Christmas Witness Pursuit. Lisa Harris

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      “Not unless they flag down a ride. I’ve got their spark plug wires.”

      “That will buy us some time.” But she needed to stop the bleeding now. “I might not know my name, but somehow I know how to deal with this. Are you feeling light-headed?”

      “No.”

      “Nauseated?”

      “No.”

      She felt for his pulse. It was fast but strong and steady. “I should drive.”

      “Except you’ve just been in involved in an accident and hit your head. Out of the two of us, I’m definitely in a better position to get us out of here.”

      “We make quite a pair.” She frowned at his stubbornness, but wasn’t backing down. “Drive another three or four miles then pull over so I can patch you up properly.”

      “I’m not sure we should stop—”

      “A gunshot wound isn’t something to play around with, and you’re losing blood. I need to assess how serious it is.”

      She took his nod as confirmation that he would do what she asked, then listened as he spent the next mile or two telling her what he’d found out at the scene. The FBI badges and the file that said they’d been transporting a witness for a trial...

      “Do you remember any of this?” he asked.

      She fought to resurrect memories she knew had to be there, but instead only encountered a mounting frustration. “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t remember anything.”

      “Don’t worry about it. Your memories will return.”

      “Maybe, but from what you’re telling me, I’m not sure I want to remember.”

      What had she seen? It had to have been something horrible, like another murder.

      A minute later he pulled the car off at an overlook with a stunning view of the mountains to the west. But she barely saw it. Instead her mind was fighting to focus on the one thing she knew she could do. She hurried to the trunk of the car with him then started going through his first-aid kit, trying not to give in to the panic.

      Seconds later she carefully helped him out of his jacket and uniform, leaving on his T-shirt, so she could get to the wound.

      “Ouch.”

      Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those macho men who faint at the sight of blood.”

      “Hardly, but you’ve got to give me a little credit. I was just shot.”

      “According to you, it’s just an insignificant flesh wound.”

      “Are you always this ornery?” He shot her a stern look, but his eyes were smiling.

       Do you flirt with every woman you have contact with?

      She bit back the question on the tip of her tongue.

      “Honestly, I have no idea.” She shrugged, unable to avoid his grin or to ignore just how good-looking he was with those dark brown eyes. She shoved the ridiculous thoughts away.

      “The good news is that you were right about one thing,” she said. “The bullet skimmed your arm and the blood’s already clotting. You’ll need stiches, but you’ll survive.”

      He smiled again. “That’s a relief.”

      She looked way, focusing on his arm as she disinfected her hands then started cleaning the wound. The routine seemed familiar. Comfortable. And was the first time she’d felt in control since the accident.

       Or at least as much as I can feel in control in a situation like this.

      The reminder sent panic flooding through her again. She might not remember why she’d been in that car, but she did know those men were still out there. And something told her that missing spark plug wires weren’t going to slow them down for long.

      She opened a butterfly bandage to hold the wound together, trying to stomp out her anxiety at the same time. “They could have flagged down a car to follow us.”

      “I know. But there aren’t a lot of cars out on these back roads right now, especially with the storm coming. Besides, backup should be there by now.”

      “I hope so.”

      “Which means we’re even now,” he said. “I saved your life and now you’ve saved mine.”

      She shook her head. “Your life hardly needed saving. Anyone could do this, though it seems...familiar.”

      A memory flashed to the forefront. She was running through a long hall with tiled white floors. Someone was calling a name.

       Tory.

      Her name.

      His hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present. “You okay?”

      She nodded, her hands shaking as she repacked the first-aid kit. “I remembered something. My name’s Tory.”

      He pulled his shirt back on and started buttoning it up. “That’s wonderful. And it means your memory’s coming back.”

      “Slowly, but I still feel like I’m fighting my way through this heavy fog.”

      He smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you, Tory. I’m Griffin, by the way.”

      “It’s nice to meet you, as well.” His smile managed to erase some of her tension. “So we now know three things. My name’s Tory. I’m a witness in a case. And someone wants me dead.”

      “Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound quite so wonderful.”

      “I guess there isn’t a nice way to put that, is there?” She laughed. “I’m just finding it kind of ironic that someone’s after me for what I know, but I can’t remember what it is.”

      “Don’t worry.” He slammed the trunk shut then headed for the driver’s seat. “We’re going to figure this out, Tory... But for now, we need to get out of here.”

      She climbed back into the front passenger seat, knowing he was right. She needed to find a way to fight the panic and stay focused on the fact that at least they were both alive.

      Unlike the FBI agents.

      “How are you feeling?” Griffin flipped on his blinker then sped back onto the highway.

      “Seems like I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

      “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I happen to have a really good doctor. In fact, she told me I’m going to live.”

      Tory tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you always this funny?”

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