Another shot pinged off the ground two feet away and Katherine flinched. “Don’t we need to find a way out of here?”
“He can’t hit us from the angle he’s shooting from. Might come close, but...”
“What if he changes angles?”
“Then we’ll have a problem.” He paused. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He closed his eyes and swallowed, praying the nausea would fade. He never liked being sick, but losing his breakfast in front of this woman would be humiliating. Of course, that was the least of his worries. I’m sorry, Carl...
“You probably have a slight concussion,” she said. “How’s your vision?”
“Fine.” A bit wobbly, but it would be fine. He didn’t have a choice. Dominic glanced around the side of the large trunk, saw nothing and pulled back, fighting another wave of sickness. “How come you’re so calm and cool while getting shot at?” he asked, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in his gut. Most everyone outside of law enforcement or military would be freaking out. And it had nothing to do with her gender. He was including men in that generalization.
“I was a tactical medic in Atlanta, Georgia, for four years.”
“That’s a story I’d like to hear, but for now, we need help.”
“Isabelle, my friend who was with me when we heard the shots, called the police, but it’ll take some time for them to get out here.”
Time they didn’t have.
“So, we’re on our own for a bit.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Where’s my phone?” he muttered. He patted his cargo pants and finally found the device in the side pocket. No signal. Great. A flash of movement in the trees sent alarm crashing through him. “Okay, shooter’s changing angles. We’re going to need a better hiding place.” If he could move. The doctor was eyeing him like she was wondering the same thing. “I’ll make it,” he assured her.
“Then come on. Hold on to me if you need to.”
Determined not to need to, Dominic, nevertheless, grabbed her hand this time and headed for a thicker area of trees. The undergrowth slowed them down and he could only pray it was doing the same for the shooter.
A hard yank on his arm pulled him to a stumbling stop. “What is it?”
“There.” She pointed. “Can you go up some? There’s a small cave behind those trees. It’s not perfect, but it’ll provide some coverage.”
He followed her pointing finger to the area that would hide them well if he could manage to get up there. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
She shot him a worried look but did as he ordered and scrambled up the side of the hill to the opening. She slipped inside and he followed with a grunt.
The chill of the sheltered space made him shiver while the pain in his head shot down the back of his neck and into his shoulders. He gripped his weapon in his right hand and stood at the entrance, watching. Waiting. At least no one could sneak up behind them.
Nothing moved. “I’ve lost track of him,” he said in a low whisper. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “And I’ve still got no signal.”
“It’s spotty in this area,” she answered, her voice as low as his. “But Isabelle’s sending help.”
Which he appreciated, but even if help arrived in the next five minutes, that was probably going to be too late.
Copyright © 2021 by Lynette Eason
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ISBN-13: 9780369716163
Arctic Witness
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Heather Woodhaven for her contribution to the Alaska K-9 Unit miniseries.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Arctic Witness Page 19
