Tall, Dark And Wanted. Morgan Hayes

was no telling which shots were which then. To Mitch, it sounded like a virtual torrent of bullets. A war zone. From where he crouched just below the top of the slope, he could almost hear the small missiles piercing the air above him, striking trees and ricocheting off boulders in the darkness beyond. When he snatched a look at Molly, he saw she was holding her position at the top of the embankment, one round after the next exploding from the black muzzle of her gun.

      Mitch could only imagine that her shots were far more accurate, because as suddenly as the gunfire had begun, it ended. There was the rev of the four-by-four’s engine and the grinding of huge tires against the frozen road as it sped off.

      But Molly wasn’t finished. Far from it. Mitch heard her mutter something about them getting away, and in a flash she was on her feet.

      “Molly, no! Let them go.” He snatched at her coat, hoping to stop her, but it was pointless. She tore loose and charged down the snowbank to the road before he’d even caught his balance.

      In the roadway, Mitch winced with each earsplitting shot as Molly let off several more rounds at the fleeing vehicle. And that was when he smelled the gasoline.

      Behind them, only one of the Jeep’s hazard lights continued to blink through the inky darkness. The four-by-four must have struck the Wrangler’s fuel tank.

      “Molly!” But his voice was lost to yet another shot as the four-by-four’s taillights disappeared around the bend.

      “Molly!” he shouted again.

      The blast of her final round echoed through the woods. It was followed by the quiet, yet unmistakable whisper of a fire igniting. In the next second there were flames. Over the low crackle, he heard Molly curse again, turning to the vehicle as though she hoped to rescue some of her belongings.

      “Molly, no. Come on!” he shouted above the hiss, tugging at her coat.

      She’d lowered her gun, and in the intensifying red-orange glow of the hungry flames that already engulfed the driver’s side of the Jeep, Mitch saw the shock in her expression. The heat of the flames, searing against his own cold-numbed skin, seemed to hold her back.

      The air was swollen now with the heat of the fire. Flames licked higher and higher into the stormy night, fanned by the wind.

      “Molly, now! It’s going to blow!” This time when he grabbed at her coat, Mitch didn’t let go. He half dragged, half ran with her away from the Jeep and down the empty road, uncertain how much distance was needed.

      It wasn’t enough.

      There was the low whoosh of gas igniting, followed by an earth-shattering explosion that hurled both of them to the cold ground. The shock of the blast rippled through the air around them, followed by a wave of thick, acrid heat and a storm of flying shards that rained down around them.

      “Are you all right?” His body covered hers, and when he raised himself enough that she could move, Molly rolled over and sat up. She brushed snow and grit from her face and stared back at the burning wreckage, the flames reflecting in her wide eyes.

      “Are you all right, Molly?” he asked again, taking her by the shoulders.

      She managed a nod and instantly scanned the snow-covered ground. Locating her gun, she brushed it off as well.

      “Yeah,” she said at last, “I’m okay. I think…I think we need to get out of here.”

      “I couldn’t agree more.”

      It was when Mitch started to stand that he spotted the two figures in the roadway. Twenty…maybe twenty-five yards away, they were no more than silhouettes in the flickering glow of the fire, but there was no question as to their intent. Each of them carried a gun, and each approached with the steady determination of hired killers.