gazed longingly down the slope toward the creek. “Try to run and I’ll shoot you,” he said.
The hardness of the words sent a chill through her. She could scarcely believe this was the same man who had once treated her with such tenderness. She couldn’t blame him for hating her, though he would never understand how much she had suffered, too.
They scrambled up the slope, on their hands and knees at times. As they neared the top, he angled off to the side, and she realized he intended to approach the house obliquely. If they were very lucky, Duane or one of his men wouldn’t be waiting for them at the top.
When they were almost to the top, he looked back at her. “Stay down,” he said. “Don’t come up until I tell you.”
She wished she had a weapon, to defend herself and to help defend him. But he would never believe that was all she intended. “Be careful,” she called after him as he completed the climb to the top, but he gave no indication that he had heard her.
She pressed her body to the ground, willing herself to be invisible and trying to hear what was happening above her. But the only sounds were the rustling of aspen leaves, the flutter of birds in the branches and the constant rush of the creek. A chill from the cold ground seeped into her, making her shiver. She had dressed casually for her shopping trip in town, in jeans and hiking boots and a light sweater, an outfit suitable for hitting the grocery store or the mall, but not for tramping around outdoors, where the fall air held a definite bite.
She wished she had warned Travis about the cameras Duane had positioned all around the house, so that when he was inside he could see anyone who approached from any angle. She should have told him about the two guns Duane carried at all times, and about the razor-sharp knife in his boot. She had seen him cut a man’s throat with that knife once, an image that still haunted her nightmares.
Falling rocks and dirt alerted her to someone’s approach. Relief surged through her when she recognized Travis returning. He scrambled down toward her, moving quickly. “The others are gone,” he said. “Come on. We’ve got to get to the road and meet them.”
She hurried to follow him, slipping in the loose dirt and leaf mold, scraping her hands on rocks. Two-thirds of the way to the creek, he stopped against a tree, both hands searching in his pockets. “I can’t find my phone,” he said.
“Maybe you lost it in the fall.” She leaned against the same tree, a smooth-barked aspen, and tried to catch her breath.
He looked around, then began making his way across the slope, in the general direction of their original landing place. “Help me look,” he said. “I’ve got to call the team and let them know to wait for us.”
She followed him, scanning the ground around them, then dropping to her knees to feel about in the dried leaves and loose rocks. “It’s not here,” she said.
“It has to be here,” He glared at the ground, as if the force of his anger could summon the phone. He turned to her. “Give me yours, then.”
“I don’t have a phone,”
“Don’t lie to me. You always have your phone with you.”
The woman he had known had always carried her phone with her, but she was a different person now. “Duane didn’t allow me to have a phone,” she said.
His brow furrowed, as if he hadn’t understood her words, but before he could reply, a shout disturbed the woodland peace. “They’re down here!” a man yelled, and a bullet sent splinters flying from a tree beside her head.
Travis launched himself at her, pushing her aside and rolling with her, down the slope toward the creek. He managed to stop them before they hit the water, then pulled her upright and began running along the creek bank. “Is the road this way?” he asked.
“I think so.” She had a dim memory of a bridge over the creek a mile or so from the house.
Crashing noises and falling rock telegraphed their pursuer’s approach. Travis took cover behind a broad-trunked juniper and drew his weapon, but after a moment he lowered the gun. “I can’t get a clear shot and there’s no sense letting them know for sure where we are. Come on.” He tugged her after him once more.
“How do you know your friends will be waiting for us?” she asked as she struggled to keep up with him.
“If they aren’t, we can flag down someone else to help,” he said.
No sense pointing out that the road leading into the private neighborhood of mostly vacation homes didn’t receive a lot of traffic, especially on a fall weekday. If they could avoid Duane and his men, the road did seem the best route for escape. Maybe the only route.
She didn’t know how long they ran, climbing over rocks and skirting thick groves of aspens and scrub oak. They splashed through the icy water of the creek, soaking her shoes and her jeans to the knees, and crawled up the muddy creek bank. Her shoulder ached with every movement and she panted from the exertion, but still the road eluded them. She needed to stop and rest, but they couldn’t afford to give their pursuers any opportunity to overtake them.
“There’s the bridge, up ahead,” Travis said, and she wanted to weep with relief.
“Are your friends waiting for us?” she asked.
“I can’t see yet.” He stopped, bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. Mud streaked his face and arms, and his pants, like hers, were wet almost to the knees. Blood matted his hair and had dried on his face, yet he was still the handsomest man she had ever known. She had been attracted to the tall, broad-shouldered Texan from the moment they met, in the halls of the San Antonio high school where she was a new student. Though they had gone their separate ways in college, they had stayed in touch, and when they both ended up living and working in Washington, DC, they had begun dating. She had been sure they had been on their way to a happily-ever-after, but Duane’s arrival in her life had changed all that.
“I’m going up to take a look,” Travis said, straightening. “When I give you the signal, come on up. And don’t try anything. I’ll have my gun on you.”
He had added that last warning to deliberately hurt her, she was sure. “I told you, I won’t try to run away,” she said.
“Yeah, well, you’ve lied to me before.”
He began climbing the bank. When he was halfway up, the roar of a powerful engine and the crunch of tires on gravel announced a vehicle’s arrival. It stopped on the bridge and car doors slammed. Travis moved faster, probably eager to greet his friends.
She saw the danger before he did, the familiar pale face with the hawk nose and the thinning dark hair combed over, dark eyes peering out from beneath heavy brows. Duane didn’t see her, focused instead on the man scaling the bank. Fear strangling her, she watched as he pulled a gun from inside his coat and took aim.
“Travis, run!” The scream ripped from her throat, and she lunged toward him as the blast of the gun shattered the woodland stillness.
Leah’s scream propelled Travis to one side, so that the bullet tore through his shirt, grazing his ribs. Pain momentarily blinded him as he rolled toward the creek,
