Page 245 of It Happened on the Lake

Jaw set, he scurried forward, watching as Dawn was forced roughly toward a hulking black van parked in a corner of the empty lot.

Levi moved noiselessly faster, risking detection.

He had to get close to them, to somehow get the jump on the guy without the assailant pulling the trigger.

Dawn was still fighting, veering them off course, away from the van.

Cursing, her attacker forcefully wrangled her back toward the vehicle, his face caught in the lamplight.

Levi’s blood turned to ice.

Trick Vargas.

An older version of the blond dealer he’d seen driving past his house when he was a kid. The blackmailing son of a bitch who probably killed Janet Collins.

Levi had no idea why the lowlife had chosen Dawn for his next victim, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, Levi wouldn’t let him get away with it.

At the back of the van Dawn still fought, despite the gun. It seemed as if Trick’s grip on Dawn loosened a bit as he struggled to hold on to her while opening the door to the cargo area.

In a miraculous instant, she broke free.

Spinning, Trick took aim.

“No!” Levi yelled and raced forward. “Run, Dawn, run!”

Trick turned at the sound, his pistol trained toward the noise.

Without breaking stride, Levi hurled the rock, fast and hard.

Bam!

The gun fired.

Levi was knocked back a step, but the rock hit Trick square in his face, sending him stumbling backward against the van.

The gun went flying. Out of Trick’s hands. Landing with a thud and scraping across the broken asphalt. Closer to Levi but out of his reach.

Just as Levi’s knees buckled.

He went down.

Hard. Onto his knees on the uneven pavement.

Pain shot through his body and he collapsed, rolling onto his back, trying to keep his eyes focused, to stay conscious. To fight.

It was no use.

He blinked.

The world spun. “Run!” he yelled at Dawn again, his voice a croak. “Run!”

But Trick had recovered slightly. His glasses had flown off and blood covered his face, a gash splitting his forehead. He’d slid down the back of the van, his head bouncing on the bumper and was stunned. Yet he was attempting to stand, trying to get unsteadily to his feet.

He failed and fell forward. Then crawled toward Levi, his eyes hard with hatred. “You,” he ground out, and Levi tried to force his legs to scoot him backward, his free hand scrabbling over the gravel-strewn pavement for the pistol.

If he could just reach—

Trick sprang.

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