Frown deepening, she yanked the tank top back up to double-check, then let it fall again.
For the first time, Beth noticed her surroundings.
The forest in which she had been shot appeared to have vanished, as had the St. Louis encephalitis and West Nile Virus carrying mosquitoes.
Dense, dark pockets of trees surrounded her instead, all beneath them a lush, beautiful green.
“What the hell?”
It was wrong. It was all wrong.
Texas was in the middle of a drought. The only place one could find lush green anything was at the heart of an urban sprinkler system. And that was only if the water restrictions had been lifted. The healthy grass before her should be brown and brittle, a major fire hazard.
No. Wait. Come to think of it, there had been no grass in the forest where she had died.
Well, almost died.
She bit her lip.
Had she died?
Because none of this looked familiar to her. The trees were different, healthy and thriving rather than parched and dying. And the sky…
The sky where she had fallen had been dominated by the harsh, blinding light of a summer sun, not hidden behind a blanket of soft gray clouds. The temperature should be over a hundred degrees, not pleasantly cool and lacking the usual cloying humidity.
Where the hell was she? How had she gotten there?
She gasped suddenly. And where was Josh?
Fear struck, hard and fast, as she remembered how still he had lain after being shot.
Beth swiftly refastened her vest and rose.
Dizziness assailed her.
Staggering, she threw out her arms for balance until the world stopped tilting and rolling.
Okay, so she was a little weak. That didn’t explain how her bullet wounds had disappeared or healed or changed into scars or whatever. It just confirmed that she hadn’t dreamed it all.
Bending, she picked up the Ruger 9mm that lay at her feet.
Her backpack and other belongings lay there, too, but she would tackle that puzzle later.
Beth ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with a full one from her pocket, advancing the first bullet into the chamber.
“Josh?” she called hesitantly, looking all around her. If Kingsley and Vergoma’s men lurked nearby, calling out was a very bad idea, but she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to find her brother.
A moment passed. No answer came.
Backing away, she turned toward a stand of trees several yards distant.
Somewhere a bird stopped twittering.
“Josh, where are you?” she shouted, fear rising. “Josh!”
The forest beckoned. Turning this way and that, she started toward it, walking forward, then backward, then forward again, searching for some sign—any sign—of her brother.
Why was everything so unfamiliar to her? Had she gotten lost in the forest? That forest? The one in front of her?
“Josh!”
Maybe before she had passed out she had stumbled away from her brother in search of help, had ended up wherever she was now, and just couldn’t remember it.
Grasping that small shred of hope, she took off into the trees, racing through them as fast as she could, praying she would zip past a tree trunk any minute and run smack into Josh’s chest.
“Josh, where are you?”
He has to be nearby, she thought. I mean, how far could I have gone with a gaping hole in my chest?
“Josh!”
Her initial burst of energy dwindled at an alarming rate, confirming just how weak she had become. Her voice grew hoarse and fearful.
“Josh!”
She didn’t know how long or how far she ran, tripping over fallen branches, crashing through shrubs and ferns and vines, always calling his name, before she saw light up ahead.
Another clearing? The clearing?
Hope reviving, breathing hard, she stumbled out of the trees and skidded to an astonished halt.
Four men on horseback stared down at her with equally stunned expressions as they pulled back on the reins to keep their mounts from plowing into her.
Falling back a step, Beth raised her 9mm and gripped it with both hands, aiming first at one man, then the next, not knowing upon whom to settle. “Where is he?” she gasped, so out of breath she could barely speak.
Three of the men looked to the one in the center.
Assuming him their leader, she transferred her aim to him. “Where’s…” Her voice trailed away as she got a good look at them. “…Josh?” she finished weakly.
Lowering the gun, Beth gaped.
They created quite an image, lined up before her—side by side—on impressively large, horses with gleaming coats. Every single one of the men was handsome (especially the leader), with broad shoulders and muscled bodies that must surely be a challenge for the horses to carry.
But that wasn’t what made her stare until her eyes began to burn.
All four men wore chain mail, sported long broadswords strapped to their trim waists, and looked as if they had just ridden off the pages of a medieval history book.
Or maybe a movie set.