Alaskan Mountain Pursuit Elizabeth Goddard (best short novels .TXT) 📖

just to sleep—but not to care about this intriguing man next to her who fascinated her more than she wanted to admit.

ELEVEN

Clay gripped the steering wheel as he took the hill up into Turnagain Pass. They’d been back on the Kenai Peninsula for less than half an hour, and still had well over an hour to go before they made it back to Moose Haven. Clay wished he could teleport them there—his nerves were shot after the day they’d had.

He turned the CD up—neither the radio nor streamed music on his phone worked there, he’d discovered the first time he’d driven through the massive dead zone extended from the start of the Kenai all the way to Moose Pass, the tiny town just before the turnoff to Moose Haven.

Five or ten minutes after Turnagain Pass—he hadn’t been keeping track of time but it hadn’t been long—he spotted upcoming construction, dropping his speed as the signs dictated. He didn’t remember it being there this morning, but he’d heard orange construction cones bloomed in Alaska like the state flower in the summer so it shouldn’t be surprising.

He took advantage of the break from driving fast to look around. The scenery was some of the most gorgeous he’d ever seen, vast wilderness covered by spruce trees. On the right side of the road was a creek, with a hill behind it that gradually climbed toward the mountains.

Gorgeous. But also desolate.

Clay shivered as he looked around. He saw no other vehicles on the road. He looked at the construction cones, narrowed his eyes.

It could be legitimate construction. But if so, he was going to have to make some apologies to whoever caught him doing this.

He hit the gas, unable to shake the unease he felt slowing down in this isolated area.

The first bang told him he was too late. The front left tire blew. The shooter was on Clay’s side of the car, hidden somewhere in the woods.

Summer’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

Another shot.

“We’ve got to ditch the car. Summer, when I stop, open your door, jump out and run into the woods. I’m right behind you.” Clay had spent a lot of time in the woods hunting deer and knew more about long-range rifle shots than most people, law enforcement or not. The shooter wasn’t particularly close—which was good because it gave them a better chance to escape from him personally, but bad because if he was this accurate a shot from far away, they were in a huge amount of danger.

Clay hit the breaks.

“Run?”

“Now! Run!”

Clay searched the woods to his left for anything that would give away the shooter’s location—maybe a reflection of the scope in the sun, anything. He saw nothing but heard Summer’s door.

She was out and he needed to be with her.

He opened his door, ran for the back of the car. One more shot—this one took out the back tire. Clay heard it explode just as he made it past, running for the other side of the car and sprinting off the road, into the thick woods.

“Summer?” he shouted, hating to give away her position but knowing that whoever was shooting at them already knew they were together, and that it was worth the risk to get back to where she was so he could protect her.

“Right here!”

Ahead of him, slightly to the right. He dodged a spruce branch, rounded that tree and saw a game trail. “Game trail?”

“I saw it. To your left. Don’t take it, it’s the first thing he’ll check.”

She was right but he wouldn’t have realized she’d know that.

“How’d you know?”

“My sister, Kate. She’s the best tracker. She’s taught me a few things. I figured some of it could come in handy if we use it backward. I’ve already made a couple false trail starts.”

She might be the most amazing woman he’d ever met.

“Is he following us?” she asked, not slowing down as she ran. Clay ran too but struggled to keep up—Summer’s strides were that effortless. Then again, she did this often for fun, didn’t she?

He resolved again to make running part of his daily routine. Assuming they both lived through this to have a daily routine again.

“No way of knowing.”

Clay glanced backward though, just in case. This time he caught the sun reflecting off something that looked to be about seven hundred yards away.

Clay guessed he’d made the shot from about five hundred yards, somewhere up there on that mountainside. A shot not every accomplished marksman could make when they were shooting at a moving target the size of his tires.

The big question was, was he moving? Clay still couldn’t tell but knew he had to assume the answer was yes—which meant they couldn’t stop or they’d risk being targeted again. He kept running.

Turned around again. Nothing.

“Clay?” Summer’s voice was desperate. She’d stopped running.

“Keep going. I’ll catch up to you.” He needed to know.

Long seconds stretched into almost a minute before he caught another flash.

Fifty yards closer.

He was coming for them.

Clay sprinted up the hill, following Summer’s footsteps.

She exhaled. Blew out a breath. “We can’t just keep sprinting. We have to be smarter.”

“Where are we?” Clay hated that he was reliant on someone else’s knowledge, but he just didn’t have the backcountry familiarity that Summer did.

All the sudden he was struck by how much he needed her. Here this whole time he’d been thinking of himself as her rescuer, her protector, but she’d brought him back into law enforcement, given him daily purpose again when he’d been struggling and now was half the reason they weren’t in more danger than they already were.

Summer Dawson was not just another woman to protect.

“We should be crossing a creek soon.”

“You can tell that?”

She smiled. “I’ve studied maps. I’ve hiked fairly near here. Not precisely here,” she warned. “So I don’t know exactly what we’re getting into, but I may know enough that we have a chance.”

“Okay, which creek?”

Summer shook her head. “I’m not sure, especially since I was asleep, so I’m not positive