Read Online Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) by Laura Griffin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Griffin
Tags: United States, Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, American, Contemporary Fiction, romantic suspense, Mystery & Suspense
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she could hardly stand. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
A rustle in the trees.
Tara went still. She listened. Switching off the flashlight, she turned toward the sound and strained to hear.
Icy fear gripped her as she realized she wasn’t alone. Her senses sharpened. She heard something slinking through the trees.
Slowly, silently, she unholstered her Glock. The familiar weight of the pistol in her hand steadied her as she scanned the woods, straining to penetrate the gloom.
More rustling. A scrape of footsteps. Then a flurry of movement, and something crashed through the thicket. Tara moved toward it, a dog after a scent. She beamed her light at the noise and caught a flash of black plunging into the brush.
“Stop! Police!” she shouted, darting into the trees.
A searing pain clamped around her ankle. She dropped to her knees. Teeth bit into her flesh, and panic shot through her as she fell back against the dirt, kicking, trying to loosen the jaws. The flashlight was gone. She aimed her gun at whatever had hold of her and groped in the darkness with her free hand—
Metal. A cage. What had she stepped in?
An engine roared. She was blinded by headlights as a grille zoomed toward her. Her heart skittered, and she lifted her gun as the truck skidded to a halt and the door popped open.
“Freeze!” she yelled.
“Whoa there.”
The voice was deep and male, and she knew it instantly.
CHAPTER SIX
H er heart hammered. She recognized the voice but couldn’t make out a face.
“Hands where I can see!” she yelled.
The shadow shifted. The door slammed, and he moved toward her, a giant silhouette in the headlight beams.
“You’re hurt.”
Liam dropped to a knee beside her, apparently unbothered by the gun pointed at him. He took the flashlight and aimed it at her foot, which was encased in a mesh cage all the way up past her boot.
“You stepped in a trap.” He looked at her.
She set her weapon on the ground and leaned forward, still trying to digest what had happened. Her pulse was racing, and her skin felt clammy.
“Looks like a crab trap,” she said, and immediately realized how absurd that sounded.
“Possum.” He handed her the flashlight and went to work unsnagging her jeans from the wire.
His face was cast in shadows, and stubble covered his jaw. She studied his features, still shocked to see him here.
“Nasty cut,” he said.
She reholstered her Glock. She examined the cut, registering pain again as the adrenaline subsided.
Liam pulled a knife from the pocket of his jeans. He snapped it open and cut through the wire to free her boot. Then he got to his feet and lifted her by the arm, and the warmth of his hand seeped through her jacket.
“Can you walk on it?”
“I’m fine.” She stepped forward and winced. “Really, I’m good.” She pulled away from him and limped toward the truck. Her ankle was on fire.
“I’ve got a blowout kit,” he said, going to the driver’s side. He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped over to the toolbox.
Tara leaned against the bumper. She felt self-conscious now. The wind whipped against her sweat-soaked skin, and she started to shiver.
It had been a person, not an animal, crashing through the forest.
“What’re you doing out here?” He slammed the toolbox shut and came back with a red zipper pouch and a bottle of water. “Besides trespassing?” He tossed the pouch onto the hood, then unscrewed the lid off the water and crouched at her feet.
She pointed the flashlight at him. “I should ask you the same thing.” He tugged up the cuff of her jeans and doused the wound, and she bit her lip as water trickled into her boot.
“I’m not trespassing. I own it.”
She looked at him. Or, rather, at the top of his head. There was something very personal about his touching her clothes, but she didn’t pull away. To have something to do, she rested the flashlight on the hood and thumbed through the zipper pouch.
“
A rustle in the trees.
Tara went still. She listened. Switching off the flashlight, she turned toward the sound and strained to hear.
Icy fear gripped her as she realized she wasn’t alone. Her senses sharpened. She heard something slinking through the trees.
Slowly, silently, she unholstered her Glock. The familiar weight of the pistol in her hand steadied her as she scanned the woods, straining to penetrate the gloom.
More rustling. A scrape of footsteps. Then a flurry of movement, and something crashed through the thicket. Tara moved toward it, a dog after a scent. She beamed her light at the noise and caught a flash of black plunging into the brush.
“Stop! Police!” she shouted, darting into the trees.
A searing pain clamped around her ankle. She dropped to her knees. Teeth bit into her flesh, and panic shot through her as she fell back against the dirt, kicking, trying to loosen the jaws. The flashlight was gone. She aimed her gun at whatever had hold of her and groped in the darkness with her free hand—
Metal. A cage. What had she stepped in?
An engine roared. She was blinded by headlights as a grille zoomed toward her. Her heart skittered, and she lifted her gun as the truck skidded to a halt and the door popped open.
“Freeze!” she yelled.
“Whoa there.”
The voice was deep and male, and she knew it instantly.
CHAPTER SIX
H er heart hammered. She recognized the voice but couldn’t make out a face.
“Hands where I can see!” she yelled.
The shadow shifted. The door slammed, and he moved toward her, a giant silhouette in the headlight beams.
“You’re hurt.”
Liam dropped to a knee beside her, apparently unbothered by the gun pointed at him. He took the flashlight and aimed it at her foot, which was encased in a mesh cage all the way up past her boot.
“You stepped in a trap.” He looked at her.
She set her weapon on the ground and leaned forward, still trying to digest what had happened. Her pulse was racing, and her skin felt clammy.
“Looks like a crab trap,” she said, and immediately realized how absurd that sounded.
“Possum.” He handed her the flashlight and went to work unsnagging her jeans from the wire.
His face was cast in shadows, and stubble covered his jaw. She studied his features, still shocked to see him here.
“Nasty cut,” he said.
She reholstered her Glock. She examined the cut, registering pain again as the adrenaline subsided.
Liam pulled a knife from the pocket of his jeans. He snapped it open and cut through the wire to free her boot. Then he got to his feet and lifted her by the arm, and the warmth of his hand seeped through her jacket.
“Can you walk on it?”
“I’m fine.” She stepped forward and winced. “Really, I’m good.” She pulled away from him and limped toward the truck. Her ankle was on fire.
“I’ve got a blowout kit,” he said, going to the driver’s side. He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped over to the toolbox.
Tara leaned against the bumper. She felt self-conscious now. The wind whipped against her sweat-soaked skin, and she started to shiver.
It had been a person, not an animal, crashing through the forest.
“What’re you doing out here?” He slammed the toolbox shut and came back with a red zipper pouch and a bottle of water. “Besides trespassing?” He tossed the pouch onto the hood, then unscrewed the lid off the water and crouched at her feet.
She pointed the flashlight at him. “I should ask you the same thing.” He tugged up the cuff of her jeans and doused the wound, and she bit her lip as water trickled into her boot.
“I’m not trespassing. I own it.”
She looked at him. Or, rather, at the top of his head. There was something very personal about his touching her clothes, but she didn’t pull away. To have something to do, she rested the flashlight on the hood and thumbed through the zipper pouch.
“
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