As the threat of eruption grows, former cop Cullen Landry refuses to leave his cabin in the evacuation area, which is why he's the only one left who can help Kit escape the crumpled cab of her truck. He doesn't want to get tangled up in the mystery of the beautiful woman with an abandoned infant, but when he sees the bullet hole in the windshield and the bloody handprint on the interior, he realizes that he's in this thing, like it or not.
When two armed men with ill intent approach, the race is on to stay alive, discover the truth, and find the baby's missing mother--all while a deadly mountain rains fire from above.
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Book Excerpt
He was still scanning the horizon, lost in thought. His gaze wandered back over the contents of her cab, the wrecked steering wheel, the imploded glass. Eyes narrow- ing, he suddenly went still for a long moment before he let out a low whistle. “We’ve got more problems than a math textbook.”
She felt like laughing. “Besides the fact that I was in a crash and now we’re stranded somewhere in an evacuation area near a volcano that’s about to erupt?”
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, besides that.”
She tried for a calming breath, but it hurt coming in and going out. “Like what?”
He pointed. “Take a look for yourself.”
At first she could not understand the significance of the little round hole punched in the driver’s side window or the second one two inches below it. “Are those . . .”
“Bullet holes. Yes, ma’am.”
She gaped. “Someone . . . shot at me?”
“Appears that way. Could explain why you crashed.” “Who would do that?”
“Great question. Carrying precious cargo?” “I don’t—”
He cut her off with a sigh. “Remember. Right.”
A shooter had tried to kill her? Steal her cargo? And was possibly still out there? Cullen stood motionless, watch- ing her. He was a stranger . . . with no vehicle visible that she could see.
He indicated something else with a jut of his chin. She looked. A splotch of red caught her attention, and she gasped. The small print on the passenger window was a bloody, partial outline of a hand. Cold inched along her nerves.
His brows drew together, lines bracketing his fore- head. “Not your blood. You were still strapped in when I arrived.”
“And not yours?”
He held up his calloused palms as if she were attempt- ing to rob him. “No blood, and that’s a tiny print. I got big hands.”
Someone had pushed their way out of her truck. Some- one bleeding. “I was alone. I never travel with anyone else.”
“Until today maybe.”
“No. I was alone.”
“Ms. Kit, we can talk about that after we’re clear of this location. Gotta get out. Take us ‘bout a half hour to reach my truck. Let’s stick to the trees in case whoever it is hasn’t left.”
Dana Mentink, Fire Mountain
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2025. Used by permission
About the Author

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