Lisa Phillips - Colorado Manhunt

Yes, it had been her choice to testify against him. But it had been the right thing. Otherwise who knew what destruction he would’ve caused in the end? Or how many lives might have been lost.

He’d told her he was trying to find a job so he could get on his feet, and properly support his son. She’d gotten him a cell phone on her plan so prospective employers could contact him. A few weeks later, when he hadn’t said anything to her about any interviews, she’d looked at his texts on her online account.

That was when she’d discovered the truth. Jeremiah had been transporting drugs and guns for a cartel.

It had broken her heart. What else could she have done when feds showed up at her doorstep except turn everything over to the FBI?

Amy got clean socks and put a pair of boots on. She added a sweater, even though she was going to put her thick coat on. Gloves and a scarf. A hat. She’d gotten used to Colorado winters, and loved the chill in the air, but the cold set in fast no matter how “used to it” she was. Her “go” bag had a packet of those hand warmers in it, the ones she liked to slip inside her gloves when she went snowshoeing.

“Ready?” Noah had two insulated tumblers out. He replaced the carafe and topped one tumbler up with cold water—he took his coffee black. Amy got her bag while he put milk in hers and screwed the lid on. He walked out of the kitchen. “No sense wasting good coffee.”

He handed one tumbler to her, leaving one of his hands free. She shot him a look. “How do you know I don’t buy the cheap stuff?”

They headed for the door, and she saw his shiver. “Don’t even joke about that.” Car keys jingled against the tumbler as he walked. At the front door, he waved her to the side. No smiles.

She knew the drill.

Noah pulled his weapon out. She’d stowed hers in her “go” bag just in case she was caught alone. In her experience, US Marshals tended to get mad when a protectee tried to help them do their job.

He toed open the door and scanned. “It’s clear.”

Amy felt the hairs on her neck flutter. She stepped outside, then glanced back. Would she ever get the chance to return here? There were things she wanted. Stuff not required in her bag, but which still meant something to her. She didn’t want to lose the things she’d chosen. Just as she didn’t want to lose the life she’d started to build for herself here over the past year.

Jeremiah was ruining everything. Again.

A vehicle approached. She heard the crunch of gravel under tires, followed by the squeal of brakes.

Noah shoved her back. Coffee spilled on the entryway rug and his solid body landed on hers. Tackled to the floor. Because her brother was trying to kill her .

The rat-a-tat of automatic gunfire cut through the thump of her heart in her chest.

Noah rolled her past the line of sight in the open doorway while the gunfire continued. He covered her body. Arms over her head, so her face was nestled against his shoulder.

Wood splintered around them as the cabin was torn to pieces.

They were going to die.

He heard her whimper, but there was no time for comfort. Air rushed in his ears and he could feel wet under one knee. Spilled coffee.

“Come on.” He hauled her up and they moved.

Through the house, toward the back door. The hallway would put them in the line of fire. Noah stopped at the doorway from the kitchen to the hall and peered around the frame. The gunshots had stopped. Would one of the men come around to the back door, to try and cut off their escape?

His brain wanted to run through all those lingering questions… Who were these guys? How had they found the cabin? But dwelling on all that would only get them killed. Right now they needed to move.

Beyond the open front door—and Amy’s “go” bag that she’d dropped—was a blue SUV. The same one that had been behind him on the highway a while ago. It had to be, because in his experience there was no such thing as a coincidence. Not when it came down to protecting witnesses. But he’d lost that vehicle. They hadn’t followed him here.

Amy clutched his arm. He could hear her breath coming fast. She was scared, relying on him to keep her safe and get them both out of there. The weight of that responsibility was heavy, but not unwelcome. It was the career he’d chosen, the path on which he felt the most like himself.

“Stay here.” He tugged her to stand right up against the wall, where he’d been. “When I say, you run out the back door. Okay?”

She nodded, wide eyes full of fear.

Noah moved back the way they’d come. Both men were still outside. One watching the cabin, the other on a phone. Calling in the fact that they had found Amy? He didn’t like the idea of more men showing up.

Noah reached out with his foot and kicked the front door shut, then ducked to the side. Gunshots peppered the wood as he fired two shots through the window, obliterating the glass and screen.

He ran for the back door. They could get out, it was clear. Both men were out front and waiting…for whatever it was they were waiting for. Noah wasn’t going to do that.

He and Amy were getting out of there.

“Go, Amy! Now!” he called out loud enough she could hear, but not so loud it would be audible from out front.

In a flash of the dark material of her jacket, he saw her run.

Noah caught up at the back door just as she pulled it open. Amy stepped back and to the side, and he moved around her. If he’d explained what he wanted her to do, there was no way it would have come out that smoothly. Thank You, God. They moved as though he’d protected her for years. And in a way, he had. He’d just been doing it from afar since the trial.

A whole year.

Now they met like this?

Noah exited first, gun up. Amy tapped his shoulder.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and they ran for the trees.

Snow lay a couple of feet deep around the cabin. Amy steered them to a trodden-down path, crunchy rutted snow she’d apparently walked frequently.

The cold air chilled his hands, and the material of her glove over the hand he held. He picked up their pace as they headed along the path. They would be out in the open until they got to the tree line. How far did her path go? And where did it lead?

He was about to ask her when she said, “Careful of—”

Noah’s foot hit a patch of slick snow and he stumbled. His leg gave out, and his knee hit hard-packed snow. He grunted, but held the reaction back.

“You okay?”

He nodded and got his feet under him. He kept running, still holding her hand. He’d probably squeezed it to death for a second there, when his brain had realized his body was falling. Noah kept scanning the area as they ran. Waiting for the second when those gunmen figured out they’d escaped out the back and set off in pursuit.

Thankfully, the ground was so frozen they weren’t making any tracks on the rutted path. Unfortunately, however, that meant his knee throbbed with every step.

He gritted his teeth and pushed on.

“You’re not okay.” Her voice came out breathy.

“Doesn’t matter.” Maybe she was scared, and sympathy gave her something to think about beyond the fear. Whatever the reason, he liked that she cared. What he didn’t like was that they weren’t at the tree line yet.

A shot rang out.

Amy squealed. They both ducked and pressed on, running hunched over. They couldn’t veer from the path or they’d be wading in snow. Noah ran as hard and fast as he could, praying with every step that neither of them slipped.

The second he passed the first tree, he entertained the idea they might make it. Noah sucked in a breath. Tried to calm his exhale. Otherwise he was going to end up passing out.