Fugitive hunt, p.1
Fugitive Hunt, page 1
Colt noticed a flash of something off in the trees. Sunlight bouncing off a rifle scope?
“Get down!” He leaped forward and jerked Morganne’s arm, yanking her off her feet at the exact same moment gunfire echoed around them.
“What in the world...?” Morganne gasped.
“Shooter is straight ahead. Get behind the SUV.” He practically dragged her with him to the shelter of the vehicle. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 to report the gunfire.
“If that’s Blaine, we need to go after him,” Morganne said in a low voice.
“Not when he has a rifle with a scope. Too easy for him to pick us off.”
“We can’t just sit here,” Morganne protested. “We have to do something.”
He understood and shared her need to find the shooter. But not while they were sitting ducks. If the shooter was Blaine, the guy had gone on the attack.
The hunter had just become the hunted.
Laura Scott has always loved romance and read faith-based books by Grace Livingston Hill in her teenage years. She’s thrilled to have been given the opportunity to retire from thirty-eight years of nursing to become a full-time author. Laura has published over thirty books for Love Inspired Suspense. She has two adult children and lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her husband of thirty-five years. Please visit Laura at laurascottbooks.com, as she loves to hear from her readers.
Books by Laura Scott
Love Inspired Suspense
Justice Seekers
Soldier’s Christmas Secrets
Guarded by the Soldier
Wyoming Mountain Escape
Hiding His Holiday Witness
Rocky Mountain Standoff
Fugitive Hunt
Alaska K-9 Unit
Tracking Stolen Secrets
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com for more titles.
Fugitive Hunt
Laura Scott
But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
—1 Corinthians 15:57
This book is dedicated to my critique group, Lori Handeland, Oliva Rae and Pamela Ford. You guys are the best!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Death Valley Hideout by Dana Mentink
ONE
When Jackson, Wyoming, police officer Morganne Kimball’s cell phone rang at four in the morning, she knew it was bad news. Nothing good happened at this hour. She blindly felt for the phone and managed a hoarse “Kimball.”
“Blaine Winston was sighted in Jackson six hours ago.”
The news from her boss, Lieutenant Jerome Graves, had her bolting upright in bed. “Six hours? And I’m just hearing now? When? Where? Who saw him?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of information,” the lieutenant said. “And for all we know, it’s another mistake. You know how people are. They want to help but often only cause more work for law enforcement, forcing us to follow up on bad information.”
She dragged a hand through her tangled red hair, knowing her boss was right. Five years ago, Blaine Winston had murdered three girls and had almost killed a fourth. Her. Unfortunately, he’d escaped from federal prison nine months ago during an ambulance crash that was likely staged with outside help, and he’d then disappeared without a trace. Everyone, including her, assumed that Blaine had fled the country, heading down into Mexico or up to Canada.
“Apparently a bartender at a local tavern thought he recognized Winston,” her boss continued. “The information went to the Feds first, who then informed us. But again, we don’t know how reliable this guy’s testimony is. The man he saw may not be your cousin.”
Your cousin. She didn’t need the reminder that she shared blood with the infamous killer from whom she’d escaped and whom she’d helped capture. Blaine Winston was her dad’s sister’s son, about six years her senior. Thanks to her ability to escape and bring him down, Blaine had been sentenced to life without parole in the prison in Laramie.
At least, that’s where he should be.
For nine months now, she’d worried about Blaine being free to return to his murdering ways. She often woke up in a cold sweat, reliving those moments when he’d grabbed her from behind, nearly choking her.
Before she could ask anything further about the so-called witness, the motion sensor floodlights abruptly flashed on, bathing the entire backyard of her house in light.
All her cop instincts went on high alert. “I have to go. My back floodlights just came on.”
Without waiting for her boss’s response, she disconnected the call, slipped from the bed and eased toward the window. Despite the recent sighting of Blaine, she didn’t really think he was out there. But she wasn’t making rash assumptions, either.
Blaine had sent her numerous letters from prison in the early days after his arrest, vowing to seek revenge for getting him arrested. Of course the deputies confiscated the letters, providing her the gist of their contents, which was that Blaine wanted to finish what he’d started.
He wanted to kill her.
With the lights still illuminating her yard, Morganne backed away from the window. She quickly pulled on jeans and a hoodie, stuffed her feet into running shoes, and grabbed her service weapon. Moving along the wall, she peered through the window again, searching for signs of someone being out there. Her lights often flashed on when animals passed by. She’d caught glimpses of deer, antelope, coyotes and even the occasional bear. Logically it made sense that an animal had triggered them now, rather than some sort of intruder. Still, her stomach knotted as she thought about Blaine’s promise to seek revenge.
He’d escaped nine months ago. Why come after her now? Why not just take his freedom and move on? It didn’t make any sense to her that he’d risk the possibility of being captured just to satisfy a grudge.
Unfortunately, Blaine considered himself smarter than everyone else around him. He might just be arrogant enough to come here and attempt to kill her, feeling certain he could slip away once again.
The outside lights shut down, the sensors no longer picking up movement. She didn’t relax but continued to look out the window to see if anyone was out there.
Crack!
She instinctively turned away from the window as it shattered beneath the force of a bullet. Hitting the floor, she crawled across the room to the bedroom door. She felt like a sitting duck inside the house. She needed to get out, where she would be better able to defend herself.
Desperately wishing for a pair of night-vision goggles, Morganne crawled to the kitchen. She eyed the car keys on the counter but decided against using them to drive away. The garage door would rise far too slowly, giving the intruder time to attack.
Instead, she headed down to the basement to flip the breaker and shut down the supply of electricity to the floodlights. She needed them to remain off if she was going to go out there to find the gunman. As she went, she called for backup, citing gunfire on her property. The dispatcher promised to send squads, but she wasn’t going to wait.
Morganne wasn’t some damsel in distress. Five years ago she’d vowed to never be a victim again. She’d become a cop and held her own, in spite of her male counterparts underestimating her.
The same way Blaine had underestimated her.
She scrambled back to the main level and eased outside her front door, keeping her back to the house and sweeping her gaze over the area.
The front of her property faced the road, and there were a few houses across the street, although they were spaced out rather than crowded together like some neighborhoods in Jackson. Along the back of her lot was a small wooded area.
No doubt that was where the gunman had hidden. Yet he must have gotten close enough to her backyard to trigger the lights.
As she moved down toward the corner of her house, she heard a voice.
“Kimball.”
She spun with her weapon up, ready to shoot, when she recognized a man with short blond hair, topped by a cowboy hat with a five-point star pinned to his chest. She recognized him as US Marshal Colt Nelson.
“I almost shot you,” she whispered harshly. “What are you doing here, Nelson?”
“Following up on the sighting of Winston.” His gaze was serious. “From the sound of gunfire, I think we may have found him.”
Fugitive apprehension was one of the roles of the US Marshals, but she didn’t appreciate his showing up at her house without warning. “Did you see him?”
“No. I was setting up to watch your place when the floodlights turned on. I don’t think he was expecting that, and frankly, neither was I. After the lights went on, I was about to make my way around back when I heard the shot and the sound of glass breaking.”
For a fraction of a second, she d oubted the timing of his story, but then she shook off her suspicions. She’d helped Colt and several other US Marshals on a case last June and had found the marshals to be honest and hardworking.
Besides, it was easy to believe Nelson was here to find Winston. Although she wished the Feds had clued in the locals earlier. “You should have let me know you were out here. I hit the breaker switch, so the lights won’t go on.”
“Smart move.” He sounded impressed by her actions. Which didn’t say much for his opinion of her skills as a cop, but she let that slide.
“We need to split up and see if we can flush him out.” She eyed Colt, judging his reaction to her suggestion.
He hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Okay, but let me call for backup.”
She shot him an exasperated glance. “I already did that. We can’t wait—he may already have taken off. You go left, I’ll go right and we’ll see if we can pin him down somewhere in the middle. If he’s still here, he’ll be hiding in the wooded section of my property. And we already know he’s armed and dangerous.” Even if the shooter wasn’t Blaine, the fact that the perp had shot at her bedroom window was an indication that he or she intended to cause serious harm, without caring who was caught in the crossfire.
Colt gave a curt nod, indicating he was on board with her plan. She turned and quickly made her way to the corner of the house. She paused to listen. To Colt’s credit, she didn’t hear him at all.
Easing forward, she continued to the next corner, pausing to sweep another gaze over her backyard.
Morganne had chosen this particular house because of the dense cluster of trees all along the back of the lot line, providing her privacy along with a sense of being close to nature.
There was thirty yards of grass, the ground now muddied from the May rains, before the wooded area began.
Thirty yards of open space where she could be easily picked off by an expert marksman.
Blaine wasn’t an expert at shooting, although most men in Wyoming were taught at an early age how to shoot a gun. Still, she knew full well Blaine preferred killing his victims by strangling them.
Which made her question if he was really the one out there hiding in the dark.
Regardless, she needed to move. She sucked in a deep breath and abruptly pushed away from the house. She sprinted across the open space, mentally braced for the impact of a bullet.
Upon reaching the shelter of the trees, she dropped into a crouch and attempted to calm her racing heart. Still hearing nothing, she eased slowly through the brush. The good news was that this was her place. She knew the wooded area very well. More so than a stranger.
A good three minutes passed as she made her way silently through the trees. When she caught a glimpse of movement up ahead, she quickly lifted her weapon. Only to lower it again when she recognized Colt.
Colt wore a grim expression as he shook his head. She frowned. The wooded area wasn’t that large, but he couldn’t have searched and cleared it that quickly.
Then she heard a car engine rumbling loud in the silence of the night.
The shooter? No! He was getting away!
She bolted from the woods, running flat out toward the road. Just in time to see a dark square-shaped vehicle without lights disappearing from view.
She groaned and bent at the waist, breathing heavily.
They’d lost him.
* * *
Colt came up to stand beside Morganne. “You okay?”
“No.” Her response was curt as she straightened. “He shouldn’t have gotten away.”
“But you’re not hurt?” he pressed. Losing his quarry didn’t make him feel good, either, but he was more concerned about her being injured. “I thought I saw blood on your cheek.”
She brushed at her face, smearing the blood. “Probably hit by glass when the window shattered. Do you really think that was Blaine? I mean, this isn’t his MO.”
He nodded. “You’re right about that. I wasn’t expecting to hear gunfire. I would have thought he’d try to enter your house in some way, to attack while you were sleeping. But the lights flashing on may have changed his plans. And it could be that your cousin wants you dead so badly he’ll use any means available to him.” He gestured to the road as a couple of squads pulled up. “Here’s the cavalry, better late than never.”
“It doesn’t make sense Blaine would come back here after being off the radar for nine months.”
He agreed with her assessment. “Does that mean you have someone else out there who wants you dead? An ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, maybe?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve never been married and don’t have a man in my life.”
Personally, Colt couldn’t understand why not. Morganne was very attractive, slim and tall for a woman, with beautiful, silky red hair and clear gray eyes.
He remembered her from a case he and two of his fellow marshals, Tanner Wilcox and Slade Brooks, had worked in June of last year. Slade’s witness had been shot at his own wedding, and as they’d kept the bride safe, they had uncovered a dirty cop on the Jackson police force. Thanks to her quick thinking and solid cop instincts, Morganne had saved the lives of both his friends Duncan and Chelsey.
Arriving here in time to hear the gunfire had disturbed him. When he’d come to stake out her house hoping for Blaine Winston to show up, he hadn’t expected bullets to fly.
“Wait a minute,” he said as he realized what he’d just considered. “What ever happened to that former lieutenant? The one who was secretly working for Travis Wolfe?”
“Goldberg went to jail.” Morganne didn’t even look at him as she moved forward to greet the officers who’d come onto the scene. She rose her voice so they could hear her. “I’m Officer Kimball. Someone fired a gun at my bedroom window. US Marshal Nelson and I tried to find the shooter, but he escaped.”
Colt hung back, letting her take the lead. It was, after all, her house. And he was only here because he was assigned to apprehend the escaped fugitive.
Three women had died at Winston’s hands, and Morganne herself had been his fourth victim. The one who’d gotten away. He’d heard Winston could be carrying a grudge against women who reminded him of his mother. Four victims, yet Colt felt certain there were others they didn’t know about. Especially considering the nine months Winston had been on the run.
“Marshal? We’d like to take your statement about what happened here.”
Colt glanced up at the officer standing in front of him. He noted the guy’s name tag identified him as Jamison. “No problem.”
He proceeded to succinctly explain why he’d come and what he’d heard. “I did not see the shooter, unfortunately. Officer Kimball and I went around to clear the backyard, especially the wooded area along the back of her property, but we didn’t find anything. That’s when we heard the vehicle start up. By the time we reached the road, the car was disappearing from view.”
“Make or model?” Jamison asked.
He remembered a boxy shape. “Maybe a Jeep, or a van. But I couldn’t say for certain. The driver didn’t use lights, so it was impossible to see specific details.”
“I understand you’re here following up on a tip about Blaine Winston being in the area. Do you think he’s responsible for this?”
“Maybe, but since neither one of us saw the shooter’s face, there’s no way to know for sure.” Colt glanced at his watch. He needed to check in with his boss about this latest incident, see if any other information had come in about Winston. “I have things to do.” He handed the cop his business card. “You can reach me at this number if you need anything.”
“Hold on a minute,” Jamison protested as he tried to step around him. “You really think it’s possible the shooter was Winston and that Officer Kimball was the intended target? If he’d escaped law enforcement for the past nine months, why come after her now?”
Colt suppressed a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just one theory, but that’s what I’m hoping to find out.”
Jamison frowned. “Yeah, okay.”
Colt continued walking. He’d purposefully left his own SUV several yards down the road so as not to tip anyone off to his presence.
