Fugitive
“HELP ME.”When she opens her door to a wounded, handcuffed stranger, Laney Jefferson is terrified…until she recognizes her unexpected visitor. Thirteen years ago, Logan Randal was there for her when she desperately needed a friend. Now the wrongfully convicted lawman needs the widow’s help.On the run from the law and guided only by Laney’s unswerving faith in Logan’s innocence, their mutual attraction begins to break down the barriers around Laney’s heart. But the real culprit is much closer than they imagine…a cunning enemy determined to keep the past—and the truth—buried forever.Heroes for Hire: Seeking the truth—at any cost.
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âHELP ME.â
When she opens her door to a wounded, handcuffed stranger, Laney Jefferson is terrifiedâ¦until she recognizes her unexpected visitor. Thirteen years ago, Logan Randal was there for her when she desperately needed a friend. Now the wrongfully convicted lawman needs the widowâs help. On the run from the law and guided only by Laneyâs unswerving faith in Loganâs innocence, their mutual attraction begins to break down the barriers around Laneyâs heart. But the real culprit is much closer than they imagineâ¦a cunning enemy determined to keep the pastâand the truthâburied forever.
Heroes for Hire: Seeking the truthâat any cost
âItâs as easy as you want it to be, Laney.â
Logan stood behind her, looking out over the pastures and orchards that made up the farm. All of it overgrown and snow-covered now, but he remembered the years that he and Laney had worked the fields together, given tours of the orchards, pretended that the beauty on the outside of the house matched what was inside.
Heâd done it for her.
Thereâd been so many times when heâd thought about running, but heâd stuck it out because he couldnât imagine leaving Laney.
Now, leaving her was all he could think about.
âIâd like to borrow one of your dadâs old cars. Is that okay with you?â
âDo you think any of them will be working after all this time?â She turned, her arm brushing his.
He stepped away, his pulse racing.
No way would he let himself think about what that meant.
Not when there was so much riding on his ability to walk away.
SHIRLEE McCOY
has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroineâgutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasnât until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschooling mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at [email protected].
Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.
âPsalms 55:22
In loving memory of Joanna Trigsted. Even the shortest of lives can make an impact on the world. You are proof of that. Dance on, little one!
Contents
ONE
Just another step.
Thatâs all he had to take.
Another step. And another.
Wind howling.
Blood dripping on fresh white snow.
Fire behind. Darkness ahead. Only one way to go. Up.
Deputy Sheriff Logan Randal pushed through winter-dry foliage, moving as quickly as his handcuffed wrists would allow. Fifteen minutes and rescue units would be at the wreck. A little longer, and the state police would know he was missing.
Missing and presumed responsible.
For the wreck.
For the officer lying dead in the culvert where Logan had dragged him before heâd realized it was too late to help. And for Officer Camden Walker, who lay bleeding beside him, unconscious and shivering beneath the jacket Logan had wrangled off Camdenâs deceased partner. If not for Walker, Logan would still be locked in the back of the burning police cruiser. Everything in him demanded that he go back and wait with the injured man until help arrived.
But, going back meant death. For Walker and for Logan.
A bullet slammed into the snow beside him, bits of earth and ice splattering his face. He ducked behind a towering pine, then kept moving through deep forest and blowing snow, praying the gunmanâs aim would prove as terrible now as it had been when Logan exited the cruiser.
His foot caught on a snow-covered root, and he fell, hot white pain shooting through his head, blood still dripping from a gash on his temple. An inch closer, and the bullet that had grazed his head would have bored into his brain.
Heâd be dead.
Get up. Keep moving away from the wreck. Give Walker a chance. Give yourself a chance.
The words chanted through his mind, a mantra that brought him to his feet, his orange prison jumpsuit too bright against the dark shadows of the woods and the whiteness of the snow.
Sirens screamed, the sound growing closer with every heartbeat, every breath.
Please, God, let them be close enough to chase the gunman away from Walker.
He didnât need another life on his head, didnât need someone elseâs blood on his hands. Didnât need anything but a chance to prove he was innocent. Not just of arranging the ambush that had freed him from prison, but of the crime a jury of eight had just convicted him of.
