“He’s former-Green Beret, and one of the best marksmen I’ve ever seen. I can hold my own.” He nudged her. “Thinking you’re better.”
“Shooting scree, maybe.” She shouldered the butt. “People…”
“You gave them a chance.”
“Doesn’t make it feel any better.”
A hint of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. “The day it does, is the day we quit. Thirteen minutes, Rowan.”
“We’ll hold the line. And once we’re back, you owe me a beer.”
Chapter Three
Wind knifed over the saddle peak, thinning the fog as it swirled up the face — danced a flurry of pine needles across the slick rock. The last of the light glowed along the horizon, the towering spruce black against the graying sky. Rain moved along the open water, the incoming storm already bending the distant trees.
Bodie crouched behind a waist-high basalt nub, leg screaming, breath controlled. He had his carbine at the ready, the magazine too light for what they faced. One of the merc’s short-barrel rifles sat beside him, only a few shots left, but he’d brought it, regardless. He’d also grabbed a device off the one guy’s MOLLE vest. Body cam, or maybe a digital monitoring unit. A mystery he’d solve after they’d gotten out alive.
Dalton settled off to his right, calm, steady, the man’s sniper training on full display. Buck hovered over Wade, pistol in one hand, fresh gauze in the other. He looked oddly detached, as if he’d left part himself back in the woods.
Pain tightened Bodie’s chest.
They’d all left part of themselves behind, those tags like stone in his pocket. A reminder of all he still had to lose and a promise of a debt he now owed.
His gaze shifted to Rowan. He’d worked with her a few dozen times during joint task forces — searches involving the various national and state parks. She’d always been fierce, often the only voice of reason when tempers flared. And there was no question her beauty and intelligence could stop traffic. But seeing her in action…
She’d earned more than just his respect.
She’d earned his trust.
Movement.
Rustling the salal. Shifting the fog. The men stayed low, used the tree trunks for cover. Bodie noted three lanes up the ridge — left trail, center gully and little more than a goat path off to the right. All viable. All a threat.
Dalton focused on the left, rifle seated against his shoulder, body like a statue as he sighted down the scree field. Little wisps formed around his head whenever he pushed out a slow breath, his finger gently caressing the trigger.
Next to Bodie, Rowan had the center lane lined up, looking just as cool as Dalton. No wasted energy, no hesitation, just steady hands against the weapon. She shifted her gaze for a moment, eyeing him as if she wanted to figure him out, before nodding toward the ridge line.
“I’ve got movement, gents. Four o’clock.”
Bodie zeroed in with his carbine. A head appeared above the brush, a short-barrel rifle aimed their way. Bodie squeezed the trigger — two quick shots, dead center of the bush. The guy fell backward, a throaty growl rising above the wind, then silence.
Bodie spanned across, checked for more targets, when a burst of rounds ricocheted off the stone. Shards stung his face, more answering shots pelting the rocks next to Dalton and Rowan.
Bodie waited out the wave, returning a few more pulls before sliding over a few feet. “Keep shifting. Don’t give them a pattern.”
Dalton already had his rifle positioned several feet to the left, tracking some asshole trying to flank them. His buddy exhaled, fired — the target dropped a heartbeat later. He glanced at Bodie, showed a couple fingers.
Two shots left.
Bodie turned to Rowan. “How’s your ammo?”
Her jaw clenched as she sighed. “Three for the rifle. Ten for the Sig.”
What should have been more than enough, except where the men just seemed to keep coming. A never-ending line of targets with a single purpose.
Rowan cursed. “I’ve got two flanking left.” She adjusted the scope, smooth, unhurried, then dropped the front runner. Tight and high, just beyond his vest in his upper right shoulder. Clean. Non-lethal but effective. His partner hit the ground, slithered back into the brush.
Bodie checked his watch. “Eight minutes. Buck? How’s Wade?”
