Page 52 of Light My Fire

“Psalm twenty-three, New Living Translation. It’s the one I learned at Bible camp. Look it up.” She curled her arms around herself. “Listen. People are evil. And bodies are frail, and fires happen. Lightning strikes—it just falls from the sky, and yet in the middle of the fire, in the middle of the darkness, God is there. Pursuing us. Because He loves us. Because He wants to rescue us. Because He is a rescuer by His very nature.” She offered a smile. “Sorta like a guy I know.”

He couldn’t speak.

She touched his arm. “You will never be enough to fight your fires on your own, Tucker. That’s why we have a team. And God is onyourteam.”

You’re not alone. So trust me a little, okay?

His words to Stevie, and they resounded inside him, like a shout, a fist, grabbing hold of him.

“C’mon. Let’s get that pack,” Skye said. “I’m freezing.”

He nodded and started up the trail.

And hopefully, yes, God was on his team. Because they were both going after Stevie.

Eight

She was better off alone.

That thought had never taken hold of Stevie with more ferocity than when March turned and fired at Tucker. Desperate, shaken, river-drenched Tucker who shouted her name with so much panic in his voice, it found her bones.

Made her believe his words.You’re not in this alone.

Except, shewasalone. Painfully, achingly, horribly alone. Because despite shouting at Tucker to follow her—what had she been thinking?—he had leaped off a cliff to rescue Skye.

Of course.

And she didn’t have to think hard to sort out why—probably her gut had been right that he had feelings for the girl. But even if he didn’t care for Skye, yeah, she’d more than made her point to him.

Numerous times.

Alone was best.

Except, please,pleaselet him not be dead. She’d stuck around long enough to see Skye grab him, but by then, March had her father by the collar, dragging him along, down the path, the gun to his head, shouting at Stevie to stay away.

Right. Never. And hello, sheknewher father wasn’t in on the prison break. But the fact that she was toting around an empty gun kept her at a distance trailing them.

Helpless. Because yeah, she’d left the radio with Tucker’s PG pack. And what did she intend to do—tackle March?

Someone was bleeding. She crouched, took a stick to verify the moisture on the trail was blood. Please let it not be her father.Please.

She pressed her hand to her mouth, clamping down on the shaking of her body. Overhead, the sun had relit the sky, pushing back the shadows, although the shaggy arms of the black spruce still contained eerie pockets. The rush of the river turned to a whisper, the wind off the mountains shivering the trees. The path beneath her feet had widened, the dirt packed, the trail clear of downed trees. They must have hit upon a hiking trail.

Which meant—oh no.

They’d connected with some trail coming out of the Troublesome campground, where March was first arrested.

If March got to his vehicle, or any vehicle there, he’d be gone.

With her father as his hostage.

The other two prisoners had taken off when March threatened her on the bridge—so that meant, it was just March.

So what she was alone? She could stop him.

She took off in a jog down the path, keeping her footfalls light. Through the trees, she made out a lake— Yes. Troublesome Lake. The sun sparkled against it, turning it a deep indigo. Along the far shoreline, pine trees edged it in lush green, and not far away, she heard a dog bark.

Shoot. Tourists.

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