calling the locals for backup,” he said, without taking his attention off the man. “Yeah, it’s me again,” he added, speaking to whoever answered.
That probably meant Griff had already been in touch with local law enforcement. In fact, he’d probably called them as soon as he’d figured out she was in Silver Creek.
“Do a quiet approach,” Griff instructed. “If you can, try to get someone behind this guy so we can take him into custody.” He ended the call and put his phone away.
She doubted it would take long for someone to arrive, but it would feel like an eternity. And might be completely unnecessary.
“If he means to do me harm, why hasn’t he fired at me?” Rachel asked.
Again, Griff took his time answering, but judging from the sound of agreement he made, it was probably something he’d already considered. “Maybe he’s waiting for a clean shot.”
That gave her another jolt of memories. Of her father’s shooting. They hadn’t seen the gunman that day because she had fired from a heavily treed area behind the police station. But it had indeed been a “clean shot” that went straight into her father’s chest. It was a miracle he’d survived.
“We can cut through the back of the alley and then get to my truck that’s parked up the street,” Griff whispered. “That way you’re not out in the open.”
“My car is right there,” she pointed out. “Only about ten feet away. And the doors are already unlocked.”
“If this man wants you dead, he could shoot you before you get inside.”
That caused her breath to stop for a moment. Griff normally sugarcoated things for her, but apparently those days were over. Maybe he truly understood that their friendship—and anything else they felt for each other—was over, too.
“There’s a deputy,” Griff said.
Rachel immediately looked out and spotted a man on foot coming up Main Street. He had his gun drawn and was ducking in and out of doorways of the various shops. He was still three buildings away when the guy who’d been watching them turned and started running out the back of the alley. He quickly disappeared from sight.
“He’s getting away,” she blurted out.
“The sheriff might have had time to get someone back there.” Griff didn’t sound very hopeful about that, though. “Come on.”
He took hold of her arm to start them moving, and she saw his truck. It was indeed at the back of the alley. But they had barely made it a step before a deafening noise blasted through the air. Not lightning or thunder from the storm. The impact slammed Griff and her into the side of the building.
And that’s when Rachel saw that her car had exploded into a giant ball of fire.
Griff didn’t bother to curse himself for not being able to prevent this from happening. No time for cursing and regrets.
He had to get Rachel out of there. And it didn’t matter if she no longer trusted him—that explosion should be plenty enough proof to her that someone wanted her dead.
“This way.” Griff hooked his arm around her waist to get her moving.
He didn’t take her out onto the sidewalk, though. It was too risky for them to go there, because the person who’d just blown up her car could be waiting for them to do just that. Nor did he want to stay put in case there was a second explosion.
The rain started to pelt them, and the lightning suddenly seemed way too close. It definitely wasn’t a good time to be outside, especially since there were metal gas pipes leading into the buildings.
“Was that really a bomb?” Rachel asked. Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her, and she seemed to be talking more to herself than to him.
Griff wasn’t sure exactly what it had been. Definitely some kind of explosive device, and that meant someone—probably the guy from the alley—had put it on Rachel’s car. He could have done that after she’d parked and gone to the pharmacy, but if so, it was a huge risk. Because someone could have spotted him.
Of course, the idiot could have planted it hours ago and waited until now to detonate it. Even if it didn’t kill Rachel and him, it created enough of a diversion for the goon to get away.
Griff kept them moving. Not too fast, though. He needed to try to listen, to make sure someone wasn’t coming up behind them.
Or in front of them.
Because it was entirely possible the bomber had a partner somewhere in the maze of alleys. One who could be waiting to ambush them.
“Stay close to me,” Griff warned her. “We’ll go to my truck.”
Rachel immediately started shaking her head. “What if he planted a bomb on it, too?”
“It wasn’t out of my sight long enough while I’ve been here.”
Which wasn’t long at all. As soon as he’d gotten word that Rachel was in Silver Creek, Griff had come to find her.
Normally, it would have been a forty-five-minute drive from McCall Canyon, but he’d shaved off the minutes to make it in just half an hour. And he was damn lucky he had, too. Because if he hadn’t gotten to Rachel in time, she would have tried to get into her car and would have been blown to smithereens.
A thought that felt like a knife to his heart.
Rachel and he weren’t a couple. Never had been, really. But Griff wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he hadn’t been able to save her. And her father wouldn’t have forgiven him, either.
“Keep watch behind us,” Griff told Rachel, repeating the order he’d given her earlier, and he passed her his phone. “Text the sheriff, Grayson Ryland. That’s the last number I called. And tell him where we’re going.”
He could feel her doing that, hopefully managing to do so while he kept her moving. However, Griff stopped as soon as he made it to the end of the alley. He peered around the corner of the building, but it was too dark to see much of anything. Hearing was a problem, too, thanks to the rain and thunder. He did hear a dinging sound, and figured that meant Rachel had gotten an answer to the text.
“The sheriff says he and his deputy are in pursuit of the guy who was in the alley,” she relayed.
Good. Griff didn’t want him getting away. If they caught him, they might finally have answers as to who was trying to kill the McCalls.
And why.
Griff and Rachel’s brothers had been investigating that for nearly a month now and had come up empty. Even if Sheriff Ryland and his deputies didn’t manage to nab this bomber, maybe they’d be able to get some DNA off the cigarette that the guy had almost certainly ditched somewhere in the alley. Of course, the storm wasn’t going to help with that, which meant time was critical right now.
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