“You and Chloe stay down,” Gabe said, keeping his voice level. “Do not raise your head for any reason. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
He opened the glove compartment and removed his SIG Sauer. It fit comfortably in his hand.
Trina must have seen him, because she sounded shaken. “Isn’t it likely this is the police?”
“No. If it was, they’d have had no reason not to turn on flashers and pull me over back in town. Aside from refusing to disclose Chloe’s whereabouts, you and I have been cooperative. Stayed in touch, passed on what we’d learned.”
“Yes. Oh, God. What are you going to do?”
“We’ll see.”
He couldn’t lose focus enough to comfort her. A car had just sailed past going south. In seconds, it would be out of sight. Otherwise, the highway was empty in both directions but for the obviously powerful dark sedan closing the distance on his truck from behind—and the big black SUV that had been waiting on the shoulder ahead, but was now moving. To make a U-turn? No, it had pulled across the highway to form a barricade.
Son of a bitch. He’d almost called Boyd earlier and asked him to make the trip to town so they’d have an escort home. My mistake, he thought coldly.
The sedan was close enough that he could see it carried a driver and passenger. He’d count on at least two men in the SUV, too.
He’d begun slowing down, as if he didn’t know how to handle this. Braking. The broadside SUV reared ahead.
“All right,” he said harshly. “Down. Both of you on the floorboards.”
Chloe’s squeak of surprise came from behind him, but the click of the seat belt and rustlings let him know Trina was doing as he said. When he took a last, hasty look behind him, he saw that she was lying on top of Chloe. Using her own body to protect a child who didn’t deserve any of the crap that was happening to her.
A man had stepped out of the SUV and was waving his arms, signaling Gabe to stop. Looked innocent enough...if the guy hadn’t made the mistake of leaving his door open, allowing Gabe to see the rifle aimed right at him.
“Trina, I need you to memorize a license plate number.” He didn’t wait for any assent, reading off the one displayed on the sedan closing in on them.
He lowered the passenger-side window, waited until the SUV was no more than thirty feet ahead and the sedan was braking—and then slammed his foot down on the gas pedal while yanking the wheel sharply to swerve toward the far shoulder.
The man standing, exposed, leaped back, momentarily blocking any shot from the gunman.
Time slowed, as it always did for Gabe in combat. There was an almost surreal clarity. The tumbleweed and sagebrush land to each side of the highway could almost have been Iraq or Afghanistan.
Judging his moment, he took his first shot out the passenger window. Back tire.
Still coldly, without compunction, he fired at an angle into the windshield. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a web form in the safety glass...and the gunman slumping to one side.
Then he accelerated, the left wheels off the pavement, tilting the truck. Metal screamed as he scraped the passenger side against the SUV bumper.
Same color paint jobs, he thought, in that strange way one did. In the clear, he braked briefly, long enough to take out another tire—and to ping a bullet off the sedan.
It rocked, swerved, the driver losing control. The left side crumpled as it came into hard contact with the bumper. But—hell!—it was still in pursuit.
Gabe had a head start, though, and he’d halved the enemy. Rocketing down the highway, he set his weapon down on his seat long enough to grab the phone and speed-dial.
“Got a problem,” he told Boyd.
* * *
MINUTES LATER, THE SEDAN, built for speed in a way the truck wasn’t, once again closed in on his bumper.
Two more minutes, he told himself. One...
His back windshield exploded and he heard a thump.
The hair on the back of his neck rising, he swerved, driving in an unpredictable zigzag pattern that would make it hard for a gunman in an also-moving vehicle to make an accurate shot. The big tires squealed. A bullet pinged off metal. Tailgate or fender. Son of a bitch. The Ford F-250 was almost brand-new.
Up ahead, another pickup truck waited on the shoulder. He was almost on top of it before he was able to see the man crouched low in the bed, rifle barrel resting on the tailgate. Just as he flew past, he heard the crack of the rifle. Once, twice, three times.
The sedan spun in the middle of the highway, skidded toward the embankment...and plunged over.
In seconds, Boyd’s truck fell in behind Gabe’s. The turnoff was several miles beyond. He took it carefully, slowed to a near crawl. A cloud of dust would have been a dead giveaway.
“You okay back there?”
“Yes.” Trina was breathless but didn’t sound panicky.
“You can get up now. We’re almost home.”
Home. The word felt like an unexpected speed bump. Despite his investment in the place, he’d never thought of the cabin or ranch as “home.” But he didn’t let himself dwell.
“Did I squish you?” he heard her ask Chloe. He didn’t take in the response, but relaxed when he saw them both pop up and take their seats. Trina didn’t even reach for the seat belts, obviously recognizing where they were.
Boyd stuck with him when he veered right at the Y, following him behind the cabin but giving him room to maneuver so he could back into the outbuilding, as always.
Gabe unlocked the doors, using the moment when Trina got out carrying Chloe to slip his gun into his waistband at his back. He tugged the white shirt out to disguise it and followed them.
Boyd was already waiting. Leon Cabrera hopped out of the bed, landing lightly on his feet. No sign of the rifle.
Trina smiled at them. “Thank you for...for coming.” She looked down at Chloe, resting her on one hip. “You remember Mr. Chaney, don’t you?”
Chloe buried her face.
“Trina Marr, meet Leon Cabrera. He’s another retired Ranger. I’m sure Joseph would remember him. I was lucky enough to talk Leon into coming to work here as our foreman.”
Leon happened also to be a trained sniper as well as unflinching in action. Lucky he’d been readily available, although Boyd had tried as much as possible to hire people with a military background. Made the ranch damn near impregnable, although neither he nor Gabe had ever expected to have to defend their property.
“Come on in,” Gabe said. “You’ve got time for a beer, don’t you?”
“Sure.” Boyd sounded as if this were a casual stop by to say hey.
Inside, Trina got out a tin of the cookies she’d baked and plopped it in the middle of the table, then poured milk for Chloe. The two left the room. The men didn’t say much until they heard the TV come on in the living room.
Finally, Boyd said quietly, “Whoever this is has an army.”
Trina returned to the kitchen and sank down in the fourth chair at the table. “Tell me what happened.”
Realizing how blind and helpless she must have felt, Gabe gave her a quick summation.
She stared at him. “Did you kill anyone?”
“I don’t think so.” At this point, he wasn’t sure he cared if he had, but he didn’t say that. “I winged one of them. Shot out a couple of tires.”
“That’s what I did, too, Ms. Marr,” Leon said. He managed to look boyishly guileless rather than deadly.
“Trina, please,” she said with a tremulous smile. Then she looked at Gabe. “They shot at us.”
“Yes, they did, and they weren’t going for the tires.” Thank God; it had been a miscalculation on their part. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to dig a bullet out of one of the seats. It came through the back window but didn’t make it to the windshield.”
One of Boyd’s eyebrows lifted. The bullet would be of limited value unless and until they had a rifle it could be matched with...but Gabe had become grimly determined to bring these scumbags down.
Trina blinked several times as she took in the hard reality that they’d been ambushed by men ready and willing to commit murder to get their hands on a little girl. She finally said, “They were trying to shoot you.”
“Yep.” Although he doubted they’d have quit shooting if they’d seen her.
“They knew Chloe was with us.”
That hardly bore comment, since killing Chloe was the idea. Still, frustrated but not surprised that his efforts hadn’t been enough, Gabe said, “They did. What’s more, they must have seen me taking her inside this morning, otherwise there wouldn’t have been time for them to set up.”
“And they’d seen which way we went on the highway.”
Also not a surprise.
Her gaze stayed fixed on him, as if she’d forgotten the other two men were there. “Do you think they know we’re here?”
Gabe shook his head. “I’ve been damn careful not to turn off the highway when any other vehicle was in sight. Twice, I’ve kept going when I saw another vehicle, even if it was barely a pinprick.”
She nodded, having asked him about the first time he’d continued past the ranch road without even having slowed. He’d had to backtrack several miles on both occasions.
“If only the press hadn’t found out about me.”
“The fire drew a lot of attention,” Gabe said gently. “Neighbors were eager to talk about how brave you were, how you saved the life of the little girl you were fostering. The Sadler PD may have trouble keeping secrets, but your name getting out there wasn’t their fault.”
Trina seemed to sag. “No. Of course not.”
Boyd pushed back his chair and rose. “Let me get you something to drink. A beer?”
“Oh...no, thank you.” She started to rise, too, but Gabe laid a hand over hers, stopping her. Her startled gaze met his again, and she subsided. “A pop would be great. No, wait. Milk. Milk and cookies, right?”
Boyd smiled, found the right cupboard, and soon brought her a glass of milk. “Beer and cookies work, too.” He sat back down and studied the tin. “What kind are those, with the Hershey’s Kiss on top?”
“Mint flavored. And those are peanut butter, and I guess the molasses are obvious. I think Gabe ate all the chocolate chip.”
He smirked.
He was glad to see her nibbling on a cookie and drinking her milk. An adrenaline crash could do a number on a person. A boost to her blood sugar would help. As soon as the guys left, he’d offer to cook dinner tonight.
“The little girl,” Boyd said. “Was she scared?”
Trina nodded. “She sort of...shrank. When bullets started flying, I covered her ears, but...that had to have thrown her back to when her parents and brother were shot, don’t you think? She looked glassy-eyed when I put her in front of the movie. I wouldn’t have left her, except she did take a bite of her cookie, and I wanted to hear about everything I missed.”
“I don’t want her to be in the middle of any more violence.” The roughness in Gabe’s voice had the other three staring at him.
After a minute, Boyd asked matter-of-factly, “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
Gabe’s teeth ground together in his effort to give her a chance to make the right decision before he had to force a heated confrontation.
“I can’t go to work again.” Trina sounded numb. “I shouldn’t have insisted.”
No, she shouldn’t, but... “You had good reason,” Gabe said.
“Thank you,” she said softly, then jumped up. “I’ll start getting dinner on.”
He pushed back his chair, too. “Let me do that.”
“No, I need to keep busy.” She smiled at Boyd and Leon. “You two would be welcome to stay. I’m going to stir-fry, so it won’t take long.”
Both stood, as well. “Thank you,” Boyd said, “but I’m sure Leon’s wife expects him. My housekeeper probably already has dinner on, too.”
“Oh. Well.” This smile appeared brittle. “Another time.”
“Sounds good.” Boyd gave a slight nod toward the back door.
Gabe moved toward the door, too. “I’ll be right back.”
He had no trouble interpreting Trina’s expression. She knew they wanted to talk out of her hearing.
Outside, dirt kicking up from every step, Boyd said, “Looked like your truck sustained some damage.”
Gabe ground his teeth.
“I know someone over in Salem. I bet I can get him to come over and replace that window.”
He sure couldn’t replace it locally. If Boyd “knew” this guy and trusted him, he was undoubtedly also retired military. The scrapes and dents from bullets would have to stay for now. He counted his blessings that the idiots hadn’t taken out a tire.
“They didn’t know about me,” he said thoughtfully. “If I didn’t have plenty of experience with ambushes, their plan would have worked fine. They got flustered when I didn’t stop like a good boy.”
“None of them had any serious military training,” Leon said.
“No,” Gabe agreed, “and I doubt any of them were law enforcement, either. They do roadblocks themselves, would think better under pressure.”
“Did you expect them to be cops?” Boyd asked, obviously surprised. “That detective is a nuisance, from the sound of it, but why would he go to these lengths when he could get a subpoena?”
“Because he isn’t sure he can? Trina has probably appeared in front of most judges in these parts, her opinion respected. What judge is going to say, ‘The woman is trying to protect this kid? Ridiculous! We’ve got to hurry on this. You go ahead and crack her open.’” He added as an aside, “She heard one of the detectives say that about Chloe. Risvold, especially, is trying hard not to see her as an individual. He wanted to know where Trina had ‘stashed’ Chloe.”
Both the other men were shaking their heads. Leon, he knew, had two kids of his own.
Gabe decided not to say anything about what he’d learned from the Keifs’ next-door neighbor last week. The information had been frustrating; the woman had almost certainly seen the killer’s car but hadn’t paid enough attention to give him much to work with.
It was a sedan, she knew that. Maybe a Lexus? Or a Genesis, or an Acura. It could have been a Cadillac, she’d added. He had later checked online, and could have added to that list. The contours of a number of the big luxury cars were similar, as were grills. “Sort of gray or silver” wasn’t real helpful, either. What happened to the days when cars came in real colors?
Having reached Boyd’s pickup, Gabe dismissed his frustration and contemplated the out-of-state license plate. “Doesn’t look like they so much as tapped your truck.”
Boyd laughed. “Not a chance.” He sobered. “That gun of yours isn’t traceable, is it?”
Gabe pretended indignation. “All those crime sprees I go on, how can I be sure? No. It won’t be in any databases.”
“Good, we’re clear, then. You dig that bullet out and tuck it away.” He opened his door. “Let’s stay in close touch. Do you have Leon’s number, in case I’m unavailable?”
Gabe didn’t but entered it in his phone, after which he held out a hand to Leon. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” The two men shook, and Leon grinned. “A little adrenaline now and again is good for the heart.”
Gabe laughed, even though he felt more sick than energized. He didn’t go back into the cabin immediately, instead inspecting the damage to his truck.
If Trina had still been sitting up, the bullet that came through the back window might well have hit her in the head. Dead-on. He had a hard time tearing his gaze away from the hole in the front seat headrest.
No, he hadn’t gotten any charge out of today’s live-round exercise. Protecting Trina and Chloe wasn’t a job anymore, or a favor to her brother. It was deeply personal.
Which meant that rage simmered—and he was afraid in a way he hadn’t been since he was a boy.
* * *
TRINA WAITED UNTIL Chloe was asleep that evening to tell Gabe what little she’d learned today and find out what had happened with the surveillance on Russell Stearns, the fired vice president who’d worked under Michael Keif. Gabe was clearly bothered by Stearns, with good reason. Given how limited opportunities for an executive at his level were in the area, why had he stuck around after he got fired? Had he even interviewed elsewhere? What was he doing with his days?
They’d agreed, too, that between patients she should make some calls, find out what she could about Keif, his partner, Pearson, and Stearns.
As usual, they sat at the kitchen table, both with cups of coffee.
She went first. “I called the mother of a boy I worked with for almost a year. Vanessa’s job is actually at city hall, in planning, but her husband is an engineer at O.R.E. I was pretty up-front with her, told her about Chloe being too freaked to tell us what she saw, and my worry that’s because the ‘bad man’ is someone she knows.”
“And?”
“She was more open than she should have been, really. Vanessa admitted her husband liked Chloe’s dad but has problems with Ronald Pearson. Apparently, he pushes to get products out on the market before they’ve been perfected, and Vanessa’s husband, Bob, thinks too many of the company’s resources go to maintaining a fleet of trucks. He’d argued to Michael Keif that they should outsource shipping, concentrate on development and manufacturing. Oh, and he’d heard some of the gossip about Russell Stearns but didn’t really know him.”
She went on to tell him the rest of what she’d gleaned: a female county commissioner whose granddaughter was a current patient had hinted at her dislike of Pearson, calling him “bullish.” She didn’t think he did his research or had any interest in huge swaths of what the commissioners handled. She’d finished by saying, “He’s serving on the board—and I use the word serving loosely—to protect his interests. And yes, Michael probably was, too, but he at least did his part. He said he was raising kids here, which made Granger County home.” Grief tinged her tone. “I’m sorry he wasn’t willing to do another term.”
Gabe listened intently, his ability to concentrate without so much as fidgeting out of the ordinary and sometimes a little unsettling.
“None of that is very helpful.” She made a face.
“I wouldn’t say that. I wonder what ‘interests’ he’s protecting. Is the company polluting? Doesn’t seem like manufacturing electronic components would lead to that kind of problem, but you never know. Or is he concerned O.R.E. might be expected to come through for additional traffic mitigation? Taxes? They’re mostly state and federal.” He seemed to shake himself. “Stearns played a round of golf this morning. I took some photos so I can try to identify the others in the foursome. He had lunch with a woman—” Gabe named the fanciest restaurant in Sadler “—escorted her to her car and then followed her out to O.R.E. She went into the executive offices on her own, never glanced back. Couldn’t tell if she was pretending she didn’t know him, or whether she hadn’t realized he was behind her. He gave her a couple of minutes, then went into the office building, too, stayed for about an hour, strolled out looking unconcerned.”
“They’re really going to hire him back.”
“Probably. But I wonder about the woman. I haven’t had a chance to identify her yet, either. Is he seeing her because he thinks she can help his cause?”
“Hmm. I bet Vanessa could find out—”
“You don’t have your phone, remember?”
She mumbled a swear word. Except for when she’d been at work, she hadn’t had her phone for nearly two weeks, so why did the reminder make her feel so isolated now? So she’d lost some independence. It was temporary, and Joseph would probably be making the same decisions Gabe was.
Suck it up, she told herself.
“Are you going to call Detective Risvold tomorrow?” she asked. Gabe had already asked if they needed any groceries, so she knew he was planning a trip to Bend in the morning.
“I don’t like it that Risvold was the one who talked to the Keifs’ neighbor and apparently didn’t ask if she’d been home, and if so, taken a look in the direction of their house around about the time of the murders. That feels off.”
It felt “off” to her, too, but then she’d despised Risvold almost from their first meeting. That didn’t mean he’d gone to the dark side.
“His style is brisk,” she pointed out. “He might have assumed she’d be eager to tell him if she’d seen anything.”
Gabe grimaced. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call him.”
Trina nodded, realizing that, for the first time in her life, she couldn’t begin to identify everything she felt. Terror was easy—all she had to do was remember the fire—or, nice addition, lying nose down on the rubber mat on the floor behind Gabe’s seat while the truck rocked violently, the back window dissolved and bullets pinged on metal. Intense gratitude was in the mix, as was resentment because she was having to depend so utterly on another person, when she’d taken care of herself for a long time.
But now, looking across the table at his hard face and the blue eyes that never wavered from her, she untangled another thread of her emotions. Trust. She didn’t believe Gabe Decker would ever let her down.
And that made her wonder if what he’d said the one night—You have to know I’m feeling things for you—didn’t have a lot deeper meaning than she’d read into it. It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to tell her he was madly in love with her, not so soon. That awkward admission might have been his equivalent of passionate declaration.
Which meant maybe she ought to trust him in every way.
She took a deep breath, saw a flicker in his eyes and nerved herself to ask, “Will you kiss me?”