Royal Protector. Laura Gordon
Twelve
Prologue
With the ease of a practiced predator, the sniper moved into position above the trail. Looming pines and rust-colored boulders the size of compact cars afforded him cover, as well as an unobstructed view of his prey. Below, two riders, a man and a woman, came toward him, steadily moving closer to the dark fate he had planned for them.
As he’d been told, the woman rode ahead of her male companion by some fifty yards. She rode well, he couldn’t help noticing, with her pretty blond head held high and her slim body moving in perfect sync with the sleek bay mare. More importantly for his purposes, she rode relaxed, unaware of the danger waiting for her.
The sniper allowed himself a brief smile. So far, so good. Everything had gone according to plan, just the way he liked it. No surprises. But then, that was the advantage of a double-cross. The predator always knew what to expect when his victims willingly assisted in their own demise.
Like shooting fish in a barrel. He eased the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and peered through the scope, prepared to take the next crucial step toward a destiny that had been denied him for too long. With a less sophisticated weapon, the rifle’s report might have carried a half mile, echoing against the red canyon walls. But his silencer was state-of-the-art.
Confidently, he squeezed the trigger. The ensuing pop barely rated a twitch of one velvety ear from the white-tailed doe and her speckled fawn grazing nearby.
Even as the stricken man fell backward out of the saddle, the assassin knew his shot had found its mark. His victim would be dead before he hit the ground.
Chapter One
Lulled by the rhythmic motions of her well-trained mount and the pristine beauty of a perfect mountain afternoon, Lexie’s mind only half-registered the soft popping sound. But with the next heartbeat, her mind made the deadly connection and Lexie knew what she’d heard: a gunshot muffled by a silencer. Someone had fired on them!
“Hugh!” She called out to her companion as she jerked the reins to the right and wheeled around. As Lexie watched in horror, Hugh Miller fell backward in slow motion from the saddle.
Icy fingers of terror closed around her heart as she dug her heels into the mare’s sides and raced back to Hugh. Fighting her unbridled fear, she prayed he wasn’t dead.
Dismounting at a run, she flung herself to the earth beside him. He lay facedown, and she struggled to turn him over. The grass beneath his head was sticky and wet. Please don’t let him die! Please!
She rolled him over onto his back. His eyes stared blankly and Lexie gasped. Crimson blood poured from a wound directly in the center of his forehead.
“No!” she sobbed. But even as she denied the awful truth, she knew the worst had happened.
Again.
Stumbling, she rose to her feet and groped for her horse’s reins. Instinct told her to mount up and outrun the danger that made the skin at the back of her neck tingle. But it was too late.
By the time she saw the man wearing the black ski mask, he was already upon her. Numbed by the suddenness of the attack, her arms and legs, and even her mind, seemed temporarily paralyzed. With a hold that was viciously unbreakable, he held her from behind, pinning her arms against her sides. The cloth he pressed over her nose and mouth smothered her cries for help and choked off her airways.
As the acrid smell of some unknown chemical burned her nostrils and blazed a path to her lungs, stinging tears filled her eyes. Her heart convulsed in terror.
Oh God, I don’t want to die! Not like this.
With suddenly awakened resolve, Lexie fought for survival with a determination she hadn’t known she possessed. Kicking and jerking she battled against the faceless, nameless foe.
When her elbow connected with her attacker’s stomach, she heard the sound of his startled gasp and she seized the momentary advantage. Twisting with all her might, she tried again to drive her elbow into his midsection. But this time he anticipated the move and caught her arm and wrenched it painfully behind her back. Lexie’s heart sank as the slim opening for possible escape disappeared.
“Help me! Somebody, please help me!” Her pleas were hopelessly muffled as her tormentor pressed the chemically-soaked cloth even harder over her mouth and nose. The acrid-smelling fumes were rapidly working their lethal magic. Every cell in Lexie’s body screamed for oxygen.
Sprawled, facedown on the rocky ground beside Hugh Miller, she felt the weight of her attacker’s knee in the middle of her back. Helplessly pinned and suffocating, Lexie felt her tenuous hold on consciousness slipping.
She could do nothing as he tied her wrists and secured the gag even tighter across her nose and mouth. With what little strength she had left, Lexie arched her back and tried to free herself of her attacker’s crushing weight.
“Settle down,” a cold, hard voice hissed just behind her ear. “Just let it happen. It’ll all be over soon.”
Lexie’s head ached, and her heart beat frantically. The stark reality of her helplessness brought fresh tears to her eyes as she slipped nearer the edge of unconsciousness.
From a distance, she thought she heard someone calling her name. An engine raced. A dog barked. Obviously, the chemical’s vapors were not only stealing her strength, but robbing her ability to think straight.
When the world began to spin, she thought she might be sick. Her eyelids fluttered closed and, try as she might, she could not reopen them.
The ensuing darkness that closed over her brought with it a strange mix of stark fear and blessed relief. The worst was over, she told herself. She felt herself sinking slowly, slowly down into a place where there was no light and no sensation, except for the achingly familiar sound of a child crying out from the depths of her darkest memories.
ATTENTION ALL UNITS in the vicinity of mile marker 391 and Destiny Canyon Ranch Road. Reports of a shooting. One unconfirmed fatality. Other injuries reported, but also unconfirmed. Shooter’s identity unknown. Officers advised to approach the area with extreme caution.
Even before the dispatcher finished her call, Sheriff Lucas Garrett cranked the steering wheel hard to the left and sent the white SUV with the Bluff County sheriff’s seal emblazoned on the doors into a skidding U-turn.
With his free hand he reached for the handheld radio on the seat beside him. “Sylvia, this is Sheriff Garrett. I’m less than five minutes from the scene. Fill me in.”
Despite the early summer air rushing through the open window, it chilled him to think of his family’s high-country ranch as a crime scene.
“It happened in the hills, Sheriff. Five miles out on Summit Trail.”
Immediately, an image of the narrow, winding trail that led to the summit of Mount Destiny formed in Lucas’s mind. He’d ridden that trail on horseback and hiked it on foot countless times, but it had never seemed ominous in any way until now.
“Who made the call?” he asked. “Was it Cal?” Or had it been his older sister, Maureen—or Mo, as everyone had always called her.
“No, sir. It was Virgil.”
Virgil Blackburn had been the foreman at Destiny Canyon Ranch for as long as Lucas could remember. “Did Virgil say what had happened? Do you have any idea who was…hurt?”