Page 111 of Silent Threat
He peeked out into the darkness, everything wild and violent movement around him, yet the storm, silent. He stayed still and looked for other still forms. Tree, tree, tree ...there. Ambrose huddled behind a stand of bushes, sticking his head out to see better.
Several seconds passed before the man edged to the right. He was going toward better cover too, an old maple. He’d be out in the open for six feet or so, looking away from Cole.
Cole would have to cross twelve feet to bring down Ambrose. It would all come down to how fast Ambrose could bring his gun around.
Ambrose pushed forward.
Cole lunged.
He missed his mark by an inch.
Ambrose didn’t.
Blood pulsed from Cole’s right shoulder, running into the mud under him. Freaking Ambrose had winged him.
The man stood over Cole, gun pointed at Cole’s head, from a lot closer this time. He might have been talking, but Cole couldn’t make anything out in the dark. His shoulder pulsed with pain.
The guy wasn’t a half-bad shot. A hunter?
But good shot or not, he knew nothing about close combat.
“You never stand this close to the enemy unless you’re sure they’re dead,” Cole said as he swept the man’s legs from under him.
He heard the faint pop of the shot Ambrose squeezed off before he hit the mud. This bullet missed. Then Cole was on top of the man, wrestling for the weapon.
Under better circumstances, disarming the bastard would have taken seconds. But Cole didn’t have use of his right arm. And he was leaking too much blood.
He wasn’t sure how much time he had before his blood pressure would drop so low he’d lose consciousness. He knocked out Ambrose by driving the man’s nose into his face. Ambrose didn’t move again.
Then Cole rolled away, pulled off his belt with his left hand, and made a tourniquet for his shoulder. That’d slow the blood loss. His head swam as he pushed himself to his knees. He’d bled too much already.
He tugged off Ambrose’s belt next. After considerable struggle, he managed to tie the man to a thick branch above his head, both arms looped high, only the toes of Ambrose’s shoes touching the ground.
The pain in his contorted shoulders brought Ambrose around, and he groaned, spitting out some of the blood that had run from his nose into his mouth.
Cole had some serious questions for the guy, but not now. He had to find Annie. Even if Ambrose decided to talk, Cole couldn’t read his lips in the dark and the driving rain.
He took the gun and counted the bullets. Only two were missing—the two Ambrose had fired at him. Some of the tension eased in Cole’s chest at the thought that Ambrose hadn’t shot Annie.
Had he hurt her in other ways?
Cole stumbled forward to find her, ignoring the buzzing in his head, the pain in his shoulder, and the weakness in his knees.
“Annie!” he roared at the top of his lungs.
He wouldn’t be able to hear her if she answered, but she would hear him and know that he was coming.
He refused to think that he might be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ANNIE SWALLOWED ANOTHERmouthful of muddy water and choked. She’d slipped under again, dammit. The side of the hole was too slippery, too crumbly for her to climb out.
Thunder shook the ground, and then a different kind of clap sounded.A gunshot?
Then shortly, another one.
Was Dan shooting at Cole? Had Cole caught up with him?
