“Stay down! Someone’s shooting at us,” Cole yelled as he accelerated to get out of the shooter’s range.
The sound of another bullet struck the truck, followed by a third one. The truck veered toward the ditch on the side of the road. Cole fought for control. “Hold on! The tires on the right side of the pickup blew out.” And I’m going sixty-five miles an hour.
The deep trench loomed closer.
“Get up, Alexia!”
In the couple of seconds he had, he couldn’t keep his truck on the highway. He gripped the wheel harder as the truck plunged into the ditch bordering a field of blooming flowers. The front end of his Chevy smashed into the side of the trench, stopping its progress.
The airbags exploded, hitting his chest with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and dispelling white dust into the cab. He coughed as he drew in deep breaths of the powder and turned toward Alexia, hoping she’d followed his last direction. He didn’t have time to explain she should be upright in case the airbag deployed.
Plastered against the seat, she groaned but rolled her head toward Cole and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m—okay.”
“Good.” He shoved his driver’s door open. “Get down again and stay there.”
“What are you going to do? The shooter’s out there.”
“I know, and I’m going hunting. Call Sheriff Woods and let him know what happened and where we are.” After grabbing his cell phone in the console’s cup holder, Cole reached behind the front seat and pulled out a rifle with a scope on it. “I have a handgun in my glove compartment. Get it for yourself.” Then he low ran away from his pickup.
As Cole climbed out of the ditch seven or eight yards from his truck, he recalled the brief glance in the direction of the shooter. A tall, bushy tree in the middle of the field of pale blue flax seed was his target—if the assailant was still there. He wanted to take their attacker alive. When he’d been discharged from the army, he’d never wanted to kill another person—even an enemy, but he would protect Alexia at all costs, if it came down to that.
At the top of the seven-foot trench, he encountered the border of the blooming plants over two and a half feet tall. He sneaked into the field of flax, a nutty scent perfuming the air, and began crawling on his belly toward the tree about a hundred yards away. He was coming from the other side in hope of throwing the assailant off. From his vantage point in the tree, the shooter probably couldn’t see Cole’s pickup other than part of the very top of it. The guy wouldn’t know if they were hurt in the crash or from the first shot he’d fired. Cole counted on that to pique the attacker’s interest to find out and make him do something careless. As a sniper, Cole had learned to wait for the right opportunity.
Keeping his attention on the tree, he planted one elbow then the other, inching closer. He prayed cell reception was working out here, and Alexia could reach the sheriff.
One long second after another passed.
He froze when he spied movement in the tree. Suddenly a man dressed in camouflage dropped to the ground and sprinted in the direction of the truck, favoring one leg. Not wanting the shooter to reach Alexia, Cole leaped to his feet and shouted, “I’m here.”
The assailant stopped, whirled around, and lifted his rifle at the same time.
Cole fired his gun a second before the guy pulled his trigger. The blasts rang through the field.
* * *
The need to know what was going on tempted Alexia to peek out the window, but she didn’t. She held the gun in her hand, glancing at her watch for the tenth time to see how long it had been since she’d gotten hold of Sheriff Woods. Ten long minutes.
What was happening? Was Cole all right? Did this have anything to do with the other incidents? How in the world did the shooter know they would be in this spot? Had he been waiting for hours while they were in Great Falls? Questions continued to tumble through her mind with no answers.
Lord, we need Your help.
Another five minutes passed. When would the police be here?
Scrunched down in front of the passenger seat, Alexia tried to ease some of the aches from the tight place she’d folded herself. But her throbbing body continued to protest her position.
One shot followed immediately by another from the field above the ditch reverberated through the air. Alexia tensed.
That’s it!
She couldn’t sit here and wait for the shooter to come kill her. Without a vantage point for her to see him coming, he could easily approach the truck, jerk the door open, and fire point-blank before she could react.
She wriggled herself out of the hole she’d stuffed herself in. Her walking cast impeded her maneuvering effectively. She took twice as long to sit in the passenger seat, her gaze trained on the top of the ditch above the pickup.
How was she going to hoist herself up to the field?
* * *
The shooter in camouflage went down, dropping his weapon. Cole charged the man, searching in the flax seed plants for the man’s rifle.
“Unless you want me to shoot you again, I’d freeze.” Cole said only about three yards away from the assailant. When he stood over the guy, he leaned down and snatched his rifle. “You won’t be needing this anymore, especially where you’re going.”
The wounded shooter tried to rise. He winced and sank back onto the ground. “I’m not telling you a thing.”
“Not a wise decision. You’ve been caught shooting at us. That’s attempted murder.”
“I was target practicing.”
Cole laughed. “That’s a good one. So that’s what you’re calling my truck—a target. Sure it wasn’t the people inside?”
The assailant pressed his lips together.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“In case you think you’ll be let go, think again. My truck has three bullets in it that will match the bullets from your weapon. With that and my testimony that you shot at me, you’ll be in jail a long time.”
The shooter glared forward, avoiding eye contact with him as Cole called for an ambulance.
Although he didn’t appreciate his truck being shot up, Cole hoped this would put an end to what had happened to Alexia and the other employees during the past week. He studied the man’s face, trying to remember if he’d seen it on one of the videotapes he’d looked at this morning. The assailant was of average height, short brown hair, and a plain face. Nothing about him stood out that would make a person remember him.
Finally, two sheriff’s cars pulled up and parked near where his pickup went off the road. He was surprised at the number of cars that had passed on the two-lane highway and hadn’t stopped. A few had slowed down, but no one had checked to see if they needed help. He was glad they hadn’t, but it was odd…unless—
He grinned. Alexia—not following what he’d asked her to do—to stay in the truck. When he’d left his vehicle, his focus had been totally on stopping the shooter. For once, he was happy she hadn’t because he hadn’t thought about passersby, stopping to help. The other side of the ditch hadn’t been as tall as the one leading up to the field, and people would have seen the top half of his Chevy. He was thankful the road wasn’t heavily travelled. Someone else could have been hurt.
Sheriff Woods climbed from the ditch, glancing over his shoulder and saying loud enough that Cole heard, “He’s fine. It’s the other guy on the ground.”
Sheriff Woods and a deputy strolled toward Cole. “You had Alexia worried. She heard two shots but didn’t know what happened.”
“I assume she wasn’t hiding in my truck.”
The sheriff shook his head, gesturing toward his deputy to secure the shooter. “Nope. She tried to climb up the side of the ditch, but she didn’t make it. She’s covered in mud and isn’t too happy that she’d been worrying about you for the past ten minutes.” A more serious expression descended on Sheriff Woods’ face. “What happened here? Alexia said you two were heading back to Moose Creek when someone shot at you, disabling your truck. You got out to go after the assailant.”
“And I found him. He’d been shooting from that tree,” Cole pointed toward a large one in the middle of the field, “and decided to see what happened after we ended up in the ditch. I think he had visions of finishing us off. He would have killed Alexia if she hadn’t bent down to get something from her purse at the exact time the first bullet hit my truck.”
Thank You, God, for protecting Alexia.
“This could be the guy that shot Becca Norman. I’d love to wrap up that case and be able to tell Red the trouble’s ended.”
“I agree. I was trying to remember if I saw him on the video I looked at this morning.”
“I’ll have a deputy go through all of the tapes again. I’m sure you two have had your fill of watching them. At least we can hold the man on attempted murder.”
Cole decided he’d go through all the footage that had been gathered at Crescent City, too, probably not before going to the Flying Red. He hoped he could find the guy on one of those tapes. He glanced at the culprit on the ground. The deputy had him handcuffed and was tending to his leg wound until the paramedics arrived.
Cole handed the sheriff the shooter’s weapon then started walking toward the road. “Can we hitch a ride back to Moose Creek?”
“Sure.” He cocked a grin. “As soon as I put a blanket down for Alexia to sit on.”
“She’s that bad?”
“Yep. Standing on her good leg, she grasped a small scrub growing out the side of the ditch. She was using it to hoist herself up. It didn’t hold, and she slid down.”
When Cole reached the edge of the field, he peeked down into the ditch and laughed. Sitting in the passenger seat of his pickup, Alexia looked at him, mud smeared down her front. The vision lifted his spirits.
* * *
The next morning at the diner, Alexia sat across from Cole, who had finished telling Charlie about what happened the day before. “I’m glad you thought it was funny. I was ready to come to your rescue if you needed me, and all I got from you was laughter.” She swiveled her attention to Charlie and glared. “And you’d better not say a word. For all I knew, there’d been a shootout and both of them were dead.”
“In that case, you could have waited for the sheriff and saved yourself the trouble of trying to crawl up an almost ninety-degree angle with a big black boot on your leg.” Charlie took the last gulp of his coffee and reached for the pot to refill his to-go mug.
“Don’t you have work to do, so we can leave in the next hour for the ranch?” Alexia asked, still remembering the fear she’d experienced when she’d heard those two gunshots in the field. Not knowing if Cole was alive or dead drove her to climb the side of the ditch until she’d pulled the scrub out and fallen backward with the bush clutched in her hand.
“Yes, ma’am. Then I’ll pick up Cole’s truck and go to Great Falls to pick up Becca.” Charlie stood. “I’ve never been so glad to return to the Flying Red as I am today. See you two at the rodeo grounds.”
“We won’t be long. We’ll be swinging by the sheriff’s office first.”
After Charlie left, Cole placed some dollar bills on the table.
Alexia pushed the money back toward him. “I’m paying. You saved my life. That’s the least I can do.”
“Have I convinced you now that whoever is behind this is after you? We need to look at people you, or your father, might have angered. Good thing we’ll have a two-hour trip today to discuss options.”
“I don’t want to ignore any viable ones, but why don’t you think the shooter yesterday was the sole person behind the sabotage?”
“I’m being cautious. We’ve talked about it possibly being two people. The sheriff is tracking where this guy, who’s telling the authorities his name is Dustin Jones, has been.”
“His name is all they know about him? There are a ton of Joneses in Montana alone.” Alexia rose from the café table.
“Sheriff Woods is circulating his photo and name throughout the state. If that doesn’t produce something, he’ll widen the scope of his investigation. Jones tried to kill three people.”
“At least we have an answer to who went after Becca since the bullet she was shot with matched the one from his gun.”
Cole went out first and scanned the area before holding the door for Alexia to leave the restaurant. “I wish Jones’s pickup gave us more clues about where he’s from. He might be a hired thug.”
“Because the license plate had been stolen in Billings?”
“Yes, that’s one reason. And I’m betting his name isn’t really Dustin Jones. All the sheriff has is his fingerprints, photo, and the name he gave us. So far, the fingerprints aren’t in any databases and no one has recognized him.”
Cole drove Alexia’s truck to the sheriff’s office, letting her out at the front door then parking. When he joined her just inside the station, a deputy escorted them back to a viewing room and stayed with them.
“When will the interrogation start?” Alexia asked, glad there was a glass mirror between her and the shooter. What little she saw of him yesterday had been enough to realize she didn’t know him. The idea that someone could have hired him unnerved her more than she cared to acknowledge.
“Soon, ma’am. We’re waiting for the state-appointed attorney for the suspect. When he requested one last night, that shut down his interview until one could be provided. Sheriff Woods wants everything by the book.”
While the deputy hung back, both she and Cole faced the two-way mirror when the door in the interrogation room opened. The man, probably about thirty, stared right at the mirror as if he could see her watching him. Chills flashed up her arms.
“I know I asked you yesterday, but have you ever seen him around?” Cole repeated while holding her hand.
Alexia studied the man. Cole had called him average—a person who faded into a crowd, and she had to agree. Brown hair. Maybe five foot ten. Plain looking. Perfect for a hitman. Had he been paid to shoot at them? Or was there something more to the reason he did it?
When the sheriff entered with an older man who must be the suspect’s lawyer, Sheriff Woods gestured for him to take the chair next to Dustin Jones.
The attorney introduced himself to Jones then said, “I would like some alone time with my client before you question him.” He glanced at the two-way mirror. “In a room without a way to listen in on the conversation.”
The sheriff frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but Jones cut him off, saying, “I don’t need to talk alone with my lawyer. I’m not answering any questions. I’d like to go back to my cell.” The shooter again looked directly at the mirror, his eyes narrowed—menacing.
“Very well.” The sheriff went to the door and asked the deputy outside in the hall to escort the prisoner back to his cell.
Alexia sighed, watching Jones rise with the use of a crutch and make his way into the hall. Something about the way he walked nagged at her. He dragged the foot of his leg that hadn’t been shot. The homeless guy in Crescent City had walked funny. The composite had been similar to Malcom Snyder, but Charlie hadn’t thought it was Malcom.
“We might as well go to the rodeo grounds.” Cole still held her hand and squeezed it gently. “He may change his mind later. I’m sure Sheriff Woods will keep us informed.”
In the corridor, the sheriff and the suspect’s attorney finished talking.
The lawyer disappeared down the hall.
“We discovered how Jones knew where you two were going to be.” The sheriff joined Cole and Alexia.
“How?” Cole asked.
“There was a tracker placed on your truck. He didn’t have to follow you. Jones must have watched and waited from his perch for you to come by. Hawkins called me this morning when he found it while he inspected your vehicle to see what needed to be repaired. I’ll keep you two informed concerning this case. When it goes to trial, you both will need to come back to testify.”
“Thanks, Sheriff Woods. I’m sure Dad will be calling you to offer his own thanks as well.”
Sheriff Woods walked with them to the front door and shook their hands. “We’ll keep trying to find out why he did this and who might be connected. I’ll let you know if we discover anything. If you figure out anything that would help us with this case, please call me.”
“Will do.” Cole went outside first and held the door for Alexia while panning the surroundings.
“You think I’m still in danger?”
“Until proven otherwise, yes.”
This was real. She was in danger and didn’t know why.