Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
The seat belt carved into her chest, the sensation of bruised ribs sinking deep. Then stillness. A haunting, hollow silence draped over the wreckage, disturbed only by the hiss of leaking fluids and the subtle pop of overheated metal. Gulping, she forced herself to turn her head.
“Walter?” Her own voice sounded distant, distorted.
“I’m good.” Upside down, held in place by the seat belt, blood streamed down the side of his face, painting his pale skin crimson. His hands moved with a precision that belied the obvious pain, unbuckling his seat belt with a clack that echoed through the mangled space. He dropped and landed with a loud crunch.
Laurel did the same, landing on one hand and pivoting to her knees, her joints screaming in protest. The gun remained steady in her grip. “We have to get out of here.” If the truck hit them again, they’d be crushed. Worse, now the driver had time to claim the weapon from his downed passenger. She tried to force open her door, and it groaned in protest, warped beyond function.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Walter kicked at his door, his face twisted with effort and fury.
Laurel eyed the glass-strewn ground, bits glinting with sharp edges. “I’m going through the window.” She scrambled forward, ignoring the sting of glass shards slicing into her knees through her pants. Pain was a distraction she couldn’t afford. She ducked out and pushed to stand, her legs trembling but holding firm. The taillights of the truck were barely visible through the pounding rain as it sped back the way it’d come.
From the other direction, red and blue lights emerged from the murk, accompanied by the rumble of tires on wet pavement. As she watched, a Fish and Wildlife truck tore past the patrol cars racing toward her.
Walter shoved his way out of her window and stood, his gun hanging loose in his hand. Blood trickled down his face, but his eyes remained sharp and clear. “Looks like your boyfriend is coming.”
Chapter 7
“I’m perfectly healthy,” Laurel said for exactly the fifth time as she settled onto Huck’s sofa with her feet on the coffee table and the soft Karelian Bear Dog cuddled against her side. “My vision is excellent, and other than bruising along my rib cage and a few cuts on my knees and hands, I’m remarkably well.”
Huck piled two more logs on the crackling fire. “I still think we should have a doctor check you out.” He stood and turned, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together.
It remained fascinating learning about Huck. For some reason, he became angry whenever she was harmed. She could understand concern or even regret, but fury glimmered in his bourbon-colored eyes. As if fate had pissed him off. Or more likely, the cretins in the black truck. So far, the truck had not been identified nor found.
Experience told her that it might not be. Living in the Washington State mountains, she’d learned that making a vehicle disappear over a mountain edge or in a gully in the middle of nowhere often occurred.
Huck crossed around to sit next to her, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table before sliding an arm over her shoulders. “Is it too much of a coincidence that the half siblings of both you and Walter possibly have been attacked?”
She stretched her neck and tried not to wince as pain ticked down her spine. “Statistically? Coincidences happen. Just not this cleanly.” She rubbed a knot in her shoulder, fingers itching to tap this all out into something more solid than thoughts pinging off each other like unruly particles. “We’ve got three events. Three variables. I’m trying to determine if they intersect or if they’re all just swirling around like chaos theory on caffeine.”
She ticked them off. “My half sister gets shot at by a sniper. That one’s almost too easy to explain. She left a body count, including a pastor with a congregation that probably still lights candles in his honor. And that’s just the obvious possibility. For all I know, she’s made enemies so deep I’d need a submersible to reach them.”
Huck snorted. “Including us.”
“Then there’s Walter’s half brother, who’s a conspiracy expert. Either he staged his disappearance to gain intrigue for his podcast, or he actually stumbled onto something and is truly in danger.” She hesitated, annoyance bristling under her skin. “But then there’s what happened to us. Someone shot at us and ran us off the road. Walter and me. Not my half sister. Not Walter’s half brother. So either we’re targets, or we were incidental casualties from the other two situations. That’s where it gets tangled.”
“I’m not liking any of this, but at least the FBI is investigating who tried to shoot you. For now, anyway,” Huck said.
Her mind raced, overlaying theories like transparencies, one on top of another, until everything blurred. “Are the three attacks connected? Probability says no because the situations are too different.”