Page 8 of August

The guy could be hit badly enough that he wouldn’t be able to come after them, but was he wounded enough to die? Maybe not. There was no way of knowing.

August turned and reentered the building.

This guy had come here to finish a job, and August was sure that if the man was alive, he intended to follow through. Retracing his steps, August kept his weapon trained ahead of him. Just because the man’s car was gone didn’t mean he’d left. He could’ve moved his vehicle and gone around back to trick them.

August breezed past the office door where Gigi hid, not so much as glancing in its direction in case the assailant was watching him. He kept going and entered the kitchen.

Oil sizzled and the stench of overcooked fried food permeated the air. Every atom in his body was hyperfocused. His finger moved on the trigger, ready to take out the sonofabitch if he was hiding.

He strode through the kitchen, bathroom, and small storage room. Empty. Goddammit, he’d gotten away.

August turned and crossed the hall to the office. “It’s me,” he said, banging on the door. “Let’s go.”

He heard a chair scrape and then Gigi swung open the door, her backpack over one shoulder. “What happened?” Her face was stark white, her hazel eyes scared and haunted.

“He’s gone.” Not wasting a moment, he caught her elbow and pulled her down the hall. As Sherry’s body came into view, he quickly circled his arm around Gigi’s shoulders and clamped his hand over her eyes. “Don’t look.”

But her sharp little intake of breath told him she’d caught sight of the body. He steered her around Sherry then led her through the door and outside. The morning air chilled his cheeks. Sirens wailed in the distance—he needed to get away from here quickly—but otherwise the street was dead quiet. It was still early, and the truck stop was outside of Cheyenne. Plus, word of the gunfire had probably already spread. He guided Gigi across the road to his SUV, which was waiting on the side street next to the building.

The assailant’s vehicle hadn’t been in the parking lot when August had arrived. The fact that the guy had shown up seconds after him made August’s insides wrench. If he’d been minutes behind—

“What do you mean he’s gone?” she finally asked. Their footsteps scraped over the pavement.

“I shot him. He’s injured but not dead. His car’s gone, so he drove somewhere. Hopefully off a cliff.”

Anxiety puckered Gigi’s brow. “Where are we going?” she asked, as he yanked open the passenger door and she slipped inside.

August shut the door and rounded the hood then sank into the driver’s seat. He could breathe a little easier now. Backcountry Protection Services’ vehicles were equipped with bulletproof glass and bodies. While he still had to be vigilant, he didn’t have to worry about a bullet entering Gigi’s head.

“Are you going to answer me?” A hint of impatience laced the question.

“We’re getting the hell out of here before the cops show up. Okay with you?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. He turned on the vehicle and steered onto the interstate, not waiting for a response.

“What took them so long? Surely someone called not long after Sherry was shot.”

“Nearest police department is fifteen minutes away. I don’t suppose there’s much action in the area usually.”

“How do you think he found me?”

He cut his gaze her way then to the rearview mirror. Police lights were visible in the distance behind them. August kept his speed slow and steady, not wanting to alert them. Right now, no one could be trusted. Police included. The last thing Gigi needed was her name showing up in the system.

“You don’t like answering people, do you?” Gigi’s tense words popped into his thoughts.

He stifled a groan. “I’m running on two hours’ sleep, okay? I’ve been driving for days. Not to mention my mind is focused on keeping you—and me—alive. So if you don’t mind, can we save the questions?”

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest then looked out the window. “Fine.” She jabbed the radio button and scanned until a station came through the crackle of static. A country tune played through the speakers. The only thing worse than the twangy voice singing about lost love and dusty roads was Gigi’s tone, so he’d let the shit play as long as the woman next to him kept her anxiety-inducing questions to herself.

The song ended. “This just in,” said the radio host. “A man outside Castle, Wyoming, was found dead in his home this morning. Authorities believe the owner tried to stop a home invasion, resulting in a homicide. Police are asking the public for any information...” The voice droned on and August tightened his hand on the wheel.

“Oh my god.” Gigi’s aghast whisper fell around him.

He glanced at her pale face. Tears misted her eyes and her fingertips were pressed to her lips.

Until now, she must have been hoping Joe had survived. Now that hope was dead in the water. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words sounding strangled.

She shook her head and turned away from him to look out her window.

August’s grip on the wheel grew even tighter. The leather crackled beneath his hold. He should be holding her. Doing something—anything—to take away her pain. But goddammit he couldn’t. Fear made him a weaker man. “It’s not your fault.” His words came out harsh, cold. Because Christ, he couldn’t give in to the paralyzing emotion that made him want to cry for her.

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