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Jedediah Miller jerked to the left on the snowmobile, barely skittering it around a stand of barren trees and praying for a fork in the trail up ahead. His hands slipped inside his gloves, and he hitched up his grip on the handlebars. Those two men were following too closely for safety or common courtesy.
On the other side of the trees, his two pursuers edged closer. Jed’s heart thumped stronger under his snowmobile suit, and he leaned into the machine, urging it to go faster. A small hill quickly approached, and he flew over it, the skis losing contact with the ground for a moment. As he crashed back down, adrenaline beat through him, his pulse speeding to the thrum of the snowmobile.
The rev of the snowmobiles behind him pushed him on, to a speed that he was sure was not intended for the trail. A speed he wasn’t sure he could manage much longer. These guys drove like professionals, but he was only a casual snowmobiler, saving it for his time off. Trees zipped past him on both sides, and he would have admired the quiet stillness, the hushed beauty of a winter in northern Indiana, the gentle snow-covered hills and the barren trees reaching for every bit of sunshine possible in the muted sky, if not for the two jackals behind him and their mad race.
A crack pierced through his concentration, and by instinct, he ducked down on the seat.
They were shooting at him now.
Bark flew off a tree as he whizzed past, a few bits bouncing off his windshield. Apparently, these two weren’t good shots, at least when they were going at an outrageous speed on snowmobiles. Judging from the closeness of that tree trunk, though, Jed was sure they could hit their mark when they were at a standstill. Determination to survive drove him on.
He ventured a quick look behind him. Was it Jimmy the Bruise on one of the snowmobiles? His two pursuers were wearing all the protective gear, including helmets and tinted goggles and snowmobile suits completely zipped up. Not an inch of skin or anything identifying was showing, not even Jimmy’s telltale purple-and-blue birthmark. All of their gear was black, as well, a rather standard color for snowmobilers. That bit of information wouldn’t help at all.
A shiver ran down his arms at the thought of the man at the head of the counterfeiting ring. A nasty birthmark wound its way around the man’s neck and down his arm. Being on the police force had brought Jed into contact with a lot of different people, but there was no getting used to a guy who looked like that. No matter how long he lived, Jed would never forget the look of that dark splotch that appeared to hold the man’s throat in a vice grip.
Jed had seen that mark plenty of times in the past twelve months of undercover work that had taken him from Fort Wayne to Indianapolis to Cincinnati and back to Fort Wayne. It had been a harrowing experience that still haunted his dreams, both in the daytime and at night, but it was going to pay off. In just a few weeks, his testimony in court would put the counterfeiters behind bars, at least most of them. Jimmy the Bruise and another had gone missing, escaped from police custody.
A third shot pinged off the back of his snowmobile. The case would fall apart without Jed’s testimony. If they could kill him, the counterfeiting ring would get off easy and be back in business within months. Only Jed could put them away for good.
It was time to lose these two yahoos. Without backup available, he couldn’t apprehend them. He wanted to kick himself for forgetting his phone that morning. But at least he could try to save himself and the valuable testimony he possessed. Then he would call for a search of the area. There were only so many places to hide in and around the heavily Amish community of Nappanee, and he couldn’t imagine