Alaskan Mountain Pursuit by Elizabeth Goddard (good e books to read .txt) 📗

she wanted him in it. Tell him she loved him. Hoped that maybe she’d hear the words back.

Where was he? Understanding hit her hard. There was a good chance he was dead. Though she hadn’t heard gunshots, there were many ways to kill someone, and if Clay was alive he wouldn’t let her face this man alone.

God, help him please. Don’t let him die. Or me.

She turned her attention back to the killer. Frowned a little as a thought crossed her mind.

He was wounded somewhere, wasn’t he? Summer knew Clay had hit him with one of his shots only a few days before, which meant Summer had that on her side. If she could figure out where it was.

“You’re going to die today, Summer Dawson.” He moved toward her slowly, catlike in the way he prowled along the edge of the room toward her rather than walk straight in her direction. She shivered, not liking the feeling that she was being toyed with.

Of all the ways he’d tried to kill her, this one, this up close and personal slow death, was her least favorite.

And Summer wasn’t going out like this.

She took a deep breath. Watched him. His right shoulder. Was it her, or was he holding that oddly, like he was more conscious of it? Could that be where he was wounded?

She waited as he walked toward her, prayed he’d continue circling her rather than stop in front of her. She glanced down at her foot quickly, then back up at him, calculating exactly where she’d need to kick to hit him the hardest.

He shifted his weight to the left, exposing his shoulder perfectly.

Summer kicked fast and hard. He yelled.

Seconds passed in a blur, flashes of activity catching Summer’s attention. The man’s screams, him clutching his arm. Footsteps, coming from somewhere.

Then Ryan was on her, grabbing her arms, rage evident as he channeled all his strength into fighting her. Summer tried to fight back but he was enormous compared to her. For an instant she felt like she understood what had gone through the heads of the women who had ended up dead at Ryan’s hands. Fighting was useless. Futile.

But no, it was the only choice she had. She struggled, punched him in the nose, kneed him like she’d seen Sandra Bullock do in a movie once.

He shoved her hard against a wall, and then advanced toward her. Summer stood tall, readying herself for whatever blow was coming next but knowing she couldn’t take many more. She could already taste blood on her lip.

The front door slammed open.

Clay was there. Within seconds he was inside, taking Summer’s place and drawing Ryan’s attention to himself. The two men were fighting and Summer backed away, experiencing the first small taste of freedom and glimmer of hope she’d felt since Ryan had burst into the cabin. She watched the men fight, wondered how she could help Clay. He was hurt. He had a long, deep gash on the side of his head. She winced—he’d been hit by something. A rock? That could explain why he hadn’t come back when he should have and why she hadn’t heard anything.

Smoke billowed through the open front door, and when Summer looked back she realized the back wall of the cabin had flames growing, from the base of the wall near the fireplace.

Ryan had set the cabin on fire?

Ryan.

She turned her attention back to him, found Ryan and Clay still fighting. Ryan had an inch or so on Clay, but Clay hit hard. It hadn’t taken him long to discover the spot where Ryan was wounded, either, and Summer could see he was focusing his hits on Ryan’s right side.

Summer ran to the front door and pushed the door shut since more smoke seemed to be coming from outside than from the fire inside. She didn’t want them to die of smoke inhalation before they had a chance to end this. She knew they didn’t have long before the entire cabin was in flames but she didn’t know how long. It was fire-treated wood but it wouldn’t withstand direct fire for long. Seconds? Minutes? She wasn’t sure.

She hurried back to where the fighting was taking place, did her best to stay out of the way. Maybe she should run? But no, what if Clay needed her later?

He was starting to seem unsteady on his feet, she noticed, but she couldn’t tell why. From what she could see, Clay seemed to be getting in the best hits.

But still, he stumbled backward. Summer rushed toward him, not sure how much help she’d be but determined to try.

The door slammed open again and relief almost overwhelmed Summer as she caught a glimpse of her brother Noah, still alive after all. Summer looked back at the killer, watched as Ryan’s attention went to the door. Ignoring the throbbing in her foot, she landed one more hard kick against his shoulder. As she did so Clay seemed to gain just a little more strength and no sooner had she kicked Ryan than Clay landed one last punch, directly on the side of the man’s head.

He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Everything stilled. Summer took a breath, listened to her heart pounding and looked around the cabin. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

The back wall was engulfed now, flames dancing and advancing toward them.

“Noah,” Clay called to the other man. “Summer, get out.”

She wanted to argue but Clay’s tone made it clear that wouldn’t go over well. She went to the deck, which was as far as she dared go in case they needed her help, and waited, holding her breath almost from fear, for them to come out.

We’re alive, God. You did it. You saved us.

She swallowed hard. God wasn’t finished with her, wasn’t ignoring her because she’d made mistakes. Wasn’t punishing her.

Forgive me, Lord.

Just when she was about to run back inside to make sure her brother and Clay both got out, they came through the door, dragging Ryan behind them.