Finger On The Trigger. Delores Fossen
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the buildings.
“Was that really a bomb?” Rachel asked. Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her, and she seemed to be talking more to herself than to him.
Griff wasn’t sure exactly what it had been. Definitely some kind of explosive device, and that meant someone—probably the guy from the alley—had put it on Rachel’s car. He could have done that after she’d parked and gone to the pharmacy, but if so, it was a huge risk. Because someone could have spotted him.
Of course, the idiot could have planted it hours ago and waited until now to detonate it. Even if it didn’t kill Rachel and him, it created enough of a diversion for the goon to get away.
Griff kept them moving. Not too fast, though. He needed to try to listen, to make sure someone wasn’t coming up behind them.
Or in front of them.
Because it was entirely possible the bomber had a partner somewhere in the maze of alleys. One who could be waiting to ambush them.
“Stay close to me,” Griff warned her. “We’ll go to my truck.”
Rachel immediately started shaking her head. “What if he planted a bomb on it, too?”
“It wasn’t out of my sight long enough while I’ve been here.”
Which wasn’t long at all. As soon as he’d gotten word that Rachel was in Silver Creek, Griff had come to find her.
Normally, it would have been a forty-five-minute drive from McCall Canyon, but he’d shaved off the minutes to make it in just half an hour. And he was damn lucky he had, too. Because if he hadn’t gotten to Rachel in time, she would have tried to get into her car and would have been blown to smithereens.
A thought that felt like a knife to his heart.
Rachel and he weren’t a couple. Never had been, really. But Griff wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he hadn’t been able to save her. And her father wouldn’t have forgiven him, either.
“Keep watch behind us,” Griff told Rachel, repeating the order he’d given her earlier, and he passed her his phone. “Text the sheriff, Grayson Ryland. That’s the last number I called. And tell him where we’re going.”
He could feel her doing that, hopefully managing to do so while he kept her moving. However, Griff stopped as soon as he made it to the end of the alley. He peered around the corner of the building, but it was too dark to see much of anything. Hearing was a problem, too, thanks to the rain and thunder. He did hear a dinging sound, and figured that meant Rachel had gotten an answer to the text.
“The sheriff says he and his deputy are in pursuit of the guy who was in the alley,” she relayed.
Good. Griff didn’t want him getting away. If they caught him, they might finally have answers as to who was trying to kill the McCalls.
And why.
Griff and Rachel’s brothers had been investigating that for nearly a month now and had come up empty. Even if Sheriff Ryland and his deputies didn’t manage to nab this bomber, maybe they’d be able to get some DNA off the cigarette that the guy had almost certainly ditched somewhere in the alley. Of course, the storm wasn’t going to help with that, which meant time was critical right now.
Thanks to another bolt of lightning, Griff was able to get a glimpse of the darker spaces in the alley. He didn’t see anyone lurking there, so he stepped out to get a better look.
Not good.
Because all he managed to see was a gun. And that glimpse happened at the exact same moment that a bullet slammed into the brick wall right next to where Griff was standing.
Rachel gave a sharp gasp and grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him back just as another shot came at Griff. An inch closer and he would have been a dead man.
Griff cursed and pushed Rachel even deeper into the alley, putting his own body in front of hers. It was far from ideal, mainly because the smoke from the explosion was spilling into the alley and making its way toward them.
Hell.
First an explosion, then lightning. Now a gunshot. This was not the quick in-and-out that Griff had planned for Rachel.
“Did you see the shooter?” she asked. She was shaking even harder now.
“No. But he’s to our left.” In the opposite direction from Griff’s truck. Still, the guy was in the catbird seat right now because he could be hiding behind heaven knew what, just waiting for them to step out so he could shoot them.
Maybe this was the same guy who’d been in the alley across the street. If he knew the layout of the buildings, he could have possibly made his way here. But it was just as likely there were at least two of them.
That didn’t help settle Griff’s raw nerves.
His phone buzzed, and since Rachel was still holding it, he motioned for her to answer. She did, and even though she didn’t put it on speaker, she held the phone close enough for him to hear.
“Did you fire that shot?” Sheriff Ryland asked.
“No. The shooter’s somewhere in the alley. I’m taking Rachel back to Main Street.”
Shock flashed through her eyes, and Griff could tell from her tensed muscles that she didn’t think that was a good idea. He didn’t believe it was an especially good one, either, but staying put was too dangerous. If there were indeed two attackers, then they could try to trap Rachel and him in the alley.
“Hold tight for a few more minutes if you can,” Sheriff Ryland said. “I’ll try to make sure the street is clear.”
It was a generous offer, one that Griff accepted, but he knew it was going to be tough for the sheriff to manage. The smoke would be cutting his visibility, too, and they weren’t out of the woods yet. There was still the possibility of a second explosion.
Griff moved Rachel to the center of the alley. “Stand with your back to mine and face Main Street,” he instructed. That way, he would be in a position to shoot the attacker who’d fired those shots at him.
He took out his reserve weapon from a slide holster in his jeans and handed it to her. Griff prayed she wouldn’t need it, but at least if she did, Rachel could shoot. He knew that because he’d been the one to teach her.
That reminder brought back some unwanted thoughts. Rachel’s and his lives had been intertwined since he was twelve years old. That’s when Griff had moved to McCall Canyon and started doing odd jobs for her father at the McCall Ranch. That meant they had twenty-four years of memories. Some had been bad, really bad, but this would be at the top of the heap.
She took his gun, automatically positioning it the way he’d taught her. Griff hated that he had to put her in this position. Hated that she was in this kind of danger. Later, when they made it out of this, he would need to do something to fix it, to make sure it never happened again.
Of course, Rachel might not let him fix anything. She might try to go on the run again.
“Who’s doing this?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” Griff wished he did. “But if you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears.” He expected her to say no.
She didn’t.
“Marlon Stowe,” she said.
The name meant nothing to Griff, but judging from the way she shuddered, it meant plenty to Rachel.
“Who the hell is he?” Griff demanded.
He wanted to hear every word she said, but he also didn’t want anything they were saying to cause him to lose focus. He had to keep watch, and listen, for that shooter.
Rachel shook her head. “It’s just some guy who works at the inn where I’m staying. The first week I was there, I saw him and his girlfriend get into a serious argument. I intervened when I thought