“Yes,” Chris lied, “but you need to get out. I’ll get your mom out.”

Violet’s gaze said she knew he lied. “Let me try to untie you.” She scooted around him and tried to line up her hands behind her back with his. Her fingers fumbled uselessly with his bindings. The heat of the fire toasted the skin of his face as he willed Violet to untie the knots.

“I can’t get them!”

“Then get yourself out!”

“No!” she shrieked, turning. “Not without my mother! Mom! Get up!”

Gianna lifted her head, and Chris saw her gaze lock with her daughter’s. With a shaking hand she reached out and plucked at the knots she’d tied at his wrists. They didn’t budge.

“Can you get to the kitchen?” Chris asked Gianna. “Get a knife.”

Gianna pushed to her knees and the bloodstain on the side of her shirt expanded. Her arms quivered and she closed her eyes in concentration. Chris fumbled up to a sitting position, knowing he’d have to try. “See if you can turn the doorknob,” he ordered Violet. He moved to the kitchen, scooting in the same way Violet had. A small voice in his head worried that Violet would add more oxygen to the fire by opening the door, but the flames were still expanding, showing they had an ample oxygen supply in the cabin. She wouldn’t create a backdraft explosion unless the oxygen inside had been nearly depleted.

He pressed his back into the wall of the kitchen island and scooted his way up to standing, feeling the heat on the back of his head. Violet mimicked his movements at the front door, concentration on her face. With his hands behind him, he yanked open a drawer and fumbled for a knife. A slice along his finger told him he’d found a good one. He felt carefully for the handle, trying to ignore the growing heat.

His fingers wrapped around a handle.

He hopped back to Gianna and fell to his knees beside her, dropping the knife. “Cut the ropes.”

She picked up the knife, her lips pressed together in a white line, and sawed at his bindings. His arms jerked apart and he grabbed the knife out of her hand. He slashed the binding at his feet and swept her up into his arms, acutely aware of the warm wetness that immediately soaked the front of his shirt. Violet shuffled out of his way and he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air and sucked in a deep icy breath.

The rumble of a V8 engine sped away in the distance.

Twenty-four hours later

Gianna smelled smoke and jerked open her eyes. In a chair beside her hospital bed, Chris leaned forward, concern crossing his face. “Do you need the nurse?”

“Where’s Violet?” she rasped. Her throat was unbearably dry.

“She’s fine. She’s with my parents. She’s not hurt.”

Relief flowed through her and her lids fell shut.

My baby is safe.

“You’ve asked me the same thing five times,” Chris said softly.

She realized he was the source of the smell of smoke. He hadn’t showered and he wore the same clothes that—

“How long have I been here?” She lifted a hand and gently touched her side. It burned under the thick bandaging. “I remember you carrying me out.” Her mind was fuzzy, and she recognized the floaty sensation of narcotics pulsing through her system.

“Since last night. You’re going to be fine.”

She struggled to focus on his bandaged hovering face. “He hit you in the head.”

“It’s not much.”

“He shot me,” she whispered, remembering the sound of the gun.

“Yes. But the bullet went through cleanly. A couple of inches another way and you would have bled out immediately.”

Her brain created an image of her cold body on a stainless autopsy table. Dr. Rutledge probing the opening in her corpse.

We’re fine. Violet is fine. Everyone is okay.

Chris’s warm hand took hers as he leaned his elbows on her mattress. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it. Your daughter had pressure on your wounds before I could even think straight. She’s a level-headed girl.”

“What happened?”

“The detectives showed up minutes after we got out. They’d spotted the smoke from the other cabin and when they saw your injuries, they radioed to call back the paramedics who’d responded to the shooting. We’re lucky they weren’t far away. I would have had to drive you out to get cell service.”

“Kruger?” She hoped he was dead in a ditch.

“Gone. Don’t know where. We’ll find him.” A fierceness entered his voice. One she’d never heard from him before.

“We will?”

“I mean the police.”

She studied his face. He was up to something. Between him and Michael, no doubt they were exercising every resource they had to find the rock Reid Kruger had hidden under. Then she remembered the thought she’d had at the cabin.

“I know where the thumb drive is,” she said.

His jaw dropped. “You do? Becker and Hawes have been all over me about that. I was convinced it didn’t exist. I think Kruger might be, too.”

“I think I know.”

“Where?”

“Are my clothes here? The stuff I had on?”

Chris stood, looking around the room. He walked over to a small closet and found a plastic bag. He opened it and pulled out the shirt she’d been wearing. He wrinkled his nose. “Do I smell this smoky?”

“Yes,” said Gianna. “Now look in the pocket of my jeans.”