Hours later, Nathan Craig heard a ringing in his ears that would not go away. “Stop it,” he groaned, coming awake to find a weak slant of moonlight filtering through the darkness of his bedroom. He wiped at his sleepy eyes and glared at the dial of his watch.

      Eleven o’clock.

      Exhausted after an all-night surveillance and a day full of reports to his client, he’d gone to bed early and at his own place for once. Now he’d never get back to sleep.

      Then he realized his phone was ringing. Not so unusual. Being a private investigator meant he had a lot of late-night calls from either clients or informants. And sometimes, from the angry subjects of his investigations.

      Sitting up, he grabbed the annoying device and growled, “This had better be good.”

      “Nathan?”

      The voice was winded and scared, his name a whisper from a raw throat. But that voice held a familiar tone that hit deep in his gut.

      “Alisha?”

      “Yes.”

      Now he was wide awake.

      Knowing she’d never call him unless she was in trouble or really mad at him again, he said, “Alisha, what’s wrong?”

      “I... I think someone’s trying to kill me,” she said, the tremor in her words destroying him.

      He stood and grabbed his jeans, hit his toe on a chair and gritted his teeth. “Where are you? Are they after you right now?”

      “I’m almost to Campton Creek. Just a few miles from the turnoff. I know they’re following me but I don’t see the SUV behind me. He’ll be back. I saw his face, Nathan. I witnessed a man shoot and kill two people. And you know what that means.”

      “Hold on,” he said, his mind racing ahead while fear held his heart in a vise. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. You stay on the line with me, okay?”

      “Okay.”

      Then he thought better. “Have you called the police?”

      She heaved a deep breath. “I had a police escort following me, watching my back. Two officers.”

      “Where are they now?”

      “Dead, I think. Someone shot out their tires and they crashed on the side of the road. The patrol car exploded. I should have stopped to help.”

      Nathan closed his eyes and tried to focus. “You didn’t stop. Smart move.”

      “I wanted to stop but... I saw the SUV. I sped up and rounded the big curve near Green Mountain.” Heaving a sigh that sounded more like a sob, she said, “I pulled off on a dirt lane but it’s a dead-end. I think the SUV went on by but I’m afraid to get back on the road.”

      Nathan knew that curve. Just enough time to get her out of view of any car following her but also a dangerous place where someone could hide and wait for her.

      “Did you call anyone else?”

      “I called you,” she said through a shuddering sob. “Because this won’t end with the local police, Nathan. I witnessed a double homicide that looked like a hit job. Those two officers are probably dead. The FBI will probably be called in and I’ll need to testify.”

      FBI? Now he was tripping over his own feet. “Alisha, I know the road you’re on. Find an Amish farm and wake someone up. Stay with them until I get there. Do you hear me?”

      She didn’t speak.

      He held the cell between his ear and shoulder while he grabbed at more clothes and found his weapon and wallet.

      “Alisha?”

      “I know a shortcut,” she said, sounding stronger. “I’ll take that route once I hit the turn. I’ll try to find a house, I promise. My cell battery is low. I have to go.”

      “Alisha, tell me what to look for.”

      “Black Denali SUV. Two men in the vehicle. I have to go.”

      “Alisha, don’t—”

      She ended the call.

      Nathan stood there in the dark, the images playing in his mind a terrible torment. If anything happened to her...

      He’d been through this kind of terror before. He would not go there again.

      With that vow in mind, he finished putting on his clothes and hurried out of the cabin toward his big Chevy truck. His heart pumping adrenaline, he headed toward Green Mountain. Once underway, he called his friend Carson Benton at the sheriff’s department. While per Pennsylvania law, the deputy couldn’t apprehend the suspects, he could serve in tracking them down and alerting the state police and the FBI if needed. He could also help in transporting them if they were apprehended.

      Nathan and Carson went way back, had been friends for years. Carson sometimes helped Nathan in an unofficial capacity with missing person cases.

      “This had better be good,” Carson said, echoing the same words Nathan had uttered about ten minutes ago.

      “I need you to check on a woman driving alone and headed toward the turnoff just past Green Mountain, toward Campton Creek. She thinks someone is following her. Someone dangerous. She witnessed a shooting near Philadelphia and she had a police cruiser following her but the perpetrators ran the patrol car off the road.”

      “Hello to you, too,” his longtime friend said with a grunt. “Got it. Who’s the woman?”

      “Alisha Braxton,” Nathan said, one hand on the wheel as he broke the speed limit. Then he described her vehicle. “I’m on my way.”

      “I know how you drive, Nathan. You’ll beat me there,” Carson replied in a tart tone. “I’m on it.” Then he asked, “Hey, isn’t she the one who—”

      “Yeah,” Nathan said. Then he ended the call.

      Alisha Braxton.

      The one who got