scrambled toward the door and shoved it open. The car had swerved off the side of the road, so the forested tree line beyond her was now only a few yards away. She had no weapons. No way to defend herself against the men. Her only possible protection, from what she could see, was the trees. She might not remember any details of why she was there, but she knew that the dying man in the front seat was right and the men coming for her had no intention to help her.
She jumped out of the car and fled into the forest. Her lungs felt as if they were going to explode from the cold air, but she had to keep moving. Her boots crunched through the underbrush. There was no real trail, just trees with thick brush beneath them as far as she could see, which meant leaving an untraceable path was going to be impossible.
Just like outrunning whoever was after her was probably going to be impossible.
Shoving the thought aside, she dodged a fallen branch, barely managing to keep her balance as she ducked beneath it. Her head felt as if someone was driving a stake through her temple, but she couldn’t stop running. Not when she could hear the cracking of dry brush behind her as the men pursued her.
She glanced up at the gray sky above her, barely visible through the canopy of branches. She had no idea which direction she was running, but knew she needed to get as much distance between them as she could. If she found a way to lose them, she could head back to the road and flag down a passing car. At this point, she didn’t care where she went. As long as she got as far away from the men as possible.
Fifty yards later she stumbled again over a dead log and tried to catch her balance, but this time she fell facedown onto the hard ground. Blood ran from a scratch on the palm of her hand, but she didn’t even feel the sting. Instead she could hear them behind her, crashing through the brush as they got closer. It would be only a matter of seconds before they found her. There was a thick layer of brush ahead to her right. It would provide her with cover. If she could hide there...
Still on the ground, she crawled through the brush, praying it was thick enough to camouflage her, then lay flat and still against the cold ground. Seconds later her pursuers hurried past, not even half a dozen feet from her hiding place. Her fingers were numb and her lungs burned with each breath as she waited for them to vanish into the forest.
She let out a silent sigh of relief when the men didn’t stop. She’d wait for them to get out of sight then head back toward the road. Unless... She swallowed hard as one of the men stopped suddenly, held up his hand and turned around, suspending her plan. The wind howled above her through the trees. She pressed her body into the slight indention where she lay, willing her heart to slow down.
Keep me hidden from these men, God...
The prayer came instinctively, without hesitation.
“What’s wrong?” the second man stopped and looked back.
The first headed toward where she lay. “I can’t hear her anymore.”
“She can’t be that far ahead. We need to keep going.”
“Just wait a minute.” The first man turned in a slow circle, close enough she could make out the biker patch on his leather jacket. Close enough she was certain he could hear her heart pounding inside her chest.
Panic mushroomed inside her. If they found her now...
“We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”
The first man continued to study the terrain a few more moments before finally nodding his head.
She waited until they disappeared into the brush and then slowly counted to twenty before coming out of her hiding place and running in the opposite direction. She might not remember what had happened or even who she was, but one thing was clear. If they found her, they would kill her.
Deputy Griffin O’Callaghan called in the single-vehicle accident and asked for backup and an emergency crew as he approached the wreck south of Timber Falls. A car had spun off the road and landed in the ditch. Two motorcycles sat behind the vehicle, but from a quick observation, neither looked as if it had been involved in the accident. He stepped out onto the road, his boots crunching against the gravel as he walked toward the wrecked vehicle then paused.
A man in a suit lay on the side of the road, shot in the temple. Griffin checked for a pulse then noticed the man’s gun and FBI badge. A second victim lay slumped over in the front passenger seat, once again shot. This was no accident scene. These men had been executed. But where were the drivers of the motorcycles?
There was a small bag next to a woman’s red winter scarf in the back seat and the side door was open. He worked to put the pieces together. Whoever had been in the back was, more than likely, either a prisoner being transported or a witness being protected.
He grabbed a file off the front floorboard and quickly scanned the contents. There were no names, just instructions on the transportation of a witness to Denver and a court case number. He folded the papers and shoved them in his back pocket as he took a step away from the car and noticed the bullet casings scattered on the scene. There were bullet holes in the front passenger door, one of the tires had been shot out and a window was shattered.
A disturbing picture began to play out in his mind. The men on the motorcycles had shot the agent in the front seat either during or after the crash. The second agent had then taken a bullet trying to protect the witness in an apparent shoot-out. The witness had run, but the two hit men had gone after her.
Griffin moved away from the car toward the tree line, where he quickly found three sets of footprints leading into the forest. The witness was probably going to end up running in circles then being shot by the men after her. Or getting lost and freezing to death in the storm that was about to hit this part of the country. Neither scenario was acceptable because, either way, she’d be dead.
Like Lilly.
His stomach clenched at the unwanted memories that rushed to the surface. He shoved them aside, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. This was not the time to dredge up the past. Instead he updated the sheriff’s office on his status as he headed into the woods after her. He moved quickly but purposefully, studying the ground until the three sets of tracks he’d been following stopped and seemed to converge around one spot.
Griffin paused again. Something had happened here. His father had always taught him that tracking was like learning to read, a challenge that had always fascinated him. They’d spent hours out on the ranch training to interpret the terrain as they identified animals, studied the surroundings and traced their travel routes. Today he was praying his skills would help him save a woman’s life.
He squatted down, ignoring the blistering cold. Two people had continued south after stopping. A third had doubled back before taking a new path toward the main road. It had to be the witness.
Griffin found her heading for the main road about a hundred yards south of the wreck. There was still no sign of the motorcyclists, but he knew he couldn’t let his guard down. He had no doubt they were still out there. He held up his badge as he ran to catch up with her. Shouting at her to stop wasn’t an option. It would only lead whoever was out there straight to her. But losing her wasn’t an option, either. He chased her another ten feet then hurried to stop in front of her.
He held up his hands so she could see his badge. “Ma’am...don’t scream. Please. I’m a sheriff’s deputy and I can keep you safe.”
