by Laura Scott
Nothing was truer. Life had been a bumpy ride for them both. No way to control the dips, divots and ditches. Colt tried to control it by fighting the past with cold cases. She tried to control it by isolation. Did he feel the vacuum sucking up all the joy and surprises in life as much as she did?
Colt took her heavy basket of apples, and they strolled in silence to the barn entrance, where employees weighed their apples and Colt purchased them. Colt scoured the lot and kept Georgia close to him. “Ready?”
For reality? No. “I would like to visit my fur babies later, if it’s okay. To at least let them know I haven’t abandoned them.”
A flash of sorrow passed over Colt’s face. Abandonment. His mother must have popped into his mind with that word. But Georgia was certain their last conversation before they broke up would echo in his ears. It was one of the last words he’d hurled at Georgia when she ended their relationship.
You’re going to leave me? Abandon me? Did you ever love me at all?
And Georgia had lied.
I don’t know.
It killed her even now to think about it, but she hadn’t had the fight in her to keep him at bay, so she’d had to hurt him to heal and help him. At least at the time, that’s what she’d thought she was doing—helping and healing.
Now, she regretted what her teenage self had done. Lying never was the right thing in any circumstance. Truth was bound to surface. Should. She quoted her mama often about truth.
He opened the truck door for her then rolled onto the main highway and cracked the windows. “We forgot to buy a gallon of cider.”
The cider could wait. The truth couldn’t. “I—” The sound of a pop, then another cut her off, and Colt frowned.
“Hold on. I think a tire blew.” He veered off the empty highway onto the shoulder. Nothing but woods on either side. Georgia’s stomach roiled.
“Colt.” She grabbed his arm, panic pushing pause on her confession.
He laid his hand over hers. “It’ll be okay. I need to look.” He squeezed her hand. “But slump in your seat a little, just in case.” Colt jumped out of the truck and rounded to the passenger side to inspect. Suddenly, he whipped his attention to Georgia. “Get—”
Pop!
A bullet slammed into her door. She shrieked and dived onto the driver’s-side floorboard, her chest tightening and her heart racing.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
“Colt!” she screamed, unable to see, and all she heard were the sounds of gunfire and metal crunching. Was Colt safe? Had he been injured? What if...what if the shooter killed him?
Her stomach spasmed and sweat broke out over her flushed skin. All she could do was pray.
“Stay down, Georgia!”
Thankfully, his voice reached her ears, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. What if he was hurt and the adrenaline was keeping him going? When it crashed he could bottom out, bleed out and die.
Her roiling stomach threatened to retch.
Another sound of gunfire.
Colt cried out, and spots formed in Georgia’s vision.
The door opened, and pain washed over Colt’s face. “We gotta move. Now.”
Georgia’s head buzzed and dizziness overtook her. Then she blinked and saw his shoulder was covered in crimson. “You’ve...you’ve been shot!”
“Georgia,” he said calmly, “focus on my eyes. Breathe. I’m going to be okay.”
But how could he know this? He wasn’t a doctor!
Colt wrapped his good arm around her and tugged her from the vehicle. “We can’t barrel out of this. He’s in the trees. Our only chance is to use the truck as cover and roll down the ditch and into the woods on the other side of the road.”
“What if he follows?”
“It’s a good possibility, but we’ll have a big head start.”
Another bullet rammed into the windshield. Georgia’s brain wouldn’t signal her to move, but she had to in order to stay alive and get Colt some help. She forced herself to speak. “Okay.”
“Stay down but run hard. Now!” Colt yanked on her hand, and they darted across the road. A bullet hit the pavement by her foot and broke up the concrete.
Colt dived onto her body, and they crashed to the ground, rolling down the grassy hill to the ditch, where they abruptly halted. Colt grimaced and touched his wounded shoulder; the blood coated his fingers and he wiped it on his pants.
Georgia’s legs turned to water, but Colt hauled her upright and toward the trees for cover. Pine needles and branches crunched under their feet. They hurdled logs and pushed their way through brush, and his shirt grew redder. Her breathing labored.
“This should lead us back toward the orchard and straight into the cornfield, if I’m right.” He continued his fast pace, dragging Georgia along.
“Corn maze. They turn it into a fifteen-acre corn maze during October and early November!” Fear gripped her by the throat. What if they couldn’t find their way out? What if they were trapped in there with the killer? Every horrible nightmare raced through her mind, and there was no time for thought replacement.
“Georgia, don’t slow down on me now!”
She didn’t want to slow down. A killer might be right on them.
A bullet splintered bark above her head. Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. Whoever was after them wasn’t playing around.
Colt zigzagged through the trees until they reached the tall golden cornstalks.
Georgia could feel herself shutting down. Colt was bleeding. He might be dying. The killer was on their heels. And they might get lost inside the maze.
Another bullet brought her back to life when it hit the ground by her feet. She bolted with Colt into the cornstalks and ran down the rows, tripping over clods of dirt and dried silks.
The stalks were too tall and thick to see over or past. They were running blindly.
Row after row.
Georgia’s heart beat in her throat and threatened to explode in her chest; her lungs burned and her palm was slick with sweat inside Colt’s, but he kept a grip on her and didn’t let her stumble and fall. Under his breath, he muttered a prayer for guidance.
Then he halted, and Georgia almost tripped over him. He put his index finger on his lips to signal her to silence, but her breathing felt louder than a siren. “Do you have your phone?” He pointed to her purse.
“No, I had it out checking my texts before the tire popped.”
He cocked his head and listened. Cornstalks rustled in the breeze. A kid hollered in the distance. It was nearly five, and the sun was setting. What would they do in the dark?
Don’t panic. God’s grace is sufficient. What was the worst that could happen? They could die. Colt could die! She could not live with that. What evidence did she have to support that thought? Up until now, Colt had been brave and gotten them out of trouble. He hadn’t been hurt previously. He could lead them out of this. Guides came through every thirty minutes to lead lost sojourners back to the farm. They wouldn’t be lost forever. But could they keep out of the killer’s grip?
“I don’t hear footsteps,” Colt whispered. “I think we should go left.” He held her with steady strength and quietly led her in the direction he felt they needed to go.
There were people all in this thing; voices were echoing in the distance. Would a killer take a chance on shooting only to risk hurting someone else and dragging more charges down on him? If he was desperate...he might. And with so much land, hearing guns fire was as regular as hearing a bird chirp.
A spray of dirt flew into the air about four feet from them.
Colt ducked and dragged her as they hauled it down the row, zigging and zagging—until they hit a dead end in the maze.
Georgia’s knees buckled. “We can’t turn back. Might be waiting on us. He’s serious.
”
“And calculated. He followed us to the orchard—but I never saw the tail. He slashed our tires knowing it would cause a fast flat, and then he forced us into the maze. He knows the lay of the land, the timing of traffic—or lack of, in this case. He’s prepared. Definitely local.”
Colt wasn’t easing her anxiety.
“We have to cut through and make our own path, Georgia. It’s the only way.”
“I don’t know...” Her shirt stuck to her back, and she was shaking so bad she might come out of her skin. God, I need Your grace to get me through this!
“Do you trust me?”
“It’s not about trust, Colt.” She trusted him implicitly, and while she was terrified she might die, her anxiety was over him. She was afraid he might die and she hated to admit it, but she cared about him! She hadn’t wanted to. But she did.
He clutched his shoulder. “You’re right. We can’t go back.” He raked a hand through his now-damp hair. “Look at me. Right in my eyes. Breathe. In. Out.”
She focused on the intensity in his eyes, the warmth, the hope, the security and strength that pulsed through them, but the shadow of blood on his shoulder distracted her.
“In. Out. We are going to make it. God is going to make a way. Breathe. God is in control. He knows where we are, and He knows the way out. In. Out.”
Gradually, her chest released and she could breathe. Circulation returned to her hands and feet. Her heart rate leveled out.
In the distance, voices grew louder and the panic grew quieter, giving her the mental focus she needed to think rationally. But Colt needed medical attention. Color had washed out of his cheeks.
Whistle.
Whistle! She reached into her purse and pulled out the whistle on her key ring. The killer wouldn’t be able to identify the source of the whistle, but if a guide or group of people were close by, they’d know someone might be lost and come for them. It was their only hope.
She held it up, and Colt grinned. “I could kiss you, Georgia Jane Maxwell!”
Before this debacle, she might have let him. But now he’d been shot. Proving his line of work was dangerous and he could be wounded—or worse—at any moment.
Kissing was out. And if the whistle idea didn’t work, it wouldn’t matter.
They’d be dead.
EIGHT
Darkness had settled well over two hours ago. The brilliant whistle trick had worked and brought guides to shuffle them out of the maze. The sheriff’s office, his team and the medics had been called. Colt had been grazed and needed about four stitches, but ibuprofen had helped with the pain.
Georgia, however, hadn’t said more than two words after she found out he was okay and it was only a flesh wound. Right now, he sat at her farm table, thrumming his fingers while she pulled yet another apple pie from the oven. She’d been baking for half the evening. He thought swinging her by to check on her dogs would help her, and it had, but the minute she walked in the door, she went straight to the kitchen and shut down emotionally. She’d been so brave since her earlier attacks, but this one had put the nail in the coffin. What about it was different?
He’d been wounded.
“Georgia. I don’t know how many more times I can say it, but I’m fine. I’m going to be okay.”
She removed her oven mitts and shook her head. “You don’t know that. You go into the line of fire every day. You can’t say you’ll be okay when you don’t know the future.” She laid the mitts on the counter and leaned over the kitchen sink.
He rose from the table and casually entered her personal space, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Georgia, I know the risks involved. I’m trained. I can protect you. And I promise you I won’t stop fighting for you, to keep you safe and get you back to a normal life again.”
“I wish for a normal life, Colt. But mine is a far cry from that.”
He carefully turned her toward him, hurting with her. He framed her face. “I guess we can’t define normal, can we?”
“No,” she murmured. She slipped her arms around his waist, burrowing into him. Her fruity shampoo scent wafted into his nostrils as the cap of her hair tickled his neck. The way she leaned into him for support tempted him to stay on past his six weeks if necessary, and he only hoped Atlanta would wait until this last case was closed.
But Georgia...she wasn’t a case to be closed. She was much more than an assignment. More than a task. God, help me. I’m barely holding on to my resolve—to what I know is the safest path to keep my heart protected.
Georgia pulled back, and her eyes were watery. “I was going to tell you earlier before we got caught in the corn maze. I lied to you,” she whispered on shaky breath.
Lied? “About what?”
“When we broke up. You asked me if I ever loved you at all. I said I didn’t know. I lied. I loved you. I loved you with everything in me.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and every logical reason blew out the door of his mind like a gale of wind.
He brushed away a hair stuck to her tearstained cheek and met her lips with delicate anticipation. His fingers slid into the strands hanging from the messy knot on her head, and a velvety gasp escaped her, fueling him to lean into the kiss with more intensity. She met it with equal zeal, her hands sliding up his back, then her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. A familiar gesture, but it evoked new emotions. The desire to protect her, to meet her needs and expectations. A soaring in his chest expanded his lungs as if he could kiss her forever, without the need to inhale a single breath.
There was no height or depth he wouldn’t travel, no path he wouldn’t carve to ensure she was safe, secure and stable. He wanted it for her so badly he tasted it in this cinnamon-and-vanilla-flavored kiss. It consumed him in ways he never fathomed and gave him a confidence he’d never even experienced.
The words were there on the tip of his tongue touching hers begging to be spoken—to offer up his devotion to her—but a knock on the door jarred a dose of sense into him and he broke the kiss, focusing his attention on the noise from the porch.
“I’ll get it,” he said in a husky voice. As he approached the door, he still tasted her on his lips, but the courage he’d felt two seconds ago deflated like a weeks-old helium balloon.
She hadn’t said love—she’d said loved.
Their feelings were in the past, but there was undeniable chemistry and attraction. That, coupled with overwhelming emotion from the tense circumstances and nostalgia...a kiss was bound to happen at some point.
But he couldn’t shake it. He was like an intoxicated man needing the drunk tank to sober up. He tossed her a heady glance before opening the door. Georgia’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed with the satisfaction of a good kiss.
But was that all it was for her? Was that all it was for him?
“McCoy! Open the door.”
He blinked out of his stupor to see Ryan Sedgwick. What was Chance’s alibi doing here? Warning bells rang. His gun was on his hip, so he cracked open the door. He wasn’t taking any chances. “Ryan.”
“Hey, Colt. I went by the station, and Sheriff told me you were staying out here at Georgia’s place. I need to talk to you while I have the courage.” Ryan’s shifty eyes and jittery stance revealed hesitation and a dose of nervousness. If Colt made him wait, he might lose the moxie.
“No offense, Ryan, but I’m gonna have to pat you down before you come in.”
“I understand.” He raised his arms. “I heard about the attacks on Georgia. Daisy told my wife y’all had been to the orchard today and someone shot you in the corn maze.”
“Yep.” Colt searched him, finding him clean. Surely if he was the attacker he wouldn’t be dumb enough to try something, but he might be here to mine information. Colt would tread lightly. “Georgia, he’s clear. You good with him coming inside?”
She nodded and Ryan enter
ed. “Sorry about all that’s happenin’ to ya.”
“Thanks. You want a piece of fresh apple pie?”
Ryan jammed his hands in his pockets. “No, thank you. I appreciate it, though. I’m here because the truth is I lied all those years ago, and I was going to lie again, but it’s not the Christian thing to do. I’ve been going to church the past few years, and some things in my life have changed.”
Seemed like lying and coming clean was the theme of the night. “What part did you lie about?” Colt asked.
“About Chance being with us all night. He was for like twenty minutes, and then he said he had something to do and he’d catch up with us later.” He massaged the back of his neck. “The next morning he called and told me if anyone asked where he was, he was with us all night.”
“Where was he really?” Colt’s stomach knotted.
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say then or over the years when we asked. But his daddy gave me and Joey each ten thousand dollars as a college scholarship from his firm two days after Jared died.”
Hush money. Whatever Chance did that night, he’d confessed to his dad—who made sure one of the best attorneys was around to bail him out of trouble.
Had Ryan unknowingly accepted blood money?
* * *
A couple days had passed since they’d been shot at and now, Georgia sat in an uncomfortable chair across from the interview room at the SO.
Yesterday had been spent trying to find out if James Kreger was a legit person who purchased the property at 4214 Pine Road or if he was fictitious and something like a shell corporation had been used to buy the land. Still, there would be red tape to cut through. Who had access to scissors?
Terry Helms, the booster and the president of First Hope Bank & Loan, which happened to be the premiere bank in Magnolia. The team had interviewed him yesterday about illegal recruiting and the property. Naturally, he dismissed it as nothing more than their wild imagination and the need to pin it on someone, but Terry could have easily fudged documents and secured the land under a false name. Colt said they didn’t have enough to secure a warrant for his financials, but they’d attempted it anyway. Judge Herron had denied it. But then, Judge Herron hit the back nine with Terry on Saturday mornings.
