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CHAPTER ONE
Women’s shoes. Probably a size six.
Jax Marcum wiped the sweat from his face with his black cotton t-shirt and slipped into the trailside brush, allowing the shadows of dusk and the lush green forest ahead of him to swallow his movements. The transition into combat mode, as natural as breathing, ushered in a sense of comfort and control he hadn’t felt since arriving in Lavender Creek, Ohio.
How long would he have to stay here?
The thought brought on a wave of guilt. He should be willing to do anything for the man who raised him. Even if that meant returning to Lavender Creek for a few weeks.
He glanced behind him at the gurgling stream and strained his eyes, searching from the base to the top edge of the steep, rocky cliff wall beyond the gentle, clear-as-crystal water.
No snipers.
Taking a bullet for his uncle would have been easier.
Weaving through the mix of maple trees and tangled, early-June honeysuckle blossoms, the dirt trail at his back, Jax caught sight of a woman. Bent over, she struggled with her bulky burden, desperation in her lurching tugs. She popped up every few minutes to wipe sweat from her forehead and whip her head around.
Watching for potential witnesses?
Or an accomplice?
If not for the limp body she lugged, the petite, black-haired woman would come across as harmless. He’d be shocked if she weighed much more than a hundred pounds. The silkyblack braid hanging over her tan shoulder suggested youth and innocence. The rich, sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle permeating the air filled his nostrils, lending another layer of candy-coated wholesomeness to her, apart from the fact that she was hiding a dead body.
But the ones who gave the impression of being harmless were often the deadliest.
The hard lesson he and his friend learned in the Middle East years ago kicked at him. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t let down your guard. Above all, don’t underestimate a person’s ability to commit the unthinkable. That same lesson had cost his combat buddy his leg.
The sight of the neon pink shoes scraping across the trail a couple hundred feet ahead of him into the brush and trees beyond, toes pointed upward, had taken Jax by surprise. A jarring end to his daily jog along the vast network of Moraine Reserve trails bordering his uncle’s property. Had she heard him stumble to a stop, battling to overcome the momentum gained after miles of running?
No more mistakes.
A glance at his watch confirmed his coordinates.
Jax crept as far as she had into the cool shade of the trees, then closed some of the distance between them while she adjusted the dark ball cap slung low over her face.
No gun visible.
No knife.
His body hummed with harnessed energy, ready for confrontation, like it had a thousand times before.
He cast another brief look over his shoulder to ensure he wouldn’t be ambushed from behind. The trees ate away at his view of the cliff and the stream with each step. Ahead lay a flat stretch of woods for five hundred feet, followed by rocky ledges on the left of various heights running parallel to thetrail now off in the distance to his right. Time to strike before the rocks presented a new challenge. His muscles tightened in anticipation. Three…two…
A form crashed over a pile of rotting tree trunks to his left. Jax tensed, then swallowed a groan. His uncle’s Rottweiler, Rock, galloped past him. The element of surprise lost, Jax surged forward in an attempt to reach the woman before the dog got near the danger zone.
Too late.
The woman snatched a heavy branch off the ground and shifted sideways in the dog’s direction.
“Step back,” Jax commanded in a clipped tone.
“Don’t come any closer!” she hollered, positioning herself between him and the woman’s body.
When she didn’t move to strike the dog who’d come to a stop no more than five feet from her, he returned his focus to the victim lying on the ground.
A groan pierced the air. The woman on the forest floor shifted, struggling to roll to her side.
She was alive.
