Fugitive Trail. Elizabeth GoddardЧитать онлайн книгу.
didn’t see him. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Walk with me while we talk.” The snow was growing deep enough to slow them down, filling her with frustration. “Someone took a couple of shots at us while we were out walking the dog. Bryce went after the shooter.”
“And you let him go by himself?”
“I tried to stop him. He wanted me to take Samson back home, which I did.”
“The dog could find the shooter. Maybe take him down too.”
“Yes, and the dog could also get shot and killed. I don’t have Samson for these kinds of circumstances, Sheriff.” Even though the fear of an attacker was the exact reason she’d wanted a big dog. “Samson is trained for mountain search and rescue.”
In response, the sheriff merely offered her a severe frown. Clearly he didn’t agree with the way she used her dog. Sierra didn’t care what he thought.
Samson wasn’t an employee of the sheriff’s department. No one other than Sierra had any right to say what he should or shouldn’t face.
She tugged her weapon out. She hoped the shooter hadn’t taken Bryce out already. Her heart ached at the mere thought of it. And if Bryce got seriously injured out there—how much of the blame lay with her?
“Now are you going to help me then?” she asked. “Because I’m not sitting this one out.”
Sheriff Locke readied his own weapon. “That, I am.”
Bryce continued following the footsteps through the nearly thigh-deep snow. With the way the snow was falling, soon the tracks left behind would be completely gone.
The snow was to his knees, and hip-deep in some places. He tried to step into the shooter’s steps to ease his efforts, but it was still slow going. Without snowshoes, he had no hope of picking up the pace, and this kind of exertion was going to exhaust him too quickly. He wasn’t out of shape but navigating the snow-covered rocky terrain took all his effort and focus.
Bryce stopped to catch his breath and take in his surroundings. It was pitch black out here. The only illumination came from the town lights that reflected from the clouds. That reflection helped him to see the way, but it wasn’t nearly enough to let him track down the man who had shot him.
What was Bryce doing out here?
This seemed like a suicide mission.
Standing beneath the low-hanging branches of a spruce tree, he considered his options. If he didn’t silence his gasps for breath they would give him away—that is, if someone was watching and waiting for the chance to take Bryce out. Except Bryce had no doubt the shooter had come for Sierra specifically and taking Bryce out would simply be a bonus.
Anger coiled in his gut. He couldn’t let Raul get to Sierra. His efforts might fall short, but he wouldn’t stop trying.
He drew in a sharp, cold breath. Bryce wouldn’t give up so easily.
Even though Raul wasn’t the typical perp.
Shoving from the spruce tree, Bryce continued following the tracks before it was too late and the shooter was gone for good.
He pushed harder and hiked farther than he thought he could. Finally the snow clouds thinned, allowing the moon to illuminate the forest into an eerie, foreboding scene.
Glancing back, Bryce noticed Crescent Springs was growing smaller. He was putting himself in danger by going deeper into the cold without proper clothing. He wasn’t prepared to face off against the elements.
But he’d only been thinking about getting his hands on Raul, ending this once and for all so Sierra could be safe.
He caught a glimpse of the mountains that stood watch over the small tourist town. Bryce flexed his cold fingers in both hands to shake the stiffness away. He wished he’d worn ski bibs instead of jeans layered with thermals. He hadn’t thought through what having dinner with Sierra would look like—and he certainly hadn’t expected the evening to end this way, with Raul taking a shot at her.
Bryce should have been better prepared.
Regardless, he couldn’t stay out here much longer.
The clack of tree trunks rustling with the wind drew his attention to the south. A crunching sound followed. Was Raul pushing on too now that he knew Bryce would follow?
Frustration boiled through him and warmed him—good.
Just a little farther. God, the tracks are here for me to follow. Help me find this guy before he hurts Sierra!
He allowed the hot anger to fuel his steps.
A shadow moved in the trees ahead of him.
Yes!
Bryce was catching up. His weapon ready, he prepared to pull the trigger.
He aimed at the silhouette of a man in the trees. “Stop, police!”
Only he wasn’t the police anymore. Old habits die hard.
His prey fled deeper into the woods. He was so close! Bryce would get his hands on Raul. Adrenaline pushed him farther and deeper.
A force slammed into his body. The breath whooshed from him. He crashed face-first into the biting snow that rushed into his mouth and nose.
Bryce fought for purchase, grappling with the snow. Reaching for something, anything, to push the weight from him. He twisted around to face the barrel of a weapon.
Reflex kicked in.
Bryce rolled as gunfire blasted into the space where he’d been mere seconds before. Using his training, he knocked the weapon from the man’s hand. Kicked his attacker to the ground as he twisted away and scrambled to his feet, despite the snow impeding his efforts. Bryce searched, digging through the snow and found his weapon. Gasping for breath, he shoved the fear down.
Aiming his weapon, he turned in a circle looking for Raul.
No.
No, no, no.
Bryce had lost him. He’d fled into the night again. Bryce could follow the tracks farther, but the cold was making him numb and slowing both his moving and thinking. Grousing that he’d let the man get the best of him and get away on top of it, he decided to follow the footprints left behind. The cold seeped through his inadequate clothes all the way to his bones. From now on, he’d dress for unexpected treks through snow on cold winter nights. Maybe even drag snowshoes around with him so he’d be prepared.
He took one more step.
A crack resounded directly under his feet—a familiar and terrifying sound.
He stilled and listened. Gurgling water. A river? A stream? Whatever it was, he’d just stepped on the thin layer of ice covering moving water—thin and dangerous.
Another crack and then his foot plunged into the icy water.
Sierra heard the snap and the plunge into water that came after.
Oh, no!
“Bryce!” she shouted.
Gasping for breath, she pushed forward through the snow, following his tracks. She’d seen a man standing there not fifteen yards away through the trees. She had just decided it was Bryce at the moment he’d stepped on the ice.
Now she couldn’t see him at all. “We have to hurry!” she shouted to the sheriff who trailed her.
“Bryce,