Deadly Christmas Secrets. Shirlee McCoy

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      A uniform of some sort?

      She wasn’t going to ask.

      She wasn’t going to step out from the trees, either. Her property was too far off the beaten path for someone to find his way there accidentally. This guy had come for a purpose. She’d rather have someone else around when she found out what that was. She couldn’t call one of the church ladies, and she didn’t have any close guy friends. She’d call the sheriff’s department. They could send deputies out, and she’d just stay in the woods until they arrived.

      She pulled her phone from her coat pocket, watching as the guy took a step away from the Jeep. Picasso barked twice, the happy greeting ringing through the still morning air. The man turned in their direction, scanning the tree line.

      She didn’t think he could see her through the thick pine boughs, but she took a step back anyway, pulling Picasso with her.

      “You can come out,” the man called, taking off his sunglasses as if that would somehow make him look less menacing. “I don’t bite.”

      “My dog does,” she responded, and he shrugged.

      “I’ve had worse than a dog bite. My name is Logan Fitzgerald. Your brother-in-law sent me.”

      “My brother-in-law has no idea I’m here,” she responded, keeping the pine boughs between them. Despite what she’d said, she would have been very surprised if Picasso took a bite out of anyone. He was a friendly dog, easygoing and funny. He served as a good early-warning system if a bear or mountain lion was around, and she liked to think he’d try to protect her if one came along, but he had yet to have to prove himself.

      “Maybe I should rephrase that,” Logan said. “Gabe Wilson hired the company I work for to find you.”

      “Why?”

      “He had some information he wanted to share with you.”

      “I’m not interested.”

      He cocked his head to the side, and despite the foliage between them, she was sure he was taking in her mud-splattered jeans, her hiking boots, the thick wool coat she wore over her T-shirt. “All right. I’ll give him the message for you.”

      “That’s it?”

      “He hired us to find you, Harper.” He drawled her name, just a bit of a Southern accent in the words. “When he did, he signed a contract stating that if you don’t want to be found, you simply have to say so. He gets no address. No phone number. Nothing.”

      “That doesn’t seem like something Gabe would agree to.” Her brother-in-law never gave up on anything. He was determined and driven to a fault. At least, he had been four years ago.

      “He didn’t have a choice. That’s the way HEART works.”

      “HEART?”

      “We’re a freelance security and hostage rescue team,” he responded as if that explained everything. “I’ll pass along your message.” He slid into the Jeep and would have closed the door, but the sound of an engine drifted from somewhere down the road. He frowned. “You expecting company?”

      “No.”

      “I guess I’ll stick around, see who’s coming.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      “Sure it is.” He crossed the distance between them and pulled back the pine bough that hung closest to her face. “But it really isn’t necessary for you to keep hiding from me. If I’d wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now.”

      “That’s...comforting.”

      “You know what would be comforting, Harper? The idea that someone who lives out in the middle of nowhere and tromps through the woods every day looking for mud—”

      “Clay,” she corrected him, and he nodded.

      “Clay. What would make me feel comfortable is the idea that this person was carrying a firearm.”

      “I have bear spray.”

      “Bear spray isn’t going to take down a guy who’s a dozen feet away, pointing a gun at you.”

      “I—”

      “Guy’s coming fast,” he said, cutting her off and moving into the tree line.

      “How can you t—?”

      Before she could finish the question, a black sedan was racing into view. Picasso barked excitedly. Two visitors was a dream come true. He lunged toward the driveway, breaking from Harper’s hold.

      She followed without thinking, lunging out into the open, the car barreling down on them.

      She had about three seconds to realize it wasn’t going to stop, three seconds to think about the fact that whoever was driving had every intention of mowing her down.

      And then she was tackled from behind, rolled toward the trees again.

      Tires squealed. Someone shouted.

      Logan?

      And then the world exploded, dirt flying up from the ground near her head, dead leaves jumping into the air, dust and debris and the acrid scent of gunfire stinging her nose.

      * * *

      Logan Fitzgerald had a split second to realize he’d been used before the first bullet flew. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that he’d been used to find a woman whom someone apparently wanted dead.

      Gabe Wilson?

      Probably, but Logan didn’t have time to think about it. Not now. Later he’d figure things out.

      For now, he just had to stay alive, keep Harper alive.

      He pulled his handgun, fired a shot into the front windshield of the dark sedan. Not a kill shot, but it was enough to take out the glass, cause a distraction.

      He rolled off Harper’s prone form and shoved her toward the tree line. “Go!” he shouted, firing another shot, this one in the front tire.

      She scrambled into the bushes, her giant dog following along behind her.

      The sedan backed up, tires squealing as the driver tried to speed away. Not an easy task with a flat tire, and Logan caught a glimpse of two men. One dark haired. One bald. He fired toward the gunman and saw the bald guy duck as the bullet slammed into what remained of the windshield.

      He could have pursued them, shot out another tire, tried to take them both down. This was what he was trained to do—face down the opponent, win. But Harper had run into the woods. He didn’t know how far, didn’t know if she was out of range of the gunman or close enough to take a stray bullet.

      He knew what he wanted to do—pursue the gunman, find out who had hired him, find out why.

      He also knew what his boss, Chance Miller, СКАЧАТЬ