Page 24 of Fatal Mistake
Yes! Perfect, just as she planned. As was the thick cardboard she’d attached to an outside post to hide her escape ladder in the event of an attack. Oren couldn’t possibly see her movements until she ran for brush surrounding the clearing. Even then, depending on his location, he wouldn’t catch sight of her.
She scrambled down the ladder and hit the ground hard, creating a mini dust storm. She paused for a moment to get her bearings. She counted to five and ran. Straight ahead. Hard. Fast. Over the packed dirt. Across clumps of crabgrass and past a thicket of wild raspberry bushes.
Her bare arm caught on a bramble, ripping her skin, but she didn’t stop. Getting to her truck was the only thing on her mind. She’d run this route every day to keep the crabgrass flattened down and the path free, so she made good time. She plunged down the final incline to her truck and spotted an SUV parked next to it.
She came up short and stood panting, evaluating.
Agent Riggins’s or Oren’s car? It could belong to either one.
She dropped into a squat behind high grasses and slithered to the side of the SUV. She popped up, took a quick look. Agent Riggins’s pricey suit hung in the back. Sighing, she dropped down to catch her breath and listen.
Birds had resumed their chatter, and a soft breeze stirred the grasses, swaying them in a gentle rhythm. No footsteps pounding her way or twigs snapping or leaves crunching—no sounds that Oren would make if he was coming after her. Cal was another story. He’d be silent and quick. Something she wouldn’t mind right now.
Digging her keys from her pocket, she bolted for her truck. Trembling hands fumbled to fit the key in the lock, but she soon jerked open the rusty hinged door and slid onto cracked vinyl seats. She inserted the key and cranked.
No response. Nothing. Zilch.
She tried again. Just a click.
Agent Riggins. He must have disabled it. She pounded her hand on the wheel. She knew nothing about engines and couldn’t possibly fix it, but owning an ancient truck, she’d prepared for this possibility. Only one thing to do.
“Hoof it.” She reached for her secondary escape bag but came up empty-handed. Agent Riggins again, she supposed. Too bad for him. He didn’t realize the lengths she’d go to. She had another identity in her backpack. She’d felt dirty when she’d met with the forger in Atlanta, but she’d obtained several IDs and now she'd used them all.
She slipped out of the truck, squatted behind the door for safety, and peeked around the edge. Leaves swished in the breeze, the sun shone warm on her face, but somewhere in the idyllic setting a killer waited with a bullet for her. Still, there had been no additional gunfire, and she’d moved well out of rifle range from where the shots had originated at the gate.
She couldn’t underestimate Oren, though. They’d learned to hunt together. She was a better shot, but he was more willing to kill anything in sight, so he wouldn’t easily give up. Perhaps he crept through the scrub, heading her way, or maybe Agent Riggins had stopped him.
She couldn’t hang around to find out. She searched the area one more time, focusing in on the surrounding forest, but saw no suspicious activity.
In one sure move, she got up and bolted for the other side of the road, where she dove into the ditch. She landed with an oomph. Her knees and hands razored across rocks and gravel. She gasped for air, filling her lungs with dust and grit. She lay still, waiting for gunfire, for a bullet in the back.
Nothing happened. She counted to thirty. Poked her head up to look around.
A gunshot cracked through the air, the sound coming from across the road. She ducked her head, but the bullet didn’t land anywhere near her.
Odd.
Her truck suddenly erupted in a deafening explosion.
She clamped her hands over her ears and curled up as a ball of orange-and-yellow fire whooshed across the road and debris pummeled her body.
* * *
Cal spun, the ground reverberating under his location just shy of the tower. A fireball rose into the sky. It had to be Tara’s truck. Had she somehow gotten out of the tower? Was she sitting inside, cranking the engine he’d sabotaged, and the twist of the ignition had set off a bomb? Or worse, had Keeler climbed the tower and dragged her to the truck where he’d put a necklace bomb around her neck?
God, no, please, Cal pled silently, though his experience said God wasn’t listening.
His heart constricting, he spun, and not caring for his own life, he plunged into the bushes. He found a well-worn path that Tara must have groomed for an escape that he’d foiled any chance of happening.
He ran hard, his gut cramping for the danger he’d put her in. Knowing she’d parked the truck just over the rise, he kicked harder and barreled down the incline. The heat hit his face before he caught sight of the fire.
Red-hot flames engulfed Tara’s truck and his SUV. He tried to ease closer. Held his hands up against the heat, but the searing temperature forced him to back away.
“Tara.” The anguished cry escaped his lips.
Was she in that fiery inferno? Had another person died on his watch? How could he have let that happen—how could God have allowed it to happen?
He shifted to his right, skirted the blaze, and searched for a better angle to attempt a rescue.
