by Lisa Childs
Without his help.
“Come on out here,” he repeated. “You probably got sideswiped by a drunk or something.”
“A drunk driving a truck identical to yours,” she countered.
That sent a bristle up his spine, and that bristly feeling went up a significant notch when Elise finally stepped out. He didn’t see a gun, but from her stance, she looked as if she were challenging him to a gunfight in an Old West showdown.
“Call the county sheriff or the Texas Rangers,” she insisted. “I know they won’t try to kill me.”
Colt huffed again and turned the flashlight on her. He prayed she didn’t do something stupid and pull the trigger of the weapon that she claimed she was holding. It was a risk, but he figured Elise was only a liar and not a killer like his mother.
He moved the light over her face and then her body. She was wearing a pale blue coat and a stocking cap, but wisps of her light brown hair were flying in the wind and snapping against her face like little bullwhips.
And yeah, she had a gun.
Pointed right at him.
That didn’t help his racing heartbeat. Nor did the white-knuckle grip she had on the weapon. There were a lot of nerves showing in that grip.
“Put down the gun,” Colt insisted.
“Call the county sheriff,” she insisted right back.
Neither moved. Colt certainly didn’t turn to make that call, but somehow he had to convince Elise to surrender her weapon. And he didn’t want to have to wait the forty-five minutes or so that it would take the county sheriff to get out here.
“It’s not like when we were kids, huh?” Elise said. The corner of her mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “We used to play cops and robbers with toy guns. You were always the cop. I was the bad guy. Remember?”
In too perfect detail. Once, way too many years ago, Elise had been his best friend. The first girl that he’d kissed. Okay, she’d been his first love.
But he darn sure didn’t feel that way about her now.
Hadn’t felt that way in a long time, either. He wanted to ring her neck for trying to drag his dad into the middle of this murder trial mess.
Colt drew in a long, weary breath. “Look, can we just have a truce? Besides, you really do need to see a doctor. If you were run off the road, you could have bumped your head.”
She touched her fingertips to her temple, just beneath the edge of the stocking cap, and Colt was stunned to see the dark liquid.
Blood.
That did it. He cursed and walked toward her. Colt lowered his gun to his side, just so she’d feel less threatened, but it was clear she was injured and needed help. Even if she didn’t want that help from him.
Elise didn’t lower her gun, however, and she backed up with each step he took. Colt kept watch to make sure her finger didn’t move on the trigger. It didn’t. And when he got close enough to her, he dropped the flashlight and snatched the gun from her hand.
He expected her to try to get it back. Or curse him for taking it, but she turned and ran.
Hell.
Not this.
He really didn’t want to be chasing an injured woman through the woods at night, but Elise was the job now. She’d become that when she’d accused him of attempted murder and pointed the gun at him.
Colt shoved her gun in the back waist of his jeans, grabbed the flashlight and took off after her. For a woman with a bloody head and dazed mind, she ran pretty fast, and it took him several moments to catch up with her. He snagged her by the shoulder, spun her around and pinned her against a tree.
It didn’t put them in the best position. They were now body to body and breathing hard. But at least she wouldn’t be running anywhere.
Colt reholstered his gun so he could use the flashlight to get a look at her head. Yep, there was an angry-looking gash at least two inches long. Not a lot of blood, but she would have taken a hard lick to get that kind of injury.
“Did you hit your head when you went off the road?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. “I’m not sure.” Her eyes were wide. Startled. But Colt couldn’t tell if it was because she was still afraid of him or because of her injuries.
“The air bag deployed,” she said a moment later. “The windshield broke.”
So, something could have come through the glass and smacked her. “What happened then?”
Her mouth started to tremble, but she clamped her teeth over it. She also met him eye to eye, nudged him several inches away from her and hiked up her chin. No doubt trying to look a lot stronger than she felt.
Yeah, that was Elise.
“After I crashed, I heard someone get out of the truck,” Elise finally answered. “The man was armed. Dressed like you.”
Her gaze drifted from his Stetson to his buckskin coat. And lower. To his jeans and boots.
His uniform for this time of year.
“Exactly like you,” she added.
“Plenty of people around here dress like me.” Well, except for the badge. “Plenty of people drive trucks, too. In the dark most trucks look the same.”
There was no indication whatsoever that she believed anything he was saying. Elise just kept staring at him as if trying to piece things together. But Colt figured that was better worked out at the hospital after a doctor had examined her.
Of course, he’d have to file a report. Of course. And he’d have to say that a witness in an upcoming murder trial had accused him of doing her bodily harm. He wasn’t looking forward to having to explain himself, especially when he’d done nothing wrong. Still, that was part of the job, too.
“Come on.” This time Colt hooked his arm around Elise’s waist and got her moving. He was thankful when she didn’t resist. Or collapse. Though she suddenly looked ready to do just that.
“I’ll drop you off at the hospital,” he explained, “and then come back and have a look at your car. Where exactly did you go off the road?”
“Just a few yards from Miller’s Creek. I crashed into the guardrail.”
He knew the exact spot and winced. That creek was deep and icy this time of year. If her car had gone over, then she might have gotten a lot more than just a bloody gash on her head. She could have drowned or died from exposure, especially since there likely wouldn’t have been anyone to come along and rescue her.
He leaned in to smell her breath. No scent of booze. But she did scowl and shoved her elbow against him to get him out of her face.
“I’m not drunk,” she grumbled. “Or crazy. I know what happened, and I know what I saw.”
Yes, and sometimes what a person saw wasn’t the truth. But Colt kept that to himself. No sense getting in an argument about this particular incident.
Or the trial.
Though he was positive Elise hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen all those years ago, either.
“So, you crashed into the guardrail,” he repeated while he continued to lead her to his truck. “What happened then?”
She took a deep breath. Paused. “I managed to bat down the air bag, and I got out on the passenger’s side. I just started running.”
Colt was about to remind her that she could have run for no reason. But he didn’t get a chance to say anything.
The slash of lights stopped him.
Since the road was only twenty yards or so away, it wasn’t unusual for a vehicle to come this way. But Elise obviously didn’t feel the same.
“Oh, God.” She turned and pulled him behind one of the trees. Elise also reached down and turned off his flashlight.
Colt kept his attention on the truck. It was indeed the same model and color as his. And it wasn’t going at a normal speed. It was inching closer as if the driver was looking for something.
Probably Elise.
And not for the killer-reasons that she believed but maybe the driver was trying to find her to make sure she was okay.
Still, Colt stayed put. Watching. Waiting. Wondering if he, too, had lost hi
s bloomin’ mind to hide behind a tree instead of just trying to have a chat with whoever was behind that steering wheel.
Next to him, Elise’s breath was gusting now, and she had her hand clamped on his left arm like a vise. Every part of her was shaking.
The truck pulled just ahead of Colt’s. Stopped. And the automatic window eased down. It was too dark for him to see inside, but he could just make out the silhouette of a driver. A man, from the looks of it.
The driver turned off his headlights.
That didn’t help the prickly feeling down Colt’s spine.
Nor did the other thing he saw.
He stepped from his truck, taking slow cautious steps while he looked at the ground.
And the man was carrying a gun.
Copyright © 2015 by Delores Fossen
ISBN-13: 9781460378731
The Pregnant Witness
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Childs
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