talk and now we’re done.”
He had her out the door, the warmth of the morning sun searing them to the dirt-dry parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
“Over there.” She pointed to a small red economy car. “It’s a rental. My car is in the shop.”
Luke tugged her forward until they were beside the car. “Then you can be on your way back to the rental counter. Have a nice trip back to Phoenix.”
She turned to stare up at him, her eyes so imploring and so blue, he had to blink.
And during that blink, a bullet ricocheted off the windshield of her car, shattering glass all around them in a spray of glittering white-hot slivers.
TWO
Paco shoved Laura down behind the car, his hand covering her head. “Friends of yours?”
“I don’t know,” she said on a gasp of air, the shock of her words telling him she was being honest. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.” He lifted his head an inch. And was rewarded with another round of rifle fire. “Somebody doesn’t like you being here, sweetheart.”
She tried to peek around the car’s bumper, but he held her down. Glaring up at him, she whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure they aren’t shooting at you?”
“That is a possibility,” he said on a growl. “I’ve made a lot of enemies lately.”
“Anybody in particular?”
Paco thought about the laundry list of sins he’d committed in the name of grief. “We don’t have that long. I have to get you out of here.”
She seemed to like that idea. “So how do you plan to do that?”
“Good question.” Paco pulled his sunglasses out of his T-shirt pocket and shoved them on then slowly lifted so he could scan the surrounding desert and mountains. “If it’s a sniper, we’re stuck here. If we move, they could take us out in a split second. But if they’re just using a twelve-gauge or some other sort of rifle, we might have a chance at making a run for the café.”
“My windshield is shattered,” she said, her tone sensible. “That means they could do the same to us if we move.”
“True. But a moving target is a lot harder to pinpoint than a parked car.”
“Maybe they weren’t aiming at us.”
Paco glanced around the empty parking lot. “We’re the only customers right now.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Doesn’t have an enemy anywhere in the world.” Paco held her there, the scent of her perfume merging with the scent of dirt and grim and car fumes. “And if I know my grandfather, he’s standing at the door of the café with his Remington.” He rolled over to pick up a rock. Then with a quick lift of his arm, he threw it toward the small porch of the rickety restaurant.
His grandfather opened the dark screen door then shouted. “One shooter, Paco. Coming from the west. Want me to cover you?”
Paco took his grandfather’s age and agility into consideration. “Only if you don’t expose yourself.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you sure he can handle this?” Laura asked, her words breathy and low.
“Oh, yeah.” Paco grabbed her, lifting her to face him. “Now listen to me. We’re going to make a run for the porch. Grandfather will cover us. You’ll hear gunshots but just keep running.”
Fright collided with sensibility in her eyes. “What if I get shot?”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“But you can’t protect me and yourself, too.”
“Yes, I can,” Paco said, images from his time in special ops swirling in slow motion in his head. “I can. But you have to stay to my left and you have to run as fast as you can.”
“Okay. I ran track in college.”
“Good. That’s good. I need you to stay low and sprint toward that door on the count of three.”
She did as he said, crouching to a start. Paco counted and prayed. “One, two, three.”
And then they took off together while his grandfather stepped out onto the porch and shot a fast round toward the flash in the foothills about a hundred yards away. Paco put himself between her and the shooter and felt the swish of bullets all around his body. Then he pushed her onto the porch and into the door, holding it open for his grandfather to step back inside.
The old man quickly shut the door then turned to stare at Paco and Laura, his rifle held up by his side. “Would either of you care to explain this?”
Laura’s gaze moved from the old man to Paco. “I don’t know who’s out there. As far as I know, no one wants me dead.” Watching Paco, she could believe the man might have a few enemies—probably several heartbroken women among them. “What about you?” she asked, wondering what was going on inside his head.
His grandfather chuckled at that. “Only about half the population of Arizona, for starters.”
“Thanks.” Paco replied with a twisted grin. “Grandfather, I forgot my manners, what with being shot at and all. This is Laura Walton. She thinks I need her help.”
“Do you?” the old man asked, putting his gun down to reach out a gnarled hand to Laura. “Nice to meet you. Sorry you almost got shot. I’m Wíago—Walter Rainwater.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Laura said, her breath settling down to only a semi-rapid intake. The weirdness of the situation wasn’t lost on her but she was too timid to shout out her true feelings. Turning back to Paco, she asked, “What do we do now?”
Paco didn’t answer. Instead, he went through a door toward the back of the café then returned with a mean-looking rifle. “You wait here with Grandfather.”
Walter put the Closed sign on the door. “It was a slow morning anyway.”
“It’s always a slow morning around here,” Paco quipped. “Even when we aren’t being shot at.”
Laura twisted her fingers in Paco’s sleeve. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going out there to track that shooter.”
“But he might kill you.”
“Always a chance, but don’t worry about me too much. I think I can handle this.”
Laura didn’t know why it seemed so important to keep him safe. Maybe because she hadn’t had a chance to get inside his head and help him over his grief. Or maybe because while he frightened her, he also intrigued her and she’d like to explore that scenario.
Shocked
