Covert Christmas by Marilyn Pappano Page A

neighbors drove a car like that. If this was a visitor to the mountain, he’d picked the wrong day and would probably end up headfirst into a tree before he reached his destination.
    With both hands back on the wheel, Cam entered the next curve in the road. He’d already engaged the four-wheel drive, but these damned icy patches were still treacherous.
    As his headlights rounded the turn, Cam saw something terrible and his breath caught. Another car had tried to make the curve too fast and was crashed headfirst into a tree.
    There was nothing to do now but stop. Cam couldn’t leave anyone stranded in a snow drift in this kind of weather. Even if it turned out to be a drunk. Because drunks had families too.
    He found a straighter patch of road so his SUV could be spotted before anyone rammed into it blind. Stopping as far off the road as possible, Cam put it in park but left the engine running and the heat blasting.
    â€œStay here, Chloe. I’m going back to check on the people in that wrecked car. I hope no one was badly injured. It’ll be tough getting an ambulance up here in the storm.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll see my angel, Daddy. Help her too. She needs us.”
    Cam swore under his breath. This angel business was all he needed today. “Just stay put, young lady.”
    As he wrenched open his door and stepped out into the wind, Cam’s right knee almost gave out on him, reminding him of why he was no longer a sheriff. Mostly healed after years of rehab, his shattered kneecap had nevertheless gone a long way toward ending his career in law enforcement. The recurring stiffness when the weather turned cold and wet was also a painful reminder of why he hated Christmas Eve.
    Cam ignored the ache and carefully limped his way off the road and plowed through snow and brush into the trees. The closer he came to the car, the more his instincts were screaming at him that something was very wrong. Things were too still. Too quiet.
    He hoped to hell no one had died in the wreck. What would he tell Chloe?
    Calling out, he was forced to give up when the wind killed any sound. By the time he was five feet behind the car, he could see something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. On the car’s trunk, both fenders and the shattered back window—bullet holes.
    Hesitating, he checked his surroundings and looked back to the road. Chloe and the SUV seemed safe and sound where he’d left them. Nothing was stirring in the woods. This was the first time since he’d become disabled and gave up his job that Cam wished he still carried a weapon. He wondered what kind of tragedy he would find when he checked the driver’s seat.
    But things were quiet. Had this happened last night?
    Dreading what he must do, Cam plowed around the car to the driver’s side. He couldn’t see a thing through the new snow clogging up the view to inside.
    He tried the door and found it ajar, telling him that the driver had either gotten out of the car or someone had already found the wreck and opened the door from the outside. Either way, he wasn’t surprised when he pulled on the door handle—and found the seat empty.
    He also wasn’t terribly surprised to find a small amount ofblood. On the steering wheel and inside on the door handle. Was it from the accident? Or from the bullets?
    The blood looked fresh. He tore off his glove, reached around and laid his hand flat on the hood. Still warm. Considering the growing windchill, this car hadn’t been sitting here for too long.
    But where was the driver now?
    Turning in a wide circle, Cam thought back to the speeding car he’d met on the road. He was absolutely positive there had only been one person in that car—the driver. And if an injured person was lying down in the backseat, and the driver had been speeding and hoping to make it to a hospital, they were crazy for going up the mountain road instead of back down to