Page 1 of Mine to Protect

Prologue

Christina Brown laid the worn paperback book on the stone picnic table with a contented sigh. With a smile, she scanned the picnic area from the spot she’d laid stake to hours ago to read in peace while her husband and sons hiked. She’d miss this place; the quiet it offered was vastly different than their home in Denver. Today was the last day of their seven-day vacation in the small town of Estes Park. For the past week, they’d hiked, explored town, and hiked some more in the gorgeous expanses of Rocky Mountain National Park.

“Um, pardon me,” a man’s voice said, interrupting her thoughts.

She bristled at the accompanying unwelcomed tap against her shoulder. With a scowl, she turned to tell the person to back off. But immediately her defenses softened at the unassuming man wringing his hands in front of his chest. A cautious glance around the area showed a few other families playing in the nearby stream and another packing up their truck, looking to head out. Unfortunately, her husband and boys were still nowhere to be seen. Having them nearby would be preferred, but even so, nothing immediately alarmed her about the man.

As a police officer’s wife, she was coached and coached, and coached some more, on how to be alert at all times. Her husband even taught her a few key defensive moves just to be safe. But the man in front of her now, hell, she could knock him out with a simple shove and knee to the groin.

“Sorry to startle you. It’s just that….” The meek man shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the other and tucked his restless hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “Right. Stupid me. I know better than to approach a woman like this. My late wife would kill me.” He cringed and looked to the heavens. “Sorry to bother you.”

Shoulders rounded in defeat, he swiveled around in a hasty retreat.

A pang of sympathy spread across Christina’s heart. “Wait.” He paused but kept his back to her. “What did you need?” she asked, engaging him even if all her husband's past instructions told her not to. Christina felt sorry for the man. He looked outright defeated in life. “Sorry, you just took me off guard.”

His head dropped forward, his chin close to his chest as he said, “It’s my young daughter.”

Christina’s brows shot up in surprise as she shoved off the concrete picnic table to stand. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt, lost?”

He simply shrugged and pointed toward secluded restrooms on the other side of the picnic area. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. She’s been in the bathroom for a while, and I can’t get her to come out. It’s a women’s bathroom, and I feel awkward walking in.” He paused and bit his lip like he was debating telling her more. “My wife passed three months ago, and this is my first time doing this alone. I’m not sure on the protocol.”

A wave of relief washed over Christina at his explanation. She was a mother, after all; of course she’d step in to help this man and his daughter. Plus she knew the helpless feeling he currently had. How many times was she in the same predicament with her sons while she stood outside the men's restroom, nervously praying they would return unharmed or not need her assistance when they were inside.

“Of course I can help,” Christina said with a reassuring smile to put the man at ease. “How old is your daughter?”

“Seven,” he breathed in relief, returning her smile. “Seven going on sixteen.”

Christina followed the man toward the bathrooms. A cool breeze rushed through, causing goose bumps along her arms beneath her long-sleeve T-shirt. It was early October, but it seemed winter would come early in the mountains this year. For a half a second, Christina paused her steps to glance to the van, wondering if she should retrieve the boys’ jackets out of the car for when they returned.

“Gabby.”

Christina’s brows furrowed as her attention shifted back to the man at her side.

“My daughter's name is Gabby. Thank you again for helping out. You’re a savior.” At the bathroom’s edge, he paused and pointed toward the ladies’ restroom door. “I’ll stay right here. And thank you again, really.”

Staring at the closed metal door, a cautionary sensation zapped through Christina, settling in her gut. “Um, you know what?” she mumbled, turning back toward the picnic table that still held her book.

A low cry of a young girl’s voice from behind the metal door halted her escape. Torn between being safe and helping, Christina flicked her eyes from the door to the man. In the end, the helpless child won. Could any mother hear that sad, desperate cry and do nothing about it?

Stealing her nerves and mentally preparing for any confrontation she squared her shoulders and shoved a palm against the door. Inside a single sink to the left dripped at a rapid, steady pace. The strong scent of urine and musk hung in the still air.

“Hello? Gabby?” Christina called before knocking on the first stall door, which echoed through the small cement-enclosed space.

No response.

The next, and last, stall door swung open when her knuckles rapped against the thin metal.

“Gabby?” she said, pushing the door to see all the way inside.

Empty.

A frown had tugged the corners of her lips down when something sharp pierced through the delicate skin of her neck.

She opened her mouth wide to scream for help, but a large leather-gloved hand slammed against her mouth, allowing nothing more than a muffled yell to escape. Warmth spread from her neck, blooming into more heat through her arms and legs, which grew heavier with each second.

Out. She had to escape. Had to get to her husband and boys. They needed her.

Rallying her fear into strength, Christina slammed an elbow against the person at her back. Darkness inched in from the edges of her vision.

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