Last Surrender by Suzie O'Connell

Author:Suzie O'Connell [O'Connell, Suzie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Suzie O'Connell

Jeremiah looked up from his book with a trickle of adrenaline heightening his senses. He listened for a minute, but when whatever he heard didn’t come again, he let out a breath and sank back into his camp chair, returning his attention to his book.

This was getting ridiculous. In the three days since he and Heather had discovered the broken-down Bronco and returned to the cabin to find its driver trying to get past Murph, he’d spent far too much time thinking about that encounter. He could’ve used some company to keep his mind off it, even if it came in the form of Aaron or Nick or John or Henry telling him he was being paranoid. Heather’s company would’ve been a far better distraction, but she’d been up only for a couple hours the day after—she’d been swamped at work and with getting ready for her family’s trip to watch Curtis’s final boxing match. So, he’d finally decided it was time to lose himself in a book. But as much as he loved The Hunger Games, the book wasn’t working. Every time he heard a vehicle going by a couple hundred yards away on the scenic byway or caught the distant buzz of four-wheelers out on the numerous trails through these mountains, he was jerked out of his book with a shock of adrenaline just like now.

Aaron had run the Bronco’s plate numbers, and the vehicle was clean—registered to a Randall Cochran in Missoula. Under the pretense of checking up on suspicious activities near where the vehicle had been found, he’d even called the man to verify that “Greg Jones” had borrowed the vehicle. That should’ve eased Jeremiah’s suspicions. After all, Greg had said he was a friend of the owner, so that part checked out.

If anything, he was more suspicious now.

He knew the name Randall Cochran; recognized it with that same sense of vague familiarity he’d felt upon seeing the man. He still couldn’t figure out where he’d encountered the man, but he knew with a gut certainty that the name Randall Cochran and the man who called himself Greg Jones were one and the same.

Slipping his makeshift bookmark—a corner he’d torn off an old herd check sheet—between the pages, he set the hardcover on his chair and wandered into the cabin. He slipped the silver cross from under his mattress and stared at it for a long while.

Zach was behind this.

He had no idea how it was possible, since his cousin had been checking in with his PO on a regular basis and hadn’t missed a single day of work or shown up even fifteen minutes late. Maybe Aaron would find some connection between Zach and this “Greg Jones” and Randall Cochran.

Murph, who’d remained in his spot beside the camp chair, gave a happy yip, so Jeremiah returned the cross to its hiding place and joined his dog on the porch. He couldn’t see the truck yet, but it sounded like Heather’s.

The prospect of seeing her again was a warm summer breeze that drove away the clouds of dark musings.

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