Killer Country Reunion. Jenna Night

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СКАЧАТЬ Exhausted from running and fighting, Caroline somehow summoned up the surge of strength she needed to twist her body away from the gunman and finally break free of his grip.

      Then something happened. She couldn’t see what it was because the action was behind her. But suddenly the full weight of the gunman—plus more—was pressing on her and she was knocked down to the boardwalk. She smacked her head and saw a few sparkles of light. A feeling of drowsiness threatened to overtake her but she fought against it. If she allowed her heavy eyelids to drop shut, that would be the end of everything.

      * * *

      Zane Coleman kept his focus on the man’s gun. Two tours in Afghanistan had trained him well, guaranteeing he’d never lose sight of a bad guy’s weapon.

      Hearing a woman scream “No!” he’d dropped the ranch expansion permits he’d just picked up at the Jefferson County building department and raced to the stairs. He’d run down the first four or five steps before taking a flying leap and tackling a man who was grabbing a woman and holding a gun. His hard landing knocked the wind out of him, but he could tell it did the same to the bad guy, too.

      The woman, also knocked down when Zane landed on the guy, was likely getting her face pushed into the boardwalk. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that right now. His focus was on shoving his left hand onto the back of the man’s left shoulder to keep him pinned in place while he reached with his right hand to yank the handgun from the man’s grip.

      Unfortunately, the gunman recovered faster than Zane anticipated. Still gripping his gun tightly, the man squirmed and shifted until he’d made enough room to bend his right arm. Zane wanted to punch him and knock him out, but he didn’t dare release his grip on the guy’s shoulder or his gun hand. With just a couple inches of room for movement, the jerk could easily kill the woman he’d attacked. Or he could shift the angle of the gun a little and shoot Zane instead.

      Struggling to hold the bigger, heavier guy down, Zane managed to draw in a deep breath of air. Slightly more energized, he pressed harder on the guy’s left shoulder and grunted as he tightened his right hand, determined to wrestle the gun from the man’s grip. This time his fingers touched metal and then he felt the textured surface of the gun’s handle beneath the heel of his hand. He just about had it.

      The guy jerked his arm and flung the gun. It slid until coming to a rest precariously balanced on the edge of the boardwalk, with part of the barrel hovering over the water.

      The deep boom of a shotgun blast blew past him, followed by the sound of buckshot ripping through the boardwalk beside Zane and the gunman.

      “Get up!” The guy with the shotgun commanded. He ratcheted another cartridge into the shotgun’s chamber.

      Zane heard the woman crying. She was also praying. He couldn’t make out every word, but it sounded as if she was praying for someone other than herself.

      Emergency sirens wailed from a couple of blocks away. Then they went silent. Which meant they were probably cop cars and they’d just rolled into the parking lot.

      “I said, get up!”

      Cautiously, Zane got to his feet. His thoughts were racing. He might not be able to prevent himself from getting shot, but he could probably do something to keep the woman alive and make sure these guys got caught.

      “Hurry up!” shotgun guy barked. “Turn around and let me see your hands.”

      Zane complied.

      Shotgun guy was short and stocky. He wore a baseball cap and dark glasses. He’d come halfway down the stairway and stopped. Now he continued down the stairs and took a couple of steps closer to Zane.

      Behind him, Zane heard the first gunman get to his feet.

      Zane slowly took a step back, then turned his head slightly so he could see what the original attacker was doing.

      “Take care of her and let’s go.” Shotgun guy said to his accomplice, still keeping his weapon pointed at Zane.

      Zane figured once they killed the woman they’d kill him, too. They weren’t going to leave a witness behind.

      The woman had stopped crying. From the corner of his eye he could see her getting to her feet, but he didn’t dare turn his head far enough to get a good look at her. Not with that shotgun trained on him.

      The boardwalk planks behind Zane squeaked with the sound of sudden movement. The original gunman swore, and Zane glanced over his shoulder to see the woman scrambling to get the handgun where it lay on the edge of the boardwalk.

      The gunman shoved her aside and frantically reached for it, knocking it off the boardwalk. He immediately dropped down so he was lying on his belly and lunged his upper body into the lake. He brought the handgun out, its barrel dripping water. Cursing again, he rolled to his side, rose up on his elbow, pointed the gun at the woman, who appeared to be searching for something to hide behind, and fired.

      Zane’s heart jumped up into his throat. Then his mind registered the dull snapping sound of the weapon. The wet gun had misfired.

      Zane’s feeling of relief was short-lived. Now his attention was back on shotgun guy. Thus far, he had held off on firing—probably to keep from shooting his partner. Now that the partner was a few feet away and he had a clear shot at Zane, he had no reason to hesitate. Zane quickly looked around for something he could use to defend himself.

      One of the table-and-chair sets that were scattered around the boardwalk was within reach. He grabbed the back of a bistro chair with one hand while using the other hand to knock aside the shotgun barrel that was pointed at him. The shotgun broke loose from the man’s grip and clattered a couple of feet across the boardwalk.

      Zane whirled around and swung the heavy bistro chair. He managed to hit the first gunman who was just now getting to his feet. The blow knocked him flat on his back.

      Where was the woman? Zane figured he had only a few seconds before shotgun guy recovered his weapon and started shooting.

      A quick glance showed him the woman was moving toward the edge of the boardwalk, trying to get as far away from danger as she could. “Jump!” he yelled, backing toward her.

      He didn’t hear a splash. Why was she hesitating?

      “There’s no other option,” he snapped. “Get in the water. Now!”

      Seconds later he heard her hit the water.

      Time was running out.

      He spun and flung the bistro chair at shotgun guy who’d just recovered his weapon.

      Then Zane turned and ran.

      He reached the edge of the boardwalk and leapt off, the boom of a shotgun blast ringing in his ears as he hit the surface of the lake.

      The frigid water was shocking as he plunged downward. He opened his eyes underwater, where everything looked dark blue and blurry. Then he kicked his feet and started upward, back toward the light.

      He broke through the surface and saw the boardwalk a few feet away. He quickly looked for the two gunmen, expecting shotgun guy to open fire on him. They were nowhere in sight. Lord, please help the cops catch them.

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