In A Killer's Sights. Sandra RobbinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“The driver. I think I heard that his name is Wilson? There’s also an EMT named Joe, and Dean Harwell. Please tell the responders to hurry. I’m afraid the men are hurt badly.”
“They’re on the way. Stay on the line with me.”
“I will, but please tell them...” The words froze in her throat at the smell that filled the ambulance. “Gasoline!” she screamed. “I smell gasoline.”
“You need to get out of the ambulance now, ma’am.” The woman’s voice crackled over the cell phone.
“I can’t leave them all here!” Gwen cried.
Before she could move, the back door of the vehicle opened. She recoiled at the sight of a man dressed in camouflage with a black ski mask over his face. He held a gun that he instantly aimed at her.
“Well, we meet again,” he sneered, his words muffled by the mask.
“What do you want?” Gwen cried.
“What I don’t want is for you to live to tell what you saw up on that mountain,” he snarled.
Gwen held her hands in front of her and tried to scoot backward, but Joe’s body blocked her. Beside her, Dean began to stir. “I don’t know anything. I can’t even see your face. Please put that gun down,” she begged.
He laughed and took a step closer. “I can’t take a chance. Sorry, lady.” He slowly reached in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette lighter and flicked it on. Then he backed away a few feet and tossed it toward the vehicle.
A man’s voice penetrated Dean’s mind, and he opened his eyes. He pushed himself to his knees and turned his head toward the sound just in time to see a figure clothed in camouflage drop a cigarette lighter to the ground. Immediately, a flame shot up.
Dean jumped to his feet and faced the man behind the flames. “What are you doing?” he yelled.
The man took a step backward, raised his gun and pointed it at Dean. “Harwell? Why are you here?”
Beside him Gwen gasped and coughed from the smoke. The man jerked his attention to her, and that gave Dean the opportunity he needed to find a weapon. A cardiac monitor, jarred from its place on the ambulance wall, lay next to him, and he grabbed it by the handle. With all his strength he heaved the piece of equipment at the man, who sidestepped with a startled cry. Then he turned and ran up the mountainside.
Dean grabbed Gwen’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got to get out of here. Right now!”
She looked back at Joe, who was beginning to stir. “I can make it,” she said. “Get Joe and the driver out!”
Ignoring her demand, Dean pulled her toward the back door and held her elbow as she scrambled to the ground. She’d taken only a few steps before she stumbled and fell to her knees. Dean wheeled around, grabbed Joe in turn and helped him rise. Together they jumped from the back of the vehicle.
As soon as they were outside, he told Joe, “Get Gwen away from here before the fire reaches the gas tank.”
The EMT nodded, pulled her to her feet and half dragged her up the steep slope away from the wreck. Dean could hear her screaming his name as he ran around to the driver’s side door. Inside, Wilson was slumped over the wheel. Dean pulled on the handle, but the door refused to open. He tried again, with no success. A glance toward the back of the ambulance told him the fire was spreading underneath. He had to get Wilson out, or they were both going to die in an explosion.
Praying that he could be fast enough, Dean ran to the rear doors and jumped back inside. It took him only a few seconds to find the fire extinguisher, still mounted in its case on the ambulance wall.
Praying that it hadn’t been damaged during the wreck, he pulled it free and leaped out. His heart pounded and his hands shook as he remembered the word a trainer at the police academy had taught him: PASS, an acronym for pull, aim, squeeze, sweep. The temptation was to aim for the fire, but that only made the extinguishing agent fly through the flames without doing any good.
Thanks to his training, it took Dean only a few minutes to extinguish the fire that had spread beneath the ambulance. When he was convinced it was out, he ran back to the driver’s door and hammered at the window with the base of the fire extinguisher. After a few blows it shattered, and he reached inside to unlock the door.
Blood was pouring down the side of Wilson’s head. Dean placed his fingertips on his neck and was relieved to feel a weak pulse. With the fire out, he debated whether or not to pull Wilson from the cab. Before he could decide, he heard the sounds of sirens and brakes screeching as the first responders came to a stop on the road above.
“Down here,” Joe yelled to the firemen and EMTs who jumped from their vehicles and hurried down the embankment toward the wreck.
Dean backed away and let the emergency workers take control of the scene, then walked to where Joe and Gwen stood. Her worried gaze swept over him as he came closer. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Yeah. How about you?”
“The wound on her head has started to bleed,” Joe said. “I’m going to get a new bandage for it.”
Dean watched his friend walk away, then turned back to Gwen. She stared at him for a moment before she dropped to her knees and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Unsure what to do, Dean hesitated before he squatted beside her. He started to put his arm around her, but thought better of it. Finally, he braced his hands on his knees and leaned close.
“Gwen, are you all right?” he asked.
She looked up with tear-filled eyes, and his stomach clenched at the memory of how often he’d been the cause of her tears in the past. She had once said she would never forgive him, and he believed her. He wished he could let her know how he regretted everything he had done that had torn their marriage apart, but now was not the time.
She nodded. “When I smelled that gasoline, I was so scared. Then I thought I was the only one who’d survived the wreck.” She glanced at the ambulance. The first responders had removed Wilson from inside and were bent over him, administering aid.
Dean smiled. “But you called 911 anyway. That was quick thinking.”
Her cheeks flushed and a smile pulled at her lips. “I’m just glad your cell phone fell out of your pocket to make me think of it.”
The stilted conversation between the two of them reminded him how different things were now than they’d been years ago. He wished he could go back and tell that young police officer to do things differently, but he couldn’t. What was done was done, and the past couldn’t be changed.
“Gwen—” he began, but stopped when a familiar voice interrupted him.
“Dean, I was nearly back to town when I got the message to return. What happened?”
He looked up to find his friend the sheriff coming down the embankment. Dean placed a hand on Gwen’s elbow and supported her as they rose to their feet. Ben Whitman stopped beside them and glanced from one to the other.
Dean nodded toward the wrecked ambulance. “I guess our guy wasn’t through for the day.”
Ben frowned and pushed his hat back on his head. “You think the shooter at the trailhead caused this wreck?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I saw him.” He turned to Gwen. “This is Sheriff Ben Whitman. He’s a good friend of mine. You need to tell him your story about what happened by the stream. Then we can fill him in on what went down here.” He glanced back at Ben. “This is Gwen.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Ben told her. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
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