Page 65 of In the Dead of Night

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The bullet hit the ground two inches from the ledge where Sara crouched. A foot away, the cliff dropped away to the rocky beach below.

A groan escaped her as she struggled to her feet. Pain echoed through every inch of her body. She’d landed on a ledge about two feet wide that was covered with rock and moss and the twisted roots of long-dead junipers.

Every nerve in her body jumped when another shot rang out. Sara looked up. Terror spread through her like wildfire when she saw Brett Stocker leaning over the rocky ledge above, aiming the pistol at her.

“You can’t get away!” he screamed.

Another shot thwacked against the ground next to her foot. Sara looked around wildly. But the ledge offered no cover, no place to hide. All she could do was get as close to the base of the cliff as possible and hope he wasn’t a very good shot.

She staggered to the rock wall, pressed her back against it and tried to make herself as small as possible. Overhead, she could see the gun’s muzzle as he tried to get it into position to kill her. In the back of her mind, Sara wondered how many bullets he had left. If he had a spare magazine.

“Help me!” she screamed. “Help!”

But she knew there was no one around for miles.

A cry escaped her when another bullet slammed into the ground inches from her foot. Sara danced sideways, pressed her body harder into the rock behind her, wishing desperately she could melt into it. It was a hopeless situation. She was a sitting duck. Stocker had a bad angle to contend with. But it was only a matter of time before one of his bullets found its mark.

Nick, where are you? she thought.

The only answer she got was the crash of the surf below and the retort of another gunshot.

* * *

NICK’S VISION tunneled on Stocker. The roar of rain and the surf faded to silence. He didn’t let himself think about what he was going to do. He didn’t consider consequences. His own safety never entered his mind. Nothing mattered except for saving the woman he loved.

The world went silent and still. Nick raised the gun, aimed for a body shot. Held it steady. “Toss the gun or I’ll split you in half.”

Stocker turned. His eyes went wide. Blood covered the right side of his face.

“Drop it,” Nick ordered.

Stocker lifted the gun by its butt and let it fall to the ground.

“Put your hands up and turn around.”

To his surprise, Stocker obeyed. Holding his sidearm steady, Nick approached. “Where is she?”

Stocker’s expression twisted into that of a crazed maniac. He glanced over the cliff, a chilling smile overtaking his face.

“Sara!” Keeping an eye on Stocker, Nick approached the cliff. “Sara!”

Stocker hit him with the violence of a linebacker sacking a quarterback. An animalistic cry tore from Stocker’s mouth as both men went down.

As he rolled, Nick caught a glimpse of a narrow ledge below. A flash of the rocky shore a hundred feet down. The gray, churning ocean beyond. He brought up his weapon, fired off a wild shot, missed.

Breathless with adrenaline, Nick scrambled to his feet.

Stocker rolled. An inhuman scream tore from his throat as the gun came up. Nick’s finger jerked on the trigger. Once. Twice. He didn’t count the number of shots. Seconds later, Stocker lay dead on the ground.

Turning away, Nick looked around. “Sara! Sara! Answer me, damn it!”

A thousand emotions descended when he heard her voice call out his name. He found her ten feet below, crouched against the wall of the cliff. She’d taken a serious fall, but she was standing.

His legs shook as he climbed down to her. He reached for her and she went into his arms. “Sara. My God. Are you all right?”

“Now I am,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.