisp white, and the green-and-gold curtains had been replaced with pretty flowered sheets she’d tossed over the rods. Until Josh, she’d never considered inviting anyone to see where she lived—a lifetime’s training and all that—never mind a handsome man who made her palms sweat and her stomach do backflips.
What was wrong with her? She sank down on the sofa and dropped her head in her hands. She couldn’t use Josh to avoid what she’d seen. She should call him right now, report the man’s death. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the images.