Page 7 of Texas Cold Case Murder

Jackson silently kicked himself for not going straight to Nina’s car to get out of there. They could have called the police while they were on the road to safety.

He pulled his weapon as they silently crossed the backyard. Once they were within the relative cover of the trees, he stopped and turned to face the cabin. Lowering to a crouch, he watched the approaching car.

“What are you doing?” Nina dropped down beside him, her fingers gripping his arm tightly. “We need to get away.”

“We also need to know what we’re dealing with.” He didn’t take his gaze off the headlights that were growing brighter with each passing second.

Nina sucked in a harsh breath as the large pickup truck came up the rutted driveway, stopping a few yards from her small sedan. Jackson really wished he’d gotten her out of there when he had the chance. Now they were stuck. He watched the truck for a moment, willing the occupants to come out. He wanted to get a good look at these guys.

Yet nobody emerged from the truck, almost as if they suspected Jackson and Nina were out there watching.

He narrowed his eyes, wondering how long it would take the gunmen to show themselves. And for the local sheriff’s deputies to respond to his 911 call.

Likely too long.

After what seemed like an eon, one of the truck doors swung open. A man slid out, carrying a semiautomatic weapon at the ready. He wore a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead, shadowing his face, and was dressed like every other guy in the state, in worn blue jeans, a snapped Western shirt and scuffed boots.

Not cowboy boots, he noticed, but black ones. Similar to those worn by the military.

Drug runners? It was the first thought that popped into his mind, maybe because he was about to testify in a trial against Diego Sanchez, a known drug runner who’d been arrested during a joint operation between the Rangers and border control.

The gunman furtively approached the cabin, pausing to peer into Nina’s car as he passed it.

A second later, the second man, wearing black jeans with his Western shirt, joined him. His face was also obscured by the brim of his baseball cap and the darkness of the night. The men walked up to the cabin and disappeared inside.

Jackson wondered if they could be part of the Sanchez operation. If so, it would make sense they’d come after him, as he’d been called as a witness related to his participation in the drug bust. But going after Nina didn’t make any sense.

He gauged the possibility of running to the sedan and speeding away, then decided against it. The truck they were using was bigger and more powerful than the measly four-cylinder engine in Nina’s car.

He and Nina wouldn’t get far enough away before these guys would catch up with them. Unless the sheriff’s deputies were heading that way.

Yet he didn’t hear or see any lights and sirens indicating they were close enough to be of assistance.

After several long minutes, the two gunmen stepped back outside. Jackson almost hoped they planned to sit there and wait for him and Nina to return. Maybe they’d still be there when the cops showed up.

But then the two men approached the truck and slid back inside. From this angle, Jackson couldn’t see the license plate numbers. Maybe if they turned around? He silently urged them to do that, just so he could record the information.

Beside him, Nina moved, accidentally stepping and snapping a twig lying on the ground. The sound seemed incredibly loud. He winced when the passenger-side door of the truck swung open again.

He eased her farther behind him and leveled his weapon at the gunman. His Glock holding nine rounds against a semiautomatic weapon holding a capacity of twice as many wasn’t encouraging.

But it was all he had.

Reminding himself he only had to hold the guy off long enough to keep Nina alive and for the police to get there, he steeled his resolve. Granted, he knew the moment he announced himself as a ranger, the guy would open fire.

Jackson was an expert marksman and could likely drop the guy where he stood, but not before the gunmen sent off a burst of gunfire.

And there was the second attacker to take into consideration as well.

Jackson slowed his breathing, doing his best to remain calm. He’d only have one chance. The gunman stood staring into the woods, right at the spot they were hiding. He prayed Nina’s light green shirt wasn’t visible as a target.

As the killer stepped closer, the faint wail of sirens pierced the air. Not loud enough to be a threat, but enough to cause the gunman to cock his head and listen.

“Get in! We gotta get outta here!” The harsh guttural statement from the driver had the assailant whirling away.

He jumped back into the truck, slamming the door behind him. Jackson swallowed hard, feeling helpless at the way these guys were going to get away. He popped up and fired several rounds at the retreating truck. The engine revved as the driver barreled backward. As he leveled his weapon to fire again, the truck spun, kicking up debris from the rutted ground, and then sped away.

Jackson scowled when he noticed the rear license plate was covered in mud. Staying hidden in the brush while the two gunmen escaped in what appeared to be a large black Ram truck went against the grain.