Page 16 of Lone Star Witness

Maybe, but he figured that was probably some sensory memory from her time as a combat nurse.

“You smell me,” he insisted, waiting. Watching. With his focus on both sides of the limestone.

“Blood,” she muttered.

Yeah, he likely did have that particular stench on him since he hadn’t showered since he’d been attacked in that motel parking lot.

“What else?” he pressed, trying to keep his own voice steady.

It was too quiet, and Slade didn’t like that. Of course, he didn’t like the asshole shooting at them either, but with the quietness, he didn’t know where the hell the guy was.

“I smell hamburger and onions,” Marise blurted, her words more than a little shaky.

“My breakfast. Don’t judge,” he added when she glanced at him. “Burger and fries should be considered an anytime meal.”

The gunman sprang out from the other side this time. And fired. The shots hitting the windshield again and tearing a small quarter-sized hole in the glass.

Slade slammed his foot on the accelerator and wanted to cheer when the asshole practically fell behind the sign to get away.

“Think of six things you could touch. Work on that for the next minute or so and don’t get out of the van,” Slade told her, trading off his backup weapon for his primary one that he took from the glove compartment.

Her eyes instantly went wide. “Don’t you get out of the van either.”

“I’ll stay behind the front end for cover,” he added. “The metal is bullet resistant, too.”

While that probably wasn’t an explanation that would please her, Slade needed to go with this. Along with it being a hellish experience, if Marise had a full-blown panic attack, that could end up being a distraction that got them both killed.

He had to put an end to this now.

Slade got out, staying low behind the van. Good thing, too, because the shooter sent a bullet right at him. Then, another. The shots skipped off the hood and slammed into one of the gate pylons directly behind Slade.

So, the asshole was a decent shot.

Just like Sonny was.

Of course, his SOB of a father wasn’t the only good shooter who might want to do him harm, and Slade had to consider this was connected to the mission he’d just finished. Maybe the weaselly estranged husband had another brother willing to do his bidding.

Slade inched his way to the front of the van and, stooping by the bumper, he glanced out at the shooter.

But he wasn’t there.

Not at first anyway. However, it wasn’t long, only a couple of seconds, before he appeared again.

Slade aimed.

And fired.

The shot hit him directly in the chest, and the asshole gasped in sharp pain. What didn’t happen was that no blood flew, and now, thanks to the van’s headlights, Slade could see the guy was wearing a Kevlar vest.

Slade re-aimed, this time going for his head.

The guy was no idiot and must have realized that he was about to be a dead man. Dead in the very spot where Bodie had died a few months earlier.

Oh, the irony of that if this did turn out to be Sonny.

Still gasping and making sounds of pain, the man turned, and staying behind the sign, he started running. Damn fast, too.

Slade raced to the side of the limestone sign nearest him. Since it was best not to go charging forward and risk getting gunned down, he pulled up and peered around the edge of it.

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