Saviour in the Saddle. Delores Fossen

up the sidewalk toward the cul de sac where a car was parked. That was their best bet.

      Until he saw the kids.

      There were three of them, all on skates, and probably no more than ten or eleven years old. If he went in that direction, so would Shore’s bullets.

      “Get down!” Brandon shouted to the boys. Hopefully they and anyone else in the area would do as he’d ordered.

      “This way,” Willa insisted, turning and leading him in the opposite direction.

      She obviously realized the danger to the children, but she also had to know the danger of going past her house again. Shore had probably made it across the yard by now, and if he wasn’t already at the gate, he soon would be.

      Brandon adjusted his gun, and aimed, and they hurried past Willa’s section of the fence. The smoke was thicker now, and the wind was carrying it right in their direction. Willa coughed, but she didn’t stop.

      He didn’t want to think of the risk this might be causing the baby. Brandon only wanted to get her out of there. Their best option was the intersection just ahead. Cars were trickling past, but if he could get Willa to that point, he could position her on the side of the last stretch of fence and perhaps get her out of Shore’s line of sight.

      Brandon heard the creak of the wooden gate and glanced over his shoulder just as it opened.

      Shore came out, and he had his gun ready.

      The assassin glanced around and spotted them. Brandon wanted to shoot him then and there, but he couldn’t risk a stray shot hitting the children.

      Shore obviously didn’t feel the same. He reaimed, pointing the gun directly at Willa.

      Brandon grabbed on to her waist and shoved her into the side of the fence.

      A bullet flew past them.

      God knew where it landed, and Brandon prayed it hadn’t gone into one of the houses or a car.

      “We can’t stop,” he told Willa, though he could hear her breathing hard.

      They headed up the street toward a parked car, but then Brandon spotted the city bus. It was only about two blocks away and was lumbering in their direction. If he could get Willa on that bus before Shore saw them, they might be able to escape before the man could figure out where to aim more of those deadly shots.

      Brandon kept Willa positioned behind him, and he hurried toward the bus. He also pushed back his jacket to reveal his badge.

      “Get back inside!” he shouted to an elderly woman who opened her door.

      Still hurrying toward the bus, Brandon flagged down the driver and hoped like the devil the man would stop. He didn’t take his attention off the intersection where he knew Shore would soon appear.

      The assassin wouldn’t just give up.

      The bus inched closer, and with Willa in tow, Brandon raced toward the vehicle. The seconds clicked off in Brandon’s head. He wanted to make sure these seconds weren’t their last ones.

      The driver slowed even more as he approached them. Probably because he was concerned about the gun Brandon was holding.

      “Open up!” Brandon told the middle-aged Hispanic driver. And he flashed his badge again.

      The door swung open.

      Just as Brandon caught a glimpse of Shore.

      The assassin was at the intersection, barely a block away. Willa was still in Shore’s kill zone.

      Brandon pushed her onto the bus and was relieved that they were the sole passengers.

      “I’m Sheriff Ruiz,” he said identifying himself. “Drive!” Brandon ordered the man behind the wheel.

      He dragged Willa to the bus’s floor, praying that Shore hadn’t seen him.

      But he obviously had.

      Because a bullet came crashing through the bus window.

       Chapter Five

      Willa covered her head with the bag when the glass spewed across the bus.

      The nightmare wasn’t over.

      Shore was still after them, and if he managed to injure the driver, then the bus would almost certainly crash. The crash alone might not be fatal, but it would leave them wide open for another attack.

      “Don’t stop,” Brandon warned the driver, “and stay low in the seat.”

      The driver was cursing and praying at the same time. Brandon was mumbling something as well, but Willa didn’t think she had the breath to utter anything.

      Her baby began to kick, hard, but Willa welcomed the movement. It meant her daughter was safe. For now. But they weren’t out of danger.

      The next bullet proved that.

      It came through the back window, tearing the glass apart, and it exited through the front. Thankfully, it didn’t come near them or the driver, and the driver slammed on the accelerator to get them out of there.

      “Shore’s on foot,” Brandon reminded her. “He won’t be able to come after us for long.”

      Willa held her breath, waiting and trying to brace herself for more bullets. But the shots didn’t continue.

      Brandon lifted his head and looked out the window. “He’s gone,” he let her know.

      Willa still didn’t move. She lay there and prayed the threat was truly over.

      “Drive to the nearest police station,” Brandon told the driver, and he took out his phone.

      While Brandon punched in some numbers, he helped her from the floor and moved her onto one of the seats. He dropped down onto the seat directly across from her.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      Willa nodded, but she doubted he believed her. For one thing, she was still breathing so fast that she was close to hyperventilating, and she was trembling from head to toe. It might be part of Brandon’s job to be on the business end of gunfire, but until the hostage situation at the maternity hospital, Willa had never known what it was like to face real danger.

      Well, now she knew.

      And it couldn’t continue.

      Somehow, she had to find a safe place for her and her baby. If there was such a thing as a safe place. This was the third attack in four months. Four attacks if she counted being taken hostage at the hospital. Part of her was furious that time after time someone or something had endangered her precious baby. She wanted answers. She wanted justice.

      But another part of her only wanted to run and hide.

      Willa looked back at the broken glass and damage the bullets had done to the seats. She also looked out at the sidewalk that was zipping by. No sign of Shore, thank God. Maybe they had finally lost him.

      She listened while Brandon gave an update to whomever he had called. He also asked about Lieutenant Bo Duggan, and then about Martin Shore. Brandon’s forehead bunched up when he apparently got a response.

      “We’re on our way,” Brandon said to the person on the other end of the line, and he snapped his phone shut.

      “They got Martin Shore?” she immediately asked.

      He shook his head. “But they’re looking. Backup arrived, and there are officers fanning out all over the area.”

      The hopeful tone was tinged with doubt. And Willa knew why. From what Brandon had told her, Martin Shore was a professional killer, and he probably knew how to evade the police. He was no doubt on the run so he could regroup.

      And come after her again.

      “Bo Duggan was shot,” Brandon added, his voice practically