Page 22 of Ranger Devotion

“I never sent you a text.”

“Is this some kind of joke? If so, I don’t find it funny.” Caleb whipped out his cell phone and tapped on the screen before turning it toward her. Her name appeared as the sender, and sure enough, there was a text message requesting that Caleb meet her and Tate in the stables so they could talk privately. He jerked it closer to her face. “See?”

“I didn’t send this.” Her voice came out hollow as her fingers darted to the back pocket of her jeans. Yep, her cell phone was still there. To send a fake message to Caleb, someone either hacked her phone or, more likely, spoofed her number. Someone who wanted Caleb away from his cabin. Away from the main lodge. But why?

So Tate would go looking for him? And where was the first place he’d look?

Caleb’s cabin.

Annie spun on her heel and grabbed her coat off the rack. She raced for the back exit. The cold slammed into her, but she didn’t slow. She started a UTV and tore down the path toward the cabins, her hands clamped on the steering wheel. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, coating everything in a strange fog.

Then she saw it.

Smoke. Black and billowing, rising above the trees. “No. No, no, no. God, no.” Her first instinct was to floor it the rest of the way, but she didn’t know what she’d be driving into. Instead, with one hand, she radioed Dwayne for help. Then she slowed long enough to pull her handgun from its holster. Holding it in her lap, she hit the gas again.

Please, God, please let Tate be okay.

ELEVEN

Most of Cabin 9 was engulfed in flames, the fire chewing through the small wooden structure. In another twenty minutes, there’d be nothing left. Heart in her throat, Annie slowed the UTV just before breaking through the tree line and searched the icy clearing for movement. A red-and-black Polaris, the one Tate had driven out to the cabin, sat under an old maple. Proof he’d come here.

But where was he? And where was the arsonist who’d set the fire?

Cold air gusted through the pines, and a scattering of raindrops hit her windshield. Annie ignored the crawl of gooseflesh under her sleeves and scoured the shadows between the trees. Nothing stirred. Still, it was dangerous to enter the clearing. She’d be exposed, and the perpetrator could be lying in wait. But the crack of a wooden plank giving way spurred her forward anyway. If Tate was inside the cabin, injured and unable to get out, she had very little time to rescue him.

She gunned the engine, crossed the clearing, and steered around the structure to the rear door, watching for Tate the whole way. Nothing. “Tate!” Her voice carried over the roar of the fire. “Tate!”

There was no answer. The rear of the cabin looked worse than the front. The fire had eaten through the kitchen and was licking a path along the back wall. Jamming the UTV into park, Annie leapt from the seat. The wind changed, blowing smoke and heat in her direction. She sputtered and coughed, but in the next moment, the air cleared. Eyes streaming, she unhooked the fire extinguisher from her vehicle and raced to the rear door. Someone had lodged a piece of wood under the handle.

Horror and a fresh dose of fear for Tate burst through her. Annie kicked the wood away, and with the sleeve of her jacket protecting her hand from the hot doorknob, pushed into the cabin. Heat and smoke rolled over her. The fire raged to her left. The flames were both hypnotic and terrifying.

Sweat poured down her back as she moved farther into the cabin. Sparks landed on her sleeve and died. She used the fire extinguisher to carve a path. “Tate!” She coughed as smoke filled her lungs.

“Annie!” His voice came from the hallway. “Get out of here!”

Relief swept through her, chased by fresh determination. “I’m not leaving without you. Where are you?”

“The bathroom. I’m trapped and you can’t save me. Get out of here!”

Annie rounded the corner into the hallway. Flames covered the door, blocking his path. She pointed her fire extinguisher and squeezed the handle. White powder smothered the flames, revealing the charred wood underneath. She could barely see through the haze. Her throat burned, but she choked out, “Stand back!”

Then, using the fire extinguisher as a battering ram, she slammed it against the bathroom door. The damaged wood splintered inward, dumping her onto the tiled floor.

Tate’s hand gripped her arm, hauling her to her feet. His face was inches from hers, streaked with soot and blood, his nose and mouth covered by a towel. Even with only half his face visible, his expression hovered somewhere between fury and awe. “Still a straight-A rebel.”

Annie puffed out a laugh. “You can thank me later.”

Tate released her arm, spinning toward the sink. He pressed a wet towel against her nose and mouth. The soaked cloth soothed her overheated skin and filtered the smoke.

Part of the ceiling buckled and fell. Sparks flew down the hallway toward them, and Annie yelped as Tate grabbed her hand, pulling her from the bathroom. The back door, the one she’d used to enter the cabin, was now blocked by flames. Together they ducked into the only space untouched by the fire—a bedroom. Bunk beds towered on either side as they raced across the room to the window. Tate fumbled with the latch before tossing up the sash. Then he pulled her forward. “You first.”

The floor under her feet shuddered as another part of the cabin collapsed. Annie lunged for the window, swinging her leg over the sill. Fresh air ruffled the strands of her hair and dried the sweat along her forehead. This part of the cabin was slightly elevated, and she’d need to go feet first to avoid injury. Balancing on the sill, she was maneuvering her other foot over the ledge when something whistled past her ear and tore into the wood next to her head. Splinters stung her cheek. A heartbeat later, the crack of the gunshot echoed.

Someone was shooting at her!

As if of one mind, Annie ducked just as Tate yanked her back inside. He covered her body with his own. Glass shattered as more bullets hit the window and thudded into the sheetrock on the opposite wall. Heat and smoke thickened around them. Fury rose in her. She wriggled out from underneath Tate and yanked her gun from its holster. “I’m getting sick of this guy trying to kill me.”

“To be fair, I think he’s trying to kill me.”