Dead Wrong by Susan Sleeman

car window exploded in fragments pelting down on them. She was vaguely aware of soggy leaves and pine needles pressed into her face as Mitch’s heavy weight flattened her into the ground. A third shot pinged off the guardrail and slammed in the dirt with a thump.
    The van sideswiped their car, sliding Mitch’s smaller vehicle into the rail. Metal ground against metal as the guardrail crumbled into a tangled mess and groaned toward them. Mitch shifted, circling his arms around her and rolling them out of the way. Tires continued to slide, coming to a stop inches from her eyes.
    More shots. Closer now. Pop. Pop. Pop .
    Mitch tightened his hold, and she felt his heart thumping against her back. A sure steady rhythm, but fast. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She lay there waiting for the shooter to get out and train his gun on them. But the mighty engine revved and climbed the hill, the sound disappearing like a shadow in the mist.
    “Are you hit?” Mitch asked, his breath stirring her hair.
    “No.” She shuddered out a breath and took in another. “You?”
    “I’m good.” He lifted his head. “Stay down.” He pulled his arms free and swiftly came to his knees.
    Cold air assaulted her, and she felt vulnerable. She wanted to pull him back down, but rolled to the side instead. He’d moved to the end of the twisted guardrail and poked his head up. “He’s gone.”
    Her breath hitched, and she felt as if she might lose it. She had to get a grip. Let Mitch know that she was stronger than this timid woman he’d seen since yesterday. She concentrated on breathing.
    They were alive. Safe. Both of them.
    Thank You, God.
    “You okay, Kat?”
    She gave a clipped nod. “God was watching out for us.”
    “If you say so.”
    “Hey,” she said. “You’re not being fair. If you blame God when bad things happen then you’re admitting He’s in charge. And that means He should get the credit for good things, too.”
    He arched a brow and studied her for a few moments. “Not sure nearly losing our lives is a good thing, but point taken.” He climbed over the guardrail and checked out the car. “It’s not drivable so we can’t pursue him. I’ll radio in an update on his location.”
    He holstered his weapon and went to the driver’s side. The door wrenched open with a nerve-racking groan disturbing the quiet. Kat pulled herself up using the mangled guardrail. This could’ve been her. Him. Both of them. Twisted beyond repair.
    She shuddered again and stretched, easing out kinks while checking for injuries. She felt blood congealed next to her ear. She remembered hitting a stick when Mitch tackled her. The injury didn’t feel serious, but she’d have a bunch of bruises. At least she hadn’t been shot. Perhaps thanks to Mitch. She went to stand beside his door to listen in on his conversation.
    He looked up at her. “You sure you’re okay?”
    She nodded but didn’t say anything. Her thoughts were too jumbled to speak. All that mattered was that they were safe for now. At least until the killer tried to end her life again.
    * * *
    Mitch should be paying attention to Trooper Franklin’s comments about the paint transferred from the van to his department-issued car, but his eyes kept drifting to Kat. She hadn’t said a word in quite a while, and he was starting to worry about her.
    He’d asked if she wanted to talk, but she’d clammed up and sat on the end of the guardrail that was still intact, her arms around her waist as she waited for the troopers to finish their report. Her eyes were unreadable, but there was no doubt she was really shaken up. And she should be. Two attempts on her life in as many days would unsettle the best cop.
    He was still flustered, too. They’d barely made it out alive. His car could’ve plunged into a ravine with them in it, either one of them could’ve taken a bullet or been crushed by the sliding vehicle.
    “You with me, Elliot?” Franklin asked, his eyes appraising.
    Mitch