Wyoming Mountain Escape by Laura Scott (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📗

The back of her hair was damp with blood and the room spun crazily for a moment before righting itself.

Please, God, don’t let Chelsey die!

The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, but he kept his gaze on Chelsey’s still form. He felt again for a pulse, and this time was reassured when he identified the faint beat of her heart.

He bowed his head and silently thanked God for sparing her.

“Check her vest—see if the bullet is still imbedded there, or if it went through,” Slade said.

He fingered the vest, easily finding the spot in the center of her chest where the bullet had penetrated the vest. Quickly removing the vest, he was doubly thankful to realize the bullet hadn’t gone into her skin.

Although he knew the impact would leave a massive bruise, regardless. That she wasn’t moving concerned him. “Chelsey? Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked confused for a moment before her expression cleared. “Duncan? Wh-what happened?”

“You were shot.” He held up the vest. “I’m sure your chest hurts, you may even have a few cracked ribs, but the vest saved your life.”

“Yeah, hurts.” Her eyelids drooped. “Head and chest...”

He glanced at Slade. “We’ll need to get her to the local hospital.”

“There’s one not too far, but we might not want to go there,” Slade said.

“Why? Just because you think the shooter will try to find her at the only hospital in this town?” Duncan felt his anger simmering to a boil. “I don’t care. It’s your job to get her the medical treatment she needs.”

“Hear me out, Duncan,” Slade said, holding up a hand. “What if we pretend she’s dead?”

His anger quickly faded as he recognized the wisdom of that plan. “You mean, treat her as if she’s dead, so that the shooter thinks he’s finished the job?”

“Why not?” Slade shrugged. “Seems to me he must not have noticed the vest. Maybe because you were standing in front of her until the scream drew you out of the way. He only had a second to take the shot and she went down like a rock. He has no reason to believe he missed.”

The reminder of how badly he’d failed to keep Chelsey safe burned, but he couldn’t deny Slade’s plan had merit. “I like it. But she still needs care.”

“I’m okay.” Chelsey’s whisper had him turning toward her. “I’m okay with pretending to be dead if it helps keep the rest of you safe.”

“Yeah, she has a point about that. The situation in general has been bothering me,” Slade said. “I’m not sure why they haven’t taken a shot at you, Colt and me. The shooter had plenty of time. He could have picked us off one by one without much effort.”

“I had the same thought last night,” Duncan admitted. “It didn’t make sense that they kept going after Chelsey. If they thought Brett told her something in confidence, then they should assume she’d have shared that same information with the rest of us, right? So why keep going after her?”

Slade shook his head. “I’m not sure. But faking her death may help solve that problem.” Slade turned toward Chelsey. “Who gets the Teton Valley Hotel after you’re gone?”

Her brow furrowed. “It’s a good question. The hotel has been in our family for generations, but I don’t have any heirs or family left. If Brett was alive and we actually got married, there may have been a way for him to pass it along to his family, but I’m sure now it will simply go up for auction to the highest bidder.”

“Travis Wolfe is a millionaire who has already bought up the adjoining ranch,” Duncan said as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “The assailant at the cabin said that he was sent by Wesley Strand. Could it be because Wolfe wants the hotel, too?”

Slade nodded slowly. “Seems drastic, but maybe killing Brett first, followed by Chelsey, was a way for them to get rid of two problems at one time. Get rid of the witness and the hotel owner.”

Duncan felt certain they were onto something. The photograph of Nettles killing the undercover cop was enough to open an investigation but having Brett’s eyewitness testimony would have been necessary to prove Nettles took the shot. That only took care of Anthony Nettles, owner of Coyote Creek Construction. Yet there was nothing more than a business relationship between Nettles and Wolfe. There was no way to implicate the millionaire in the crime.

Was that how Wolfe had planned it all along? Was it possible Wolfe had paid someone off in the local police department and had learned about Brett’s report of what he’d witnessed?

It was all starting to make sense, at least in theory. Proving any of it was another story.

The sirens were louder now, red lights flashing outside the hotel window. They were running out of time if they were going to pull off faking Chelsey’s death.

He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over Chelsey’s head. Slade nodded and went to the door. He held up his credentials for the two EMTs.

“I’m sorry, but she’s gone. We won’t need your services,” Slade told them.

The two EMTs glanced at each other and frowned. “We still gotta take her in for the doctors to pronounce her,” the taller of the two said.

“I’m US Marshal Slade Brooks, and I’m not releasing her body into your custody. I’ll notify the Jackson PD and take it from here.”

It wasn’t standard procedure, but Duncan could tell the EMTs were buying Slade’s story. Federal agents often pulled rank over local law enforcement officials. They shrugged, turned away and headed back to their ambulance.

“The police will be here any minute,” Duncan said in a low voice.

It wasn’t even a minute before a squad car pulled in. Slade walked outside to chat with the female officer, leaving Duncan to sit beside Chelsey.

He pulled the chair close to the bed. “Stay as still as possible,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer,