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Copyright © 2004 by Lois Richer. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of woman copyright © 2003 by Donata Pizzi/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

HeartQuest is a registered trademark of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Edited by Lorie Popp

Designed by Ron Kaufmann

Published in association with the literary agency of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, 4788 CarissaAve., Santa Rosa, CA 95405.

Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996.Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House.All rights reserved.

Some Scripture quotations are taken from The Living Bible copyright © 1971. Used by permission ofTyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

Some Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of theauthor’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, orpersons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Richer, Lois.Dangerous sanctuary / Lois Richer.

p. cm. — (Camp Hope series ; #1) (Heartquest)

ISBN 0-8423-6436-6 (sc)1. Canada, Northern—Fiction. 2. Stalking victims—Fiction. 3. Women cooks—Fiction.

4. Nurses—Fiction. I. Title.PR9199.4.R53D36 2004823′.92—dc22 2003023253

Printed in the United States of America

09 08 07 06 05 049 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PROLOGUE

Tiny sparks, fanned by the wind and boosted by an unseen accelerant,burst into devouring flames. Mutely ominous, they crept across thegable end of the house in a silent quest for more, then bit into thescrolling gingerbread trim with malicious delight.

Once savored, their appetite became insatiable.They licked across the roof, hungry, flickering orange tongues,

dazzling against the inky blackness of midnight. Barely minutes laterthe upper story of the house blazed in the night shadows as the crack-ling inferno consumed in a mad, voracious anger.

It was a fitting end.Now, let her feel the same pain he carried in his soul—poker hot.

Searing.No one noticed the skeleton of a smile lift his thin, angry mouth.

No neighbor saw him walk to the bus stop on the corner, linger there,waiting under a pine tree for Calgary’s firemen to arrive.

Come. He ached to shout it, to tell the world. It doesn’t matternow. You’re too late to tame the beast I’ve let loose.

Grim satisfaction eased his fury when the whining cry of a fireengine moaned around the corner, howled to a halt. Firemen pouredonto the street, then gaped in horror. Where to start?

Still, he waited in the shadows—and the hoses spurted their punystream over his inferno.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.Bitter gall soured his stomach, accentuating the void. As he

turned to leave, a car plummeted through the barricade, squealed to astop. A woman fell out, screaming her grief in mournful wails as shetried to break free of a firefighter’s restraining hold.

Her!

ix

He swore at the futility of it. All that planning and he’d missedhis target. The unexpected again. He hated chance, hated having hisplans disrupted. And yet, wasn’t that exactly why he was here?

She’d ruined it all. Utterly destroyed everything. Now, for thesecond time, she had escaped justice. For that he would exactpayment—in full.

With a curse of disgust, he turned, slipped into the denseness ofa smoky gloom that allowed him to leave without arousing suspicion.He walked a long time, pausing to check over his shoulder every sooften. No one followed.

A single thought brightened the darkness of his soul. Perhapstonight wasn’t a waste but merely another step along the path of retri-bution she deserved. For months he’d waited . . . watched. He couldafford to wait longer. Meanwhile, she would suffer.

This was just the start of the battle, the first assault.But he wouldn’t lose. She would pay his price.Justine demanded no less.

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Dangerous Sanctuary

C H A P T E R O N E

You’re leaving? To go where?”He frowned, which Georgia interpreted as a reminder that she

stay in touch.“I don’t know where, Doug. Not yet. I just know I’ve wept for too

long. Nothing will bring them back. Nothing. It’s been nearly twoyears. It’s time I figured out how to live the rest of my life.” A pause,a break in her voice as she fought for control. “Please understand.I have to learn to move on.”

“Yes. But move on where? To what? Back to nursing?” Hewatched her carefully.

“No.” That much was certain. “I’ll always be ‘that’ nurse. Peoplewill always wonder if I did it deliberately, if I knew.” Georgia shookher head. “I can’t go back. I have to go ahead.”

“And that means leaving the city?”“For now.”“Okay. Where?” Worry lines carved his forehead.“I haven’t decided for certain, but I thought perhaps I’d visit the

bush country Dad always talked about. I need some place where I canthink.”

1

“Sounds lonely. And then?”“I don’t know about the future, Doug. I can’t think that far ahead.

I’m not booking hotels or anything. I’ll just drive, take things one dayat a time.”

“Why not stop at that camp I told you about? The one the youthgroup has decided to raise funds for. Our church supported a studentwho worked as a counselor there last summer, remember? Apparentlyit’s in the boonies, very much back to nature, which you claim is whatyou want.”

Doug’s eyes flashed with an excitement she remembered fromlong ago. “It might be good, Georgia. Anyone who’s been there saysthe rustic peace of the place restores them. In fact, if you’re travelingnorth to your dad’s old stomping ground, you’ll drive right past it.”

“It’s a children’s camp, isn’t it?” In her mind rang an echo oftoddler laughter, the sound of pure joy abruptly silenced. “A summercamp. There probably isn’t anyone there yet. What did you say it’scalled?”

“Camp Hope. And I think someone lives there year-round. Whynot check it out? You can always leave if it’s not what you want.”

Camp Hope.“Good name.” She leaned forward, hugged him. “I’ll think about

it. Bye, Doug.”“I’ll be praying,” he whispered.Hadn’t he always?

�The Northern Canadian Woods

Georgia MacGregor huddled in the back pew of the old countrychurch and asked herself why she bothered now that Evan wasn’t hereto share with her. Why keep up their Sunday morning tradition? Whytorture herself with a dream that would never live again?

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Dangerous Sanctuary

“God’s very nature is love. Pure, honest, intense love that neverchanges.”

She didn’t want to hear it. But in spite of her efforts to blockthem, the words of the sermon slipped through her consciousness,pierced through to her very soul.

“He may discipline us. He may send us people or allow eventsthat we don’t understand or appreciate, but the truth of who He isnever changes. God personifies love.”

No! She wouldn’t listen anymore.Georgia reached for the trifold bulletin and scanned it with

mounting desperation, searching for something—anything—thatwould keep her mind off questions no one could answer. Baby- andwedding-shower announcements sprinkled through the list ofdates to remember. A ninetieth birthday, two retirement parties, afuneral notice. A picnic for the church family and a church cleaning.There was plenty going on in this small rural assembly, even though itwas hidden away from the hubbub of the city. Proof that life went on?

She smiled at the list of special dates marking weeks and monthsthat lay in the future, every important milestone lovingly rememberedby friends, families, and neighbors who cared.

Once Georgia had considered remembering a good thing. But inthe end, the memories had almost consumed her—until she’d runaway, determined to find a new life.

Yet she could not forget. She would never do that. Just to stophurting, that’s all she craved. And hadn’t found. Not in six weeks ofendless traveling.

It was time to go back.

Camp Hope needs a head cook for the summer. Our first campbegins soon! The situation is critical. Please contact the camp office ifyou can help out.

Doug’s camp. Georgia flipped the paper closed, her mind swingingback to her childhood. The few times she’d been allowed to attend

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LOIS RICHER

summer camp she’d loved it. Did kids today do the same silly thingsshe’d done? Toilet paper the cabins, stash candy from the tuck shop forevening parties conducted after weary counselors finally fell asleep?

She opened the bulletin to the back page, reread the ad. Soundedlike they were desperate.

“Miss MacGregor, it’s lovely to see you back with us again.”The minister! Georgia jumped to her feet, only then realizing

she’d somehow missed the closing hymn and the benediction.“Th-thank you,” she stammered, her hand limp in the pastor’s

firm grip. She wouldn’t correct him—he didn’t need to know.Besides, technically she wasn’t a Mrs. any longer, was she?

“It seems you stayed a little longer than you intended.” Thepastor’s blue eyes twinkled, as if to remind her of her insistence thatshe couldn’t possibly remain for their brunch last weekend.

“Actually I did,” she murmured, drawing her hand from his.“I traveled up to the lakes last week. With all the road construction,I had to return this way.”

“Ah.” His intent gaze probed the curtain of reserve she tried todraw between them. “And did you enjoy your trip to the north?”

“Oh yes. It’s a beautiful area. I hadn’t realized so much wild coun-try still remained out here.” She searched for a way to escape. But thewoman on the other side of her was deep in conversation with a petu-lant child. Both of them blocked her only exit. There was no way out.

Georgia gave up and faced the garrulous pastor.“I suppose you’ve had a chance to see Camp Hope then.” He

grinned. “It’s our pride and joy. Thirty years ago that place was noth-ing but bush. Now it houses camps all summer long. Even a few in thewinter.”

Georgia followed his gaze to the bulletin in her hands. “I’m afraidI didn’t go there. In fact, I’ve only just read their announcement inhere.”

“Yes, the cook.” He shook his head, his smile disintegrating. “It’sa serious situation, I’m afraid. Normally they’ve long since filled their

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Dangerous Sanctuary

staff vacancies. But after all the rumors . . .” He sighed. “Well, we’vebeen praying for Kent.”

She didn’t really care about the camp, but what was this aboutrumors?

“Kent?” she asked, hoping he would take the bait and offer someillumination on his unusual comments.

“Kent Anderson. He’s the camp director. He was here this morn-ing. I’ll introduce you, if you like. Just let me look.” The pastorglanced around the sanctuary but didn’t find the person he sought.His gaze moved to outside the window behind her. “Yes, there he is.”He chuckled. “I might have known.”

“Known?”“Look over there, with the Murdock sisters. Funny hats,” he

added when she didn’t immediately see where he was pointing. Helaughed. “To that boy, those ladies are the equivalent of twin grand-mothers—double everything!”

“That’s nice.” Georgia wondered if she dared nudge the womanwho blocked her exit, but when the child began to wail anew, shedeclined, concentrated on what the pastor was saying.

“They must have asked him for lunch. I can tell from the way he’shelping Miss Emily into her car instead of teasing her about her hatthat she’s offered him food.”

Georgia glanced out the window again. A man stood with hisback to them, carefully assisting a tiny white-haired woman from herwalker into the passenger seat of the oldest car Georgia had ever seen.The feathery nest trembling atop Miss Emily’s white head demandedattention. Georgia stifled her giggles. She didn’t blame the man forhis gingerly help or the smile that flickered at the edge of his mouth.That hat threatened to topple with the tiniest gust of wind.

She focused on the man. He was good-looking, his face a blend ofrugged angles and tanned lines that told the tale of his outdoor life.Tall and muscular, he wore faded corduroy pants, a checkered shirt,and battered brown loafers with an air of elegant grace. All in all,

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LOIS RICHER

Kent Anderson looked very comfortable standing there waiting, asa car older than he rumbled away.

“He’s not going with them. Isn’t the Murdocks’ a good place tolunch?” she asked absently, still watching.

Kent covered the smile on his face with one hand while the carrounded the corner in a series of backfires. He turned, only thenbecoming aware of the attention several giggling teenage girls werepaying him. He grinned, then pretended to doff his hat at them,bowing from the waist. They giggled even more.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he called. “Got your registrations infor teen camp?”

“Not yet,” one of them said. “We weren’t sure whether—”“You’d better hurry.” He cut across the rest of their sentence, his

voice betraying a hint of strain. “Things are filling up. Teen camp isalways a good one.”

They nodded.He seemed to want to say more but apparently changed his mind

and instead jumped upward in time to snatch a bright red Frisbee,which he tossed back to a little boy. “Good one, Jeffry. You’re gettingbetter.”

Jeffry grinned with delight at Kent’s praise, and Kent grinnedback.

Georgia watched him amble across the lawn in a long-leggedstride that carried him toward a van on which Camp Hope had beenpainted in large, if not precise, dark blue letters. The Frisbee landed athis feet. He stopped, then crouched down. Jeffry raced over to speakto him. Georgia couldn’t help smiling at the bent heads and seriousgestures, imagining a manly discussion on Frisbee throwing.

“That man purely loves kids. And don’t let him fool you. He’sgoing for lunch all right,” the pastor assured her. “The Murdocksisters’ is the best place in the world for a bachelor. Delicious food andplenty of it. By the look on Kent’s face they’re serving chicken anddumplings today.”

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Dangerous Sanctuary

Kent ruffled the boy’s hair, laughing as the child walked backwardto grab his dad’s hand.

Georgia turned to the pastor. “Dumplings. Oh.” She hid hersmile. “How can you tell?”

“See the way he licks his lips?” The pastor performed a gesturethat Kent immediately copied before he climbed into his van. “See?”

Georgia blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”“Kent loves dumplings.” The pastor’s eyes hinted that he wished

he were going to attend a feast at the Murdock sisters’ too.“’Course, right about now Kent loves almost anything somebody

else prepares. He’s acting as chief cook and bottle washer at CampHope, but if he’s going to the Murdocks’, he must have got areprieve.” A faint look of distaste crossed his face. “His cooking—it’snot a good thing, Miss MacGregor. Not with them trying to rebuild.”

He stopped, thought a moment, then began again. “Next weekthe school groups start coming in. I can’t imagine how he’ll managethen, even if he wheedles a stack of baking from those two ladies.”

“I see.” She didn’t, not really. Rebuild what?All at once Pastor Benjamin’s faded eyes opened wide. “Say, you

don’t happen to know anything about cooking for big groups, doyou?”

“Uh . . . well . . .” Georgia gulped, searched for a denial thatwouldn’t come. “A little,” she admitted at last. “But not enough forwhat they want, I’m sure.”

“What they want is someone who can make pots of spaghetti,dozens of grilled-cheese sandwiches, and gallons of juice. Those areabout all the qualifications you need to feed kids at camp.” He tippedbackward on his heels, his eyes narrowing. “Might give you a breakfrom all this traveling you’ve been doing, Miss MacGregor. Some-thing new to focus on.”

Georgia blanched. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly haveguessed how much she wished to bury herself in something—anything—that would take her mind off the past and the brooding

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questions. He couldn’t know that she didn’t want to go back home,not until she’d found some of the answers she sought. All she neededwas a reason not to return, but he couldn’t know that either.

“Then again, there’s plenty of busywork.” His speculative gazeassessed her scraped-back hair, her thin face with its camouflagemakeup meant to hide the circles under her eyes. “Wouldn’t want youto overtax yourself.”

Georgia was tired, but it was a mental weariness that dragged ather spirit. Busywork was exactly what her doctor had ordered, some-thing to focus on so she wouldn’t have time to think about her future.But cooking for children?

“I couldn’t possibly spend the entire summer there.” The old fearerupted like molten lava. In a place like this, gossip would spread fast.Once they found out, people would talk, stare. Maybe she’d even givethe camp a bad name. If she hung around that long. Georgia swal-lowed, hard. “Not possibly.”

The minister nodded. “Of course not. No one expects that. Butmaybe a few days? a week? Be nice to give Kent a break before the bigcamps get going. He’s got an awful lot to do out there.” He rubbed hisstomach ruefully. “Believe me, cooking just isn’t his forte. And Ishould know. I ate his stuff last Friday. I’m still swallowing heartburnmedication.”

She didn’t need to ask—his puckered face conveyed his meaningin vivid detail.

“There’s only one person to run the place?” It didn’t sound likemuch of a camp to Georgia, nothing like she’d pictured from Doug’sdescription. Anyway, why was she even discussing this? She’d lefthome for solitude, to forget.

“Oh no, Kent won’t be the only one! Not by a long shot.” PastorBen shook his head, big grin firmly in place. “Fred and Ralna Jonesare there already. Fred tries to manage the maintenance work thecamp needs, though it’s getting to be a bit much for him. Ralnahandles the office stuff, helps out in the kitchen when she can, and

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Dangerous Sanctuary

generally acts as the camp grandmother to the kids. They’ve beenthere forever.”

He stopped for a moment, his mind obviously somewhere else.Then he smiled at her. “I wander out myself now and then. Makes mefeel young.”

He rambled on, painting a vivid picture of boisterous camplife that attracted Georgia in spite of herself. Suddenly she longedto be needed, to listen to the laughter of exuberant children, torelish the freedom of living among people who didn’t care about herpast, hadn’t heard the rumors and innuendos, and were too busy tocare.

“Well, I can see I’m putting you to sleep.” Pastor Ben chuckled.He waggled his fingers in front of her nose, drawing her attentionback to him. “I’m sorry, Miss MacGregor. I do tend to get carriedaway when it comes to Camp Hope. They do such good work. I hateto see the place suffer just because no one will commit to cook a fewmeals.”

“It sounds like a lot of meals to me.” Georgia picked up her purse,anxious not to give herself away. Not yet. In spite of her misgivings,in spite of the little warning voice in her head and the prickles ofnervousness that flickered over her, she was interested in CampHope. Maybe looking after someone else’s needs would help herforget—for a while. At least she wouldn’t have to go home yet.

Home—where was home?“Will we see you next week?”“I’m not sure.” Georgia stepped out from the pew and into the

aisle, glad to be free of the constricting space, when the woman besideher finally moved. “I don’t plan too far ahead. Not anymore.” Whatwas the point?

Pastor Ben nodded, his face grave. “Sometimes that’s best, isn’t it?Then the Lord can step in and turn us around more easily.” Hereached out, folded her hand in his, and patted it gently. “Well, takecare, Miss MacGregor. Trust in God; He’ll lead you.”

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Her feet faltered as her mind absorbed the words: trust in God?Her mouth pinched tight. The pastor wasn’t at fault. He wouldn’tunderstand, and she couldn’t explain that God had left her alone twoyears ago to face a future she didn’t want.

Georgia nodded good-bye, then strode toward the door, her advan-tage in height allowing her to negotiate a clear path through the smallgroup of folks who remained behind to chat, only then rememberingthat she hadn’t learned what the rumors he’d mentioned were. Butwhat did that matter? She had firsthand experience of just how littletruth rumors contained and how damaging they could be.

Perhaps she was being foolish, but she thought she might take adrive out to this camp. Just to look.

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Dangerous Sanctuary

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Friends,

Thank you so much for taking the time to read Dangerous Sanctuary.I pray the book touched your heart and led you closer to our wonderfulGod.

For each of us there is a place we can go, a sanctuary to run to whenlife overwhelms—it lies in the Father’s arms. Only there do we receivestrength that can sustain us through the worries today brings and a renewalof hope for tomorrow. May you find that place.

Watch for Forgotten Justice, book 2 in the Camp Hope series for thecontinuing story of Christa and John. In the meantime, I look forward tohearing from you. My prayer for you is for abounding love, rich joy, andunquestioned peace.

Blessings,

Lois

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