But no shots rang out.He’d bought himself a chance and drawn the threat away from Willow.
Now he had to go after the shooter and find a way to end this threat.
FORTY-NINE
W
illow huddled in her hiding place, smothering a bubble of panic and the urge to call Tripp back.She had no idea what he was doing or why he’d decided to up and leave her here, but he must have a plan in mind.She wouldn’t do anything that might give away their position.
A sinking sensation took hold when he slipped past a group of large trees and disappeared from view.On the run, with nothing to defend himself against the armed man hunting them.
Somewhere ahead of her off to the right, the underbrush moved.She flattened herself to the ground, hardly dared to breathe as she stared out from beneath the gap under the mossy, fallen tree.
A bush quivered.She spotted a bit of blue between the foliage and her gaze jerked over to where Tripp had just disappeared.The shooter was moving right toward him!
Twigs snapped as he kept following Tripp’s trail.The shooter disappeared behind some trees for a moment, then emerged for a split second before vanishing from view again.She kept staring in that direction, trying to anticipate where he would appear next, terrified for Tripp.
All around her, a heavy, ominous silence descended.No more sounds of someone moving around in the undergrowth.No quiver of a branch or fern to give away the position.
She stayed where she was, her shallow breathing echoing in her ears.By now, it had easily been several minutes since she’d last seen or heard anything.Where the hell was the shooter now?Was he moving toward her or Tripp?
A soft snap came from behind her.
She hitched in a breath.Barely resisted the urge to whip around to look.Somehow she managed to stay still, aware that the slightest motion could give away her hiding spot.
More twigs snapped in the same area.Whoever it was, he was coming toward her.
Slowly.Closer.Then closer still.
She couldn’t stand it.Had to turn her head a few inches, pulse thudding in her throat as she strained to see over her right shoulder.
A low-hanging branch swayed not forty feet from where she lay, leaves bouncing in a ray of sunlight.Moments later, a bunch of ferns beside it quivered.
Willow shrank back as far as she could get in her hiding spot, holding her breath, muscles locked in terror.Her only other option was to run, but that would be suicide against a gun at this range.
Her best hope was to stay put.Stay still and pray the shooter passed by without noticing her...
