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muscles twitched at his touch, as if she was ready to bolt at any second. Probably was—it was hard to control the physiological instinct for fight or flight, even if you were a highly trained intelligence officer.
The body of the shooter lay on the grass in front of her yard, blood still oozing from a chest shot. “Good aim,” he murmured, circling the body to get a look at the man’s face.
What he saw there came as a complete surprise.
“It’s not the guy from the Land Cruiser,” he said aloud, his voice tight and strained.
“But you recognize him?” she asked.
He nodded. “His name is Delman Riggs.” He looked up at her, his heart in his throat. “He used to work for MacLear.”

Chapter Three
     
“We have to move his body.” Amanda kept her voice low and calm, even though an endless shriek of terror played in a constant loop in her mind, echoing the memories that would never leave her as long as she lived.
But she had to focus on what needed to be done now. She could fall apart later, when she was finally alone again.
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Move his body where?”
“I don’t care,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. We have about five minutes before the police get here. My neighbors will call in the gunfire. We’ve got to move now.”
“Why don’t we stick around and talk to the cops.” Rick spoke to her in a careful voice, as if he realized how close she was to snapping. “We’ll tell them what happened. I have the wound to prove we were under fire.”
She stared at him. “The Thurlow Gap cops aren’t cut out for a mess like this. Do you honestly think this will be the only attempt on my life?” She checked the Smith & Wesson’s clip to make sure she’d fired only four shots in the chaos. God knew how many more rounds she might need before this nightmare was over. “We’re wasting time talking about this.”
Rick stared at her. She saw the moment he realized she was right, that they couldn’t stay here and wait for the cops. But it was clear from his expression that he didn’t want to bug out. He wanted to handle this mess the normal way—call the cops, make a report, then forget about it and go on with life.
Good for him. She was glad he’d found his own little dose of normal in the world.
But she never would.
Sliding the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, she headed up the porch steps. “If you want to talk to the locals, fine. Stay here and chat it out with them. I have to go.” She went into the house, picked up the duffel bag Rick had left just inside and carried it out to the porch.
“How are you getting out of here? You think they won’t put out an APB for your car?” Rick asked from the bottom of the steps as she descended.
“I’ll walk.” She slung the heavy duffel bag over her shoulder, looping her arm through the canvas strap.
“And get picked up before you reach the next county.” Rick shook his head, falling in step with her as she headed toward the woods. “I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”
She stopped at the edge of the clearing, taking a good look at him. The past three years had been kinder to him than her. He’d always been good-looking, but the intervening years had added lines of maturity to his face that suited him. His dark eyes looked older, too. Wiser, maybe. A lot more jaded.
She could sympathize with that.
“I don’t know where I want to go,” she admitted. “I just want to get out of here before the people around here end up getting hurt. They don’t deserve this kind of mess. And I’m not ready to offer myself up as a sacrificial lamb.”
“There’s going to be a mess, no matter what we do,” Rick warned. “If you disappear, no warning, no goodbyes, and the cops come here and find bullet holes riddling your carport—”
“All right! You’re right. There’s going to be a mess.” A manic energy bubbled in her chest, driving her relentlessly toward desperation. “So let’s make it a big mess.”
Reversing course,