Stone Cold Justice – Excerpt

Stone Cold Justice by Deb Sanders
Romantic Suspense

Instinct warned Maggie McGregor to duck. Fear made her do it. Fear and the bullet screaming past her ear.

A sharp crack split the mountain air for a second time, shattering the tree behind her and peppering the ground with shards of pine bark. The message was clear.

You shouldn’t have come back.

Panic ricocheted through her stomach, resurrecting an old, familiar dread. Dropping to her knees, Maggie flattened against the ground. The drum of her heartbeat kept pace with a barrage of internal rebukes. It was stupid to hike the New Mexico trail by herself. It was stupid to come back to San Carlos. And it was really stupid to think she could hide under a half grown pine tree. But with limited choices and bullets flying, it was the best she could do.

A twig snapped, followed by heavy footsteps. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling a low scream. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed further into the dirt. The knapsack strapped to her back felt heavy, as if loaded with bricks. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The shooter was out there. Moving toward her. The swish of underbrush signaled his approach. Raising her head a few inches, Maggie frantically searched for a more secure location but there wasn’t enough time. He was closing in . . . fast.

What was I thinking?

A morning hike had seemed harmless enough a few hours ago but now someone was following her, taking pot shots. It was history repeating itself. And it scared the hell out of her.

Dark memories splintered her thoughts. She’d hidden in the woods ten years ago, just as she was now, shivering for hours until dawn’s grey light sliced through the thick pine canopies. Rushing back to her house, Maggie crawled through her bedroom window a half hour before breakfast. Her parents never knew she was gone. Never knew what she’d witnessed.

A convulsive tremor ran the length of her body as she eased the backpack from her shoulders and curled into a tight ball, pushing herself further under the Pinon branches. Dirt and pine needles ground into the knees of her pink Capri pants. Her face hovered mere inches above the ground as the shooter neared. He was almost on top of her. Maggie tried to hold her breath but it came out in panicked spurts, sending little puffs of dust into the air. And then the unthinkable happened.

She sneezed.

The earth rumbled as thundering footsteps rushed toward her. Seconds later, a hand snared her upper arm, dragging her forcibly into the open and onto her feet. Unruly red curls fell across her face, blocking her vision. Maggie knew immediately her attacker was big. And male, judging by the sinewy arms and large hands steadying her shoulders. His grip seemed unbreakable as she twisted and jerked, sending futile kicks at the dusty pair of cowboy boots planted firmly on the ground in front of her.

“Calm down!”

Fright gnawed at her confidence. Calm was definitely not an option.

She struggled to recall lessons from a self defense class taken months earlier. As she stilled, the man’s grip loosened a fraction, allowing Maggie the break she needed. Targeting his wide spread stance, her knee shot up, slamming into the tender flesh between his thighs with a resounding thud.

As his hands fell from her shoulders, she scrambled backwards, oblivious to the prickly branches tearing at her legs. Pushing her hair back, she watched the man’s stunned expression slowly morph into an agonized mask. Cupped palms covered his groin as he collapsed to his knees with an audible gasp.

A sense of empowerment swept over her. The lessons worked. She’d successfully defended herself. Smug satisfaction slid into fear. She was still in danger. Focus. Find the gun. Maggie scanned the ground for the assailant’s weapon.

The distant roar of an automobile engine failed to register as she spied a glint in a clump of grass. Rushing to the object, she gave it a swift kick, sending it flying out of the man’s reach. It was only afterwards she realized the object was not a gun at all but a small glossy book. The words flashed like bright neon from the cover –  “Birds of New Mexico”. She turned and looked back at her attacker. Binoculars dangled from his neck by a leather cord.

Oh, crap.

“You’re not the shooter, are you?” A mixture of relief and anger spiked her words.

The man’s jaw tightened as dark eyes raked over her with barely controlled fury. He slowly rose to his feet, towering a full head above her. Broad shoulders blocked the afternoon  sun and sent a chill over Maggie’s body. She unconsciously took a step back.

“I thought you were shooting at me,” she croaked defensively, uncertain if the man intended retaliation.

“Well, I wasn’t. When I’m shooting at something, I don’t miss.” He took a deep breath before retrieving a straw cowboy hat from the ground. “I was just making sure you were okay.”

A wave of guilt rolled over her. Chivalry was the last thing she expected in San Carlos. But if the cowboy wasn’t shooting at her, who was?

“Probably a poacher,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “A few of the locals have been hunting out of season since the economy tanked.” He located his book, dusted it off and stuffed it in his hip pocket.

As the words sank in, Maggie’s fisted hands began to uncurl. A poacher. The gunshot had come from a poacher, not a ghost from her past. Adrenaline seeped from her body, causing her to sway unsteadily.

“Careful, darlin’. You okay?” The stranger’s arms slipped effortlessly around her waist, pulling her into a wall of solid muscle.

Maggie nodded against his shoulder. “Do you think the poacher’s gone?” Her voice came out in a tremble, making her cringe. She sounded like one of those helpless females she found so annoying.

“Yes, ma’am. I heard him drive off.”

He didn’t relax his hold. In fact, she was certain there’d been a slight tightening in the well formed limbs when she leaned against his chest. A plume of heat rose between them, filling Maggie with a strange excitement.

“I should be asking if you’re okay,” she murmured apologetically.

After all, her knee had sent a brutal blow to his most private regions. She could have caused serious bruising. Or worse. Could a man’s . . . um, “thing” break?

The stranger’s body began to shake. Oh dear, he was sobbing. She’d done more damage than she’d thought. Maggie tilted her head back and glanced upward, concern shadowing her expression. It was then she realized the cowboy was laughing.

“Let’s just say I won’t be volunteering as a sperm donor for a few days.”

Heat marched up Maggie’s throat, leaving her voice raspy. “I can’t apologize enough for my actions. I heard the gunshot and panicked. I guess I’ve watched too many CSI programs.” It was a lie but sounded better than the truth, something which had never worked well in San Carlos.

She extended the distance between them, backing into a pool of sunlight. Her tongue darted out, wetting dry lips. Lips that seemed to be under intense scrutiny by her rescuer.

Heat flamed across her cheeks as their gazes locked. One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile while he boldly appraised her disheveled figure. Maggie’s hands fluttered self consciously about her hair before she forced them back to her side.

Why should she care what he thought of her? She didn’t even like cowboys. Although this one did fill out his jeans quite nicely. And the yoked plaid shirt stretched tightly across his upper body, adding a natural ruggedness she found oddly appealing.

He took off his hat and dusted a speck of dirt from the brim. Hair, black as night, dipped in a peak at the center of his forehead and fell in short waves on either side of an angular face. Her gaze travelled southward, pausing at the bulge below an oval belt buckle. Wow. And wow. He was built for show and made to go the distance.