Dangerous Refuge

chapter Fifty-one



Shaye kept jigging the flashlight about like she was lost, hurt, panicked, or all three at once. She knew Ace was following her, because she had heard random sounds moving on a line that would intercept her light. The noises kept getting closer, then closer still.

This is far enough, she thought. I want to trap him, not me.

Panting, afraid, yet strangely exhilarated, she turned at an angle to the Bronco and kicked up her pace as if she had been terrified by something near the vehicle. All but running, she pushed through thickets of saplings and scrub brush, breaking off whatever she could, making as much noise as possible to lure Ace into being careless. Then she paused and flailed the light around, listening, trying not to pant.

There.

God, he’s close!

Not where I expected him to be. And making enough noise for a bear.

The shot sounded like another branch snapping—right next to her ear. Reflexively she ducked, even though she knew that she couldn’t dodge a bullet. Before she straightened, her mind told her that the shot hadn’t come from the same direction as the crashing noises.

That’s it. No more running. If Kimberli’s thrashing around out there, that will be enough distraction.

Shaye tossed the light away and made a low sound, like the throttled groan of someone who had been hit. It didn’t convince her, but she wasn’t going for an acting award, just a diversion. She took cover behind three head-high saplings that were fighting for the same piece of ground. Then she forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, quietly, instead of panting as she desperately wanted to.

The night and moon hadn’t changed, but the thrashing sound wasn’t as loud. Either whoever was making it had gone off course or wasn’t running into as many things.

From a different direction came small crackles, like feet crunching weeds and stone, followed by the click of metal on metal.

Ace was reloading before he closed in.

She eased the Glock off safety, raised it, and waited for him to step into the flashlight beam.

And waited.

He was as wary as a wolf circling a wounded moose. He went completely around the flashlight before he made a disgusted sound. Stepping quickly toward the glare, he leaned down to pick up the flashlight. His gun and his bald head reflected the light, screaming silently of danger.

She pulled the trigger.

The weapon jumped in her hands as fire and sound exploded from the Glock’s muzzle. She blinked and flinched against the noise and kick of the weapon. Without the ear protectors she wore at the shooting range, the noise was like a blow. Ears ringing, she steadied and fired again at the crouched form. The sound of the second shot joined the first, echoing from the rocky ridges.

That time she had kept her eyes open and braced herself to aim better. He spun fully around and stared at her with shock and surprise on his face. The .22 was at his feet and his right arm looked awkward.

She had wounded him.

Distantly she was aware of something moving again in the forest, back where she’d heard Kimberli a few minutes ago, but right now she was more worried about Ace. She hadn’t hurt him enough to end the fight.

He made a throttled sound of rage and fell toward her.

Except he wasn’t falling. He was charging her, head down, like a bull.

Shaking, she raised the Glock again to fire, but it was too late. He hit her like an avalanche. The Glock spun away into the darkness as she smashed to the ground, tried to roll, was knocked flat again, and finally scrambled wildly to get away from him. He rolled, too, but when he tried to spring up, he went full length in the dirt so close to her that she could smell his sweat and the metallic bite of blood flowing down his arm.

She clawed to her feet, tripped, and went flying. Her leg was screaming at her, refusing to take her weight, so she rolled over and over again, her only means of getting away from him. By the time she slammed against a tree and figured out which way was up, he was all but on top of her. He snarled in rage, lifted his foot to stomp her face, and brought the .22 into firing position with his left hand.

She jackknifed her knees and kicked out with both feet at his exposed crotch. He saved his balls, but just barely. Before she could coil for another kick, he shoved his .22 in her face.

“Game over, bitch.”