Going out the passenger side, I dropped to the ground and rounded the vehicle with my sidearm out, safety off. It had been a long fucking time since I found myself in a goddamn gunfight.
Deep breath, Marine.
I looked over the SUV. A round zipped toward me, glancing off the hood.
“Motherfucker.”
I was going to kill that asshole as soon as I got a clear shot.
I dropped to my belly, inching toward Foster’s SUV. I was a sniper. That had been my job in the unit, accustomed to being in an overwatch position, away from the action, but a Marine was trained to fight. We were warriors. I just needed to get my fucking head outta my ass. Declan had trained to take care of himself and his protectee. I had to trust he knew what the fuck he was doing. Marcie was tucked somewhere safe, so I needed to fucking front sight focus and forget everything else.
Katie’s voice pierced the air. Screams and thrashing filled the gaps between the gunfire. There was only one active shooter. Two at the most.
Another couple of rounds fired off, and the pattern became clear—short bursts to conserve ammo and draw attention. Timed, patient, controlled.
Whoever fired that weapon had served. Or been trained by someone who had.
Fucking jack off.
I moved slowly toward the open air, hoping to catch sight of Declan and the others.
But when I stepped into the open, my stomach dropped. The asshole at the driver’s side door was the shooter, but it was the woman and man at the back of the van that had my full attention.
They had Katie and Jackson in their evil fucking clutches.
Unsure if the others could see what was happening from their location, I yelled, “Hold your fire unless you have a clear shot, goddammit! They have Kit Kat and Jackson.”
Ducking and running toward Declan and the others, I drew the shooter’s fire. The rounds bounced off the pavement at my feet. If the guy served, he was a shit ass shot.
Or he isn’t trying to hit anyone.
“You okay, vato?” I asked, giving him a quick look over.
“I’m fucking fine, but those fucksticks are shooting at us.”
“Yeah, I figured that out when they took a pot shot at my damn head.”
He turned and gave me the same once-over I gave him.
“Where’s Marcie?”
“On the floor of the truck.” I popped my head up over the downed SUV. A shot rang, pinging off the metal.
Declan jerked me down.
“Keep your fool ass head down. They’ve already taken one shot at you, and you don’t have a helmet on.”
“We need that license plate,” I said.
“We’ve got it. The SUV has a dash cam. Not that I think that van is legal.”
At least we agreed on that. Tires squalled and the van peeled out. I stepped from behind the SUV, lining up the sights, wishing I had my rifle, and squeezed off several rounds, hoping to take out the tires at the very least, but preferably the driver.
When the van disappeared out of sight, I turned back to the others.
“So, what’s the plan?”
Heidi and Lucia came toward us.
