Shirlee McCoy - Protective Instincts

“You could be right. My mom once told me that my voice could wake the dead.”

“Did she also tell you that driving down icy country roads in the middle of the night could turn you into one of the dead?”

Stella laughed. “My mother was all about the thrill. She would have loved this, and you would have loved her. She was crazier than I am.”

He doubted it. Stella had a reputation at HEART—hard-core, tough, determined and absolutely fearless. A former army nurse, she handled stress well, and in the four years he’d known her, she’d never caved under pressure. “Most of the time, I like your kind of crazy, Stella, but the next time you want to go for a country ride in the middle of an ice storm, call my brother.”

The silence that ensued told Jackson everything he needed to know. Stella and Chance hadn’t worked things out.

He hadn’t expected them to. They were both as stubborn as mules. The fact that they’d dated at all still surprised him. The fact that his brother, a consummate bachelor, had bought an engagement ring had shocked him. Stella and Chance’s breakup four weeks ago? Not surprising at all.

“I didn’t call you,” Stella finally said. “I stopped by your place. I wouldn’t have done that if Samuel hadn’t had to use the bathroom.”

“Sure. Go ahead and blame it on the kid who’s asleep in the backseat,” he responded, and Stella laughed again.

“Okay. So I didn’t want to come all the way out to Podunk Town alone. Country roads are creepy.”

“You’ve been to some of the most dangerous cities in the world, and you think this is creepy?”

“Every ghost story I’ve ever heard has taken place on a country r—”

Someone darted out of the woods, and Jackson slammed on the brakes. The tires lost traction, and the SUV spun. Jackson managed to turn into the spin, get the vehicle back under control. It coasted to a stop an inch from a giant oak tree.

“What was that?” Stella yelled into the sudden stillness.

“A person.” He unbuckled his seat belt, praying for all he was worth that he hadn’t hit whoever it was.

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t—”

A woman appeared beside the car. Hair cropped short and plastered to her head, black coat hanging open to reveal what looked like a flannel pajama top. Jeans. Plastic rain boots. A face that was so familiar his breath caught.

Raina.

It had been over six months since he’d seen her, but her image had been carved into his memories so deeply that it seemed like yesterday. He’d been on dozens of rescues, brought plenty of people to safety. He hadn’t forgotten any of them, but Raina had been different. He hadn’t just remembered her; he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

“Help me!” she begged, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes wild with fear. “There’s someone chasing me.”

He opened the door, scanning the woods behind her. “Who?”

“I don’t know. He had a gun. He tried to shoot me.” Her teeth were chattering, and he dropped his coat around her shoulders and bundled her into the car.

She grabbed his wrist before he could turn away, her hands cold against his skin. “We need to call the police.”

“Okay,” he responded, meeting Stella’s eyes. Raina didn’t seem to know who either of them was. Her lips were pale from cold, rivulets of water streaming down her cheeks and neck. She’d been outside for a while, and she seemed to be suffering the effects of it. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I told you. Someone was chasing me through the woods.” She glanced at the trees, her eyes widening. “There, look!”

He whirled in the direction she’d indicated, his hand resting on the gun strapped to his chest. All he saw were trees and deep shadows. “I don’t...”

His voice trailed off. Something did seem to be moving through the forest. Stella must have seen it, too. She leaned toward him. “You want to check it out, or you want me to?”

“I’ll go.” He grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and headed toward the trees, moving quickly and quietly, the patter of icy rain enveloping him as he entered the woods. It had been years since he’d been hunting, but he knew what to look for. Tracks in the ice, broken branches. He could clearly see the path Raina had taken, the slippery progress she’d made. She’d run haphazardly, zigzagging through foliage.

He moved deeper into the trees, the stillness of the woods broken only by the murmur of leaves and the soft whistling of the wind. The storm seemed to be dying down, the ice turning to a gentle rain. He pushed through a thicket and found himself on a dirt path that ran east and west. West led to the road and the SUV, so he headed east, his light illuminating the slushy path. He could make out footprints, all of them indistinct. Other than that, the dirt yielded nothing.

The path opened into a parking lot, a small church at the far end of it glowing grayish-white in the gloom. A Jeep sat near the tree line a hundred yards away. Dark-colored, the windows tinted, it had a thin layer of ice covering the roof and so much dirt on the license plate it couldn’t be read.

He moved toward it, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He knew the feeling of impending danger. What six years as a U.S. marine hadn’t taught him about it, five years working for HEART had.

Someone was in the car.

He was as sure of it as he was of his own name.

He kept his firearm loose in his right hand, tucked the flashlight into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell. He snapped two pictures of the Jeep and was getting ready to take a third when the engine coughed. Black exhaust poured from the muffler, but instead of speeding out of the parking lot, the driver backed up and pointed the Jeep straight at Jackson.

He dove for cover, tree branches snagging his coat and ripping into his face as the Jeep slammed into the trees behind him. Leaves and water rained down on his head, blurring his vision as he dropped the cell phone, pivoted and fired his Glock.

TWO

If the perp escapes, Chance isn’t going to let me live this down. I’m not going to let myself live it down.

Those were Jackson’s first thoughts as he fired a second shot at the tires of the fleeing vehicle. The tire blew, the Jeep swerving and righting itself as the driver stepped on the gas and raced away.

He wouldn’t get far.

Not in the Jeep.

He might get somewhere on foot. Jackson didn’t know the area well, and he wasn’t sure how far they were from a main thoroughfare. He ran out into the street, watching as the Jeep’s taillights dipped and swerved along the country road. No streetlights to speak of, but Jackson could see a small town in the distance.

If the Jeep was heading in that direction, it should be easy enough to track down. Jackson jogged back to the tree line, flashing his light on the giant oak the Jeep had hit. Bits of bark had sheared off and specks of dark blue paint stuck to the wood. Evidence for the police to collect. Jackson left it alone, careful not to step on tread marks deeply engraved in the muck at the edge of the blacktop. The last thing he needed was to get in deep with the local P.D. The fact that he’d fired his Glock was going to cause problems enough.

Problems that Jackson wanted to handle without any help from Chance.

Not that he didn’t appreciate his older brother’s input and advice, but Chance got a little too involved sometimes. He worried a little too much. Since they’d lost Charity, everyone in the family did.

His cell phone rang, the sound muffled. He followed it to a pile of ice and leaves, dug through the dirty mess and pulled out the phone.

“Hello?”

“Where are you, Jackson?” Chance’s shout cut through the quiet.