Lost Christmas Memories. Dana Mentink

handle. “How bad is your wound?”

      “No worse than the average gunshot.”

      She reached for an extra jacket she kept in the car. “Press this to your shoulder.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

      Her pursuer had made it to the road. He was now approaching at a good clip, closing the gap between the two vehicles.

      “Keegan?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Got your seat belt on?”

      “Uh-uh. Why?”

      “Don’t talk. Just strap yourself in.”

      His eyes found the rearview. “Your killer?”

      “Has to be, unless there’s an accomplice.”

      “Name?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You don’t know the killer’s name?”

      “I’ve never been to this area before,” she snapped. “The room was dark and whoever it was didn’t exactly make an introduction.”

      Keegan managed to fasten his seat belt. “The victim?”

      “A woman. I couldn’t see her face well, either.”

      She caught his surprise as she pushed the gas pedal hard. The approaching car kept pace.

      Tracy’s body was tight with fear, foot rammed onto the gas pedal as the Jeep topped seventy miles an hour. Her fear ramped up along with their speed.

      She shot a look at Keegan, who was dialing on his cell phone, but she was too focused on driving to pay much attention to the conversation. After a few minutes he disconnected. “Cops are dispatching someone, but I wouldn’t hold my breath that they’re going to make it a huge priority.”

      “Why not?”

      “First, I’m not sure they believed me, and second, I’m not the chief’s favorite guy.”

      “Why not?”

      “He’s my half brother, John Larraby. Long story. John’s not worth the time it would take to tell you about it.”

      “Larraby? Is he related to Bryce Larraby?”

      “Yeah. Bryce is...” Keegan huffed out a breath. “He’s the guy who fathered me, I guess you could say.”

      She heard rivers of bitterness in his words. “You are kidding me.”

      “No,” he said, craning his neck to check the progress of their pursuer. “You know him?”

      Know him? He’s the guy I was going to meet. “Tell you later, after I shake him off.”

      Keegan consulted the side mirror. “Don’t be too cocky. He’s closing in. You should have let me drive.”

      She ignored his gibe, shoving down the fear as he repositioned the wadded-up jacket, now thoroughly stained with blood. She had to get help, quickly.

      He stabbed a finger toward the darkness on her left. “Slow down. There’s a logging road in fifty yards. Turn there, but we can lose him in the foothills.”

      “I can’t drive into the wilderness. That’s just what he’d want. He’s armed, remember?”

      “So are we,” Keegan said. “You’ve got a handgun and I know you’re just itching to shoot someone.”

      “This isn’t the time for joking.”

      “I agree. It’s the time for action. Take the logging road. I just texted my brothers our location. They’ll find us. Help us.”

      She floored the accelerator, fighting to keep the wheel steady as her lungs constricted. “We’ve got to get to town. Where people are. He won’t be able to do anything then.”

      “Tracy, listen to me,” Keegan said. He let go of the jacket and reached his good hand toward her arm, stopping before he touched her. His long fingers were tensed, the nails square and blunt, knuckles threaded with scars as if he’d gotten on the wrong side of a knife a time or two. “I know you’re scared, but I’ve lived here all my life. I know every inch of this valley. We can lose him. Trust me.”

      His face was carved marble in the moonlight, all angles and strong planes. Trust him? A man she’d known for less than an hour?

      There were precisely two men she’d trusted, and her father was dead. Now there was only her grandfather and her determination to carry out the project they’d all three dreamed about. Though she was still anguished that her father was gone not long after she’d gotten him back, she believed 100 percent that God would give her the strength to save herself. And this well-meaning, pushy cowboy was in no way a part of her rescue plan.

      “Sorry, Keegan,” she said as the car flew past the narrow turnoff. “I have to do this my way.”

      “Tracy,” Keegan said, voice urgent now. “Car’s dropping back.”

      She felt like crowing in triumph. “Good. We’re going to make it.”

      Keegan’s tone was ominous. “I don’t think so. You’d...”

      The blast echoed behind them as their pursuer fired the rifle out the window. The Jeep’s rear wheel exploded and the car began to spin.

      All Keegan could do was hold on as the Jeep barreled toward the shoulder with a monstrous screech of tires. Tracy fought valiantly for control, but it was useless. The front wobbled and bucked as the tires shredded, turning and spinning until it slammed front fender-first into a drainage ditch. The force of the sudden stop whipped him against the restraining seat belt and then back hard into the seat, igniting fire in his shoulder. With a groan of metal, the rear end of the vehicle tumbled over the front.

      In a dizzying whirl, he felt the same sensation he’d experienced when he’d flipped his bike and catapulted himself and his machine over the guardrail as a teen. First the stomach-clenching sensation of dropping, falling. Then the bone-jarring reentry into earth’s orbit. Gravity always wins, he thought ruefully as his senses came back online.

      Something dripped from the ceiling, he believed at first, until he realized he was upside down, suspended by the seat belt, and the dripping was warm and sticky, probably his own blood. His shirt was already sodden from his earlier wound.

      He jerked his head toward Tracy.

      She was also tethered, but her eyes were closed, hands dangling loose as if she were an astronaut, weightless.

      “Tracy,” he said, scrambling against his seat belt.

      She did not answer, did not stir.

      Finally his belt gave way and he dropped to the ceiling, which was now serving as his floor. Tracy’s door had been crumpled in the overturn, so he applied his good shoulder to the passenger door. It didn’t budge. He switched methods. Three desperate kicks and the thing gave way, dumping him out into the night in a squeal of metal. Still dazed, he struggled to his feet. Judging from the damage to Tracy’s side of the car, getting her clear was not going to be easy and he worried about dragging her out the way he’d exited.

      The high sides of the ditch in which they’d landed made it impossible to detect anyone bearing down on them. He heard the sound of a car door closing. A smaller vehicle, not a squad car or the heavy ranch trucks his brothers would be driving. Time to move.

      Climbing back through the passenger door, he tried to position himself to catch her body when he pushed the button to unfasten her seat belt. She slid into his arms without a sound. Easing her flat, he checked for a pulse with icy fingers. He found one, the steady beat tapping against her smooth throat. He blew out a breath. He should thank God, he knew it, knew his mama would say a prayer, but the urgent desire to take care of things himself dried up the words.

      “Tracy,”