Wanted. Delores FossenЧитать онлайн книгу.
to hurt me?” she asked, peering out at them.
“Hard to say.”
She was tired of the vague answers. “Then guess,” Lyla demanded. She pinned her attention to the gunmen, too. If they moved one inch, she’d have to move as well. She prayed they didn’t start shooting into the house.
McCabe shook his head. “Maybe there’s someone who doesn’t want you involved in this.”
Well, she certainly fell into that category. Lyla didn’t want to be involved even if she had no idea what this was. Still, that was something she would have to work out later. After she had some way to protect herself.
Lyla moved, ready to race toward her bedroom to get the .38 she had in the back of her nightstand drawer.
“I don’t think so,” McCabe snarled.
He hooked his left arm around her waist, dragged her to him and anchored her against his body. She’d only known him a matter of minutes, and it was the third time he’d put his hands on her. Lyla wanted to do something about that.
Actually, she wanted to punch him and run.
But she couldn’t risk hurting the baby. No. As angry and scared as she was, her best bet was to wait for the deputy and maybe try to reason with this man, who claimed to be the father of her child.
A father who might be a criminal.
Lyla tried to think back through their entire conversation. Not easy to do, with her heart and mind racing and with McCabe plastered against her. It was hard to think or breathe with him so close. Still, she forced herself to do just that, and she went back to the part of their conversation before he’d dropped the embryo bombshell.
“Why did you think I had anything to do with the Webb murder investigation?” she asked. Lyla also kept watch on the two gunmen.
“You don’t...yet,” McCabe said.
Despite the clear danger outside, that caused her attention to snap to the marshal. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ll be put in charge of compiling the final investigation, the one that’ll determine who’s responsible for Jonah Webb’s murder.”
Lyla was shaking her head before he even finished. “Not possible. The Texas Rangers have their own crime lab, one of the best in the country.”
“And soon the governor will say there’s a conflict of interest, that the head of the Ranger lab once worked on a case with one of their prime suspects, Kirby Granger.”
“Your foster father,” she mumbled. “It’s true?”
McCabe nodded. “True that they worked together. Not true about the conflict of interest.”
That probably wouldn’t matter. Appearance was everything in this sort of investigation. The sixteen-and-a-half-year-old murder had drawn national attention, and the governor and the Rangers would want to make sure the right people were held responsible for the crime.
Still, there was something about this that didn’t make sense.
“Even if the governor transferred the investigation to the San Antonio Crime Scene Unit, they wouldn’t put me in charge of the case. He’d choose my boss, Dean Mobley.”
“Your boss will excuse himself and insist that you take over,” McCabe said without hesitation or doubt.
Not likely. Mobley and she didn’t see eye-to-eye on much. “Why would he do that, huh?”
“I don’t know, but he will.”
Lyla huffed. “He won’t.” And she would have added more to that argument if she hadn’t heard a welcome sound.
A police siren.
Thank God. The deputy was nearly there. And she hoped he had plenty of backup.
McCabe cursed again, and for a moment she thought it was because of the siren. Maybe it partly was. But he didn’t even spare the front of the house a glance, despite the fact that the police cruiser would soon arrive there. He still had his attention on the two men by the barn.
“Stay inside,” McCabe ordered, and he started for the back door.
Lyla didn’t intend to let him leave. She wanted him arrested. She reached to latch on to his arm, but then she saw the movement.
The two gunmen.
They were no longer behind the barn. They were running. Getting away.
McCabe threw off her grip, and with his gun aimed and ready, he hurried to the back door. Lyla followed him, but there was no way she could stop him. Not with that rock-hard strength.
He’d barely made it to the door before one of the men stopped. Pivoted.
And fired.
Chapter Three
The sound of the bullet blasted through the house.
“Get down!” Wyatt shouted to Lyla.
Wyatt got down, too, but he stayed near the back door so he could keep an eye on the gunmen. One was already racing across the pasture, away from the house, and the other didn’t even take aim before he fired another shot and then took off running, as well.
Hell.
Wyatt couldn’t let them get away, but he also couldn’t risk one or both circling back around and coming after Lyla. He had no idea if she was innocent or not, but by damn, he was not going to let her get gunned down.
“What’s happening?” Lyla asked. She was on the floor, thank God, one hand over her head and the other over her stomach. He hoped she stayed that way, though her hands would be a paltry shield for bullets.
“Someone’s trying to kill me,” Wyatt relayed to her. “Or maybe you.”
But there was something off about this attack, if it was indeed a murder attempt. For one thing, the men had waited way too long before shooting. In the twenty minutes or so that Lyla and he had been in the house, two gunmen could have torn the place apart with a shower of bullets.
Maybe that meant they’d wanted her alive.
Or scared.
If so, they’d succeeded in doing both. Lyla was trembling on the living room floor, but she hadn’t been hurt, and that meant the baby was safe.
Wyatt tried not to think about that. Tried not to think about the deception that had gone into creating this child. He just focused on the job, and right now the job was keeping Lyla and the baby safe and stopping those gunmen.
The moment that Wyatt heard the cop car brake to a stop in front of the house, he bolted out the back door. Not because he was afraid of being arrested. No, he could handle that. But now that Lyla had someone else to protect her, it was time to see what he could do about the gunmen.
Wyatt had to go after them.
Both of the men were running, their backs to Wyatt. He considered shooting but dismissed it. If he hit one, the other could return fire, and he was still too close to the house to risk that.
Wyatt leaped off the porch and hit the ground running. Not the easiest thing to do in cowboy boots and winter gear, but the men were weighed down by equipment belts, which no doubt held extra ammo. Maybe extra weapons, too. They’d obviously come prepared for an attack that they’d barely carried out.
The pasture wasn’t that deep, unfortunately, and behind it was a fence and then a heavily treed area. He wanted to stop the men before they could disappear into those woods, but they had too much of a head start on him. When Wyatt saw the first man reach the fence, he knew he had to do something.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” Wyatt called out.
Still not listening, they didn’t stop. Both of them continued to run, and the one