Kawan’s pulse thudded. Limp meant injured. Injured meant it could be anyone from that mission. “Which way’d he go?”
“No idea. Disappeared out that door like smoke.” She folded her arms. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I didn’t even want to take that damn envelope, but the man gave me a hundred bucks.”
“Was that in small bills, or one large one?” Lark asked. “And when was he here?”
“Early this morning, and all small bills. Why does that matter?” the waitress asked.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Kawan said. “Thanks for your help.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash.
She smiled, slipping the money inside her apron.
They left the diner without another word. The moment they stepped outside, the dry wind slapped Kawan in the face, tasting of iron and old motor oil. The air had changed—thicker somehow. Charged.
Lark stopped at the SUV’s passenger door. “You feel that?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something’s off. It’s too still.”
He turned his head, just a fraction—enough to catch a glint of light from the tree line across the road. Opposite of where Thor and Lief were located. A flicker of reflection. Too high.
“Down,” he yelled, lunging sideways just as the first shot cracked the air.
The bullet punched into the SUV’s rear panel with a metallic scream, sending shards of taillight flying. Lark hit the gravel on her hands and knees, rolling behind the front tire.
Kawan dropped low, snagged his weapon, pulled the comms from his pocket, and stuffed them in his ear. “We’ve got a sniper. Across the street, tree line, two o’clock high.”
Another shot rang out—this one sparking off the pavement inches from his boot.
“Son of a bitch—” Kawan belly-crawled to the front of the SUV, used the wheel well for cover. “Lark, you hit?”
“No. You?”
“Just pissed.”
Lief’s voice crackled through the comms. “We see him. Across the road. Behind the diner. High in the tree line. Shooter’s moving… there’s a car parked in the bushes.”
“Take him,” Kawan snapped. “Don’t wait for an invite.”
A distant engine roared to life. Tires squealed.
“We’re on him,” Lief gritted.
Kawan peeked out just in time to see a dark-colored SUV—a black Jeep—peel out of the brush and fishtail back toward the road.
Lark was already moving, envelope stuffed into her jacket, weapon drawn. “We need to go.”
“No argument.”
They scrambled into the SUV. Kawan slammed the gas pedal, wheels churning gravel before grabbing pavement.
Up ahead, the Jeep tore down the highway like a black phantom—Lief and Thor right behind them.
“Stay tucked in behind me,” Thor said through the comms.
Kawan floored it, chasing the dust cloud in the distance. “Let’s box him in. I’ll push him forward. You cut left at the county split.”
Lark gripped the passenger handle. “We’re not exactly in a tank, you know.”
“We don’t need to ram him. Just corral him.”
