Reaching For Normal Read online

  Myla focused on her breathing and searched the area. No crazy lady, just trees and bushes and rocks and snow. Probably not far from where she’d fallen, although she couldn’t see the bluff through the trees. Was she still in the valley?

  Didn’t matter yet. She had to get free first.

  Resting against the tree, she closed her eyes to try to pull in the panic. She needed a Sawyer plan because there was no way Myla knew anything about this kind of situation.

  Sawyer was a SEAL. He knew everything there was to know about survival in the wilderness. It had only been a few days but she’d learned a lot.

  It would have to be enough.

  First lesson would be to emulate that stoic personality. Clumsy Girl Does Calm.

  Hah.

  Think. Assess. Plan.

  Her legs were free but at the best of times, her leg was a liability.

  It’s just a leg, Myla. A part of you. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.

  Sawyer’s words helped calm her. Focus on what she could do, not the problems. At least her leg didn’t appear any worse than normal after her fall down the bluff.

  Her shoulders were in agony with the way they’d been yanked behind her and around the tree.

  The tree couldn’t be all that large but her hands didn’t quite reach each other behind her. There was a stretch of rope between them.

  Could she use that?

  The rope was taut so if she had a knife slipped up her sleeve, she could cut it. Sadly, no knife, hidden or otherwise.

  The tree seemed rough. Maybe she could saw the rope against it.

  It was too tight to do much but maybe she could stand up. Trees were thickest at the bottom. If she stood, she’d have more movement.

  Myla brought her legs in close, leaned back hard against the tree, and pushed. Her butt lifted off the ground and she shoved up as far as she could.

  The sound of her jacket ripping sounded like an alarm and Myla froze.

  She couldn’t hear anything above her racing heart and she couldn’t see anything move, so she tried it again and again. Each time, her jacket ripped a little more and she got a little higher.

  Cold air seeped in through the tear in the jacket but cold was the least of her current worries.

  When she finally gained her feet, she wanted to cheer. Her knee was wobbly but functional.

  Kind of like Myla herself.

  Clamping her lips together to hold in the hysterical giggle, she took a calming breath then pulled the rope tightly against the tree and rubbed.

  Not as effective as her imaginary knife but at least she was doing something. Not wallowing in the things she couldn’t do. Not useless.

  While her hands worked, Myla forced her brain to do the same.

  Crazy lady hadn’t killed her. Why? She’d shot at her but hadn’t killed her when she’d had the chance.

  This must be the same person who’d vandalized Freddy.

  And killed the wolf?

  No, Sawyer and his friends had caught that man in the bush.

  None of this made sense to her spinning head.

  Her Craziness would be back soon and Myla wanted to be long gone when that happened.

  Long gone where? Getting more lost wouldn’t be good.

  Sawyer would know where to go.

  Or Gunner and Loco. They could find trails without any signs.

  Myla shook her head at herself. Her Craziness would have made a trail coming in. And she couldn’t have come far dragging or carrying Myla. Unless she had help.

  It took only seconds to spot the trail. The area around Myla was flattened but there was a clear trail off to her left. All she had to do was follow it back to the bluff.

  Then figure out how to climb the bluff.

  One step at a time.

  Myla’s wrists were burning from the pressure of rubbing against the tree. Her shoulders were screaming in pain.

  Exhausted, she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the tree to give her arms a break.

  “Finally awake, are you?”

  Myla yelped at the voice coming from behind her.

  “Industrious little bitch, aren’t you?”

  Something hit Myla’s left knee. Hard. She slumped back to the ground, losing all of the progress she’d made and scraping her wrists more.

  Crazy lady walked around the tree to study Myla calmly while bouncing the rifle’s muzzle up and down on her open palm.

  “Bloody little thief.”

  What?

  “Don’t try those innocent eyes on me. It might work on him but I’m no hormone-driven male.”

  The woman surveyed her like a butcher eyeing up a carcass.

  She had to be connected to the guy in jail. No way there were two separate nutcases running around the small town of Bloo Moose.

  “I thought he was better than this. Smarter.” Crazy eyes leaned in and down so they were on eye level. “How’d you do it?”

  Baffled, Myla shook her head slightly, not wanting to aggravate her but without a single clue as to what to say. “Do what?”

  Those eyes hardened. “You know exactly what I mean. You stole my job. My career. My limelight. Him. You stole every last thing from me and you’re going to pay.”

  The business-end of the rifle poked Myla’s right leg. “Maybe I’ll start with a little shot here. Balance you out a little.”

  The woman’s laugh was the scariest thing Myla had ever heard.

  Grinning, Her Craziness stood up. “I’d have gotten him back, you know. I was biding my time, watching, waiting. He was almost ready. I’d set up the wolf for him. He was going to find it and need someone to write the story about the mysterious wolf killer. He was going to need me. Me! Then you showed up with your damsel-in-distress routine. You’re pathetic you know, trading on your weakness to snag a man. Weak and pathetic.”

  Shame, guilt, and fury warred with Myla. She never used her weakness like that. Not on purpose. But had her weaknesses called to Sawyer’s strengths? Had she unconsciously played on that?

  No. She wasn’t letting this woman manipulate her.

  She had to tuck away her emotions. Play the pretend game she knew so well. Pretend to be calm. Get free. Find Sawyer. Keep him safe from this one.

  “I’m not weak.”

  More laughter. Myla didn’t have a clue if that was good or bad news but it gave her a few precious seconds to keep sawing on the rope.

  “You’re as weak as a newborn with that leg of yours. You’ve got all the men swooping in trying to prove how manly they are.”

  Her eyes turned back to Myla and she stilled her hands. “I’ll have to remember that for my next approach. With you out of the way, it’ll be open for me to swoop in. This story is going to make my career. I’m going to take back the life you tried to steal. It’s mine.”

  There didn’t seem any way to answer that, so Myla stayed quiet and tried to come up with a plan.

  Her Craziness started to pace, bouncing the rifle off her palm again. “It’s brilliant.” She pinned Myla with a glare. “Is there even anything wrong with your leg? Is it all an act?”

  Myla didn’t answer and the woman turned away. If she would keep walking, Myla could keep working on the rope. She wasn’t sure it was making much difference but focusing on it helped keep the panic at bay.

  Clumsy Girl Dies From Self-Inflicted Blood Loss.

  Her knee ached where the gun had landed, so Myla kept flexing that as well. If she had the chance to run, she didn’t want her knee to fail her.

  “He should have helped me out the first time. None of this would have been necessary. It’s all his fault. I only needed a few snippets, a couple of secrets. But, no. He couldn’t even give me that. What did he give you? What did you get?”

  The rifle appeared under Myla’s chin, tilting her head back into the tree. Myla froze completely. She couldn’t swallow or breathe or blink.

  “Did you send any articles in, yet?”

  The rifle jabbed harder
making her gasp for air as she swallowed the bile.

  “Who are you working for? What are they paying you? What did he tell you?”

  Even if she could have answered, Myla wouldn’t have known what to say. This woman would never believe the truth.

  Her Craziness was a reporter. The one who had tried to use Sawyer.

  No wonder Sawyer had been so pissed when he’d found out she was a writer. He must have assumed she was betraying him when he found out she’d kept her job a secret.

  But she was nothing like this woman.

  The pressure let up and Myla gulped in air.

  The woman reared back and started kicking Myla’s leg, throwing questions at her too quickly for her to respond even if she’d wanted to.

  For a moment, everything stilled. Complete silence. A rescue?

  Myla opened her eyes to find demented ones staring back at her. “Answer me!” The shriek echoed through the forest and bounced around in her head.

  When she didn’t answer, the woman swung the rifle at her head.

  Myla tried to twist away and while the ropes gave a little, it wasn’t enough. The blow rang off her head and everything went black. Again.

  SAWYER didn’t know whether to cheer or curse when he found the ridiculous green car parked in the lot near the trailhead.

  Myla had been gone for hours. No guarantee she’d been here the whole time but if she had, she’d been out far longer than she should have been.

  Lost. Hurt. Proving to herself that she was tough enough.

  She was tougher than anyone he knew.

  Sawyer pulled out his phone and called her again. He left another message. “Myla. Call me. now.” He hesitated then added. “Please. Just call me Myla.”

  Her trail wasn’t covered up yet, although it was threatening snow. If she’d stayed on the trail, she’d be easy to find.

  No return call.

  His worry had amped up and nerves were skittering along his skin. He needed to move.

  Knowing he might end up looking like a fool in the long run, Sawyer called Quinn.

  “Found her car. And her trail.” Sawyer explained where he was.

  “She’s been gone for hours, Sawyer. You have a sled with you?”

  No. He hadn’t wanted to waste time going home for one.

  “I’ll hook up and meet you out there.”

  “I’m heading out now.”

  They hung up without another word. Sawyer strapped on his snowshoes and grabbed his backpack. And his guns.

  Hoping his senses weren’t screwing with him, Sawyer jogged into the woods, keeping eyes and ears wide open.

  Myla took several side jaunts into the woods. Probably taking pictures but she always stayed within sight of the trail and returned to it.

  She wasn’t taking chances and that was a good sign.

  About twenty minutes later, he broke into the clearing above the valley where they’d stopped before.

  Myla’s tracks indicated she’d stopped as soon as she’d entered the clearing, probably transfixed all over again at the view.

  Her tracks led closer to the ridge and his heart rate jacked up. Then he spotted her backpack leaning against a rock. Open. Cell phone on top of her snacks and emergency supplies inside.

  Panic wanted to take over but Sawyer forced it back. There was a flattened area beside the pack and he wondered if she’d taken a rest.

  Rocks and low bushes made the area near the top of the ridge difficult to read but it looked like backward-facing tracks. Right up to the edge.

  Had she walked backward and fallen?

  Sawyer leaned over the ridge but couldn’t spot any flashes of her red jacket. The terrain made it impossible to know if she’d fallen or not.

  Swallowing hard, Sawyer turned his attention back to the clearing. He should have called Gage.

  Another set of tracks crossed the clearing and Sawyer moved to check them without disturbing them. His hopes that Myla had walked out in a new direction shattered. These tracks weren’t Myla’s.

  Someone heavier.

  Someone who scared her into backing up?

  These tracks could have been made any time since the last snowfall but his gut screamed they were connected to Myla.

  Why hadn’t he called Gage before he was out of cell service? He’d be able to tell everything from height and weight to what the snowshoer had eaten for breakfast.

  Sawyer’s best guess was this person was in between his and Myla’s size. Small man? Tall woman?

  The tracks turned from the clearing and headed along the ridge. Sawyer jogged along, hoping this person had found a way down and was helping Myla.

  Except the way his luck had gone lately, he wouldn’t bet this person was helping at all.

  Before he’d gone a dozen yards, the tracks angled toward the ridge and down.

  Snow swirled into his eyes as he started down the ridge. Of course. Nothing could be easy.

  By the time he’d reached the bottom of the valley, snow was falling in earnest and he didn’t have any bars on his phone.

  Hopefully, Quinn followed before the snow obscured things.

  The tracks veered back toward where he guessed Myla had fallen. His momentary surge of elation disappeared when the tracks became one.

  Even without Gage, he could tell the person was dragging Myla. Which meant she was seriously hurt or unconscious.

  And the person wasn’t heading back to civilization. There weren’t any cabins out here.

  Sawyer pulled out his gun and widened his senses. No smoke or sounds of human activity.

  But they couldn’t be far and he had a path.

  At least there wasn’t blood at the fall site or along the path. That had to be good news.

  The trees thickened instantly and Sawyer used them as a shield even as he hurried.

  In only a few moments, a female shriek filled the air. Angry. Out of control.

  Not Myla.

  But familiar.

  Sawyer slowed but kept moving.

  A flash of red. Myla’s jacket.

  A few more steps and he spotted her. His knees weakened. Myla was slumped against a tree, arms tied behind her back, head down. She appeared to be unconscious.

  He wouldn’t think anything worse.

  Between them, a woman waved around a rifle as she paced. While her back was to him, he edged closer, keeping an eye on that rifle and unlocking the safety on his gun.

  The woman was muttering but Sawyer couldn’t catch the words. When she whirled to pace back in his direction, Sawyer nearly lost it.

  Jen.

  Holy hell. Jen.

  Sawyer froze and Jen lifted her eyes to his. He was close enough to see that she sizzled with hatred mixed in with madness.

  He’d seen a lot over the years but never eyes filled with such venom.

  Soldier’s eyes tended to be flat. Empty. Void of emotions.

  In contrast, Jen’s embodied fury. All aimed at him. Better than at Myla.

  When her eyebrows lifted, recognition slammed through Sawyer again. He’d seen that same look recently. In Dave’s jail cell. He’d bet everything that man was her brother.

  This whole bucket of crazy was because he’d refused to share military secrets with her. Refused to give her ammunition to create a glorified and scandalous story.

  Fury of his own simmered but instead of burning like a supernova, it cooled him off. Slowed his blood and widened his senses.

  “It’s all your fault you righteous bastard. You could have prevented it. All you had to do was tell me what I wanted.”

  Jen stomped toward him, rifle aimed at his chest. He kept his gun down at his side, out of her sightline.

  “Put down the gun, Jen. Let’s talk this out.”

  He knew her temper would get the best of her and hoped like hell she couldn’t aim when she was pissed.

  “Talk? Now you want to talk? You’re a total bastard, you know that? And her.” Jen whirled to point at Myla then back to him. “That b
itch stole it all and you were stupid enough to let her.”

  A demented grin split her face. “She’s a reporter too. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? She’s stealing all your damn secrets and you don’t even know it.”

  As she spoke, Jen backed up and turned the rifle toward Myla.

  Every time she looked away, Sawyer inched forward, keeping his gun out of sight.

  Jen kept ranting, kept waving the rifle at Myla, who didn’t move at all.

  Sawyer shoved down the fear. He couldn’t afford to give in to it.

  As Jen continued to scream, any lingering doubts Sawyer had about Myla swirled away. These two women couldn’t be more different.

  He’d been a fool not to see that right from the beginning.

  Now he needed to control Jen and tell Myla all the things he needed to say.

  With a shriek, Jen backed up further and pointed the unwavering rifle directly at Myla’s chest.

  Gone was the flailing and raving. In its place was cold calculation. Much more dangerous.

  A creepy-as-hell smile appeared. “I want the story, Sawyer. Now. I’m getting my career back. You owe me. If you want her to live, start talking.”

  Sawyer waved his empty hand at her and leaned back. He didn’t want her to feel crowded or threatened. “Easy, Jen. I’ll talk. What do you want to know?”

  Her laugh held no mirth. “Now you’ll talk. Bastard. I should shoot her leg just for that.”

  “Do that and you’ll get nothing. I’ll tell you everything.” Except the truth.

  He needed time to give him an opening.

  “Talk. Tell me what happened in Afghanistan. What was so awful that it broke the big, bad SEAL?”

  No way was he telling her any of that but he needed a believable lie, preferably one with a hint for Myla or Quinn. If his buddy had tracked them. And if Myla was conscious.

  She still hadn’t moved.

  Faking it. She was faking.

  Fury and fear tightened his chest and he used it to fuel his story. “Fine. You want to know the horrors, I’ll tell you.”

  He swallowed deep, hoping it looked like he was preparing to divulge secrets when he was actually stalling.

  “It’s hell over there, Jen. Absolute hell. Heat. Bugs. Hatred.” She wouldn’t believe anything else. She wouldn’t understand the Afghani people were stoic, hard-working, full of joy. Despite the harsh conditions under which many of them lived, the people enjoyed life and were full of hope for a future free of violence.