Page 64 of In the Dead of Night

Lowering the gun marginally, Brett grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. “Walk, bitch!”

Sara leaned heavily against him. Snarling, he shoved her away. Pretending to reach out to break her fall, she snatched up the branch and swung it as hard as she could. Stocker’s eyes went wide. The gun came up, swung toward her. She caught a glimpse of his face an instant before the wood slammed against his left temple.

Screaming in pain and anger, he reeled backward, landing hard on his backside. His free hand clutched at his left eye. With his right, he brought up the gun. “You bitch!”

“No!” Sara spun to run as he leveled the weapon on her.

“Stop!” he shouted.

Sara took off like a sprinter out of a starting block. Three strides and a gunshot rent the air. A scream tore from her throat when white-hot pain shot down her arm from elbow to wrist.

Shock rippled through her when she saw blood dripping from her fingertips. It registered that she’d been shot, but she couldn’t let the fear paralyze her; she couldn’t let it slow her down. If she wanted to live, she was going to have to outrun him.

Her feet pounded through mud, carrying her down the trail at a dangerous speed. Branches and rain pelted her. Heat radiated down from her elbow, but her fingers had gone numb. Vaguely, she was aware of the growing bloodstain on her sleeve. Red rainwater dripping from her fingertips.

The trail forked. Realizing she needed a way to let Nick know where to find her, particularly if she lost consciousness, she reached for her mother’s necklace in her pocket, plucked it out and dropped it in the center of the trail that ran parallel with the cliffs.

A second shot rang out. Instinctively, Sara ducked, glanced behind her. Ten yards back, Stocker staggered toward her, waving the gun madly. “You’re dead!”

A scream jammed her throat when he raised the gun for another shot. Heart pounding out of control, she took the north trail.

Another shot exploded. The dull thunk! of a bullet striking the ground sounded at her feet. Oh, dear God, he’s going to cut me down! she thought wildly.

The thought had barely formed in her mind when the trail ended abruptly. Beyond, the ground dropped away a hundred feet to the rocky shore below. Twenty years ago the trail had gone on for another mile or so. But erosion had eaten it away. Now, she was trapped.

Panic gripped her so hard that for a moment she was paralyzed. Glancing once over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Stocker through the trees, guessed him to be ten yards behind her. And she knew if she stayed put he would shoot her down.

Willing to take her chances on the rocks, Sara looked over the edge, searching desperately for a safe place to land.

Closing her eyes, she hurled herself into space.

* * *

THE FIRST GUNSHOT stopped Nick dead in his tracks. The second sent his heart into overdrive. For a moment, he stood on the trail with rain pouring all around and listened, trying to establish the direction from which the shot had come. A third shot rang out, and he knew the shooter was near the cliffs.

Not considering his own safety, he ran headlong down the trail. Rain lashed at his face. Branches tore at his clothes. But he didn’t slow down. All he could think was that he was not going to lose Sara the same way he’d lost Nancy.

Twenty yards from the cliffs, the trail forked. Nick stood at the junction for the span of several heartbeats, listening, trying to decide which way to go. He’d stepped left when he spotted the spark of green against the muddy earth. Bending, he scooped up the necklace. He could tell by the lack of dirt that it had been recently dropped, and he knew immediately Sara was telling him to take the northernmost trail.

Dropping the necklace into his pocket, Nick tore down the trail. He could make out footprints, but they were quickly being washed away by the rain. He rounded a curve and the cliffs came into view. A tall man in a black raincoat stood on the ledge with his back to Nick, looking down. He held a gun in his right hand and was firing shots at something below.

What the hell?

Recognition sparked. Brett Stocker. But what the hell was Stocker doing out here? Protecting his old man? Or was this about something else?

Drawing his weapon, Nick chambered a bullet and started toward Stocker. He was midway there when the other man fired a series of shots. Realization struck Nick like a boxer’s punch. Fear twisted his insides into knots. Sara had gone off the cliff. God only knew how badly she was hurt. And the son of a bitch was trying to pick her off.