Read the book: «No One To Trust»

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

and don’t depend on your own understanding.

Remember the Lord in all you do,

and He will give you success.

—Proverbs 3:5–6

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Jon Wilson hoped to see her again today—the runner who’d caught his eye on the beach almost a week ago. The woman he’d been looking for every day ever since. But by the time he and his dog, Ralph, made it to that section of beach, it was late in the afternoon and the fog was rolling in. Not likely she’d be out for a run now. Why hadn’t he stopped painting a couple of hours ago?

Ready to turn back, Jon wanted to kick himself for not getting her name when he’d had the chance. Instead, he’d tried to appear like the “responsible pet owner” by scolding Ralph for chasing after her. Even though she’d seemed to enjoy the silly dog romping alongside her. And Ralph, fully enamored with the pretty blonde with the sunny smile and swinging ponytail, had acted as if he were her new best friend. Too bad Jon hadn’t taken Ralph’s “hint” and befriended her himself. Now it was probably too late. At least for today. Jon glanced down at his ensemble and chuckled. Perhaps it was for the best. In his hurry to get down here, he still had on his old paint-smeared flannel shirt over a faded T-shirt and raggedy cargo pants, also paint-smeared. Even his shaggy hair was overdue for a haircut. Not exactly dressed to impress.

As he called Ralph to go home, a siren sounded. The loud shrill blast was cut short, as if in warning, but it seemed to originate in the small parking area where the beach road ended at the foot of the dunes. The same place he’d suspected the runner might’ve parked her car when she’d come to run the other day. And the same reason he’d been walking down this far once or twice a day. Hoping to “casually” meet her again. With Ralph’s help, of course.

Curious as to what was up, Jon was just considering investigating when Ralph decided to take action. Giving out a sharp bark, he took off, racing toward the dunes that bordered the road. Jon thought about calling him back but, well aware of how his mother’s stubborn terrier took orders, he knew it was pointless. Besides, it might be important to know what was going on. His parents, who visited their beach cabin fairly regularly, had mentioned various rumors of criminal activity in these parts. Both retired attorneys, they had their different theories about what was actually going on. His dad seemed to think it was nothing, but his mom was suspiciously wary. Maybe Jon would discover a new piece of the puzzle for them. Besides, he needed to get Ralph.

* * *

Leah Hampton felt her stomach knot as she watched the uniformed officer from her rearview mirror. His plump face appeared flushed and slightly irritated in the late-afternoon sun. Glancing around the deserted dune area, as if worried someone else was around, he adjusted his dark glasses and sauntered up to her old Subaru. She’d noticed the unmarked car several miles back but hadn’t been concerned. She hadn’t been speeding on this isolated stretch of beach road—her car’s worn shocks couldn’t take it.

A wave of fresh anxiety swept over Leah as she reached for her wallet, ready to fish out her driver’s license and insurance card. She hoped her car’s registration hadn’t expired or that a taillight hadn’t burnt out. Those infractions could result in fines—expenses she couldn’t afford right now. She remembered the last time she’d been pulled over several years ago and how she’d talked her way out of a ticket. But she’d been dressed to the nines that night. Not so today.

Getting out of her car, she adjusted her running tank and smoothed her running shorts, forcing an optimistic smile. “Hello,” she said in a friendly tone. “I was just heading out for a beach run. Is something wrong, Officer?”

“Is that your car?”

“Yep.” She nodded at her old beater. “And I know I wasn’t speeding.”

“No....” He slowly glanced over his shoulder again. What was he looking for? “You weren’t speeding.”

“So what’s up?” She looked around, too. “Is there some kind of danger out here? I mean I do get a little concerned about jogging alone this time of day, especially down here, where there’s no phone connectivity. But I love this part of the beach, and I’m training for the Portland marathon and it’s hard to get my running time in.” She smiled again, deciding to try the sympathy card as she rambled on. “You see, I work part time at The Willows and—”

“You’ll need to come with me,” he said abruptly.

“Come with you?” She stared into the lenses of his dark sunglasses, trying to see the eyes behind them, but only the double image of her own puzzled face reflected back at her. “Why?”

“Because I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“But I haven’t done anything—I haven’t broken any laws.”

“Turn around.”

“But you haven’t even checked my ID. You don’t know who I am.” She held up her wallet, but before she could remove her driver’s license, he smacked her hand, sending the wallet spilling to the ground.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” he growled, “not where you’re going.”

A silent alarm went off inside her. Something was seriously wrong here. This cop—if he was really a cop—was dangerous.

“I, uh, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” she said in a shaky voice, slowly stepping away from him, hoping to jump into her car and attempt a getaway or at least lean into her horn to get attention from a passerby. Not that there were any. Instead she bumped into the car door, slamming it shut with a loud bang.

In the same instant, he lunged toward her, grabbing her bare upper arm in a viselike grip. “I suggest you come quietly, blondie.”

“But I haven’t done anything to—”

“Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He was so close she could feel his hot breath in her face. His pudgy lips curled slightly, sending a wave of nausea through her.

“You’ve got the wrong—”

“Okay!” He flipped her around to face her car with one arm twisted painfully behind her back. “You wanna do this the hard way. Fine by me.” He chuckled in a creepy way. “Just you wait and see, blondie.” He pinned her tightly against her car. As he fumbled with his handcuffs, short puffs of hot breath went down the back of her neck.

Her mind racing, Leah knew she was in trouble. Serious trouble. This guy was obviously not a cop. Or if he was a cop, he was a crooked one!

“Let me go!” she screamed at him, hoping to get the attention of a passerby. Although her hope of there being another human in the vicinity was fast fading. “You don’t even know who I am. And I tell you, I’m innocent!” He continued to ignore her and, roughly pressing the side of her face into the gritty roof of her car, he attempted to latch a cuff around her flailing wrist.

“Shut up and stop squirming!” he growled into her ear, unable to get control of her writhing hands.

“I didn’t do anything!” she screamed. “You’ve got the wrong person—just let me explain! I’m innocent! You’ve made a mis—”

Her words were cut off by a barking dog. She tried to turn to see, but the cop, still wrestling with the handcuffs, kept her pinned so tightly that she felt her ribs were about to crack. The cop cursed at the dog, telling him to “beat it or else!” but the dog kept on barking—almost as if it knew she was in trouble, and was trying to help.

* * *

Jon knew something was amiss as soon as he came over the ridge of the dunes. The way the unmarked car had boxed in the old Subaru, the way the uniformed cop had the girl pinned too roughly against her car. The creep factor was high. But when Jon glimpsed the woman’s profile, his hackles went up. It was the girl from the other day. Only now her expression was seriously frightened and she was yelling out that she was innocent. “You’re arresting me without just cause,” she shouted. “You’re not a real cop.”

“What’s going on here?” Jon called out over Ralph’s noisy barking.

The cop turned to Jon with a surprised expression.

“Can I be of help?” Jon continued ambling down the dune, trying to act natural.

“Yeah! Get that stupid mutt outta here!” the cop yelled. “Now!”

Jon called to Ralph as he slowly moved closer to the unsettling scene. Naturally the dog did not respond. Jon hadn’t expected him to.

“Call off your dog—right now!” the cop yelled angrily. “Or else!”

“Back off, Ralph!” Jon commanded and, to his amazement, the little terrier quieted some.

“And you stay right there!” the cop told Jon. “I mean it!”

“Fine.” Jon stopped in his tracks, reminding himself to go easy. Was this guy an imposter like the woman suggested? As he tried to gauge the situation, he wished he hadn’t left his cell phone behind. Even without connectivity, he could be gathering valuable video.

“What’s the problem, Officer?” Jon kept his voice calm and respectful.

“Police business. Now get your mutt and yourself outta here!” he yelled.

Of course, his loud voice set Ralph to barking all over again. Appreciating this distraction, Jon moved closer to the scene. “Don’t worry.” He tried to sound casual. “His bark is worse than his bite. Well, actually he’s never bitten anyone.”

“Stay right where you are!” The cop stepped away from the girl, still holding tightly to her arm, but now she was able to stand up straight. She looked at Jon with desperate brown eyes but didn’t say a word.

“Just trying to get my dog.” Jon held up his hands, forcing an uneasy smile. “Like you said to.”

“Freeze, right there!” the cop shouted, setting Ralph to barking louder. “And control your dog or I will.”

Jon wanted to question how he was supposed to control Ralph if the cop wouldn’t let him move. Instead, he took a different approach. “So what’s going on here?” he asked in a friendly tone, keeping his eyes on the helpless girl who didn’t look as if she could hurt a fly.

“None of your—”

“He says there’s a warrant on me,” the girl shouted, “but I’ve never done anything illegal—ever! And he won’t even check my ID—and he hasn’t read my Miranda rights—he’s a fake and—”

“Shut up!” The cop glanced over his shoulder at her, then back at Jon. He seemed to be rattled as he turned to fully face Jon. “I told you to get that stupid mutt outta here!”

“I would have to move to get the dog,” Jon explained. “You told me to freeze.”

Suddenly the cop released his hold on the girl and reached for his holster, removing his revolver. “Now! I mean it—or else!”

“Come here, Ralph,” Jon said with authority. His tail between his legs, Ralph slowly approached, and Jon scooped him up. The little dog’s body was tense, as if on high alert, as if something were still very wrong.

“Now get outta here!” The cop brandished his weapon.

“Unarmed here,” Jon held up one hand, holding Ralph with the other.

The cop cursed, and pointed the weapon at him.

Before he could stop him, Ralph sprang from Jon’s arms and returned to barking. The frightened woman, free from the cop’s grasp now, watched Jon with a tear-streaked face. He knew he needed to do something—but what? His training and experience as an attorney suggested he should attempt to talk him down.

“I can see something is wrong,” Jon suggested in a calm but firm tone, “but maybe we can discuss this in a civilized manner.” He considered informing the cop that he was an attorney. He could express interest in this woman’s rights, offer to be her legal representation. “I’d like to suggest—”

“I already told you what to do—get your stupid mutt and get outta here!” Despite his angry tone, the cop looked uncertain. He was clearly caught off guard by this uncomfortable triangle—a woman behind him, Jon about thirty feet in the opposite direction and a little dog barking several feet away.

“I warned you!” The cop aimed his gun at Ralph.

“Stop!” Jon lunged for the dog as a loud bang sliced the air. Ralph let out a yelp, collapsing to the ground. The woman screamed, and Jon, frozen in place, felt his adrenaline boiling. His eyes fixed on the cop, he weighed the situation. This cop, if he was one, was definitely crooked. But he was also armed. And dangerous.

The cop looked flustered and agitated—as if trying to make up his mind. Probably deciding which one of them to shoot next. In that same split second, Jon knew without a doubt that this cop was either an imposter or dirty. He looked at the woman and made his decision. “Run!” he yelled at her.

As the cop turned to the girl, Jon sprang at him. Making a huge leap, he blindsided the distracted man. Although the cop was much stouter, Jon’s momentum knocked him flat onto the graveled road, making the revolver fly from his hand.

But the woman was still standing there!

“Run for your life!” Jon yelled at her. He could tell he’d knocked the wind out of the startled cop, but every second was precious. “Run!” he shouted. But instead of fleeing, she sprinted straight toward them and snatched up Ralph. Then she turned and, like a shot, she flew up the side of the dune.

TWO

The red-faced cop cursed angrily when he regained his breath. “You’re a dead man!” he growled as he swung a fist at Jon. As Jon dodged the blow, he noticed the service revolver just a few feet away and reached for it. At the same moment, the cop went for it, too, and both men scrambled in the sand and gravel, fighting for the weapon. The cop swung another massive fist, and as Jon dodged he was able to solidly kick the revolver, sending it spinning into the nearby brush. As the cop leaped for his gun, Jon sprinted up the side of the tall dune.

Just seconds from the beach grass on top, Jon heard the first shot. Kicking it into high gear, he raced for the top just as several shots cracked in quick succession. As he dove for the cover of the grass, he felt a searing jolt on the outer side of his right thigh. He’d been hit. Ducking down, he crawled on all fours, using the tall grass to conceal himself as a couple more shots flew past. He knew that, despite the pain in his thigh, he had to keep moving. Fast!

Crouching low, Jon crawled to the other side of the dune, then continued to run. He had no doubt the cop was following—or that he wanted him dead. Because dead men don’t talk. Jon’s only hope was that, despite his throbbing leg, he could outrun the overweight man. If he was a real cop, which seemed unlikely. And if he was a real cop, he wouldn’t be one for long. Because Jon intended to turn the jerk in, as soon as he got the chance. That is if the cop didn’t kill him first.

As Jon pressed on through the dunes, he prayed that the woman had taken his nonverbal hint and headed north. Cabins, including his parents’ place, were in that direction. And even though most of the vacation cabins sat vacant this time of the year, there was a better chance of her finding help up there. In the meantime, he was determined to lead the crooked cop away from her by heading south. He knew this stretch of shoreline was void of civilization for the next several miles—all the way to the jetty. He also knew that if his body gave out—and that seemed likely—he would probably be dead before sundown.

* * *

Leah paused to catch her breath and, hearing the dog’s pathetic whines, looked down. Seeing the hurt confusion in his golden eyes, she spoke quietly to him as she paused to examine his gunshot wound. She knew from the day they’d met on the beach that his name was Ralph. His master’s name was still a mystery.

“It’s okay, Ralphie,” she said quietly as she checked his left hindquarter. Although it was bleeding, she was relieved to see the bullet had only grazed him. “You’re going to be okay, little guy,” she said soothingly. “We can fix that up.” Still, she knew from her nurse’s training that direct pressure was needed to stop the bleeding.

With nothing to use as a bandage, she decided to turn his wounded side toward her midsection. If she could hold him tightly against herself, she might be able to slow down or stop the bleeding. Knowing it was the best she could do and there was no time to waste, she took off running again.

As badly as she felt for the man who had come to her aid—Ralph’s master—she knew that all she could do at this point was to run for her life, as he’d urged her to do. But the memory of those gunshots—after she’d run—was still reverberating through her. What if he’d been killed?

With no time to think about this, she focused on getting herself and Ralph out of harm’s way. If that were even possible. And as she sprinted through the beach grass, she silently prayed for Ralph’s owner. Unless she’d imagined it, the stranger’s eyes had suggested a northward direction, but she had gone the opposite way. Intentionally. Her plan was to cut through the creek and double back in the surf, in an effort to hide her footprints.

* * *

After Jon had gone about half a mile, he knew he needed to tend his wound. Besides the pain, which had subsided some, he knew he was leaving a trail of blood. Fortunately the old plaid flannel shirt he was wearing over his T-shirt could help. He removed it and wrapped it tightly around his thigh, using the sleeves to secure it. If the cop was trailing him—and that was preferable to the man tracking down the woman—he could at least attempt to make it more difficult. And the longer it took the cop to find Jon, the better the chances for the pretty brown-eyed lady—who he hoped was headed in the opposite direction.

The memory of the slender woman dressed in her running clothes shoved roughly against her car by the heavyset cop filled Jon with a fresh sense of outrage. And with his bandage secured, that anger propelled him even faster. Everything about the scene had felt wrong. All wrong. Even if the girl was a wanted felon, which he seriously doubted, the cop had been inappropriately rough. Not to mention inappropriate. Plus he’d broken the law by not reading the girl her Miranda rights or checking her ID. There had been lots of red flags—strong implications that the cop was not on the up-and-up. He remembered his mother’s opinions about the local law enforcement. “Most of them are very good, but there are a few bad apples that spoil everything.”

He really hoped that creep was on his trail right now—and not following the woman. She was obviously kind and sweet and good—she’d taken care to pick up the injured dog. He prayed she was safe—and Ralph, too.

Jon’s plan was to head south until he reached a runoff creek that would conceal his footprints as he turned toward the ocean. And then, with the help of the fog to hide him, he would double back in the surf, erasing his footprints all the way back up the beach. But when he reached the place where the creek trickled through the bluff wall, he heard a rustling noise followed by the sound of stones tumbling down the bluff. Someone was nearby!

Hunkering down in the shadows of some twisted spruce trees, he waited breathlessly. Was it possible the cop was really that fast? The rustling sound grew closer, but because of the wind, he couldn’t determine which direction it was coming from. Fearing the worst, Jon tried to think of a plan. Should he try to sneak up on him? Jump him from behind? Try to get his gun? And then, if he did, what was next? He’d have to figure some way to safely detain the creep and find a place to call for help. But even then, who would he call? What if his mom was right? What if some of the local police were as crooked as this guy? What if they were all in cahoots? Whatever he did, Jon couldn’t let the “cop” take control of the situation. If he did, he’d be dead, for certain.

Just as he was bracing himself for more hand-to-hand combat, he heard a whimpering noise. It sounded like an animal. Cupping his hand to his ear, he listened intently. Ralph? Jon slowly stood and, peering over the tall beach grass, saw a long blonde ponytail blowing in the breeze. It was the runner!

Not wanting to startle her, he controlled himself from rushing at her. Instead, he slowly approached, waving his arms in silence. And when she recognized him, he hurried over.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, relief washing over her face as they crouched down in the tall grass together.

A shock tore through him as he noticed her pale blue shirt soaked with blood. “Were you shot, too?” he quietly demanded.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she said in a hushed tone. “That’s from Ralph.” She pointed to where Ralph was relieving himself in the tall grass. “Just a flesh wound. He’ll be okay.” She glanced down at Jon’s makeshift bandage. “What about you?”

“A flesh wound, too,” he quietly assured her. “I can run fairly well.”

“You and Ralph are fortunate,” she said.

“Yeah. Officer Krantz is a bad shot.”

“Officer Krantz?” she whispered.

“I noticed the name on his badge when we were scuffling.”

“There’s no way he’s a real cop.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Or if he is, he’s a crooked one.” He glanced over his shoulder. “We better get moving. My guess is he’s following. I’d hoped you’d gone the other way.”

“I planned to turn back in a while. I was headed for the creek, hoping to hide my footprints.” She pointed to the fog bank. “Then I was going to cut across the beach and double back in the surf.”

Jon stared at her in wonder. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to do, too.”

“But I thought the creek was closer.” She frowned.

“It’s still about a mile down the beach.” He stooped over to pick up Ralph. “We better get—” He stopped to the sound of rustling grass—and there was no wind blowing. “Go,” he whispered to her. “Fast.”

Before he could stop her, she grabbed Ralph from his arms. And then she took off and he followed. They hadn’t gone twenty feet before he heard the sound of a gunshot—and unless he was wrong, the source was from a high-powered rifle this time—not a revolver. “Stay low,” he called out as he followed her.

Despite the pain in his leg, he knew he had to run with every ounce of his strength. Not that he could keep pace with her. And for that he was glad. If Krantz was going to catch one of them, he wanted it to be him. To his surprise, the woman was heading inland now, going right into the rolling dunes, which would put them out in the open for a few dangerous seconds. But realizing her strategy—hoping to outrun Krantz through the uneven ups and downs of the sand dunes—he followed. Two more shots rang out just as she made it into the cover of the grassy area and one more before he dived into the grass, rolling down the hill toward her. Even though they were leaving a trail by running through the valley in this dune, he knew this was their best hope. To wear Krantz out and to convince him that they were heading for the jetty. If only Jon didn’t expire first.

After about fifteen minutes of running up and down dune hills, the woman stopped to wait for him. He could barely breathe, let alone talk, but he pointed toward the ocean.

“The creek?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded. And now they jogged through another section of dune grass, working their way toward the bluff. Jon’s mind was racing now. Who was this Krantz guy anyway? He had to be involved in something really sinister.

Jon’s chest felt as if it were about to burst as they reached the bluff. To his dismay the fog bank hadn’t made it all the way across the beach yet.

“Do you think we lost him?” the woman asked between breaths.

“Don’t know,” he gasped.

“Should we go for it?” She pointed toward the creek that cut across the beach.

He just nodded. And together they scrambled and slid down the sandstone face of the bluff. When they reached the beach level, he motioned to her to wait, pressing his back against the concave rock wall. Just in case Krantz was up above. Straining his ears, he listened, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the waves. He looked out to where the fog bank was slowly crawling across the sand.

“Should we wait for the fog?” she whispered.

He looked at the bluff overhead, imagining a winded Krantz posted up there with his powerful rifle. They would be easy pickings, making their way through the creek. Jon patted a damp driftwood log that the tide had pushed up against the bluff wall. “Let’s wait.”

“Let me fix that,” she said quietly, pointing to the bandage he’d made from a shirt. “I’m nearly done with nursing school.” She handed Ralph to him. “Might as well put it to use.” She knelt down and went to work.

“Thanks.” He used his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired before.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s not a deep wound.” She bound it up more tightly, tying the sleeves of his shirt into a more secure knot and tucking the loose pieces into his makeshift bandage. “Hopefully that’ll hold awhile.”

Jon held a finger to his lips, nodding to where he thought he’d heard a noise up above them. Just then some small stones tumbled down. He slipped his hand around Ralph’s snout to muzzle him, holding him close to his chest. The sound of barking could prove lethal for all of them right now.

The girl looked down at Ralph and, as if sensing the dog’s fear at being muzzled like this, she gently stroked his head and scratched his ears. Jon could feel the small animal slowly relaxing. And still up against the wall and not moving, they remained silently frozen in place for about ten or fifteen minutes. Long enough to catch their breath, and hopefully long enough for Krantz to move on.

Jon nodded to where the fog was nearly to the bluff. He pointed at the woman now, silently indicating that she should remain put while he ventured out. His thinking was that, if he was visible from the bluff above, he’d make an easy potshot—for someone with good aim, that is. But if the cop was going to take him out, Jon wanted the woman to still have a chance. So, holding the muzzled dog, he headed out in the stream, hoping and praying that the fog was thick enough to conceal him—and at the same time bracing himself for the sound of shots and the impact of bullets...and death. But at least she would be safe...or so he hoped. Why hadn’t he gotten her name?

Finally, just as it grew hard to see her, he waved with one hand, motioning for her to join him—and hoping she would hurry. To his relief, she sprinted through the creek, and now they ran full speed toward the ocean, where their footsteps would be washed away forever. Turning north, they continued running through the surf. But it would be at least an hour before they reached safety—if that were even possible. And that was only if they ran at full speed—which Jon wasn’t sure he could do.

“You’re faster,” Jon said breathlessly. “Take the lead.”

“No,” she firmly told him. “I want to stay with you. Your leg’s wounded.” She held out her hands. “Let me carry Ralph—it’s the least I can do.”

He reluctantly relinquished the dog, trying to run faster, but soon realized it took all his energy just to maintain a fast jog. “What’s your name?” he huffed as he struggled to keep pace with her, water splashing with each step.