the night this had all begun.
Chapter Fourteen
Chance had expected trouble once they left the interstate and got on the two-lane Highway 287 headed north toward Townsend. There had been enough traffic that he hadn’t been able to spot a tail, but he now suspected they’d been followed since Livingston.
Traffic was horrendous around Bozeman, but once they left there and drove west, it began to thin out.
Most of the cars had ski racks on top. Some out-of-state plates, people up here for the Christmas vacation. With Big Sky Ski Resort only forty miles to the south and Bridger Bowl about twenty to the north, Bozeman had become a winter destination along with being the home of Montana State University and ten-thousand-plus college students.
Chance swore under his breath as the van closed the distance between them, but didn’t even attempt to pass even when he slowed down.
The road narrowed along the Missouri River, dropping away on each side. There was no guardrail on either side and little traffic. This was the stretch of highway where the van driver would make his move.
Chance sped up. The van sped up, as well, keeping the same distance between them. The road curved as it wound by the slow-moving, dark, ice-rimmed river.
The van closed some of the distance between them.
“That’s the two men who attacked me in the parking garage,” Dixie said, looking back.
He heard the tremor in her voice. “Put the dog on the floor,” he ordered. “And brace yourself.”
They were almost to the bridge. The van filled the rearview mirror just an instant before the bumper slammed into the back of the pickup.
Chance swore as he fought to keep the truck under control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dixie’s face. It was leeched of all color, her blue eyes wide with fear. He met her eyes and saw something flicker in her gaze.
“Give me your gun,” she said, her voice breaking.
“What?”
The van slammed into the back of them again. The pickup fishtailed, one tire going off the edge of the road and kicking up snow that blew over the van’s windshield, forcing the driver to hit his wipers and back off a little.
Dixie unhooked her seat belt and got on her knees to face the back window. The pickup was made for a camper in the bed so it had a small sliding window that she now unlatched. Cold air rushed in.
“Get back in your seat!” Chance yelled as the van came at them again. He sped up, but ahead was another tight curve, the drop-off much steeper on each side of the road.
“Give me your gun,” she said over the roar of the van’s engine as it came at them again.
The van slammed into the bumper. Chance gripped the wheel, fighting to keep the truck on the road as Dixie held on to the back of the seat with one hand and reached under his coat, unsnapped the holster and withdrew the gun.
“You don’t even know how to shoot a gun,” he said, swearing as he heard her snap off the safety.
“Slow down,” she said, sounding almost too calm.
He shot her a look. She was braced on the back of the seat, the weapon gripped in both hands and pointing out through the small window opening, the cold wind whipping her hair, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
A sharp turn was just ahead with steep drop-offs on each side of the pavement. The van driver started to make another run at them.
“Hang on,” Chance said, and hit his brakes.
The move took the driver of the van by surprise. In his rearview mirror, Chance saw the driver literally stand on his brakes. The van fishtailed wildly just before it struck the back of the pickup with a force that sent the pickup rocketing forward.
The shot was deafening as it echoed through the cab of the pickup. Chance managed to just barely keep the truck on the pavement, the right back tire dropping dangerously over the edge of the highway before he got it back.
In his side-view mirror he saw the van’s windshield shatter into a web of white an instant before it blew out, showering the driver and the man next to him with tiny cubes of glass. The driver of the van was also fighting to regain control of his vehicle.
Chance swore as he saw the passenger level his own weapon at the pickup. At Dixie. “Get down!” he yelled.
Dixie got off another shot that boomed in the cab. In