Chapter Eight
Something wasn’t right.
Rachel McCall was sure of it. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, and she glanced around Main Street to see what had put the sudden knot in her stomach.
Nothing.
Well, nothing that she could see, anyway. But that didn’t help with the knot.
She walked even faster, trying to tamp down her fears. It had been only a month since someone had tried to kill her father and had kidnapped her mother. That wasn’t nearly enough time for her to force the images out of her head. The sound of the shot. All that blood. The fear that she might lose both her parents.
There were images and memories of the other things that’d happened over the course of those two days, too.
Remembering that wouldn’t help her now, though. She had to get to her car, and then she could drive back to the inn on the edge of town and figure out why this “not right” feeling wouldn’t budge.
She continued to walk from the small pharmacy up the street to where she’d parked her car. There had still been plenty of daylight when she’d gone into the pharmacy twenty minutes earlier to wait for her meds to be ready, but now that the storm was breathing down on her, it was dark, and the sidewalks were empty. There were so many alleys and shadows. Enough to cause her nerves to tingle just beneath her skin.
Rachel silently cursed herself for not parking directly in front of the pharmacy, but instead she’d chosen a spot closer to the small grocery store where she’d first picked up some supplies before going for the meds. That grocer was closed now—as was seemingly everything else in the small town of Silver Creek.
She’d chosen this town because in many ways it’d reminded her of home. Of McCall Canyon. But bad things had happened there, and they could also happen here.
The moment her car was in sight, she pressed the button on her key fob. The red brake lights flashed, indicating the door was unlocked, just as a vein of lightning lit up the night sky. A few seconds later, the thunder came, a thick rumbling groan. And it was maybe because of the thunder that she didn’t hear the footsteps.
Not until it was too late.
Someone stepped out from one of those dark alleys. She saw only a blur of motion from the corner of her eye before that someone wearing a white cowboy hat pulled her between the two buildings.
The scream bubbled up in her throat, but she didn’t manage to make a sound before he slid his hand over her mouth.
It was a man.
Rachel had no trouble figuring that out the moment her back landed against his chest. But she didn’t stay there. The surge of adrenaline came. And the fear. She rammed her elbow into the man’s stomach, breaking free, and turned to run. She didn’t make it far, however, because he cursed and hauled her back to him.
“Shhh. Someone was watching you,” he said.
She continued to struggle to get away, until the sound of his voice finally registered in her head. It was one she definitely recognized.
Griff.
Or rather, Texas Ranger Griffin Morris.
How the heck had he found her? And better yet, how fast could she get rid of him?
Rachel pushed his hand away from her mouth and whirled around to face him. She hoped the darkness didn’t hide her anger. Even if it did, Griff didn’t seem to notice, because his attention was focused across the street.
“Shhh,” he repeated, when she started to say something.
Rachel nearly disobeyed him on principle just because she didn’t want Griff telling her what to do. But she wasn’t stupid. His own expression told her loads. Something was wrong. The knot in her stomach hadn’t been a false alarm.
She followed Griff’s gaze and tried to pick through the darkness to see if she could figure out what had caused him to grab her like that. There was a row of buildings, mom-and-pop type stores, all one and two stories high. Like the side of the street that Griff and she were on, that one had alleys, too. If someone was hiding there, she couldn’t see him.
“Who’s watching me?” she whispered. That was just the first of many questions she had for Griff.
He didn’t jump to answer, but merely lifted his shoulder. Since he still had his left arm hooked around her waist, she felt his muscles tense. Felt the handgun that he’d drawn, too. Apparently Rachel wasn’t the only one who’d thought something was wrong.
“Is this about my father?” she pressed.
That only earned her another shoulder lift. For a couple seconds, anyway. “Your dad’s alive, by the way. Just in case you want to know.”
She hadn’t needed Griff to tell her that. Rachel had kept up with the news about his shooting. Her father had survived the surgery and had been released from the hospital. She hadn’t wanted him dead. But Rachel no longer wanted him in her life.
That applied to Griff, too.
“I got here about five minutes ago,” Griff went on. He tipped his head toward the end of the street. “I parked up there and came to your car to wait for you. That’s when I saw the guy across the
