pursuing her. The crash must have knocked him off his four-wheeler, too. McKenna pushed herself as hard as she could, feeling her muscles burning but ignoring their protests.
Her shoulder took the force of the impact as he tackled her and she found herself falling to the ground.
“Will! Help!” She yelled the words as loud as she could but the wind snatched them away. She had no idea if she’d been loud enough for him to hear.
McKenna’s attacker clapped a heavy, gloved hand over her mouth with one hand, and with the other reached to his side.
The menacing black handgun he pulled out made her heart skip. As long as they were fighting hand to hand, she stood a chance. Not much of one, but a chance anyway. She was unarmed, though, with her own weapon back with the four-wheeler, and could do nothing against a gun.
Desperation propelling her motions, she flailed and knocked the gun from his hand. He watched it fly through the air and land ten feet away or so. She hoped he’d go after it and give her a chance to escape.
Instead, he pulled something from his pocket—a long, dangerous-looking knife with some kind of white carved handle and a silver blade that glittered menacingly in the sunlight.
As he raised his arm, McKenna kicked with all her might, but nothing she did allowed her to overpower him. “Will!” she yelled one last time, knowing if the knife came down and found its target, it wouldn’t matter how fast he got there, it would be too late.
The sun glinted and flickered off the knife and her attacker gave a hint of a smile at the despair that must be showing on her face.
A shiver ran through her as she took a deep breath, realizing this was probably the end.
As the man’s arm tensed and he began to bring the knife down, a blur behind him made McKenna’s eyes widen. Will knocked the man sideways in a tackle and the two of them grappled on the ground, the attacker still wielding the knife and Will, as far as she could tell, unarmed.
She stood and moved away from the fight, wanting to help but knowing from experience that getting in the middle of the fight was as likely to cause problems as do any good. With the knife, the attacker had the stronger position, and she wouldn’t risk distracting Will at the wrong moment. She considered running back to the four-wheeler for her gun, but knew it would be useless to try to aim while the men were tangled up fighting. Hitting Will was too big of a risk.
After another minute of struggling, Will managed to wrench the knife from the man’s hand. Seeing he’d lost his advantage, the attacker freed himself from Will’s grasp and ran to reholster his gun. Stunned, McKenna stared for a second, then pulled herself off the ground and chased him as fast as she could.
She’d almost caught him when he jumped back on his four-wheeler and gunned it. McKenna ran to hers, climbed on and pushed the starter button. Nothing happened. She tried again, mashing the throttle to rev the engine.
The smell of gasoline and the refusal of the machine to start told her she’d flooded the engine.
She’d have to wait to try again.
McKenna shut the machine off, climbed down and kicked one of the tires. So close. Yet he still got away.
EIGHT
W ill gripped the knife in his hands, taking deep breaths as he fought to regain control over the surging waves of what he guessed might be adrenaline. He sat up and stared at the shaking of his hands. The knife fell from his grasp, onto the grass.
He looked up at McKenna, half wondering if he’d dreamed the entire scene. The haunted look in her widened eyes told him he hadn’t. It had been all too real. As if the knife he’d been holding hadn’t been enough proof.
“Are you okay?” He finally forced the words out as he stood, scanning her for injuries. He saw none, but still needed the reassurance.
“I d-don’t know,” she stuttered. “I mean, yes. I think.”
She sounded so vulnerable, so shaken, he didn’t know what else he
Her shoulder took the force of the impact as he tackled her and she found herself falling to the ground.
“Will! Help!” She yelled the words as loud as she could but the wind snatched them away. She had no idea if she’d been loud enough for him to hear.
McKenna’s attacker clapped a heavy, gloved hand over her mouth with one hand, and with the other reached to his side.
The menacing black handgun he pulled out made her heart skip. As long as they were fighting hand to hand, she stood a chance. Not much of one, but a chance anyway. She was unarmed, though, with her own weapon back with the four-wheeler, and could do nothing against a gun.
Desperation propelling her motions, she flailed and knocked the gun from his hand. He watched it fly through the air and land ten feet away or so. She hoped he’d go after it and give her a chance to escape.
Instead, he pulled something from his pocket—a long, dangerous-looking knife with some kind of white carved handle and a silver blade that glittered menacingly in the sunlight.
As he raised his arm, McKenna kicked with all her might, but nothing she did allowed her to overpower him. “Will!” she yelled one last time, knowing if the knife came down and found its target, it wouldn’t matter how fast he got there, it would be too late.
The sun glinted and flickered off the knife and her attacker gave a hint of a smile at the despair that must be showing on her face.
A shiver ran through her as she took a deep breath, realizing this was probably the end.
As the man’s arm tensed and he began to bring the knife down, a blur behind him made McKenna’s eyes widen. Will knocked the man sideways in a tackle and the two of them grappled on the ground, the attacker still wielding the knife and Will, as far as she could tell, unarmed.
She stood and moved away from the fight, wanting to help but knowing from experience that getting in the middle of the fight was as likely to cause problems as do any good. With the knife, the attacker had the stronger position, and she wouldn’t risk distracting Will at the wrong moment. She considered running back to the four-wheeler for her gun, but knew it would be useless to try to aim while the men were tangled up fighting. Hitting Will was too big of a risk.
After another minute of struggling, Will managed to wrench the knife from the man’s hand. Seeing he’d lost his advantage, the attacker freed himself from Will’s grasp and ran to reholster his gun. Stunned, McKenna stared for a second, then pulled herself off the ground and chased him as fast as she could.
She’d almost caught him when he jumped back on his four-wheeler and gunned it. McKenna ran to hers, climbed on and pushed the starter button. Nothing happened. She tried again, mashing the throttle to rev the engine.
The smell of gasoline and the refusal of the machine to start told her she’d flooded the engine.
She’d have to wait to try again.
McKenna shut the machine off, climbed down and kicked one of the tires. So close. Yet he still got away.
EIGHT
W ill gripped the knife in his hands, taking deep breaths as he fought to regain control over the surging waves of what he guessed might be adrenaline. He sat up and stared at the shaking of his hands. The knife fell from his grasp, onto the grass.
He looked up at McKenna, half wondering if he’d dreamed the entire scene. The haunted look in her widened eyes told him he hadn’t. It had been all too real. As if the knife he’d been holding hadn’t been enough proof.
“Are you okay?” He finally forced the words out as he stood, scanning her for injuries. He saw none, but still needed the reassurance.
“I d-don’t know,” she stuttered. “I mean, yes. I think.”
She sounded so vulnerable, so shaken, he didn’t know what else he
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