“Sounds good.”
Cassie had hired Harry Orlansky and trained him as a bounty hunter a few months after his wife passed away four years ago. The skills he’d learned in the military, plus his experience as a volunteer with search and rescue alongside Cassie and her dad, had paid off. Harry was a natural. He’d recently gotten remarried. Proof that life did go on after the heartbreaking loss of a spouse. For some people, anyway.
“Man, this rain is really coming down,” Leon commented.
“Tell me about it.” The downpour had nearly flooded the road Cassie was driving on.
“You almost to the ranch?” he asked.
Cassie rolled her eyes even though he wasn’t there to see the gesture. For a guy who made his living hunting down dangerous men—a guy with a past darker than the lives of many of the criminals he now chased—Leon sure could be a worrier.
“I’m just about to the Shackleford Inlet,” she said as a flash of lightning illuminated the short bridge ahead. Lake Bell was to the right. The marshy, shallow-water inlet was to the left, with forest just beyond it.
The entrance to North Star Ranch, where she lived with her dad and a husband-and-wife team who helped care for the horses boarded on the property, was only seven miles beyond that.
“Before I forget, Harry wanted me to ask you something,” Leon said.
Cassie never heard the question. A bullet ripped through the windshield of her SUV. Two more immediately followed.
“No!” The word flew out of Cassie’s mouth as small shards of glass sliced across her face. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and fought the impulse to turn right or left. She was on the bridge and either direction would take her into the water. If she were knocked unconscious by the impact, which was highly likely, she’d drown before anyone could rescue her. If she slammed on the brakes, she’d be a sitting duck for the shooter. The bridge was too narrow for her to make a U-turn. Her only option was to drive forward, toward the source of the gunfire. She grit her teeth and hit the accelerator.
“Cassie, tell me what’s happening!” Leon barked through the speaker.
“Someone’s shooting at me!”
She was aware of hearing his voice again, but his specific words didn’t register. At the moment, she had a higher priority than listening to him. She needed to get past the shooter without getting killed.
She flicked a switch beneath the dashboard to dim the instrument panel lights in the hope of making herself a more difficult target, but almost immediately a bolt of lightning flashed overhead, lighting her up like a Broadway theater marquee.
A barrage of bullets tore across the windshield and front of her SUV. The safety glass held together, but the spiderweb of cracks along with the pouring rain made it nearly impossible to see. The SUV slowed and the engine started knocking. A bullet must have made it through the front grill and gotten into the engine.
The disappearance of the reflector buttons on the bridge railings told her she was back on solid ground.
“Cassie!” Leon’s voice boomed through the speaker.
“I made it across the bridge,” she said while flooring the accelerator, trying to push her damaged vehicle up to at least normal speed so she could get through this ambush—or whatever it was—and make her way home.
She drove into the slight curve just beyond the end of the bridge. At the same time, she heard the loud crack of a rifle shot from just ahead and to her right. The front driver’s-side tire blew out and sent her SUV sliding across the wet road.
“Lord, help!” She offered up that same short prayer repeatedly as she fought with the jerking steering wheel to keep her SUV on the asphalt. She lost the battle. The driver’s-side tires went off the pavement into the mud and momentum kept it sliding until the tires sank deeper, got caught in the muck, and the SUV flipped over onto the roof.
One jolt after another rattled her body until all of the various movements finally came to a stop. The air bags had done their job and started to deflate. Cassie, held in place by her seat belt, bit back on the feeling of dizziness and disorientation. She reached to unfasten the clasp and dropped down onto the ceiling. The rollover meant she was now on the side of the vehicle closest to the road. And, presumably, closest to the shooter. She had to move quickly despite the pain in her wrenched neck and shoulders.
The vehicle’s electrical system was out. The headlights and interior lights were off. The storm had apparently stalled over Stone River, with lightning still flashing overhead. That could make it easier for the shooter to see her.
Her phone had disconnected from the SUV’s hands-free system. She crawled around on the ceiling and found it among a lot of the other stuff that had fallen when the SUV flipped over. She hit the side button to silence it and slid the phone into her pocket. The last thing she needed was to be hiding in the woods and have her phone start making noises.
Cassie made her way to the passenger side and reached down for the door handle out of habit before realizing she needed to reach up. The door only opened an inch or so and then froze. It had been dented. She didn’t have time to waste. The shooter was likely closing in, ready to finish her off. She kicked at the door frantically until it finally opened enough for her to slip out.
Just before she did, she reached up for the console between the front seats and pulled the latch. Her gun fell out and she caught it. “Whoever you are, I’m not going to make this easy for you,” she muttered, already thinking about the very long list of bail jumpers who held a grudge against her. Maybe this attack was related to her time in court today with Rogan. Maybe it was related to something else entirely.
Her holster was somewhere in the back of the vehicle with her pepper spray, night-vision binoculars and the rest of her bounty hunting gear. She didn’t have time to go digging around for it now. Instead, she shoved the gun into the waistband of her pants, pushed out of the SUV into the pouring rain, and immediately found herself ankle-deep in mud.
There was another boom of thunder and flash of lightning overhead and she risked a glance back toward the road. She saw a man standing at the edge of the pavement where her SUV had left the asphalt. He was wearing a ski mask and hat, and had the collar of his jacket turned up. She couldn’t see his face. But she could see the rifle in his hands. And she knew that he saw her. Because he’d been turning his head from side to side as if searching for something when she’d first spotted him. Now he locked his face in her direction and lifted the rifle to take aim.
Cassie turned and took off into the woods, trying to run, but the sludge grasping at her boots made it difficult.
She needed to call 9-1-1. But before she could do that, she had to find a place where she could stay safely hidden until help arrived. Taking a stand and trying to fight back against the gunman in the dark when he could have night-vision equipment and she did not was foolhardy.
She headed deeper into the thick forest, her hair and clothes snagging on pine needles as she shoved her way through the stabbing tree branches. In broad daylight, the clues she was leaving behind would be as obvious as flags marking a hiking trail for an experienced tracker. She could only hope that the lunatic chasing her was not skilled at hunting humans. Or that he was in too much of a hurry to look around.
She was used to hiking in the woods, and jogging on occasion to stay fit, so she made good headway. Given the rocks, exposed tree roots and uneven terrain she was traversing, there was no way she could make a call for help while running. She had to pay attention to her footing. Finally, she reached a point where she thought it might be relatively safe to stop and make that call.
Lightning flashed again. Seconds later, Cassie heard the crack of a rifle shot, followed by booming thunder. Burning pain creased her left arm and she stumbled forward, falling onto her hands and knees. She’d been shot. She felt the gun fall out of her waistband and, for a few frantic seconds, couldn’t find it
on the forest floor in the darkness.
When she finally did recover it, she decided to hold on to it, safety off and ready to fire, rather than tuck it back into her waistband.
The rain was pattering so loudly on the tree limbs and on the small expanses of exposed ground that she couldn’t hear if the gunman was moving in on her. Without the flashes of lightning, she couldn’t see much. But she knew there was a nearby stream that came down from the mountains and emptied into the lake. If she hiked in the bed of the stream, she wouldn’t leave a trail. She headed for it, finally stepping into roiling water and fighting to keep her balance on the uneven layer of river stones.
Following it downstream would take her back to the road. The last place she wanted to be. She headed upstream, anxious to move at least a couple hundred yards so she might finally feel it was safe enough to stop for a few seconds to try to make the call again. She also needed to check her gunshot wound. See how bad it was and figure out if she was in even worse trouble than she already knew she was.
* * *
“Cassie, answer your phone!” Leon Bragg drove his truck full-throttle around Lake Bell toward the bridge over Shackleford Inlet. He knew that yelling in frustration at the ringing sound coming through the speaker would not accomplish anything, but at least it was something he could do.
Sixteen minutes ago, he’d heard a popping sound on Cassie’s end of the phone, followed by her yelling no, and then a jumble of sounds before the call disconnected. He’d been on his way to the office and had immediately changed direction, heading toward Cassie to see what had happened and to make sure she was okay. He’d tried repeatedly to call since then and had gotten no answer.
The weather was bad. She could have had an accident. Maybe a tire blew out. Or maybe one of the criminals she’d helped put away over the years had tracked her down looking for revenge. A lot of fugitives they recovered made that threat to Cassie. Leon could only think of a couple of times when someone had made that threat to him. They didn’t threaten his fellow bounty hunters Harry Orlansky or Martin Silverdeer nearly as often, either. The reason for the difference was obvious. It was because she was a woman and she didn’t look particularly intimidating.
Leon knew that despite her smaller stature, Cassie was smart and strong and tough. But she wasn’t superhuman. Nobody was. Everyone needed help sometimes, and he would be just as worried and have the exact same reaction if he were on the phone with Harry or Martin and the call ended the same way.
Okay, that was a lie. One that he’d been telling himself for a while. His reaction to the possibility she was in danger was different. He’d given in to the impulse to physically check on her more quickly than he would have if it had been one of the guys on the phone with him. That would have been the case if he’d been on the phone with any woman. Like it or not, that’s how he rolled. But with Cassie, well, there was something more.
Plus, he’d seen those jerks glaring at her in the courtroom. Maybe they’d decided dirty looks weren’t enough and they wanted to do something to her.
The ringing coming through the speaker stopped. Leon reached over to disconnect rather than listen to the call go to her voice mail again. But just before he tapped the screen, he heard the static sound of a bad connection, the sound of someone breathing, and then, very quietly, Cassie said, “I’m beside the stream just past the bridge.” The connection wasn’t good, and parts of her words kept cutting off as she continued talking. He made out something about her being shot at, heading east, the shooter being in the woods surrounding her, and what might have been a warning for him to be careful.
The call dropped and his fear-fueled pounding heart seemed to drop along with it. Was she hurt? Was the shooter tracking her? Did he dare call her back? Would the ringtone or the light from the phone screen give her location away to whoever was after her?
Leon’s chest and stomach felt like one big knot as he barreled toward the bridge and Cassie. She could be in pain. She was probably terrified. And, knowing Cassie, she was probably angry, too. Leon wished he’d been able to tell her he was on his way. Give her at least that tiny bit of comfort and hope. But the fact that she’d warned him told him she knew he’d get to her side as soon as he could.
He punched 9-1-1 and gave the operator Cassie’s general location, the situation she was in and a warning about a possible shooter at large. His headlights shining through the pouring rain swept across the bridge railings as he drove over it, and then he saw Cassie’s SUV flipped on its roof, in the mud a good fifteen or twenty feet past the edge of the pavement. It had just barely stopped short of hitting a clump of pine trees. An impact with those could have been fatal.
Fear for Cassie made it hard for Leon to breathe. But then he quickly shoved his emotions aside. He disconnected the 9-1-1 call even though the operator had told him to stay on the line. He would need to be silent in the woods. If he was going to take any chances with using a phone, it would be in communication with Cassie. He had to find her and he knew he would have to take some risks to speed up the search.
In the meantime, he turned off his headlights, slowed and pulled off the road near Cassie’s SUV. He cut the engine, grabbed his phone and pocketed it, and reached across the seat for his holster and gun. He leaned down and dug into his duffel bag on the floor for his night-vision binoculars, looped them around his neck and then grabbed a first-aid pouch that he could snap to his belt. He scanned the area with the binoculars but didn’t see anybody. Then he shoved open the door, stepped out into the rain and took off jogging into the woods.
Just before he reached the stream, he dropped down behind a tree and grabbed the binoculars to take a quick look around. The last thing he wanted to do was to lead any lurking thug toward Cassie. He didn’t see anybody. That, of course, did not mean there wasn’t somebody out there.
His bounty hunting instincts prompted him to try to think like the person he was tracking. The water in the stream wasn’t very deep and walking in it wouldn’t leave tracks. That’s the way Cassie would have gone. He stepped into the water and started slogging upstream, half expecting her to pop out from behind a tree on the stream bank.
He went several yards when he heard the crack of a rifle followed by the snap of a tree branch as it split from the trunk and tumbled downward, stopping before it completely broke free. The shooter must have seen him. Leon got out of the stream, sprinted into the woods and dropped down behind a tree to take out his binoculars again. He spotted the shooter, who was tilting his head slightly as he looked around. Leon couldn’t see his face clearly due to the hat and covering he wore. But he could see a scope on the rifle as the shooter lifted his weapon to look through it. So the assailant had night vision, too.
Leon’s phone vibrated. Keeping it hidden in his pocket so the glare wouldn’t show, he moved it so he could see the screen. It was a text from Cassie.
Heard a shot. You okay?
He took his shot and missed, Leon replied.
Cassie texted back, Sounds like you’re still downstream from me. I’ll start heading in your direction.
No. He’s got a night vision scope. Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.
Leon trusted that if she had her own night-vision equipment, she’d let him know.
His phone vibrated again and he checked her reply.
OK.
He was fairly certain he was on the same side of the stream that she was. Now he just had to find her without bringing the shooter along with him. He surveyed his surroundings with the binoculars. The gunman was just across the stream, looking in the direction of the split tree branch. Looking for Leon, and ultimately for Cassie.
Leon had to make sure he got to her first. He flattened on his belly and began crawling in Cassie’s direction, ignoring the soaked pine straw, weeds and rocks, and sometimes having to hold his breath to keep from inhaling mud or rainwater. He crawled for several yards, stopped and use
d the binoculars again. The gunman was paralleling him. He was well equipped and smart. He’d obviously figured out that Leon was there to help Cassie.
Leon had to get to her before that guy did. Or he needed to lure the shooter away from her so she could make her way back to the road and to the cops who should be showing up any minute now.
Making himself the target and drawing away the gunman actually made more sense. He would leave his night-vision binoculars on the stream bank for Cassie to use. She wouldn’t be safe if she had to run through the forest virtually blind. He’d find some prominent land feature to describe where he’d left them. That should work.
The rain started pattering down again and there was a flash of lightning as he sent a text to Cassie sketching out the basics of his plan. He waited for a reply. Two or three minutes passed and it felt like an eternity. Fear started to set in. Maybe the text hadn’t gone through. Maybe she’d been significantly injured in the car crash. Maybe worse. He checked the screen again.
And then from the darkness he heard the words, “Fat chance.”
Cassie.
She crept up and dropped down behind the tree into the mud beside him.
Thank You, Lord, Leon prayed silently, feeling the heavy weight and tight clutch of fear lift from him. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Literally. But she was alive and well enough to move on her own. Being near her and seeing her face made him feel better. Just like it always did.
“I see you didn’t stay in place,” Leon grumbled. What he wanted to do was to wrap her in his arms. But that was not the nature of their relationship. And, fortunately, Leon had several years’ experience in holding back on his feelings and impulses around her.
She wiped her wet hair out of her eyes. “I had to come find you before you got yourself killed. You thought I’d let you draw the shooter to you while I saved my own hide? Like I said, fat chance.”
He looked away, hiding the faint smile that crossed his lips despite the dire situation. He should have predicted she wouldn’t like the plan. “Has the shooter said anything to you? Do you have any idea who it is?” he asked.
Widow's Secrets Page 19
