Witness on the Run

by Susan Cliff

  “I’ll leave the safety on.”

  He grunted his approval. She tucked the gun away, where they could both access it easily. Making preparations for a shootout didn’t brighten the mood in the cab. Or maybe it was the photos that caused tension. Either way, Tala stayed quiet, her face pensive. Cam didn’t turn on the radio to break the silence. He let it echo between them. He wished he was better at making conversation. He wanted to know more about Tala. He wanted to hear her childhood stories. To share her hopes and dreams.

  “What would you do for a living, if you could do anything?” he asked finally.

  “Anything?”

  “Anything,” he repeated.

  “I’d like to finish school first. I need at least another year to graduate.”

  “You’re getting a degree in life science?”

  “Earth science.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m not sure. Something outdoors. Maybe a wildlife biologist, or park warden.”

  “What’s a park warden?”

  “I believe you call them ‘park rangers’ in the US.”

  He arched a brow. “Are you aware that park rangers are law enforcement officers?”

  “Yes,” she said ruefully.

  He didn’t point out that she couldn’t apply for that kind of job with a criminal record. She probably already knew.

  “Don’t judge me, Cam. You’re a trucker with a sociology degree.”

  “Have you thought about search and rescue?”

  “No.”

  “You’d be great at it.”

  “Why don’t you do search and rescue?”

  “We could do it together.”

  “Is that your fantasy?”

  He mulled it over. “My fantasy is you and me in a cozy cabin with a fireplace. I’ll chop some wood. You can braid your hair.”

  She smiled, a little sadly. “Sounds nice.”

  “What’s your fantasy?”

  “Freedom.”

  He couldn’t argue with a fantasy. He wanted to give her whatever she needed, including freedom. Maybe she’d come back to him if he let her go. The idea disturbed him too much to contemplate, so he focused on the road. She took out her book, flipping sleek pages. He wondered how many of the images were sexual.

  “I didn’t realize graphic novels were so graphic,” he commented.

  Her lips parted in surprise. “You looked at it.”

  “I got a few ideas from the illustrations.”

  “You did not,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He conceded her point. He hadn’t needed any extra inspiration to give her pleasure. “Well, I enjoyed the art.”

  She closed the book abruptly. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she was picturing a similar scene from last night. He’d spent some quality time with his mouth between her legs—and he’d relished every second. If she left him, he hoped she’d think of that memory often. He could live with being the best she’d ever had. But he’d rather live with her.

  “Why did you search my bag?”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “The book fell out. I glanced at a few pages and put it back inside.”

  “Then you saw the ID.”

  “Then I saw the ID,” he confirmed. He didn’t feel the need to apologize, because it had been an accident. But he tried to consider her perspective and respect her feelings. “Did Duane snoop through your things?”

  “Yes. He always hid my purse so I couldn’t leave.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Her gaze searched his, as if gauging his sincerity.

  “I wanted to look at the book, just to see what you were reading. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

  She nodded her acceptance. “I shouldn’t have stolen the ID.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “Most people aren’t criminals.”

  “I like you the way you are.”

  Tears filled her eyes at the comment. “You said that before.”

  “It’s still true.”

  “I like you the way you are, too,” she said softly. “I’ll never forget you, Cam.”

  His throat tightened with emotion. He couldn’t deny his feelings any longer. He was in love with her. Head over heels in love with her.

  And she was going to run away again, because she didn’t believe they could be together. Because she was a petty criminal, and he was a former cop. Because the world was a terrible place sometimes. Because happy endings didn’t happen every day.

  He considered pulling over to talk, but they were on a downhill curve, and there was a bridge coming up. After he crossed it, he could find a quiet spot to park. He’d tell her he loved her and convince her to stay. If she wouldn’t listen to his words, he’d show her with his hands. He would kiss her and touch her until she believed him. He had it all planned out.

  Unfortunately, his plans were thwarted.

  As he rounded the corner, shifting into a lower gear, he spotted a major problem. Someone had parked a white Chevy Suburban at an angle near the end of the bridge. It was obstructing both lanes, headlights beaming across the railing.

  There was no room to maneuver. He couldn’t get around the vehicle. He’d have to slow to a stop in the middle of the bridge. He engaged his jakes, cursing under his breath. That was when he noticed another vehicle parked on the side of the road beyond the bridge, barely visible in the grainy dark. It was a black SUV, lying in wait.

  Fear spiked through him.

  “This is an ambush,” Tala said, her eyes wide. She was savvy enough to recognize the danger.

  “If I stop, they’ll shoot us.”

  She reached for the gun.

  “Not yet,” he said, easing off the jakes. “Get your head down and brace for impact.”

  With a muffled shriek, she bent forward and covered her head. He wasn’t eager to get in a shootout against two or three armed men. They were already posted up. They could have a cadre of weapons, including long-range rifles. His 9 mm was no match for that kind of firepower, but his rig could do plenty of damage. The killers probably weren’t expecting him to play demolition derby. They’d underestimated his survival instincts.

  Instead of slowing down, he increased his speed, barreling toward the Suburban. Seconds from impact, a man jumped out of the vehicle and ran for cover. Cam wished he hadn’t escaped, but the minor detail didn’t change his trajectory. He smashed head-on into the side of the truck. The Ice Storm crushed the Suburban with brutal force. It was a jarring crash.

  Tala screamed, cowering lower.

  Cam anticipated some steering failures and other complications. He’d worried about losing control and jackknifing over the side of the bridge, but that didn’t happen. His rig took the hit like a champ. There were no flames obscuring his view. The Suburban was stuck to his grill, bent and twisted and smoking.

  He pressed on the gas and kept going. He hadn’t done anything to even up the odds yet, except refuse to be a sitting duck. He needed to wreak some more havoc, or the ambush would succeed and they would die. As soon as he cleared the bridge, he veered to the right, where the other SUV was parked.

  “Stay down,” he said to Tala.

  There were two men inside the second vehicle, and they didn’t jump to safety like their quick-thinking friend. Maybe they didn’t realize he was coming for them next. Maybe they wanted to stand their ground and shoot. Whatever. Bring it on.

  He bore down on them like a freight train, unwavering. Bullets peppered the windshield, making Tala shriek again. Pain exploded in his left shoulder, so he knew he’d been hit.

  Gritting his teeth, he wrenched the wheel toward the SUV and ducked his head. The Suburban stuck to his grill smashed into the SUV.

  This time, there
was fire. Not just bullets, but an exploding gas tank. The Suburban went up in flames, and his rig didn’t fare much better. It jackknifed and rolled into a ditch, scraping across the frozen earth. He got slammed around inside the cab, despite his safety belt. Metal screeched and buckled. His shoulder burned and his leg twisted underneath him. Tala was still screaming, or maybe it was him.

  His head cracked into the side window, and then there was nothing. No sound, no pain, no fire, no light.

  Chapter 19

  Tala couldn’t believe what was happening.

  She’d been worried about an ambush in Fairbanks, which was still a hundred miles away. It hadn’t occurred to her that the killers would attack them on the Dalton. Cam had insisted that the road was too dangerous for regular vehicles, and she’d seen the evidence with her own eyes. She hadn’t expected an early strike.

  The killers had executed their plan with military precision and chilling foresight. They’d known when the Ice Storm was coming. They couldn’t have set up on the bridge otherwise. She realized that as she braced for impact.

  The first crash had been blindly terrifying. She wanted to lift her head to look, but Cam had shouted at her to stay down. Bullets peppered the front of the rig, and chaos erupted. They’d hit a second target. A gas tank exploded. That stupid metal box flew across the cab, slamming into Tala’s elbow. Pictures of Cam’s beautiful dead wife spilled out everywhere. For a surreal moment, they were suspended in the air. Frozen in time.

  Then the action kicked into fast-forward. Flames and snow blurred together. She was jostled this way and that. Glass shattered inward, along with a cold blast of air. The world pitched sideways and came to a shuddering stop. Her seat belt jerked and held.

  She glanced around woozily, trying to orient herself. The smell of smoke and gasoline burned her nostrils. An engine idled high, like a racecar before takeoff.

  It was a bad wreck, and they were trapped inside it. The semi had rolled over onto the driver’s side. Her seat belt held her in place, sort of dangling above Cam. He was slumped behind the wheel, motionless.

  “Cam,” she cried, grasping his shoulder. “Cam!”

  He moaned in response. He was alive!

  She reached out to turn off the engine. Panic gripped her in an icy fist. The front windshield was broken. Snow and cold seeped in, but her main concern was fire. They were dangerously close to two burning vehicles. And what about the inhabitants? She had no idea where the killers were. They could be inside the flaming wreckage, or roaming free. She couldn’t see through the smoke. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “Radio,” Cam mumbled.

  She grabbed the CB and pressed the button. “There’s been an accident,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s serious. We’re on the Dalton Highway, near the bridge. I need an ambulance and police. Please hurry!”

  She didn’t listen for a response. She hung up the receiver and released her seat belt, promptly falling against Cam. He grunted in pain as she jostled him.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I have to get you out.”

  He didn’t argue. She took off his seat belt and considered her options. He was a big, heavy man. She couldn’t drag him far. The driver’s-side door was blocked. The most expedient route was through the front window.

  Decision made, she attempted to pull him toward her. He sucked in a sharp breath when she gripped his right arm. His shirt was torn and damp. She could smell the blood on him. Her stomach dropped.

  “You’re shot.”

  He seemed half-conscious, and not fully aware. His eyes drifted shut.

  “Stay with me, Cam. Are you injured anywhere else?”

  “Head...ankle.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t move you.”

  He wrenched his eyes open. “You have to.”

  She didn’t want to cause him pain. She also didn’t want them to burn to death, or get shot like fish in a barrel. She nodded her agreement. “This will hurt.”

  He gritted his teeth in preparation.

  She put her arms around his waist and heaved. He helped her as much as he could. When she freed him from the cramped space behind the wheel, it was easier to maneuver. She crawled through the safety glass and over the hood, pulling him along. He used his good leg to push off. Then they were both clear, tumbling into the bitter cold.

  She dragged him a few feet away from the wreckage. He collapsed there, his breaths ragged from exertion. She didn’t think he could walk. The concussion was probably more of a factor than his busted ankle. The blood on his shoulder appeared minimal. She didn’t see any other wounds, but he could have internal injuries.

  Heart racing, she inspected their surroundings. It was a nightmarish scene. There were two bodies inside the black SUV. The Suburban looked empty. Maybe there was another corpse inside, buried under smoke and twisted metal.

  “One got away,” Cam rasped.

  Tala swallowed hard. There was a killer on the loose, lurking in the shadows. She glanced around warily, unable to locate the threat. She felt the urge to flee, as always, but she couldn’t take Cam with her.

  “Go,” he told her. “Run.”

  She ignored the order. She wasn’t going anywhere. Her instinct to run couldn’t compete with her love for him. She wouldn’t leave him to die. He might die anyway, because of the cold. It was below zero, and he was injured, lying in the snow. They weren’t even wearing jackets. They had no protection from the elements, and the flames from the wreck didn’t warm them. Hypothermia would set in quickly—if the killers didn’t finish them off first.

  Cam didn’t say anything else. Maybe he’d passed out again.

  Running wasn’t an option. She had to stand her ground and fight, for both of them.

  She needed Cam’s gun. In the chaos, she’d forgotten to grab it. Getting out of the truck had been her only focus. She studied the wreckage, noting that the fire had died down. Flames were no longer licking at the front of the rig. She didn’t think it would explode if she went back inside. Either way, she had to risk it. She needed the gun and their jackets, too. She’d get both, save Cam and shoot whatever moved in the burning dark.

  She didn’t tell him about her plan. He wasn’t in any position to object. She crawled across the hood with caution. Safety glass clung to her clothes and bit into her palms as she climbed into the cab. The gun was still in the pocket beside the driver’s seat. She emptied her backpack and shoved it inside.

  Her parka was easy to locate. She tossed it out the front window and searched for his. It was wedged against the driver’s side door, caught on a piece of twisted metal. She yanked it free, panting, and threw it on the hood. Then she grabbed the sleeping bag from the berth.

  When she returned to the front of the cab, the firelight shifted. Someone was standing outside, blocking the glow of the flames. He was a dark shadow, faceless and menacing. Her panicked mind supplied a picture of Duane. It was a nasty illusion, but reality was worse. The man tilted his head to the side to reveal his true features. It was the blond man from the diner. The rude roughneck with the gun.

  “Look who we have here,” he said, peering inside the cab. “It’s that pretty little waitress from Willow.”

  Tala stared at him in horror. She clutched the sleeping bag to her chest. The heavy material would protect her from the elements, but it wouldn’t stop a bullet. The gun she needed was in her backpack, out of reach.

  He gestured to the burning vehicles behind him. “You did me a favor with those two. Now come on out and do me another.”

  She didn’t move.

  “If you cooperate, I’ll make it quick. No suffering.”

  “Lay a hand on me and you’ll be the one suffering.”

  He drew a pistol from his coat pocket. Metal glinted in the firelight, reflecting the menace in his eyes. She was about to lunge for her backpack when a flash of motion startled
them both. Someone tackled the killer in a clumsy rush.

  It was Cam.

  She screamed in protest as Cam took the other man to the ground. He was too weak to win this fight. She couldn’t believe he’d gotten up on his own. He was going to get shot again! He was going to die for her. She couldn’t let that happen. She grabbed the gun from the backpack, her heart pounding with adrenaline.

  Cam had risked his life for her, despite his injuries. He might not be able to move beyond the first strike—but that was all she needed. He’d given her an opening to save them both. She scrambled across the hood. Cam and his opponent were grappling in the snow. She disengaged the safety with shaking hands. The killer shoved Cam backward and raised his weapon.

  Cam sprawled there, motionless.

  A gun went off, but it wasn’t the killer’s. It was the one in Tala’s hand. She squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession. Two bullets struck her target in the chest. He slumped forward, dropping his weapon in the snow. Blood bubbled from his lips. He drew in a last breath and went completely still.

  Tala inched forward, ready to fire again if he so much as twitched. He didn’t. He wasn’t breathing. She picked up the loose weapon and secured it in her backpack. Then she knelt by Cam’s prone form. Flickering light illuminated his face. She hoped they weren’t in danger from another explosion. Most of the flames had dissipated, and she didn’t smell gasoline anymore.

  “Did you get him?” he asked, eyes closed.

  “I got him.”

  He grunted his approval. She retrieved both parkas, her throat tight. He was already shivering, his brow furrowed with pain. She couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to stand, let alone launch an attack. Blinking the tears away, she inspected his shoulder. It appeared to have been grazed by a bullet. A small amount of blood seeped from the wound.

  “Can you sit up? I need to put on your jacket.”

  With her help, he struggled into a sitting position. She eased him into his parka carefully, zipping up the front, before he reclined again. He had a bump on his temple. She scooped up a bit of snow and applied it to the tender spot.