“No.” Sloan frowned. “Her attacker.”
“What about the cameras? We’ve got a live feed of the entire perimeter, for God’s sake. We’ve been patrolling this area regularly. How the hell did we miss a fucking human being?” He wanted to punch something, needed to release the anger coursing through his blood.
Anger with himself.
They’d underestimated their opponent, and it could have gotten Jackie killed. Now that he knew how high the stakes were, he held no illusions about their visitor’s intentions. This wasn’t someone who would be satisfied with beating Jackie up. This was a killer waiting for the opportunity to wipe her and her daughter clean off the map.
He turned and stared out the window, his jaw clenched, thinking. Why here? There were a hundred places to hide at the resort, but he’d picked this one—surrounded by open areas that provided nothing in the way of cover.
It was the farthest away of all the cabanas, with a clear line of sight to the main house, free of the vegetation that concealed the others. “You can see the restaurant from here, and into a bedroom. He narrowed his eyes, mentally pulling up the building’s layout. That wasn’t just any bedroom. “Clear line of sight to Jackie’s bedroom. Motherfucker’s been watching her.”
“Waiting for a shot?” asked Sloan.
Jesus.
Binoculars or a scope would easily overcome the distance. Any sniper worth his salt could take her down from here in a heartbeat.
He looked down at the deep windowsill, two small marks about ten inches apart clearly visible in the thin layer of dust. His stomach clenched, electricity dripping down his spine. “Sloan, look at these.”
The other man moved to his side. “Bipod?”
The legs on the body of a rifle, used to brace it on a surface. “That’s what they look like to me.” He took a deep breath in and slowly blew it out, sinking into a squat as his eyes raked the floor, Sloan doing the same. Rifles needed bullets, and bullets had a tendency to roll.
“Under the armoire,” said Sloan.
Razorback stood, pulling it away from the wall to reveal an unspent shell. He cursed colorfully. “It’s a .338.” The men shared a look. That ammo said somebody meant business—sniper business. “We left Jackie alone. We have to move.” They’d set the alarm system, but that didn’t matter now. They were dealing with a professional who’d already demonstrated he could get past the alarm.
The cabana door opened with a high-pitched squeal. Razorback and Sloan both pulled their weapons and faced the door, prepared to shoot. Selena stood in the doorway in a baggy rainbow bathing suit and dropped a yellow plastic pail as she screamed.
Neither man put down his gun. “Stop it!” commanded Razorback, and she abruptly stopped. “Are you alone?”
She shook her head vigorously, her expression telling him she was about to burst into tears.
He holstered his gun and crossed to her, arms extended. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie.” He pulled her to him, her frame both smaller and bonier than he’d imagined.
“Why do you… have… that gun?” she sniveled, pulling back and picking up the pail.
“To keep you safe. We need to get to your mother, Selena. Right now. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“We need to run,” he said. “As fast as you can. Ready?” They took off, him in the lead, Sloan and Selena trailing behind. Razorback couldn’t get there fast enough, the sand slowing his progress. Jackie had asked him to protect them and what did he do? He left her alone without adequately accounting for her safety.
A high-pitched scream from behind him brought him up short, and he turned to see Selena on all fours in the sand, crying, Sloan bent at the waist. Razorback hesitated. The girl’s wails had a shrill quality that said she was badly hurt.
“Ian!” Sloan barked, the use of Razorback’s given name telling him it was serious. He jogged back, blood dripping from Selena’s foot visible as he got closer. “She stepped on glass,” said Sloan. “You’ll have to carry her.”
Razorback ran to her, all too aware that they didn’t have time for this. “Get on my back.”
She cried harder.
“Now!” he snapped.
“He means like a piggyback ride,” said Sloan. “We’re going to have a race, then we’ll get you a Band-Aid back at the house.”
Jesus Christ, kids were hard. Razorback tried to think of something Sloan would say, something nice, but barked at her instead. “Come on.”
She frowned, her bottom lip shaking, and looked at Sloan. “I want you to carry me.”
