When a Secret Kills (12 page)

Colton pulled to the left. Jillian hung on and watched the side mirror from her awkward position of half on the seat, half on the floor. She could see headlights behind the other car. Hunter. Her breaths came in short pants. She sent up prayers as her fingers finally curled around the weapon.

A sudden burst of gunfire erupted behind them. Jillian tensed and ducked, expecting to feel shattered glass rain down over her. Instead, Colton swerved again. Urgency shadowed his voice. “Hunter! Hunter, you there?”

No answer.

Jillian dared a look in the mirror and saw only one set of headlights closing in fast. Fear made her blood hum. “Where is he? Where’s Hunter?”

“I don’t know. Hang on. Here he comes again.”

“Where’s your backup?”

“On the way,” he gritted. “Hunter! Talk to me!”

Hunter remained silent and Jillian whispered a fervent prayer for him. Jillian’s breath strangled in her throat as she clutched the gun, praying she could use it if she had to. Being a crack shot at targets on a range was a far cry from aiming at a living, breathing
person with an eternal soul. But she wouldn’t die without a fight, she had too much to live for.

It felt like an hour had passed since the first bullet hit the truck. In reality, the dash clock said only three minutes had elapsed. They now approached the bridge. “Almost there. Just another mile or so.” He sped faster, hit the start of the bridge, and glanced in the rearview mirror. She saw his eyes widen even as he ordered, “Brace yourself.”

Jillian felt the impact and heard the half scream, half yelp that escaped from her throat. The hard slam from the attacking car hurled them to the edge of the bridge and into the guardrail. Metal screeched on metal as Colton struggled for control of the vehicle. The end of the bridge came into view. Another vicious ramming from behind spun the truck off the bridge, straight toward a small embankment that led to a grassy field.

“Jillian! Hold on!”

Colton’s cry registered as the truck slammed into the ground. Shards of pain raced through her right shoulder even as the air bag deployed and kept her from going too far. Her head snapped forward, then back. The sudden silence made her flinch.

The truck was upright, thank God.
We’re alive. Thank you, Jesus, thank you.
Or were they? Smoke billowed from the engine and a new panic hit her. Was the truck on fire?

“Colton.” Her voice came out in a squeak. She squinted against the smoke from the air bag. Dust covered her, coating the inside of her nose. She reached for the passenger door and breathed a sigh of relief when it opened without trouble. “Come on, Colton. Let’s get out.”

He didn’t answer. The interior of the truck resembled a foggy morning on a mountain, the fine mist made it hard to see, but she finally was able to get her seatbelt off and move closer to him.

Colton lay slumped against the driver’s window, unmoving.

“Colton!” she gasped. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed
him gently back. His head lolled against the steering wheel, his face deathly pale. “Oh no. Don’t you dare do this to me!” Desperate, Jillian’s eyes went to the cup holder. His phone was gone, tumbling who knew where upon impact.
Oh dear, Lord, please help . . .

Where had their attacker gone? She didn’t remember the sound of a car driving off. Was he near? Watching to see if he’d killed them? She slid back toward the open passenger door. Ignoring the pain racing through her, she had one goal. To get help.

A crunch sounded to her right.

To Colton, she said, “Help’s coming. Hang on.”

She whirled to see a dark shape standing in the open door. Friend or enemy? She gulped. “I need your phone. Colton’s hurt. Maybe dead.”

“Good,” the figure grunted as he lifted a hand. Jillian sucked in a deep breath as the barrel of the weapon centered on her forehead.

With a cry, Jillian threw her right arm up in a form block just the way she and Blake had practiced. The side of her forearm caught her attacker above the wrist, knocking the gun away and up as his finger pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the roof of the car.

Jillian grabbed his arm and shoved it as hard as she could above her, using the edge of the car window as leverage. Pushing, straining, she held on as he reached in with his left hand to grab her by the hair.

She cried out again and new pain clamped down and radiated through her head. But she felt the gun bounce off her thigh as he lost his grip. Curses flew from his lips as he gave another yank on the hunk of hair. Jillian tumbled from the vehicle and fell to the ground.

He hauled her to her feet, his breath coming in pants, his curses assaulting her ears.

Pain radiated through Colton’s head. He thought he heard Jillian calling his name. Nausea swirled in the pit of his stomach. Awareness returned with a suddenness that made him jerk.

Then wretch.

“Jillian.” He meant the word to be a yell, but it came out a weak whisper.
Oh God, keep her safe.
He moved and shuddered as the pain rolled over him again. Ignoring it, he reached for the door and gave it a shove. It protested with a screech that made his stomach threaten again.

Sounds reached him.

Harsh breaths, a grunt. The sound of a punch?

“Jillian!” His shout ricocheted inside his head and blackness swirled across his vision.

His gun. Where was it?

Backup would be waiting at the old mill. They wouldn’t know where he was. He and Jillian were on their own. And what had happened to Hunter?

The man who’d pulled her from the car dragged her a few more steps before her legs gave out. Her head throbbed from the impact with the window and his grip on her hair.

“Come on,” he muttered, letting go of his hold on her hair, forcing her back to her feet, his clasp on her upper arm bruising and cruel. She could see his car at the top of the embankment and knew if he managed to get her inside, she was dead.

Jillian faked another stumble and went down to her knees, then to her left hip. Her move pulled him off balance and she gained a moment of freedom as his grip loosened and her right arm slipped free.

Just like Blake taught her, she brought her leg around and jammed her heel into her attacker’s knee.

He screamed and went down beside her, his hands grasping, reaching. Scuttling like a crab, Jillian backed away, her fingers searching blindly for a weapon on the grassy slope. She had to get away, get help for Colton.

And she had to live for Meg.

Her head throbbed, her whole body felt like one big bruise.
The man hobbled after her, his curses ringing in the air. Frantic, she tossed her gaze one way, then the next. She could see Colton’s truck resting nose down against the bottom of the embankment.

Movement caught her attention as she scrambled to her feet to limp-run back toward the vehicle. She had no idea what she would do when she got there, but she knew two guns were somewhere in the truck. Having a weapon was her only hope of surviving this. She looked back to gauge his progress.

He came toward her, his speed hampered by his knee. The mask obscured his features but nothing could hide the pain and fury burning in those eyes.

Above her, sirens sounded in the distance and her attacker froze, indecision evident in his stance. A split second later, he started toward her, eyes narrowed against the pain of his knee, his intent clear.

A shot rang out and he dropped to the grass.

Jillian turned to see Colton leaning against the truck, weapon held in a shaky grip. Relief flooded through her as the sirens drew closer. Then fear tripled her heartbeat as Colton slid down to sit on the ground, the gun still held on the man who now began to crawl up the embankment.

Colton aimed. Fired. And missed.

The man scrambled out of sight and a few seconds later she heard the roar of an engine and the screech of rubber on asphalt.

Jillian raced to Colton’s side and dropped down beside him. “Colton, are you okay?”

“There’s four of you,” he muttered.

She looked at the blood running down the left side of his head. “You probably have a concussion.” The sirens drew closer.

Colton closed his eyes, opened them, and squinted. “Stop moving.”

“I’m not.” She glanced up the hill and knew she and Colton were invisible from the road. “I’m going to flag down whoever belongs to those sirens.”

“I’ll come with you. He might still be up there.”

“He’s not. Now stay put.” Without waiting for him to answer, she ignored her screaming muscles and began the climb back up the hill. Thank goodness it wasn’t too steep or she’d never make it.

At the top, she leaned over and placed her hands on her knees as she waited for a sudden bout of nausea to pass. A fatigue like she’d never felt before nearly took her to her knees.

Gritting her teeth, she fought it off. The sirens were nearly upon her.

Standing, wincing at the pain shooting through her, she lifted her arms to flag down the approaching cruisers.

Jillian endured the poking and prodding at the hospital while answering as many questions as the doctor allowed before banning the authorities from her bedside. She knew she would be all right, but Colton had a head injury and that worried her, as did not knowing what had happened to Hunter.

Serena peeked around the edge of the curtain and Jillian burst into tears. She didn’t know how her friend knew she was at the hospital, but she didn’t care.

Serena didn’t say a word, she simply walked over and wrapped her arms around Jillian’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” She waited as the tears slowed. When Jillian gave a weary sigh and rested her head against her friend, Serena whispered, “How’s Meg? Have you been able to talk to her?”

Jillian shook her head. “I don’t dare. I’m almost afraid to even think about her.”

“I’d offer to contact her for you, but I think whoever’s after you is still watching me.”

That brought Jillian’s head up. Her eyes searched her friend’s. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Yeah. I know that feeling.” She frowned. “Is Dominic sticking close?”

“Like glue.”

“Good.”

And then their conversation ended as the curtain parted and a young lady about Jillian and Serena’s age stepped inside. The doctor who’d done the earlier poking and prodding. Dr. Franklin, if Jillian remembered correctly. Dr. Franklin held a chart and wore a smile. To Serena, she said, “Do you mind if I have a moment with the patient?”

Serena started to leave and Jillian caught her hand. She said, “She can stay.”

Dr. Franklin nodded. “All right. Well, your MRI was clear and the X-rays showed nothing broken. You’re just bruised up pretty good. Good thing you had your seatbelt on.”

“How’s Colton Brady?” she asked. She had to know.

Dr. Franklin frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember seeing that name.”

“He had a head injury, probably a concussion.”

Still nothing registered in the doctor’s eyes, although her brows dipped in concern. “He must have been seen by one of the other doctors.”

“Could you find out?”

“I’m fine, Jillian.” Colton’s voice came from the other side of the curtain. “May I come in?”

Her heart leapt with relief. “Yes.”

The curtain swung aside and his large frame filled the yawning space. Tears threatened again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. The bandage on the side of his head didn’t bode well.

But the smile that curved his lips soothed her worry. For him. She asked, “How’s Hunter?”

“Alexia’s with him now. The bullet missed him. He crashed his car, he’s in a lot of pain, but he’ll live.”

Jillian’s anger toward Frank Hoffman rose up within her. More than ever she wanted to see that man in prison. She clamped her
lips tight and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Hunter’s life. That they were all alive. The comforting weight of Serena’s hand in hers and Colton’s presence brought thankful tears to her eyes. Blinking them back, she looked at Colton. “What’s the plan now?”

He shook his head. “You like your plans, don’t you? Okay, how about this? Plan A is to make sure you’re safe. That’s the priority. Once that’s been established, we’ve got the plate of the car and his gun. We’ll find him.”