Aspen thought she might have passed out for a moment, and when she recovered, her breath huffed out in tiny pants as water began to seep through the window.
“Are you okay?” Dylan shouted.
They were both hanging upside down, the seat belt cutting into her neck. She glanced sideways and noticed blood dotting his hands, and felt it trickling down her arm where glass had pelted them.
“Aspen?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” she rasped. “But water’s coming in.”
“I know. Hang on to the seat belt and side of the car while I cut you out.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and braced herself with one hand on the roof of the car and another on the door. Dylan retrieved a knife from his pocket and sawed at her air bag, puncturing it. It deflated with a whoosh, then he sawed at her seat belt. The icy water gurgled and spewed through the window, dripping onto the roof and soaking her.
“Hurry!” she whispered hoarsely as déjà vu struck her. She’d been in another crash and had almost drowned…
Her dreams of running, of being cold—they weren’t just nightmares. They had been very real.
“Almost got it,” Dylan said between clenched teeth.
The belt finally snapped, and she slid downward, her head hitting the roof. “Try to climb out,” he said. “I need to cut my belt.”
Terror seized her. She didn’t want to go out there alone.
“Go, Aspen!”
His sharp voice jerked her from the fear gripping her, and she maneuvered sideways, then kicked the rest of the glass free with her feet. Water gushed inside the vehicle, and she held her breath, grabbed the seat and shoved her weight through the window. The freezing water swallowed her, and numbness claimed her, but her foot connected with rock, and she used it as a spring-board to propel her. Teeth chattering, she waded to the embankment.
Dragging in huge gulping breaths, her limbs shaking, she searched the creek and finally saw Dylan wading toward her in the waist-deep cold water.
He crawled from the creek, carrying the crime-scene kit in one hand. Another gunshot blasted the rock beside her, and Dylan grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go!”
Her legs felt like Jell-O as he yanked her to her feet and dragged her across the embankment. She stumbled over rocks, and her ankle twisted but she plunged on, ducking low to dodge another bullet.
She couldn’t die now, not when she’d just found out her name, and that she had family waiting for her.
Dylan stuffed the evidence box beneath a boulder, then buried Aspen in the crook of his arm to protect her from the gunshots as they raced in an upward climb into the mountains. The terrain was rocky and pitted with shrubs and brush, the jagged ridges posing their own danger.
It was also a good place to hide.
Another shot pinged off a stone jutting out from the ridge, and they ducked, dodging it as he pushed her behind a boulder. The dark sky and mixture of rain and snow added to the dangers, making their footing slippery. A second later, he steered her toward another indentation carved into the red stone, pushing her to climb higher as they dodged more bullets.
Dylan crouched beside her, removed his gun and braced it to fire. “Stay down,” he whispered. “I’m going after the bastard.”
She grabbed his arm. “No. Don’t leave me alone.”
The cold terror in her voice and eyes made his chest clench, and he hated the shooter for putting it there. All the more reason to catch the SOB.
He brushed his hand against her bruised cheek. “I’ll be back.”
Slowly rising behind the boulder, he searched the ridges and cliffs, then spotted movement to the right. He fired, a shot pinging over the shadow, and rocks skittered down the ridge as the man scrambled to escape.
Dylan gestured for Aspen to stay put, then lurched forward in chase. He fired again and saw the shadow moving at lightning speed around a boulder, then disappear. Dylan wanted to pursue him, but a low cry escaped Aspen and a faraway look glazed her eyes as if she was reliving the trauma that had caused her amnesia.
Her arm was bleeding, too, and cuts from the shattered window marred her hands.
The sound of a car engine sliced the night, and Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, then stooped down and gathered Aspen in his arms. She trembled against him, wet and shivering, and he hugged her to his chest, whispering low words of assurance.
Thank God they had survived.
But he’d find the man who’d tried to kill him and put that terror in Aspen’s eyes and make him suffer.
ASPEN CLUNG TO THE AGENT, memories of another crash and running for her life bombarding her. She survived, she reminded herself, and she would survive now.
At least this time she wasn’t alone.
“It’s all right, Aspen,” Dylan said. “He’s gone now and you’re safe.”
She forced a calming breath, then looked up at him. “But he’ll be back. And how can I fight him if I don’t even know who he is?”
“Sister Margaret said you would get your memory back,” he assured her. “You need time. Just trust me for now.”
She folded her arms. “It’s just so frustrating and scary. I feel as if I’m living in the dark.”
He stroked her back, soothing her. “I won’t stop until the danger to you is over and the man responsible for the shooting and for your memory loss is in jail, or dead.”
She took solace in his strength, relaxed slightly and pulled herself together.
He wiped the blood dotting her arm. “We need to take you to the E.R.”
“No. I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just a few scratches.” She pressed a finger to his forehead. “But you might need stitches.”
He shrugged off her concern and slowly extracted himself from her arms. “I’m fine. But I need to call for help.”
She nodded, then he removed his cell phone and made a call, thankful it still worked.
“Tom, it’s Dylan. Listen, I was driving Aspen back to the reservation and someone ambushed us. My car is upside down in the creek and we need an extraction. Also, I want forensics to go over the car for paint samples and bullets.” He gave him their location, disconnected the call, then turned to her and took her arm.
“Come on, let’s head back down to the car. I need to retrieve the evidence box to send to forensics.”
Aspen took his hand as he helped her down the slippery rocks, grateful the precipitation had stopped, although the wind rustled the brush and ruffled her damp hair. Her hands and feet were numb already, the chill inside her mounting. He paused to grab the crime scene kit with the evidence bags he’d stowed inside and hoisted it in one hand while keeping the other firmly on her arm to steady her.
By the time they reached the bottom, the sound of a helicopter echoed from above, its blinking lights sweeping the terrain and promising a recovery.
The helicopter touched down in the