Targeted For Murder. Elizabeth Goddard
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She dragged in oxygen.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head, wanting to wake up from the worst dream of her life.
Leave now before he finds you and kills you.
He might have found her, but Hadley had to do what her father had instructed her to do and disappear. Lose the killer again before he killed her. Or her father’s warning and his death would be for nothing.
But it was too late for the cabdriver.
He was gone. Hadley knew it.
Oh, God, help me. He has already killed someone else because of me.
Body aching and mind in shock, she grabbed the backpack and rolled out of her seat onto the concrete, hiding behind the cab as she carefully avoided the glass and twisted metal littering the road. Her pulse roared in her ears.
The cabdriver...dead... She could be next. And if she didn’t get away from the people gathering to help, anyone near her could be killed.
Because of her.
Based on the trajectory of the bullet that killed the cabdriver, she figured the killer had shot from building on the southeast corner. Hadley used the wrecked cab as cover, she crawled over and into a narrow alley littered with garbage and smelling the same, then stood and ran the length of it until she came to another building. Hadley slipped around the corner. Leaning against the brick wall, she caught her breath as she listened. She dusted off the broken glass that clung to her clothes and tried to look normal so she could melt into the crowd. Not draw any attention.
Ignoring the pain and grief, she ran a few blocks and slipped down yet another alley and caught another cab.
“Take me to the airport.” She didn’t know where she would go, but she had to get out of town and fast.
Maybe she would simply ask for the next flight out.
Her father was dead. A cabdriver was dead because someone had put out a contract to kill her father, and now her.
Forget her national debut.
Forget her life. Her only focus should be on how to survive. Her father had given her the tools he believed she would need. A passport for one, but she couldn’t imagine going overseas without a plan. She didn’t know enough about international travel.
The spy world wasn’t her world.
Until today, she’d had no idea it had been her father’s.
Maybe she could hide in a city somewhere. Get lost in the crowd, except she would be terrified of every single person who stood within an inch of her.
Her father might have made sure she could protect herself. But she couldn’t protect herself against an unseen villain. Until she identified the man who would come to kill her...
Everyone was an assassin.
Southwest Oregon
4:00 p.m. Saturday
Cooper Wilde checked his footing on the rock that hung hundreds of feet above the Rogue River, then raised his binoculars. As he breathed in the scent of the old-growth forest and took in the vivid evergreens and rocky canyon, the tension in his neck drained away.
He loved it here.
A scream echoed from somewhere to his west. Cooper’s gut tensed.
He heard the collective gasps of the women from the Rogue Valley Knitters and Knature Club behind him.
“What was that?”
“A woman screamed.”
“Or a panther, a mountain lion. I hear they can sound like a woman screaming.”
“Do you think a bear got her?”
“This is bear country, after all.”
He zoomed the binoculars out, searching for something he could focus in on.
“Shh, quiet. Let him search in peace.”
“There!” one of the women shouted. “I see something.”
He eased away from the binoculars long enough to get a glimpse of where the river carved through the canyon, narrow and steep. That was a good mile from where they stood. He saw nothing to indicate a problem. But appearances could be deceiving.
Even though he considered this an undemanding hike, nothing was ever quite that easy in the Wild Rogue Wilderness, the region surrounding the government-protected portion of the Rogue River. This rugged landscape drew thousands of tourists and thrill seekers every year, many of whom took foolish risks.
Was that all the scream had been? A thrill seeker out for the time of her life?
Instinct told him no.
Frowning, he continued searching. “What did you see?”
“Someone running. The trees are thick so I only got a glimpse.”
Then Cooper saw something, too, and pressed the binoculars tightly against his face. Through a copse of deciduous trees that had lost most of their leaves, he spotted a woman wearing a blue jean jacket, running for all she was worth.
Now... What are you running from? He searched behind her and saw a man carrying a weapon. Were they running together—maybe from a bear? Or was the man chasing the woman?
Indecision weighed on him.
Hesitation on his part could cost a life. Pain from the past echoed through his gut.
Cooper dropped the binoculars and peered back at his Wilderness, Inc., employee Melanie Shore. “Take them around on the short loop. I’ll meet you at the trailhead if I can.”
“Wait, what?”
“You’ll get your hike, ladies, don’t worry. But it’s my job to make sure you’re safe, too. Unless you’re signing up for wilderness training today...”
“No, no,” several replied.
He didn’t blame them. They didn’t have the training to help—he did. He’d served on Special Forces. A designated marksman. Although it had been five years, he’d never forgotten that familiar sixth sense that raised the hair on his arms and neck. It was what made him one of the top wilderness survival trainers. The reason his father had insisted his children enlist, get military training first.
Cooper didn’t like the way his mind and body transformed into a creature of habit from his past, but if it meant saving a life, he’d go with it. He edged down until he got a grip on the rock and climbed down the cliff face until he could drop into the woods.
Feet on the ground, he pushed off and kept moving in stealth mode, his own weapon at the ready. He didn’t like the hikers to see it. Didn’t want to scare them, but in bear country and otherwise, he always carried.
Hearing the grunts of a struggle, he picked up the pace.
Near the rocky ledge overlooking the river, he saw the woman fighting with a man who looked more than capable of snapping her like a twig.
He let his body move into instinct mode—and charged.
He rushed forward while absorbing the scene before him, assessing and strategizing at the same time.
He had to get there before it was too late, even as he fought against the all-too familiar memories that threatened to shut him down.
Cooper focused on this one moment. This one life he could save.
The woman was young—late twenties, maybe—and had skills that had kept her alive this long. Maybe she’d even managed to disarm the man, since his weapon was no longer in sight.
Krav Maga.
He recognized the moves. She