Page 166 of Dead Man's List

“I won’t let you be the tenth.”

Connor closed his eyes. “Fucking hell. You’re so goddamned stubborn.”

“Stop arguing. We’re wasting time. Come on.” She hooked her arms under his and started dragging him out of their little safe zone. Which wouldn’t be safe if Shoemaker was walking around with a goddamned rifle.

The roar of a starting engine cut through the air and Kit froze where she crouched, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs because Connor really did weigh a ton.

A moment later, the Chevy Suburban they’d been hunting hurtled around the cabin, passing the trailer and their department car. Kit flung herself over Connor, expecting more bullets to fly.

But none came. Instead, the Suburban raced down the driveway and out of sight.

“He’s gone,” Connor fumed. “We let him get away.”

“You’re bleeding out,” Kit snapped, but her heart was still in her throat. “I need to check on the girl, to see if she’s still there. If he took her, we might never find her.”

“Then go, goddammit.”

“I will, but first I’m going to get you into the car.” She dragged him to the rear door on the driver’s side, helped by him pushing with his uninjured leg. She repositioned her hold, putting his arm over her shoulder. “Now up. Use your good leg to boost yourself.”

Connor did what she asked and was finally lying on the back seat, his brow covered in sweat. He was pale, his skin clammy.

He’d lost a lot of blood and the clock was ticking. She needed to get him to a hospital or…

No.She wasn’t going to think about that. Kit eased his legs out the way of the back door and closed it.

Crouching low, Kit slid behind the wheel, her gun still in her hand. She was going to drive them right up to the cabin and then check on the girl.

But she froze when more shots cracked the air. The car rocked as three additional bullets hit it. Two shots later and the car listed to the passenger side.

Two of their tires were gone.

Shoemaker had come back.

She wondered how many bullets he had in his magazine. Could be ten, could be a hundred. Either way, she cursed herself for not knowing that Peter Shoemaker was a marksman.

She’d been snowed by his “I’m just an assistant principal”persona and now they were trapped. No, not trapped. She’d get them out of here.

More shots to the back of the car had her cursing.

He was moving again. She’d taken too long. She put the car in reverse and gently pressed the gas, her head only high enough to see over the steering wheel. If they got stuck in that mud they really would be trapped.

Another shot hit the driver’s window and it spiderwebbed, the bullet leaving a hole. Stopping the car, Kit ducked her head, knowing she’d never navigate that winding driveway if she couldn’t see. Especially with two flat tires.

Another bullet hit the window, lower this time. If she hadn’t ducked, she’d be dead.

The window wouldn’t take a third hit.

But she wasn’t going to die. Nor was Connor. Not today at least.

“You okay, Connor?”

“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper.

“Good. I’ll be back.”

She was going after Peter Shoemaker.

Kit wasn’t sure if Connor had lost consciousness or he knew it was pointless to argue, because he said nothing as she maneuvered over the center console to the passenger side and slid out that door. She crawled back into that sweet spot between their car and the trailer before poking her head up to see where he’d gone.

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