Jaguar (Painter Place Saga, #3)

Now her breath came in gasps. If she ran, it could be straight into the hands of the men hunting her. Every step may lead away from the Jaguar. Was he still alive to help her?

She closed her eyes to prove to herself there was as much light behind her lids as when keeping them open. Darkness surrounded her like an entity with cruel hands, reaching out. She had the sensation of falling backwards into a never-ending night, and once again, she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

Unbidden, some memorized scripture from childhood days in Bible drills came to mind. Her leader had promised then that verses her group worked so hard to recite would return when they needed them. Gratefully, she whispered bits of what she recalled of Psalm 59, turning the scripture into a prayer. “Deliver me—deliver me from my enemies, my God; protect me from those who rise up against me.”

She stopped, breathless, too distraught to recall more than parts of it, but latching onto two words for dear life. “Deliver me—deliver me! Save me from men of bloodshed who ambush me.”

Snagging on the brink of something almost on her tongue, Caroline rubbed her forehead briskly. “Oh! I know! Powerful men attack me, but not because of anything I’ve done. Lord—I will sing praises, because God is my stronghold.”

Now she turned from scripture to her own whispered plea. “Good or bad, no one can hide from You—not even here. You alone are faithful when men fail. See us through this!”