Her house was a good five miles from here, definitely not close by enough for her to be on foot. So what in the Sam Hill was she doing running in the woods in the middle of the night?
“It’s me—Colt,” he said, just in case she thought he was a stranger.
“I know exactly who you are.” Her voice was loud but very shaky. “And I have a gun.”
“So do I,” he snarled, and Colt drew it to prove his point.
Colt hadn’t exactly expected a warm, friendly greeting from Elise, but he hadn’t thought she was to the point of threatening to do him bodily harm.
“What the heck are you running from?” he asked.
She didn’t jump to answer. The only sounds were the February wind rattling through the bare tree branches and his heartbeat pumping like pistons in his ears.
“I’m running from you,” she finally answered.
Colt jerked back his shoulders. That sure wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. Nor did it make a lick of sense.
“I’m a deputy sheriff of Sweetwater Springs,” he reminded Elise just in case she was drunk or had gone off the deep end and couldn’t remember what was common knowledge around these parts.
And he reminded her also because her comment riled him.
“People generally don’t feel the need to run from me,” he added with a syrupy sweetness that she would know wasn’t the least bit genuine.
“They’d run if you were trying to kill them.”
He tried not to let his mouth drop open, but it was close. “And you think that’s what I’m trying to do to you?”
“I know you are. You ran me off the road about fifteen minutes ago.”
He glanced around, didn’t see another vehicle. But there was a road not too far away, and it would have been the one Elise would likely take to get to and from her place located just outside town. It was possible someone had sideswiped her and maybe she’d hit her head during the collision. That was the only explanation he could think of for a fish story like that one.
“Come out so I can see you,” Colt told her, “and I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t move, either.
Fed up with Elise herself, her story, the butt-freezing night and this entire crazy situation, Colt huffed. “Get out here!” he ordered.
“Right. So you can kill me,” she accused. “Then I can’t testify at your mother’s trial.”
Good grief. Colt figured that subject would come up sooner or later. But he hadn’t expected it to come up like this, with Elise accusing him of trying to kill her. His mother, Jewell, was the one about to stand trial for murdering her lover twenty-three years ago.
And Elise would be the key witness for the defense.
That alone was plenty bad enough because Colt figured his mom had indeed killed the guy. Anything that Elise would say in Jewell’s defense could be a lie at best, and at worst it could tear his family to pieces.
Because Elise was expected to testify that not Jewell but rather Colt’s father, Roy, had committed the murder.
No way would Colt or his brothers let that happen.
His father wasn’t going to pay for Jewell’s sins.
But there was also no way Colt would murder a witness to stop that testimony from happening. The badge he wore wasn’t for decoration. He believed in the law. Believed that his mother, and Elise, would get what was coming to them.
Without his help.
“Come on out here,” he repeated. “You probably got sideswiped by a drunk or something.”
“A drunk driving a truck identical to yours,” she countered.
That sent a bristle up his spine, and that bristly feeling went up a significant notch when Elise finally stepped out. He didn’t see a gun, but from her stance, she looked as if she were challenging him to a gunfight in an Old West showdown.
“Call the county sheriff or the Texas Rangers,” she insisted. “I know they won’t try to kill me.”
Colt huffed again and turned the flashlight on her. He prayed she didn’t do something stupid and pull the trigger of the weapon that she claimed she was holding. It was a risk, but he figured Elise was only a liar and not a killer like his mother.
He moved the light over her face and then her body. She was wearing a pale blue coat and a stocking cap, but wisps of her light brown hair were flying in the wind and snapping against her face like little bullwhips.
And yeah, she had a gun.
Pointed right at him.
That didn’t help his racing heartbeat. Nor did the white-knuckle grip she had on the weapon. There were a lot of nerves showing in that grip.
“Put down the gun,” Colt insisted.
“Call the county sheriff,” she insisted right back.
Neither moved. Colt certainly didn’t turn to make that call, but somehow he had to convince Elise to surrender her weapon. And he didn’t want to have to wait the forty-five minutes or so that it would take the county sheriff to get out here.
“It’s not like when we were kids, huh?” Elise said. The corner of her mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “We used to play cops and robbers with toy guns. You were always the cop. I was the bad guy. Remember?”
In too perfect detail. Once, way too many years ago, Elise had been his best friend. The first girl that he’d kissed. Okay, she’d been his first love.
But he darn sure didn’t feel that way about her now.
Hadn’t felt that way in a long time, either. He wanted to ring her neck for trying to drag his dad into the middle of this murder trial mess.
Colt drew in a long, weary breath. “Look, can we just have a truce? Besides, you really do need to see a doctor. If you were run off the road, you could have bumped your head.”
She touched her fingertips to her temple, just beneath the edge of the stocking cap, and Colt was stunned to see the dark liquid.
Blood.
That did it. He cursed and walked toward her. Colt lowered his gun to his side, just so she’d feel less threatened, but it was clear she was injured and needed help. Even if she didn’t want that help from him.
Elise didn’t lower her gun, however, and she backed up with each step he took. Colt kept watch to make sure her finger didn’t move on the trigger. It didn’t. And when he got close enough to her, he dropped the flashlight and snatched the gun from her hand.
He expected her to try to get it back. Or curse him for taking it, but she turned and ran.
Hell.
Not this.
He really didn’t want to be chasing an injured woman through the woods at night, but Elise was the job now. She’d become that when she’d accused him of attempted murder and pointed the gun at him.
Colt shoved her gun in the back waist of his jeans, grabbed the flashlight and took off after her. For a woman with a bloody head and dazed mind, she ran pretty fast, and it took him several moments to catch up with her. He snagged her by the shoulder, spun her around and pinned her against a tree.
It didn’t put them in the best position. They were now body to body and breathing hard. But at least she wouldn’t be running anywhere.
Colt reholstered his gun so he could use the flashlight to get a look at her head. Yep, there was an angry-looking gash at least two inches