Free Suspicions (The Battling McGuire Boys Book 3) by Cynthia Eden Page B

darken his soul. Things he never wanted Ava to know about.
    Some secrets were better left buried with the dead. They couldn’t hurt anyone then. They couldn’t destroy a life.
    He headed east, traveling back to his ranch. He thought of Ava as she’d last been, standing there with her eyes so big and deep, with her cheeks lightly flushed and her lips slightly swollen from his kiss.
    Walking away from her then had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull away from her next time. He’d warned Ava. Now the choice was hers.
    There were no other vehicles on the old dark road. His headlights cut through the night as his SUV ate up the distance to his ranch. He paused at his gate, slowing while he waited to head inside and—
    The gunshot blasted. It hit his windshield, the boom like that of a firecracker exploding.
    Even as Mark slammed down the gas pedal and the SUV shot forward, more shots were firing, striking the windows and the hood of his SUV in fast succession. Glass rained down on him and a bullet blazed right across his arm.
    He needed to make it inside his property. He could get help if he could make it inside—
    A bullet hit his front tire. One bullet, then another in fast succession. The SUV swerved as he tried to steady the wheel, but it was too late. The SUV broke through the fence, then barreled into a tree.
    * * *
    A VA PACED AROUND the guest cottage. Tension was knotting her gut. She kept thinking about Mark. About the choices people made in life.
    About the choices she’d made.
    No more running.
    She stared out the window. It was so dark out there. She couldn’t even see the stars right then because storm clouds had rolled in. She’d heard the forecast for that night. She knew a powerful storm was supposed to sweep into the area before dawn.
    As she gazed at the dark sky, lightning flashed for a moment, a bright streak that stretched like spindly fingers in the night.
    Then she heard the crack of thunder. Only...
    Her phone beeped. Ava turned around. She took a few steps and found her phone on the table near the door. When she picked it up, Ava saw that she’d just gotten a text from Mark.
    Ava, I need you. Come meet me at my ranch.
    Her breath caught and her fingers tightened around the phone. No, there would be no more running away for her. This time, she’d be running
to
someone.
    She’d waited long enough. Time to start living.
    She hurried from the guest house. Lightning flashed once more.
    * * *
    M ARK ’ S EYES CRACKED OPEN . The pain hit him first, exploding in his head and he realized that he’d slammed into the steering wheel. His air bag hadn’t deployed—and the dash was smashed, pretty much caging him in the SUV. Broken glass littered the area around him. He could feel cuts on his arms, and the skin near his right shoulder burned—
    Because some SOB took shots at me!
    His memory returned in a flash. He’d wrecked and hit his head so hard that he must have lost consciousness for a few moments. He pushed against the mangled steering wheel and dash, trying to twist out, but there was no give there. He was pinned too tightly.
    Fumbling, he tried to grab for his phone, but—
    It wasn’t there. It should have been in the dock near the radio. Who knew where the thing had flown in the crash? The
dock
was gone. The driver’s side door was open, swaying drunkenly, freedom so close.
    But he couldn’t reach it. He was trapped.
    And that psycho with the gun could still be out there.
    Fumbling, he tried to reach for the glove compartment. He kept a screw driver in that glove box. Not much of a weapon, but far better than nothing. And maybe he could use the screw driver to help pry himself out of that tangled mess. He stretched and his fingers slid over the edge. Almost...almost...
    He couldn’t reach it.
    Blood dripped into his eyes and lightning flashed.
    He was a sitting duck. The shooter could come in for him at any moment, and Mark wouldn’t