LITMIR.BIZ

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his face had gone pale. “There’s a dirt road not too far from here. Pull over and let me out.”

      “No way—”

      “Do it, Laurel.”

      Against her better judgment, she pulled to the side and stopped the car.

      Garrett gripped the door handle and faced her. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Take this road. It circles down some back roads until you reach Rural Route 11. Follow that until you hit this highway again. Get to a phone, even if you have to buy a prepaid cell at a convenience store. Call Daniel Adams. Tell him what’s happening. He’ll take you to Covert Technology Confidential in Carder, Texas. They’ll protect you.”

      Daniel’s employer might be the only one that could hide Laurel and Molly from the agency and get away with it.

      She shook her head. “I won’t leave you. You’re hurt.”

      “Laurel, they’re tracking me. I don’t know how, but they are. You have to get away.”

      He opened the SUV door, but as soon as his boots hit the pavement he collapsed.

      She shoved open her door and ran around the car. “At least let me stop the bleeding before I leave. You can’t do it yourself.”

      He closed his eyes, then gave her a reluctant nod. Why did the thing that attracted her so much to Garrett have to be the very thing that could kill him?

      “There’s a T-shirt in my backpack. And a canteen. Wash off the wound and use the cotton as a bandage. Then you have to go.”

      “Are you fixing Sheriff Garrett, Aunt Laurel?”

      “That’s right, sugar,” Garrett said with a smile. “I’ll be good as new.”

      Liar.

      Laurel fished out the material and the water. She lifted his shirt and he passed her the flashlight. She gasped. Dried blood caked part of his back, but fresh still oozed from the wound. She didn’t know how he was still standing.

      She ripped the T-shirt in two and soaked half in water. She bathed his back, trying to be gentle. He didn’t even wince.

      Each pass removed more of the blood, revealing the scars. They weren’t all that bad. The horror of what he’d experienced far surpassed this permanent reminder.

      She worked her way toward the area that still bled. The bullet had hit him near his shoulder blade, near where she’d seen his previous wound and stitches. He looked as if he’d scraped his back raw on the rocks, too.

      “Just how many times have you been shot in the back?” she asked.

      “Since I met you?” he asked. “Or altogether?”

      “Wiseass.”

      “Aunt Laurel, that’s a naughty word.” Molly gasped.

      “Sorry, Molly.” She frowned at his back. “See what you made me do?”

      He chuckled. “I’m going to miss you two.”

      She ripped the clean half of the T-shirt for a second round and dabbed at the wound.

      He could use stitches, and the raw skin had rocks and metal flakes embedded in it. She had to scrub a bit harder. He sucked in a breath.

      “Too bad I still have some feeling left right there,” he said, his voice tight with pain.

      “Almost done.”

      As she cleaned the last bit, a familiar-looking object became visible. Small, metallic. A chip.

      “Garrett? Were you ever fitted with a tracking device?”

      “Hell, no. If the bad guys caught the frequency...” His head whipped around. “Is one back there?”

      “Yes.”

      “Get it out. Now.”

      “It’s implanted in your back. You need a doctor to cut it out.”

      “Hand me my backpack.”

      She dug into her duffel. He tugged out the nylon pack and retrieved a small medical kit, complete with a small scalpel and forceps.

      “Yank it out,” he said. “We don’t have any time to lose. They could be closing in now.”

      Laurel blinked, staring at the tracking device. She could do this. Her hand shook, and she sucked in a deep breath.

      “It’s easy. You said there was an incision? Just follow the scar and pull the thing out.

      “I don’t suppose you have pain medicine in your bag of tricks?”

      Molly stuck her head over the seat. She gasped. “Sheriff Garrett, you have lots of boo-boos. You can use all my princess Band-Aids if you need them.”

      “Laurel, just do it.” Garrett smiled up at Molly. “Why don’t you find me those Band-Aids, sugar?”

      Molly ducked behind the backseat.

      “Now,” he said tightly.

      “Brace yourself.”

      He gripped the passenger seat. She leaned over him. Taking a deep breath, Laurel pushed the knife into his back and sliced the skin, revealing the entire chip. He didn’t say a word, but when she grabbed it with the medical tweezers, his back tightened. Blood flowed from the wound.

      She dabbed at it. “Got it.”

      “Oh, yuck. That’s a really bad boo-boo.”

      “Not so bad, sugar. Maybe you’ll be a doctor when you grow up so you can fix people.”

      Molly’s smile brightened. “I want to fix people.” She hugged her lion tight.

      “Laurel, clean the wound with the Betadine. Put some antibiotic ointment on it and use the butterfly strips to close it,” he ordered.

      Molly insisted on adding several of her own bandages. When they’d finished, Garrett turned to Laurel. His face had gone pale.

      “There’s a clinic in Trouble,” she repeated.

      “We can’t go back there. Where is the chip?”

      She picked up the small device with the forceps. He took it from her and turned it over in his hand. His jawline throbbed. “Damn him.”

      “Who?”

      He lifted his gaze and met hers.

      “Your father requested these chips. As far as I knew, they were never used, but he had one put into me. He would have been the only one to know the frequency.”

      * * *

      MIKE STRICKLAND GROANED and pressed his hand to his head. It came away bloody and sticky. He rolled over. His entire body hurt. He tested each limb. Nothing broken, though his head might explode at any moment. Slowly he sat up.

      Krauss lay next to him, his neck obviously broken.

      He’d been the weak link anyway. A lot like Derek Bradley. The guy was a fool. If it had been him, he’d have put a bullet in both men’s brains...just to be sure.

      Strickland struggled to his feet and glared up the steep incline. “I gotta find that guy.”

      He searched around. No tracking device. “Damn.” He hoped Bradley didn’t have it.

      A phone sounded a few feet from Strickland. His head pounding as if he had an ice pick stabbed in his ear, he followed the sound and bent down, nearly crying out in pain.

      The name on the screen caused his stomach to roil. He vomited all over the ground. He should ignore it.

      The ringing stopped, then started again.

      “Strickland.”

      “Don’t ignore me again, Strickland.”

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