Agent to the Rescue. Lisa Childs

he explained his attire. “It wasn’t mine.”

      It would never be his.

      “I don’t know who she is,” he repeated. But maybe something had been left in the trunk of the car that would have revealed her identity. A purse. A wallet. A receipt. Or the registration for the car that might have been hers.

      He should have stayed behind at the scene. He could have done more for her there than by playing nursemaid in the back of the ambulance. And why would the man who’d put her in that trunk risk showing up at the hospital?

      If the guy was smart, he was still running.

      “What the hell...” the driver murmured from the front seat.

      Dalton glanced up and peered out the windshield—at the police car barreling down the road toward them with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

      “Does he want me to pull over?” the driver asked as he reached for the radio on the dash. “Why doesn’t he tell me what he wants?”

      Another shiver rushed over Dalton, this one so deep that it chilled his blood. They hadn’t passed the trooper’s abandoned vehicle. He had a bad feeling that it was that vehicle heading straight toward them now.

      But it was not Trooper Littlefield driving it. It wasn’t the bald man behind the vehicle. This person had a hat pulled low over his face. But that wasn’t the reason he was driving straight toward them. He wanted to run them off the road; he wanted to reclaim the victim who had nearly escaped him.

      The ambulance driver jerked the wheel and veered toward one of those deep ditches. At the last moment, he jerked the wheel back and kept the rig on the road, riding along the steep shoulder. “What the hell’s that trooper doing?”

      “It’s not the trooper.” It had to be the man who’d run from the Mercedes. He must have circled back around and found the trooper’s abandoned vehicle. “And don’t pull over...”

      “But he’s going to kill us!” the other paramedic exclaimed. “He’s heading straight toward us!”

      But the man couldn’t have expected that an FBI agent was riding along in the rig. So Dalton had the element of surprise. He pulled his gun from his holster, leaned forward over the passenger’s seat and pointed the barrel out the open passenger’s window.

      Maybe the man saw the gun, because he sped up as if trying to run them off the road before Dalton could fire a shot. Dust billowed up behind the trooper’s car, forming a cloud thicker than fog. Dalton could barely see through it, but he fired his weapon. Again and again.

      He couldn’t tell if he struck the car, though—let alone the driver. And the vehicle kept coming toward them. Faster and faster.

      The ambulance driver cursed.

      “Keep going straight,” Dalton advised him. The road was too narrow; the ditches too deep and the gravel too loose. “Don’t swerve.”

      But his warning came too late.

      The ambulance driver didn’t have the nerves for the dangerous game of chicken. Cursing, he jerked the wheel, and the rig teetered on two wheels.

      The paramedic in the back shouted in fear.

      The driver couldn’t regain control of the van and it flipped—over and over—hurtling Dalton over the seat and toward the windshield. If he went through it—if he lost consciousness—he risked losing the bride...

      But then the accident would probably be enough to finish her off. She was already critically wounded. He held his breath and tried to brace himself.

      But it was too late.

      * * *

      THE AMBULANCE LAY crumpled on its side in the ditch, but its lights flashed and sirens blared yet. With a gloved hand, he turned off the lights and sirens inside the state police cruiser. But he could hear an echo of the ambulance’s sirens in the distance.

      More emergency vehicles were on their way to the scene. Maybe the trooper had called for more help. Maybe the agent had managed to get a call out before the ambulance had crashed. The agent was inside that crashed vehicle. He’d seen him climb into the ambulance with the woman—determined to protect her.

      The agent had even shot at him; the windshield of the police cruiser bore holes too close to where his head had been. He shuddered at how close those shots had come to hitting him. Even with both vehicles moving, the agent had nearly struck him. He was a damn good shot. A dangerous man.

      Maybe that was why he hesitated before approaching that crumpled ambulance. He didn’t know what he would find inside: dead bodies or a still-armed government agent.

      The ambulance sirens grew weaker, while those sirens in the distance grew louder as those vehicles approached. He could hesitate no longer. He had to hurry. Before the other emergency personnel arrived, he had to make certain that both the woman and the lawman were dead.

      * * *

      HER HEART AND her head pounded with fear and pain. Strapped to the gurney, she had actually taken little impact from the crash. Since the gurney was anchored to the floor, she hadn’t been thrown around like the others.

      The blond-haired paramedic who’d been in the back with her had bounced around like a rag doll and then crumpled against the side of the ambulance where it had come to rest in the deep ditch next to the road.

      She couldn’t tell if the man was just unconscious.

      Or...

      A cry burned her throat, but she held it in—refusing to panic. Yet.

      Strapped down and hanging on her side, she could only twist her neck to peer around the vehicle—to see what had happened to the others. To the FBI agent.

      The driver was pinned beneath the steering wheel, so he remained in his seat. Like the other paramedic, he wasn’t moving. How badly was he hurt?

      They had come to help her. But now they needed help. Because of her?

      Guilt struck her with all the force that the ambulance had struck the ditch. Could this be her fault?

      Could she have done something to cause this destruction—this pain? How much destruction?

      She craned her neck, but she couldn’t see the agent. Had he catapulted out of the windshield? The glass was broken. But then, he might have shot it out. He had been shooting—trying to stop the other vehicle from running them off the road. According to the paramedics’ comments, the other vehicle had been a police car.

      The trooper’s uniform had looked vaguely familiar to her. Had she seen him before? Was he the one who’d put her in the trunk?

      Was there anyone she could trust? Special Agent Reyes had done his best to save her. But where was he now? Pinned beneath the vehicle when it had rolled?

      She shuddered as she imagined the worst. And her head throbbed more with dull pain. The pounding wasn’t just inside her head, though.

      Someone was hammering on the back doors of the ambulance—trying to open them. She struggled against the straps, but they held her fast to the gurney. She couldn’t move—she couldn’t escape. She could only wait for whoever had run them off the road to finish her off.

       Chapter Four

      Water seeped through the tuxedo, chilling Dalton’s skin. He awoke with a jerk—then grunted as his head slammed against metal. Stars danced behind his eyes as oblivion threatened to reclaim him. But then he heard the hammering and felt the force of it rocking the ambulance.

      Fortunately he wasn’t beneath the vehicle. Instead of going through the windshield, he had grabbed hold of the dash and had somehow wound up wedged beneath it—between the passenger’s seat and the door. Water surged through that door from where the van lay on