Sniper Daddy (Timber Creek Daddies #7)

1. Piper

ONE

PIPER

The rain hammers down in relentless sheets, turning the twisting mountain road into a gleaming black ribbon of danger.

My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles have gone white and numb, but I refuse to loosen them even a fraction.

Every few seconds my eyes dart to the rearview mirror, searching the darkness behind me for any sign of headlights.

I’ve been driving for hours, pushing the old, battered sedan as hard as the storm will allow, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the nightmare I fled in Denver.

My name’s Piper Lane, and I’m running for my life. I bet you don’t hear that everyday. I know, me either.

The windshield wipers slap frantically back and forth, barely able to keep up with the deluge.

The road climbs higher into the Montana mountains, each curve sharper than the last. I chose this route deliberately.

It’s remote, lightly traveled, with almost no cameras or traffic.

The kind of backroad where a woman can disappear if she’s smart and lucky. Or die if she’s not.

Lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the jagged peaks for a split second before thunder cracks overhead like a gunshot.

The car hydroplanes for one terrifying heartbeat, tires losing all grip on the wet asphalt.

I ease off the gas pedal immediately, heart slamming against my ribs.

I can’t afford to crash. Not tonight. Not when I’m so close to slipping away for good.

Another sharp bend appears ahead. I slow even more, leaning forward in my seat to peer through the pounding rain.

The guardrail on the right side looks pitifully inadequate, nothing more than a thin metal ribbon separating the road from a steep, rocky drop into darkness.

I keep my eyes locked on the faint yellow line, breathing slow and deliberate, trying to stay calm.

Then the headlights appear.

They burst into my rearview mirror suddenly, high beams slicing through the storm like twin blades. The vehicle behind me is coming fast. Too fast for these conditions. No one drives like that unless they’re chasing something. Or someone.

My stomach plummets. I press the accelerator harder.

The engine whines in protest, but the sedan lurches forward, tires slipping and gripping again.

The road narrows dangerously. Another tight curve rushes toward me.

I take it too quickly. The back end of the car fishtails wildly.

I fight the wheel with everything I have, correcting at the last possible second.

The vehicle behind me doesn’t slow down. It slams into my rear bumper with brutal force.

The impact jolts me forward violently. My head snaps back against the headrest, sending a burst of pain exploding through my skull.

A scream tears from my throat, raw and terrified.

The car lurches sideways. I try desperately to steer, but the tires have lost all traction on the slick pavement.

Another savage hit from behind sends me spinning out of control.

Metal screams in protest. The world tilts violently around me. For one endless, weightless second everything seems to hang suspended. Then gravity claims the car completely.

The sedan tumbles off the edge of the road.

It rolls once, twice, glass shattering in a violent cascade, metal crumpling like paper.

My body is thrown against the seatbelt, then the door, then the roof.

Sharp pain blooms everywhere at once. Something warm and sticky trickles down my forehead and into my eyes.

The car continues its violent descent down the steep embankment, bouncing and crashing against rocks and trees like a toy discarded by an angry giant.

Finally, with a sickening crunch, it slams to a stop against a cluster of thick pines, landing upside down.

The engine hisses and dies with a final groan.

Rain pours in through the broken windows, soaking me instantly.

I hang suspended by the seatbelt, blood dripping steadily from a cut on my scalp, every single breath sending stabbing pain through my ribs.

I’m still alive. Barely.

A low, agonized groan escapes me as I try to move.

My left arm refuses to respond properly.

Something is very wrong with my left leg.

The pain is so intense it makes the edges of my vision blur and darken.

I fumble blindly for the seatbelt release with my right hand.

It takes three desperate attempts before the buckle finally clicks free.

I crash down onto the crumpled roof of the car, crying out as fresh waves of agony rip through my body.

Outside, the rain continues its merciless drumming against the wrecked metal. I can hear nothing else. No approaching footsteps. No voices calling out. Maybe the driver kept going. Or maybe he’s making his way down the slope right now to finish what he started.

I have to move. I have to get out. I have to hide.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I drag myself toward the shattered passenger-side window.

Shards of glass cut into my palms and knees.

My vision swims. The world spins sickeningly around me.

I’m losing too much blood too quickly. The cold rain hits my face like needles as I finally manage to pull my upper body through the jagged opening.

That’s when I hear it. A low, scraping sound from somewhere above me on the embankment. Footsteps? Or simply loose rocks shifting in the downpour? I can’t tell. Pure panic surges up my throat.

I try to crawl farther away from the wreck, but my body betrays me. My legs refuse to cooperate. One is twisted at an unnatural angle beneath me. I collapse onto the wet, muddy ground, gasping for air, rain mixing with the blood streaming down my face.

“On a scale of one to dying,” I wheeze into the storm, trying desperately to keep my voice light even as terror threatens to swallow me whole, “how bad is it?”

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, closing fast. I fight against it with everything I have left, but it’s winning. The last thing I register before everything goes black is a tall, broad shadow moving steadily down the steep, slippery slope toward the wreck.

Then the world fades to nothing.

When awareness returns, strong, steady arms are carefully lifting me from the twisted metal.

Pain flares hot and bright through every part of me, but the grip holding me is firm and sure, like the person carrying me knows exactly what he’s doing.

I blink up through the pouring rain at a face I’ve never seen before.

A hard, angular jaw. Sharp, watchful eyes.

Rain dripping from short, dark hair plastered to his forehead.

He looks like controlled danger wrapped in quiet strength.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low and rough, cutting through the storm. “I’ve got you.”

I try to speak, but only a weak, broken sound comes out. My head lolls against his solid chest as he begins the difficult climb back up the muddy embankment with me cradled securely in his arms. He moves as if I weigh nothing at all.

“Who…?” I manage to whisper.

“Boyd,” he answers simply. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word feels strange and foreign on my tongue. I want so badly to believe it. But as unconsciousness pulls me under once more, all I can think is that no one stays safe for long when my father, Victor Lane decides they need to disappear.

Still, those strong arms feel like the only solid thing left in my crumbling world. For the first time in days, I let myself drift, hoping against all reason that this silent stranger might actually be the one to keep me alive.