“What?”
“It’s—” he stopped, then said, his voice as grim as his face. “It’s a bullet graze. I can still smell the gun powder.” He handed her the coat.
Eyes wide, Goldie took it and sniffed. Someone shot at her. Close range, if she could smell residue. In her head she could see the words, but they didn’t make sense. Nothing did. What kind of person got shot at? How did she know about residue? No wonder she didn’t want to remember.
“What do we…do?”
Luke looked toward the window. “Tonight? Nothing we can do. We’re completely shut off until the storm clears. When it does, my truck’s a four-wheel. I have a few contacts with the Estes Park cops.”
“But I don’t remember anything! What will I tell them?” Panic slipped its leash again. She could hear it in her voice but was too weary to do anyt
