until the vehicle lifted up, the front tires gaining traction on the ground that rose above the mud, and sped forward.
But fast, much too fast.
The CJ slammed into a tree. Her body ricocheted against the seat belt. There were no airbags in an old Jeep CJ.
Stunned, Gemma blinked. Sucked in a breath. I’m alive!
Then she groaned.
“I’m alive.” She breathed slowly to calm herself. “I’m...alive.” It could have been much worse.
Gemma squeezed her eyes shut as memories overwhelmed her. Déjà vu. Her uncle had been driving the night he lost control of the vehicle and they hit a tree. He’d died and Gemma had lived. Why had she lived—then and now?
Drawing in a few more calming breaths until she could breathe normally, she shook away the daze. Felt the ache from her skin to her bones. But that was good news. She could feel everything, even the nerve damage pain in her left leg from the wreck that took Uncle Dave’s life.
The CJ jerked to the right. What was going on?
Gemma turned her attention to the environment around her. The rain and the mud had risen even more and caught her rear tires. She had to hurry!
She tried to unbuckle her seat belt. Stuck. She searched for something sharp to cut herself out, but, strapped in the seat, she couldn’t reach the tool kit in the back. Regardless, she tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The front end had crumpled as the CJ twisted against the tree. Since she’d opted for a hard top, she couldn’t cut her way out through the top, even if she could escape the seat belt trapping her inside.
She spied her cell phone—out of reach on the floorboard on the passenger side.
Gemma was going to die today, after all.
* * *
Grayson Wilde had picked the worst day for surveillance of the Tiger Mountain sanctuary. Now he paid the price as he searched for cover on the hillside to wait out the storm. He had an appointment in an hour to interview with Gemma Rollins, Tiger Mountain’s founder, for a part-time volunteer position. A senior special agent for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, Gray worked undercover to investigate and infiltrate a wildlife trafficking ring.
Shivering in the cold, he pushed deeper into a shallow cave to shield himself from the brunt of the wind and rain while he waited it out. He scraped a hand over his face and wiped away the water. As miserable as it was to be in this place right at this moment, he reminded himself of the importance of his assignment. For starters, his mission in life was to thwart wildlife traffickers and poachers abusing God’s creations. It was crucial, dangerous work, considering illegal exotic pet trade and trafficking had become a multi-billion dollar industry, and came in right under drugs, firearms and human trafficking. And, as a source of funding for terrorist groups, it was a significant threat to both global and national security. But even aside from that, Gray had his own reasons for shadowing this sanctuary.
He’d gotten a tip from an informant that the person responsible for killing game warden Bill Garland—Gray’s friend and mentor—was connected with the project. It was the kind of tip he’d been waiting on for what seemed like a lifetime. Bill had stumbled on a potential trafficking ring years ago, and turned the information over to the feds then ended up dead. With only two hundred fifty USFWS special agents to investigate the entire country, justice was never fully served.
And Gray needed a chance to make things right.
He had started as a game warden but worked his way to becoming a federal agent and he finally had a solid lead on his ongoing investigation. Someone to connect with an extensive trafficking ring, though he didn’t yet have a name.
His new mission was to gain Gemma Rollin’s confidence and work the business with her so he could discover the truth. Find the person responsible for Bill’s death. Arrest him and everyone else involved.
He might have to show up for the interview soaking wet, but that could work in his favor.
Over the deluge he thought he heard a cry for help. Who would possibly venture out in weather like this? Well, other than himself. But unless they were conducting surveillance and working undercover, nobody should be out in the wilderness region that hedged the tiger sanctuary.
Gray quieted his thoughts and listened.
There it was again, only this time it was not a cry for help but an actual scream.
He darted from the cave back into the rain, wishing for goggles—a snorkel and a pair of flippers might even work. “Where are you?”
But he wasn’t sure how he could have heard the scream over the torrent to begin with and doubted they’d heard his response.
Careful of the slick ground, Gray made his way in the direction from which he thought the screams were coming. Then he found the road circling the tiger sanctuary.
That made sense. Someone could have been driving this and he wouldn’t have seen it from his perch. He jogged down the twisted, muddy road, water pouring from the rocky wall to his left. The screams came louder but were muffled.
Gray ran around a curve in the road and saw the mud rushing down the mountain, eating away this portion of the road.
And he saw an old Jeep CJ shoved up into a tree. He searched for thin places in the rush of water and mud and did a dance with the forces of nature as he hopped, skipped, jumped and charged like a bull intent on his target. He caught the bumper, gripped it, holding on against the force of the liquid earth sliding under his feet. He made his way to the driver’s side door.
A frantic woman sat inside, her mouth wide and halfway through the word help when she caught sight of him. She stopped and closed her mouth.
Assessing the situation, Gray didn’t need her to explain the urgency or that she couldn’t get her door open. He doubted climbing out the other side was even an option, since the vehicle hung precariously near the edge on the passenger side. He tried the door, using brute strength, and then kicked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. If he’d brought his weapon, he might have been able to shoot the door mechanism so it would release.
Instead, he grabbed a large rock.
Her troubled eyes grew wide again.
“Unbuckle your seat belt!” he yelled over the roar. “And move out of the way.”
“I can’t!”
“I’m going to smash the window.”
She nodded. Covering her face, she leaned away.
Gray hit the window. Glass shattered, falling everywhere inside the vehicle, including on the woman. She carefully tossed aside the bigger chunks, and Gray helped remove the rest. He pulled out his Buck knife from his jeans pocket, cut her seat belt and then tugged off his jacket, laying it over the window jamb to protect her. Gray planned to pull her out, but she climbed out herself, her agility surprising him until she fell to the ground. Her left leg appeared stiff, her expression one of agony.
“You’re hurt!” He crouched next to her. Of course, she would be hurt after her Jeep had slammed into the tree.
Rain beating down on her, she tried to stand on her own but failed and slipped back, mere inches from the spreading river of mud.
“We have to get out of here before the mud carries us away along with your Jeep.” Gray scooped her into his arms.
She struggled against him and reached for the vehicle. “No, wait! I need—”
“Unless you’ve got a child in there—” and Gray hadn’t seen anyone else in the vehicle “—someone else whose life is in danger, we’re getting out of here.”
“But—!”
Ignoring her, Gray headed away from the ensnared vehicle and the mudslide. He focused all his energy and strength into hiking over slippery boulders while holding a 115-pound woman