Cowboy In The Crossfire. Robin Perini

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      “Where’s Vince’s file?”

      The man’s arm pinned her neck. He pressed against her windpipe, harder and harder. She gasped for air, tried to pry him away. Stars exploded in front of her. Blackness threatened to swallow her whole. Oh, God. She was dying.

      “Mommy!”

      At Ethan’s scream, the man’s hold slackened. Just enough.

      “No!” she choked. Aiming for his knee, Amanda kicked out hard. She heard a sickening pop. With a shout, he fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

      She dived into the front seat, shoved the key into the ignition and jammed the car into gear. The attacker struggled to his feet, cursing at her.

      Amanda backed through Vince’s front yard and spun into the street.

      Shots rang out, followed by the thwack of bullets hitting metal. Fire seared across her side. Half-crazy with shock and fear, she punched the accelerator. Her car jerked forward and sped down the street, but not before she saw the man limp to his car and start after them.

      He would not get Ethan. She’d die first.

      In desperation, she screeched around a turn into an alley. Headlights followed dizzyingly in her rearview mirror. She had to lose him. “Are you all right, Ethan?”

      His panicked whimper was the only sound from the backseat. Oh, no. Had he been hit? She twisted around to check on him even as pain sliced across her ribs. Fighting through the agony, she scanned her son. He was in shock but looked unhurt. Unlike herself. Amanda pressed her palm hard against her side. It was warm and wet.

      She stared at her hand. It was red. Very, very red.

      She’d been shot.

      Right through the door.

      Her panting matched Ethan’s. Her fingers had gone numb with cold. She had to stop the bleeding or she’d pass out. She gripped the steering wheel tight. Think, Amanda. Think of someplace safe to stop.

      A quick right, then left brought her to a dark side street. She floored it and streaked toward Main. With a quick prayer, she skidded to a halt in a parking lot full of cars and turned off the engine and lights.

      “Duck, Ethan. Hide.”

      He slid out of the booster seat and sank to the floorboard. Trying to ignore the pulsing pain in her side, Amanda crouched low against the cracked vinyl. With one hand she reached back and stroked Ethan’s head, buried in his arms. She tried to comfort him without words, but his body trembled, and her heart ached.

      With the other hand, she searched her purse for the gun. Holding the weapon firmly, she shrank down even more and gripped the butt hard. Her fingers shook. Please, let her live. Let her keep Ethan safe.

      The cold seeped into her skin. Every shallow breath turned into a visible wisp of air.

      “Mommy? I’m scared.”

      Ethan’s small voice pierced her heart. “We’re okay, little man.” She kept her voice calm and reassuring, while inside the panic had her heart galloping. “We just have to be very, very quiet.”

      “So the bad man doesn’t find us?”

      “Yes, sweetie. Hush now.”

      His sniffles were the only sound as she waited. Headlights passed by, but she couldn’t chance raising her head. Her fingers cramped around the metal of the gun. She stayed still. Seconds dragged into minutes as she waited, praying no one would see or hear anything.

      After what seemed an eternity, Amanda sagged against the seat. “I think it’s safe.”

      At her words, Ethan scrambled into the front and dived into her arms, his face streaked with tears. She fought not to cry out in pain, but couldn’t stop a small gasp.

      He leaped back. “Are you hurt? Like Uncle Vince?”

      “I’m fine, honey. Just fine.”

      But she wasn’t. And she knew it. She grabbed her thin scarf and used one end to pad her wound, the other she wrapped around her torso. The makeshift bandage would have to do. She had bigger problems. The gunman knew her. He’d seen Ethan. The bullet-ridden car would be easy to spot, and she couldn’t risk being found.

      Vince had warned her if anything bad happened to him not to stay in Austin. No matter what. She had to get out. Amanda scanned the parking lot. Her ex’s penchant for stealing cars would come in handy. She could use the lock jimmy Ethan’s father had left under the seat to break in to and hot-wire a car.

      She clutched the handle, but the simple movement nearly tore her insides. She bit her lip. If anything happened to her… She stared at Ethan, his lips trembling, his expression haunted. They needed help.

      Gritting her teeth, she slipped out of the car and into the night. She had no choice. She had to go to Blake.

      * * *

      SHERIFF BLAKE REDMOND paced the wooden floor, nerves wound tighter than an overcinched saddle. He had a bad feeling about tonight but didn’t know why. Sleet pounded the roof, hammering the century-old ranch house with what the Weather Channel had termed the worst ice storm in decades. Four-foot-long icicles and West Texas didn’t go together.

      Below-freezing temperatures and unrelenting ice made travel deadly. He’d issued an order hours ago for folks in his county to hunker down until further notice, but there were always those fools who didn’t listen.

      A whine escaped the Lab mix curled on the rug next to the fire.

      “I know, boy.” Blake glanced at the old police radio sitting silent on the hand-carved sofa table. He’d spent several hours tinkering with the ancient equipment. A few paper clips and pencil erasers strategically placed, and it worked like a new one. “Gonna be a long night, Leo.”

      The dog rose and paced the floor, unable to settle.

      “You feel it, too?”

      Blake bent and ruffled the oddly shaped ears of the stray mutt. He’d wandered into his barn shortly after Blake had moved back to Carder, Texas, to take over as sheriff following his father’s sudden death. The dog had hung around until finally they’d both surrendered to the inevitable.

      The animal’s unease didn’t bode well, and the sparse living room gave Blake no distraction. Despite moving into his childhood ranch home nine months ago, Blake still kept his memories stored away in boxes. Easier to avoid them that way.

      The police radio cracked with static, and the dispatcher’s voice broke through the old speaker. “Sheriff?”

      Blake snagged the microphone. “Donna, are you still manning the station? I ordered you home hours ago.”

      “Deputy Parris just called in. Streets are clear, though he couldn’t stop complaining the storm ruined his trip to his fishing cabin.”

      “No one’s supposed to be on these roads tonight but me. If Mom finds out her best friend’s working on a night like this, I’m dead. Go home.”

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