Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (16 page)

The impact had knocked the wind out of her, and for a moment she was on a playground, blinking up at the bright blue sky after falling off the monkey bars. But there was no blue now, only an inky void. A feeling of unreality washed over her as she stared at the blackness, and for a brief, disconnected moment she thought she’d imagined the gunshots. But her ears were still ringing from the noise.

She lay there, gasping. She felt like she’d been body-slammed against a brick wall. Slowly, she reached her hand up to touch it. The rough texture of the bark under her fingertips told her a large tree had broken her fall.

She kept still, clenching her teeth against the pain as she forced herself to breathe in. And out. And in. And out. Warm, coppery blood filled her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue. Her head swam, and she registered a sharp pain in her elbow, along with a thick throbbing in her skull.

Something trickled down her cheek. She touched it gingerly, and her fingers came away wet. She didn’t think a bullet had grazed her, but something had, maybe bark from the tree she’d been standing near when the shot landed.

Just inches from her head.

Fear spurted through her now, and she commanded herself to
think
. Someone was shooting at her. And it wasn’t an accident, some stray shot by a confused hunter. It was the middle of the night, for one thing. And no hunter would confuse a wild animal with a human holding a flashlight and standing near a vehicle.

She rolled onto her side. Her breath came fast now as she realized her situation. She unzipped her jacket and took out her Glock. Gripping it made her feel better, reassured. She checked the magazine. The familiar motion steadied her, and her brain clicked into gear.

Two shots so far and possibly more coming as the shooter closed in. She tried to place the shot, tried to remember how far away it had sounded. A hundred yards possibly, but it was hard to know when she felt so disoriented.

She lifted her head. At the top of the ravine she saw the glow of her headlights. Her car was up there, keys in the ignition. She had to get to it. She couldn’t stay here in the dark with some gunman stalking her. She’d lost her flashlight, and she didn’t know the terrain.

Carefully, she sat up, bracing herself against the earthen slope by pushing against a tree with her foot. She did a quick inventory. Her flashlight was gone. Same for her phone. It had been in her hand when the shots rang out, and she must have dropped it on the way down. The phone case was deep blue, so she didn’t have a chance of finding it in the dark.

She rolled to her knees and ignored the pain radiating up her legs as she flattened herself against the steep incline. Clutching her gun in her right hand, she used her left to grab hold of limbs and saplings and thorny branches, anything to help pull her up.

Her knees and feet dug into the mud as she clawed her way up the hillside, closer and closer to the light. She missed a foothold and slid down, down, down, bumping her chin on something sharp. Frustration burned in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Digging her toes into the mud again and grabbing for a branch, she took a deep breath and inched her way toward the light.

Don’t lose it.

She wasn’t sure whether she meant her gun or her sanity, but the words fueled her efforts as she dragged herself up the incline one lurch at a time. Finally, she reached the top and pulled herself over the ridge, where she collapsed against the ground, chest heaving.

A distant rustle in the woods. She scampered behind a tree, glancing around frantically as she searched for threats. She couldn’t look at the headlights, as much as her gaze was drawn to them. The glare ruined her night vision, so she focused on the shadows, clutching her weapon and envisioning her car parked at an angle on the other side of the gate. Forty feet away, maybe fifty. She could make a run for it, but she’d be out in the open where some sick bastard with a night scope might see her.

Because that’s what she was up against. She knew it in her gut. And although she was trained in all types of firearms and defensive tactics, at this moment she had no body armor and only a short-range weapon that didn’t do much good when her visibility was crap.

Cold air bit through her jacket, and she realized she was soaked with sweat despite the temperature. Her pulse raced. She tried to picture the layout. When she’d arrived here, she’d pulled off to the right, close to the tree line. She could use the trees for cover.

A snap of twigs spurred Tara into action, and she sprinted for her vehicle, staying low, keeping her head down. She crashed into the gate and frantically scrambled over it, landing on her knees on the other side. She lunged for the Explorer, jerked open the passenger door, and dived inside, yanking the door shut and then crawling behind the wheel. Sliding low in the seat, she stashed her gun in the cup holder and fired up the engine.

The ear-piercing screech rattled her.

It was running already. She threw it in reverse and rocketed backward, praying she wouldn’t smash into a tree as she executed a lightning-fast three-point turn. She thrust it into drive and hazarded a peek over the steering wheel before stomping on the gas. No people or cars or other predators in the road, and if there had been, she would have mowed them down. She gripped the wheel, shoulders hunched, expecting an explosion of glass any second as she raced down the road, skidding through the turns.

Almost there, almost there.
She glanced at the odometer. Another turn. Tires skidded, the car fishtailed.
Almost there.

She reached the highway and punched the gas.

LIAM STOPPED BY
the bunkhouse on his way in and found several of his men in the rec room watching Ultimate Fighting. Kyle Chapman was standing in front of the TV lifting barbells, and Tony Lopez was at the table cleaning his Beretta.

Lopez glanced up. “Hey, Chief.” His smile faded as he took in Liam’s suit. “How’d the funeral go?”

“It sucked.”

“You just get back?” Chapman asked.

“Yeah. Where’s Jeremy?”

“No idea.”

“In town,” Lopez said. “Think he went to shoot pool.”

Liam left them to their entertainment and walked to his house, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he trudged up the stairs. His upper arm hurt like a bitch, which meant the weather was changing. It was his little souvenir from his last tour. After the attack on the Virginia congressman, Liam had lost full use of his rotator cuff but gained the ability to predict the weather.

Inside his house, Liam flipped the lights on and tossed his coat over a chair. He needed a shower and some comfortable clothes, but first he needed food. He yanked open the fridge and grabbed a beer as a shrill beep came from the control room. He plunked the bottle on the counter, took his phone out, and pulled up the app to see who the hell was at his gate this late at night.

It was a blue Ford Explorer with Tara Rushing at the wheel.

H
e heard her clomping around on the porch and met her out there, frowning down at her as she bent over to untie her boots. The legs of her jeans were coated with mud, and leaves clung to her hair.

“What happened to you?”

She glanced up. Dirt and blood streaked her cheeks, and Liam’s heart lurched.

“Hey.” He reached for her arm and realized she was shaking. “What the hell happened?”

Instead of answering, she slumped against him.

He stood there, shocked, and her shoulders quivered as he wrapped his arms around her. “Talk to me.” But she didn’t, and with every passing second his dread increased. “Hey, it’s okay.”

But it definitely wasn’t okay. Someone had hurt her, and anger took hold of him as he waited for her to speak.

Abruptly, she pulled away. She yanked off her boots and tossed them by the door.

“Can I use your sink?” She stepped past him into the house. “Back here?”

He followed her to the hall bathroom and flipped on the light.

“Who’s here tonight?” she demanded.

“Me.” He took her arm. “What’s going on, Tara?”

She shook off his grip, and the wild look in her eyes made his gut clench.

“Who else?” she asked.

“Chapman and Lopez are in the bunkhouse.” He stepped closer. “Tara—”

“Someone shot at me.”

He stared at her. “Someone shot
at
you or—”

“
At
me. Yes. As in they nearly took my head off, twice.”

“Where?”

“Up at Corrine Timber, just a few miles from here.” She looked out at the hallway. “Are you sure you’re alone?”

He tipped up her chin to examine her cut.

“I bit my tongue.” She pulled away.

“Your neck’s bleeding, too. Jesus, what happened to your hands?”

He turned the faucet on and pulled her hands under the water. After holding them under the stream for a few seconds, he crouched down and rummaged through the cabinet for some first-aid stuff. All he found was a roll of toilet paper.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and went into the bedroom.

He had to get his temper under control. She was rattled, and yelling at her wasn’t going to help. When he came back with the first-aid supplies, her jacket was on the floor of the hallway and she was standing at the sink with her sleeves pushed up.

“Tell me step by step,” he said. “Don’t leave anything out.”

He dumped the supplies onto the counter and turned her palms up to look at them. They were shredded, but the bleeding had stopped. Seeing the tremor in her slender hands made him want to punch something, but instead he waited for her to speak.

She took a deep breath. “You heard about the bodies today.”

She stated it as a fact, not a question. She’d finally resigned herself to the idea that he was getting intel somewhere.

“Corrine Timber,” he said, grabbing some ointment. “Scene was cleared two hours ago.”

He dabbed her palms dry with some tissue, then gently applied the ointment. She didn’t look at him, just stared at her hands as she struggled to get the story out.

“I was up there combing for evidence, and I found a broken padlock near the gate to the firebreak. Then someone took a shot at me.”

“Twice, you said.”

She glanced up at him. Her eyes were calmer now, but still she looked hyped up on adrenaline. And fear. “That’s right, two times.”

“Pistol shot or rifle?”

“Rifle. Definitely.”

Liam swallowed down his anger. She pulled her hands away, then leaned close to the mirror to examine the side of her neck. She grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed the blood away while Liam watched, trying to control his reaction.

“You’re sure it was a rifle?” he asked.

She glared at him in the mirror.

“Did you call the sheriff?”

“Are you kidding? What the hell would he do?”

Good point. Ingram was already neck-deep in murder investigations he couldn’t handle.

She reached for the box of bandages. “Could I have a minute?”

She looked up, and something twisted in his gut. God damn it, when was she going to trust him?

“Please?”

He stepped out. She closed the door behind him, and he stood in his hallway, gritting his teeth. The water went on in the bathroom again. He returned to the kitchen and took a bag of peas from the freezer. He glanced at the bathroom and tossed the ice pack onto the coffee table. He paced the living room for a minute, then built a fire in the fireplace. When he had it going, the water was still running. He walked down the hall and picked up her jacket with the yellow letters
FBI
stamped on the back. The windbreaker was damp and muddy. The fabric under the sleeve was ripped.

He shoved open the door, and she jumped. “He fucking
hit
you?”

“What? No.”

“Your goddamn jacket has a bullet hole.” He pulled up her T-shirt to see for himself as she swatted his hands away.

“Hey!”

“You’re covered in bruises, Tara.” He ignored her protests and yanked her shirt up to see her abdomen. The entire right side of her torso was a big red welt.

“It didn’t break the skin.” She pulled away from him and tugged her shirt down. “Now, do you mind?”

“Yes, I fucking do mind. Where else?” He turned her around and lifted the shirt to look at her back. The skin there was smooth and pale. “What about your legs?”

“I’m okay. Could you please just give me a minute?”

He left her alone then and sat on the edge of his couch, fuming and staring at the fire. Finally, she came out. She’d cleaned the dirt and blood off her face. She picked up her jacket to examine the tear, then folded it neatly and placed it on the arm of the sofa.

He handed her the ice pack.

“Thanks.” She pressed it to her temple, where she already had a bump forming.

She glanced around, as though she still didn’t believe that he was alone, and then sank onto the edge of a leather chair.

“I was at the firebreak on the north edge of the Corrine Timber property.”