Page 17 of Lone Star Witness

Then, he cursed some more.

Because the asshole practically dived into that truck. Within a blink, he had the engine started.

Slade started running. And damn near tripped over something on the ground. A white plastic grocery bag that definitely had something crammed into it. In case that something was an explosive, he hurdled over it, causing way too many parts of him to jolt in pain. But he kept moving, kept racing to the other end of the sign.

Just as the shooter sped away.

Slade considered trying to shoot out his tires. But that was too big of a risk. If someone else was coming up the road, he could hit them, and there’d been enough risky shots fired for one night.

Instead, he whipped out his phone and took a photo of the back of the truck. The license plate was missing, but there still might be something on the vehicle he could use to trace it.

“Are you all right?” he heard Marise call out.

And he went for another round of cursing when he realized she was out of the van. She was making her way around the back of the sign toward him.

He hurried to her, mainly to get her back inside the vehicle, and he was pleased to see that she no longer seemed on the verge of a panic attack. Maybe because the grounding exercises of things she could touch had worked. Or perhaps it was because the gunfire had finally stopped.

“Are you all right?” she repeated.

“I’m fine,” he managed, and he caught up with her just as they reached the white plastic bag on the ground.

“Was that your father?” Marise asked.

He had to shake his head, and he aimed the flashlight on his phone at the bag. It was partially open, and his gut twisted at what he saw.

Hell.

It was another dead rat. Not colonel’s rank this time. But that of a captain. Slade’s rank when he’d been a Combat Rescue Officer.

“Shit,” Marise spat out.

Yeah, that sentiment about summed it up, and it confirmed what Slade had already suspected.

That Sonny had just tried to murder them.

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Chapter Six

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The nightmares were chasing her. Coming at her nonstop. Images she so wanted to shut out. Of broken bodies. Of blood.

Of death.

Marise fought to make the images all go away. She fought and ran with her heart thundering and her breath gusting. And tried to shut out the sound. The gunfire, the moans of pain. The shouts for help.

Fighting the images and the sound didn’t do any good. They just kept coming at her.

Until she felt the warm mouth on hers.

Uh.

That wasn’t part of the nightmare. That was an interesting sensation that felt real. And it was. She realized that as soon as she forced her eyes open.

She made a startled sound of surprise when she saw the eyes staring right back at her. Slade. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over her. His mouth was so close to hers that she could smell the coffee on his breath.

“You kissed me,” she said. Not a protest. Not even close. It was practically an invitation for him to kiss her again.

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