Page 8 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

The person in black was approaching!

Now she trod on the accelerator. “Come on!”

Closer. Through the curtain of snow, a figure dressed in ski gear from head to toe—mask and hat to boots—made his or her way along the side of the whining car.

Megan let up on the gas, then hit it hard. The back end of the car shifted a bit, but the tires found no traction.

The person was right outside the door, and Megan was ready to yell at the cretin, to read the brain-dead idiot the riot act, when she noticed the gun, a black pistol in one gloved hand.

Oh. God.

She began shaking her head, still trying to drive off until the barrel of the gun was level with her head.

Megan’s heart dropped.

Fear curdled through her blood.

Panic jettisoned through her, and she started to turn. To run.

Leave here. Now!

“Get out!” the attacker growled.

Megan froze.

That voice!

Did she know this person? This nutcase?

She couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was the barrel of the gun.

Black.

Deadly.

Aimed straight at her heart.

CHAPTER 3

Valley General Hospital

Riggs Crossing, Washington

December 4

“I have to leave.” James Cahill gazed hard at the nurse adjusting his IV. Lying in bed, doing nothing, was getting to him. The hospital walls were closing in on him. And the not remembering? That was killing him.

“In due time,” she said pleasantly, offering him a sympathetic smile. Sonja Rictor, RN, according to the name tag that swung from a lanyard at her neck. In her forties, a knowing smile on her face, her curly red hair clipped away from her face, a sprinkling of freckles sprayed across a slightly upturned nose, she was slim and attractive. And, he guessed, blessed with a will of iron behind that empathetic grin.

“The time is now.” It was all he could do not to grab her wrist and give it a shake, to emphasize that he was serious. He’d always been a little claustrophobic, blessed or cursed with a lot of energy. That much he did remember. Being confined in a hospital was definitely not his thing.

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

She gave him an “I’ve heard it all before” look that, he supposed, was meant to shut him up. It didn’t.

“Mr. Cahill—”

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