Close To Danger (Westen #4)(72)

“Without informing you, her sister or me, his boss about the situation or their whereabouts?” Gage asked with one brow arched.

God, he was going to love what she was about to say.

“You do have a point. He should’ve let us know.”

He nodded in that I’m-always-right way of his.

“However, in his defense, we can both agree things have been a little wild the past forty-eight hours, right?”

Slowly he pushed himself out of the chair, strolled all loose hipped her direction and lowered his mouth to hers. “Yes, we can,” he said, when he leaned back to stare into her eyes.

A throat cleared near the door.

Earl. They swung their gazes his direction.

“What can we do for you today, Earl?” Gage asked, sitting one hip on the corner of Bobby’s desk and motioning the older man closer.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Go for it,” Gage said.

“It’s not still deer hunting season, is it?”

Something in the way he stated the sentence rather than asked it, struck Bobby funny. Gage, too, since he drew his brows down in question with a quick puzzled glance her way.

“No, it isn’t, Earl. Why?”

“Saw somethin’ a little odd this morning, then.”

They waited for him to continue. Finally, Bobby asked. “What did you see, Earl?”

“Well, you know that new waitress over at the Peaches ’N Cream? The tall, lanky red-headed one?”

“Hannah?” Bobby asked.

“Yep, that’s the one. She was out before dawn. Carrying a rifle bag with her.”

“A rifle bag? Like a hunting rifle bag? You’re sure?” Gage asked.

Earl scratched his whisker-covered chin. “Could be a huntin’ rifle. Cept I saw her a couple times practicin’ shootin’ out in the woods last fall. Didn’t look like a regular rifle. More like a sniper rifle.”

A sudden wariness crept over Bobby. Gage must have the same feeling because his whole body seemed to tighten up where he sat.

“How do you know it was a sniper rifle, Earl?” he asked.

“Seen them before. Back in the war. Had a good friend who was the unit’s sniper.” He paused, but looked like he had more to say.

“What else?” Gage finally prompted.

“Well, she was dressed all in white. Like those soldiers in World War II up in Norway were. Saw that on a documentary with Pete one night over at the café,” Earl said, explaining how he knew about the camouflage.

“Any idea where she might be headed with all that?” Gage asked, sounding way calmer than Bobby felt.

Earl shrugged. “Suppose the same place I saw her practicing last fall.”

This was worse than pulling the truth out of an errant schoolkid.

“And where would that be, Earl?” Bobby tried to sound patient, but feared she already knew the answer.

“Out by Deputy Strong’s place.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


Crouched on the porch, Wes peered around the corner of the house, scanning the horizon for any sign of the shooter.

Nothing. No movement. Nothing that stood out among the woods and the white snow.

Where were they?

The whimper of Wes’s wounded friend carried through the near silence of the snow-covered forest. Best he could tell W?den was somewhere northeast of the cabin. Was he hurt so badly he couldn’t move?

The door beside him creaked open a fraction.

“Do you see him?” Chloe asked.

“No, and I told you to stay inside,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the drive and the snowy forest beyond it.

“What’s your plan?” she whispered, ignoring his orders to stay safely inside the cabin.

Good question.

Smart move would be to get Chloe to Westen, freeing him up to come back and track down the shooter. Deal with them and find W?den. Hopefully before his four-legged friend died.

Problem was, he didn’t have a clue who was shooting or where they were. By the sound of the rifle fire, it was a high speed, long distance shot. Which meant they had a scope. Any movement from the cabin would put them in the line of site.

“I need to get you out of here,” he whispered.

“What about W?den? We can’t leave him out there wounded, bleeding and alone.”

He’d once considered her a high-maintenance woman. Self-indulgent. Ego-centric. The fact that she was more worried about the wolf-dog than herself spoke volumes to the woman’s moral compass and just how wrong he’d been. Defending her younger sister at all costs. Pro-bono work for the defenseless. Caring for strays, like W?den—and him.

Which was exactly why his priority was her safety.

Damn. Why did he choose a house so far away from town? If he lived in town, help would already be on its way. Now they were trapped and no one knew they were here. No one except Bulldog and Dylan—Dylan who was supposed to call Bobby this morning.

“What time is it?” he whispered, turning to meet Chloe’s gaze.

She looked in the direction of the clock on his oven. “Seven-fifteen,” she said, fixing an inquiring look at him.

“How punctual is Dylan?”

“Unless she’s in surgery or an emergency has come up, she’s usually pretty on time. You think she’s called Bobby by now? We could call Gage.”