Bodie leaned over, his face level with hers. “You okay? You hit?”
She shook her head, regretted the additional moment, every muscle feeling as if it was contracting at once. “How the hell are you still upright?”
“Practice. Still sucks, but…” He glanced over his shoulder for a moment. “Buck’s got a line out of here. You good to go?”
She nodded, prayed she didn’t just fall face-first onto the ground, then rallied behind Bodie, stumbling her way across the courtyard and into a narrow passageway between two buildings.
The cold, damp air finally eased the shaky feeling in her legs, and she managed to squeeze through the poor excuse of an alley without crashing to the ground. Buck turned sideways, chest and back rubbing the adjoining walls, gun still at the ready. She followed behind, flashes of that damn storm drain looping through her mind until they emerged on the far side facing the water. The foghorn moaned in the distance, the light pulsing through the mist with every rotation.
Dalton’s voice sounded through the comms, edgier than before. “I’ve got multiple tangos converging on your location. Go right, then haul ass up that hill. And watch for wheeled bandits. I’ve got intermittent lights on that dirt road, but I can’t get a good enough visual in this fog to confirm it’s a target.”
Bodie veered them right, booked it up the short rise to the winding driveway, then made a dash for their vehicles. Tires chirped in the background, splashing through puddles, a low growl growing louder.
The van appeared out of the fog about a hundred meters away, headlights glowing in the fog, backend fishtailing across the gravel. The wheels hit the pavement, picked up speed.
They reached the vehicles running flat out, that van bearing down on them. Rowan slid behind the driver’s seat, got her Tahoe started and into gear just as Dalton ghosted out the fog, rifle slung over his shoulder. Rowan angled her SUV to cover Dalton as he scrambled into the other truck, Buck peeling out a second later.
Rowan hit the gas, the van kissing her bumper as she followed Buck down the driveway. The impact slipped her back tires sideways for a moment before she countered the motion, got them straightened out and barreling down the road.
Buck turned right, jumped a curb, then swerved onto a nondescript road, stones kicking off the mud flaps. Rowan followed, her Tahoe creaking as the suspension bottomed out, something on the undercarriage scraping against the concrete.
The van paralleled them, some asshole sliding the side door open, AR-15 notched to his shoulder. He fired off a few trigger pulls, pelting both vehicles with a sweep of his arm. Bodie turned, covered her from any possible hit, his body practically hugging hers.
Her heart kicked over.
She’d never had anyone stand between her and danger the way he had since that first night. When he’d shoved her beneath him as the grenade exploded nearby. It messed with her head. Had her looking at him from a whole new perspective. She’d already been crushing on him. Seeing him in his element…
It had her reconsidering how she’d pictured her future playing out.
The road veered, forced the van to pull back. Buck seized the opportunity and fishtailed the truck onto an old logging road, heading up a steep incline.
Rowan glanced at Bodie. “Does Buck know where he’s going? Because I’m pretty sure this leads to an old trestle bridge.” She looked back at the road. “Last time I checked, some of the ties were cracked. Missing.”
Bodie clenched his jaw. “Buck’s not the type to leave our lives up to chance. If he’s headed this way, he’s got a plan. Not sure it’s a sane one, but…”
“Ride or die, right?”
Bodie flicked his gaze to her, smiled. “Ride or die, sweetheart.”
That endearment.
What she suspected had started as a slip had quickly become something more. Something dangerously intimate.
Lights glared in her rearview, the van still trailing behind, though the rough terrain had cost them any advantage they’d had. Even the guy with the rifle had retreated inside.
They reached the top of the incline and slipped down the other side, that trestle rising like an omen out of the fog, just the first half visible amidst the mist. Buck didn’t slow, picking up more speed as he barreled toward it. No hesitation. No swerving, just the truck bouncing along the rutted track, the headlights cutting a swatch across the bridge.
Rowan clenched the wheel. “Bodie…”
“You’ve got this. Just shadow Buck.”
She took a breath, shoved down the doubt, then rode her Tahoe onto the tracks, not varying more than an inch from Buck’s route. The creosote-drenched ties shook beneath the tires, a couple loud cracks making her insides jump. The truck tilted as it reached the section she swore had collapsed, the right wheel balancing on the thin metal rail when the wood beneath vanished, nothing but fifty feet of air showing below the track.
Rowan inhaled, thought about pumping the brake, until Bodie placed his hand over hers on the wheel. Held it steady. They hit the opening going way too fast, the rubber slipping on the rain-slick metal. The Chevy shifted, nearly tumbling off when they reached the other side, bounced down onto the wood.
He squeezed her hand, keeping his layered over hers. “Nice job.”
She coughed, nearly puked. “Remind me to punch Buck in the jaw, later. That was insane.”
