She inhaled, pushed the breath out in a metered sigh as her finger compressed the trigger. “Mark.”
She fired. Two quick, surgical shots, targeting the weakness at the base of the formation. The stones jumped, fracturing along the fault line, the entire shelf dropping by degrees. She waited, breath held, ready to pump a couple more bullets into the mix, when the slope let go, pouring down in a gritty roar onto the flanking men. The hunters scattered, voices rising above the echoing groan as her team took off, short bursts of controlled gunfire cutting through the din.
Rowan followed until they vanished into the fog before collapsing her bipod — sliding down from her hide. She’d only bought them a few precious minutes, the other men already regrouping. But it might be enough to keep them breathing.
Her boots hit the dirt, the worn treads slipping on a layer of pine needles and old moss as she raced down the slope, half-skidding, half-falling along the narrow trail — knees bent, weight on the edges of her treads with her rifle slung tight across her back. She hit the bottom and picked up speed, sprinting through the overgrown salal to the old logging spur half a klick away.
She hit the gravel road just as her lungs started burning, muscles heavy from the strain. She’d stashed her NPS Tahoe behind an old storage shack, the interior fogged from sitting overnight. The door chimed as she yanked it open, juggling her keys as she tossed her rifle on the floor, then slipped behind the wheel. The engine growled, the tires spitting out rocks and mud as she dropped it into gear and hit the gas — fishtailed onto the main line.
The truck slid sideways, bounced through some washboard, pop cans and old water bottles skipping across the floorboards. Mud splattered the windshield, the suspension groaning as she pushed through a series of potholes, gaze cycling through her mirrors.
The obscure path to the waterfall appeared on her left, a lone piece of flagging tape fluttering in the breeze. She skidded to a halt and hopped out, engine still purring, the door yawned open. Salmonberry vines snagged her pants as she darted up the narrow track, slipping between the slick rocks.
Water roared in the background, the scent of moss thickening the air. She squeezed between the twin stone slabs, pushing her way through to the other side. Cold spray smacked her in the face, the waterfall a silver ribbon rushing across the entrance.
They were late.
Even with the blowdown and bramble, they should have reached the falls ahead of her.
She tried her radio, the constant buzz grating on her last nerve. Jammers. Probably enacted once she’d shown her hand. Which meant they’d be on their own until they reached town.
A groan.
Muted.
Quickly swallowed by the rushing water. But she drew her service weapon — had it at the ready when four men burst through the frothing white curtain. Bloody. Battle worn but alive.
The lead man stopped, their wounded teammate slung over his shoulders, rifle at his waist. Ready to fire. The other two stumbled to a halt behind him, blood smeared across skin and clothes, soot and mud caked on their faces.
Her gaze flew to the last man. Bodie Page. Part time deputy at the Raven’s Cliff’s sheriff department and head of Raven’s Security. She’d worked peripherally with him multiple times during joint task forces and whenever a SAR mission required a search of one of the parks. With dark hair, blue eyes and the kind of striking physique that made her knees weak, she’d had a quiet crush on the man since they’d met.
Until her world had gone sideways, and she’d focused all her energy on uncovering the truth — putting the bastards she suspected were behind this insane attack behind bars. She’d even considered hiring him to help with some off-the-books intel gathering. With his military background and intense work ethic, he’d struck her as the kind of man who’d kick in doors first, worry about the consequences later. Though, he seemed infinitely more intimidating decked out in black, muscles primed for a fight. Some kind of death vibe rolling off him and his buddies in waves.
Bodie inhaled, then stepped forward. “Rowan?”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she crushed it, motioned to the narrow gap. “Glad you made it, Page. We’ll do introductions and a debrief later. Let’s go.”
She turned and picked her way back through the chasm, sweeping the path once she’d tripped onto the trail. A thick layer of fog snaked down the spur, a distant rumble carrying on the wind.
The Tahoe idled in the background, the driver’s door still open. She raced over, readied the seats, then waved them in. “You can lay him in the back, but this isn’t going to be a fun ride.”
The men clambered in, Bodie riding shotgun, one of his men filling the lone seat behind him, with the other hovering over their injured member in the hatch. Arms red to his wrists. Still applying pressure to the man’s wounds. She should have brought her dad’s medic bag, but she’d been dealing with her own demons — a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
She waited until the guy signaled, then popped the vehicle into drive. Gravel ticked off the undercarriage, the headlights casting twin beams through the fog as she tore down the spur, taking the first right.
Bodie checked the mirrors, sitting sidesaddle as he scanned their six. “I don’t suppose your radio works?”
She scoffed, taking the corners fast and tight. “Jammed after our conversation, which means we either have to drive out of here or find somewhere with line-of-sight to call in backup.”
Bodie nodded, still cycling through the mirrors. “Options?”
“This deep in with limited road access we really only have two. There’s a ranger substation not too far — chain-link fence. Fortified door. Decent defensibility, though, if we can get a call out, a SAR team would have to do a bucket pickup, and if our friends turn up…”
“The chopper’ll be a sitting duck, even with some firepower.” Bodie motioned to the rifle in the rear seat. “That the extent of your weapons?”
“Along with my Sig.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Didn’t think I’d need either. I was doing recon with the scope, not hunting.”
“That sounds like a story.”
