But thinking about him was far too easy to do. Sex with him would be like the scream-worthy moment a roller-coaster dropped over the highest peak.

But a relationship? More like the slow, clattering climb up the roller-coaster tracks to the top, giving a person too much time to wonder about how bad things could get. And inevitably, the carnival ride would end with the cars coming to a jerky halt.

She avoided handsome men for good reasons, starting with them being shallow and self-centered—like her ex. Bull…didn’t seem to be like that. He was certainly smart. Charming. Friendly. Fun. Caring.

However, no matter how compelling he was, she wasn’t here for a man; she was here for Kit and Aric.

There—there was another wooden tower—the southeast corner. Yes! Staying hidden, she turned to follow it up the east side.

Are those the women’s and children’s buildings?

Too much underbrush was in the way. Skirting a patch of snow, she worked her way forward to where the undergrowth was thinner, and she could see across the bare area between the forest and the fence to the buildings inside. She could hear men talking and occasionally see a child between the buildings. The children made almost no noise at all.

Wait, was that Aric?

Without thinking, she parted the bushes so she could peek out.

There was a horrible loud bang. Then another. Something went thunk ahead of her, and bark splintered on a tree trunk. Cazzo, someone was shooting at her.

Another crack. Something tugged at her sleeve, scraped across her deltoid.

She dove back into the woods, running directly away from—

The ground disappeared out from under her. She fell, down and down, trying to grab branches, dirt, and nothing slowed her tumbling.

She landed hard, almost in a tiny stream bed and gritted her teeth to keep screams from escaping.

Hearing men shouting, she scrambled farther into the underbrush. Would they come after her?

Panting, she frantically checked her surroundings. Even if the bushes were springing back into place, she could see the track of her fall.

Everything hurt, especially her arm that burned like fire. They’d shot her. No time to check it. Get out of here, Frankie.

She shoved to her feet and ran upstream on the bank. Her boots slipped and slid in the mud and snowy patches.

Glancing back, she saw her footprints that would point the way right to her. No, no, no.

She’d read thrillers about fugitives walking in the water to hide their tracks. Here was a stream. Would it work?

It might. She had to lose whoever was after her. That came before anything. She jumped into the calf-high stream. As the frigid water washed over her boots and trickled inside, she sucked in a breath and broke into a stumbling run downstream—the opposite direction of where she’d been going.