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“What files?” I attempt to say, my teeth chattering from the cold or fear or both.
“Don’t you work for Kincaid Timber?” Lucas’s icy voice is smooth and unbending and dangerous, the frozen surface of a deep, deep lake.
I frown. “Timber? Why would I have files from a logging company?”
“Does this have something to do with Sebastian’s untimely death?” Lucas asks.
I gasp. Sebastian’s dead? When?
The muscle in the man’s jaw twitches, and I almost feel sorry for his teeth. Almost.
“Put the gun down.” His weapon is directed at Lucas.
Lucas doesn’t move. His gun remains pointed at the man. “I don’t think so.”
The man shifts his weapon so I’m now the one who’ll be on the receiving end of a bullet. The move would’ve caused my heart rate to skyrocket if it wasn’t already beating at supersonic speed.
Lucas positions his body between the man and me. “Drop to the ground,” he whispers. “And stay down.”
I want to ask him what he’s planning on doing. But I don’t. I drop onto my stomach, making myself as flat as possible on the wet ground, my arms covering my head.
A loud bang punctures the air, and every muscle in my body clenches. Oh, God, no. Please don’t be Lucas. Fear pummels me, unrelenting and swift. I’m too scared to look and see what happened. Too scared to see who’s still standing.
I’m not ready to be a widow. Not yet. Not ever.
Muffled sounds yank me from my fear-riddled thoughts, and I turn my head to the side, bits of leaves sticking to my face. Lucas is no longer standing in front of me. He and the man are facing off in hand-to-hand combat. Neither man is holding a gun.
I push myself to shaky knees as Lucas shoves the man into the thick tree trunk behind him. Lucas fists the man’s shirt and pins him against the rough bark.
The man side-chops his arm across his body, his forearm breaking Lucas’s hold on him. The man kicks Lucas’s feet out from under him.
Lucas goes down. Before he can recover, the man strikes out with his booted foot. The blow barely skims Lucas’s side as he rolls away from him, anticipating the man’s next move.
The guns. Where did they go?
I stand and survey the nearby ground. Nothing. The gun Lucas was holding has to be here somewhere.
I frantically pat at a pile of wet, dead leaves in case the gun ended up there. Grunts and heavy breathing from Lucas and the man as they continue to battle prod me to keep searching. They won’t last much longer at this rate.
Lucas takes a swing at him, his fist glancing against the man’s jaw.
Where is that damn gun?
I crawl forward, desperately shoving the dead leaves aside from another pile. My fingers brush across cool metal. I clear the leaves away, revealing Lucas’s gun.
I wrap my shaking fingers around the handgrip and stand. I don’t know the first thing about guns. I hate them. Which means I have no idea what to do with the one I’m holding.
The man makes a move to punch Lucas. Lucas deflects the blow.
I raise the gun and point it at the man. “Stop or I’ll shoot.” The command might have been a little more convincing if my voice wasn’t as shaky as my body.
Both men pause long enough to see that I’m now holding the gun.
The man takes a step toward me, but Lucas is quicker. He backs up to where I’m standing. His eyes still on the man, he gently removes the gun from my hand and aims it at him.
50
Lucas
