I nod. “To my last breath.”
Which could be any second now.
His smile widens as he runs a thumb along the rifle’s stock. “Excellent.”
Chapter 32
Briana
Snap out of it, Bree. Andrea is dead. Nothing you can say or do will help her now.
While the madman chatters to himself, my gaze drifts to the blood pooling around my once-vibrant, now lifeless ex-friend.
I’m a fucking Navy Lieutenant, not some damsel in distress. I can outsmart this asshole.
“Cuff his hands behind his back,” Carmine barks.
Diego's rifle barrel jerks toward the metal cuffs hooked on my lover's belt, snapping him from his semi-comatose state.
In slow motion, I free the restraints. One wrong twitch and our captor might fire. Looping the manacles over my man's wrists, I press them snug but not tight.
Staring forward, the prisoner bobs his chin, acknowledging what I’ve done.
As I let go, a vein throbs beside our captor’s right eye. “Tighter. I’m not stupid.”
Dammit.
The sheriff mutters to me, “It’s fine, Flygirl. Go, I’ll take out the garbage.”
The dead man walking—smiling now—sneers. “So, you think you’re smart? I saw you take his keys. Go ahead, drive his truck to the place where you ruined everything. If you deviate, I’ll shoot him.”
Swallowing hard, I agree. “Okay, I'll do it.”
“No guns. No backpack. No phone. No dog. You alone.”
I nod once, hoping Kade left his search-and-rescue gear in the trunk. It may be the edge I need.
Fingers brushing the doorknob, I stop. “What assurances do I have that you won’t kill him?”
The crazy dude claps once, dark amusement in his voice. “None. Hide-and-seek time, I’m counting. One. Two…”
I bolt outside. The vehicle coughs, then dies. Opening the driver’s side door, I shout, “Don’t shoot—I’m trying to start it!”
Shaking, I crank the key repeatedly until the engine roars to life. Tires screaming, I pull out—
A single gunshot cracks behind me.
Oh fuck. Mumbles shot the sheriff?
Tears burn as I race down the road, desperate for a plan. Gotta find help. Fast.
Muscle memory takes the wheel, sending me down the wrong turn twice before I spot a sign.
CANADA.
Kade told me his sister is Border Patrol—this could work.
Following the arrows to the striped barrier, I lay on the horn. When an angry woman stomps out, I lean my head out the window. “Your brother’s been shot at his office. Call 911. Ambulance. The FBI. Everyone.”
