Holiday Secrets. Susan SleemanЧитать онлайн книгу.
engine cut out and died, but the dying motor only stopped the biker for a second as he paused to look back. He shrugged and continued walking, holding out his gun in a gloved hand. He poked her father’s side with a pointy boot. Her father’s tortured moan rose into the stark night.
Yes! He’s alive!
“Stupid, stupid man,” the gunman said. “Running when bullets were flying.”
The shooter was tall. Over six feet. Thin. Lexie searched the darkness for his face, but his tinted helmet hid his features. She’d never heard his voice before, but he had a deep Southern accent, so he could be from around their rural Texas county.
He kicked her father again. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you meet with the head of the syndicate today, did you?”
The syndicate? Her dad mumbled something, but she couldn’t make out his response. She desperately wanted to know what type of trouble her father had gotten into. Even more, she wanted this man to take off so she could tend to her father’s injuries.
“You should have known I’d never let you bring me down,” the shooter continued. “Not when I’m facing three strikes. I’m not going to prison again and never coming out. You’re a smart man. How come you don’t know by now that I’m smarter than you? That I’d hunt you down?”
A sick laugh rolled from his mouth and he moved closer.
Lexie held her breath. Waited for a fatal shot to sound.
Instead, the gunman jerked the envelope from her dad’s hand and peered around. “So, who’s meeting you here tonight?”
Lexie strained to hear the answer.
“No one,” her father said, his tone weak and wavering. If she didn’t get to him soon, he might not make it. “Was just hiding the envelope. That’s all. I swear.”
The shooter bent down and pressed the gun against her father’s forehead.
Lexie almost gasped but caught herself in time.
The shooter waved the envelope in her father’s face. “Thanks for this. I also have the copy you left with your attorney in Mexico. You should never have given him the information. Now he’s dead.”
“No.”
“Yes.” His voice was calm, like committing murder was an everyday occurrence for him. “You obviously planned to hand this over to someone tonight. Who?”
“No one,” her father insisted.
“Not even your precious Lexie?”
Wait—the shooter knew her name? Knew who she was? Did he know her father was meeting her here? Would he come after her next?
Her heart stammered and panic ricocheted through her.
“Well, old man?” he demanded. “Lexie. Is she meeting you here?”
“No. I was hiding it. In the building. Would’ve called her later. Told her where to find it.” Her father’s voice was growing weaker, blood loss likely taking his strength. She hated seeing him in this situation, suffering at the gunman’s hand, but she appreciated his effort to distract the shooter from learning she was there.
A noise sounded from across the field. She listened. Heard a horse trotting. Gavin? Or was it just wishful thinking?
The gunman spun. “So, you were meeting someone, after all. No worries. I’ll be long gone by the time the horse reaches us.”
He shoved his hand into his pocket and came out holding a cell phone. He pressed his thumb to it, the phone coming alive and illuminating his face shield. She squinted to get a better look at his face, but the light reflected against the shield.
“I’m assuming you have another copy of these documents on the plane. Well, buh-bye, plane.” He tapped his phone.
The plane erupted in a ball of fire. The ground beneath her feet rumbled in concussive waves. Fragments of the plane flew through the air and hit the dusty ground. A rush of heat washed over her face even at this distance.
She stared in stunned disbelief. Just who was this guy and how was he involved with her father?
“See how much you underestimated me,” he shouted. “And don’t think I believe you when you say you didn’t give this information to your daughter. I won’t rest until I’m sure she doesn’t have it. Even if that means she has to die, too.” He laughed, the sound high and maniacal, his craziness sending her fear skyrocketing.
He was willing to kill her father, so what would he do if he spotted her?
Horse hooves thundered on the open field.
Please let it be Gavin. As a former local deputy and now an FBI agent in Houston, he’d be armed and know what to do—how to save them.
Are You there, God? Listening? Please don’t let this psycho fire on him, too.
The shooter mounted the bike. Kicked the engine awake then screeched to a start and roared forward, stopping to take a final shot at her father. The gun report sounded like thunder.
No. Oh, please, no. Had he done the unthinkable and killed her father?
Her head swam. Her leg muscles turned to mush. She grabbed the wall to keep from dropping to the ground.
Breathe deep. Keep it together.
The biker laughed again then shifted his bike into high speed, passing right in front of her. She held her breath so even the tiniest movement didn’t give her away. The whoosh of wind from the cycle blasted her face and heavy fumes irritated her nose. He glanced her way. The gun lifting.
Had he seen her? She couldn’t be sure and remained frozen in place.
When he moved out of sight, she ran for her dad. Knelt beside him. Spotted gaping chest and stomach wounds.
For a moment, all of her medical training and experience as a trauma nurse fled and panic won out. Her pulse skyrocketed. She felt woozy. Like she might collapse. She wanted to give in. To forget her father lay in front of her with wounds only a skilled surgeon could treat.
“Dad... I...” She didn’t know how to continue as blood oozed from his body. If she’d listened to the many times he’d nagged her about becoming a doctor, she could help, but with his extensive injuries, only a doctor could save him now.
He moaned.
She let her gaze flick over the area. Searching for what, she didn’t know. Maybe she was just avoiding the obvious.
Cut it out. He needs you to be strong. To think. Get it together.
She ripped off her favorite Christmas scarf, wadded it into a ball and pressed it against the most critical wound. Blood saturated the cashmere in moments and she suspected an equal amount of blood spurted from his back, too.
Please, she begged. Don’t let him die.
“Lexie,” he muttered, his voice not more than a whisper.
“Shh.” She bent forward. “Don’t try to talk.”
He struggled to breathe, his chest barely moving. “Be careful...dangerous. He took it. Your insurance. I should have...couldn’t...my reputation. Legacy. He’ll come after you, Lexie. He’ll kill you...”
* * *
Gunshots. Lexie.
Gavin McKade cleared the tree line to see a fireball rising into the sky over an airplane torn in pieces and a dirt bike racing away from the maintenance shed.
Had Lexie given up on him because he was late and boarded the plane to go somewhere? Or were the gunshots directed at her and she’d been shot?
Dear God, don’t let me be too late. Don’t let Lexie be on that plane.
He jerked his unruly stallion’s reins to keep him from bolting