And Annie Whitaker refused to let that be the end.
***
Jack lay motionless beside the disabled SUV, his cheek pressed against cold gravel, every breath measured, every muscle locked in restraint. The bullet had torn through his shoulder in a burning line of pain that radiated down his arm and into his chest, but it had missed bone and artery. He knew that much from experience. What he didn’t know was how long he could stay conscious if he kept bleeding like this.
Two sets of boots stopped within arm’s reach.
“Check him.”
Rough hands rolled him just enough to search his jacket and waistband. They found his service weapon and stripped it away, along with the radio he had taken from the SUV. He let his head loll, forced his body to go slack, even as agony flared through his shoulder and spots swam at the edges of his vision. He focused on staying still. Staying quiet. Staying alive.
“This is him,” one of the men said. “Matches the description.”
“Alive or dead?”
“Alive. The employer wants answers.”
The word tightened something cold and hard in Jack’s chest. Employer. Not client. Not family. Someone was paying for this operation, and paying well enough to field trained teams, specialized equipment, and coordinated search patterns across a mountain range.
“What about the woman?”
“Mitchell’s tracking her. She planted the device herself. Should have her within minutes.”
Jack’s blood chilled. Sarah Mitchell wasn’t just connected to this. She was running it.
A beam of light swept the tree line. “Movement. Upslope.” The guards turned, weapons lifting, and Jack cracked one eye just in time to see Annie breaking through the trees. She wasn’t running away. She was running straight toward him. A surge of urgency tore through him, sharp enough to override the pain. She must have heard the gunfire. Must have thought he was down. She was walking straight into a kill zone.
“Target acquired,” one of the men said into his radio. “Female approaching from sector seven. Moving to intercept.”
Both guards shifted position, stepping away from Jack, attention locked uphill.
It was the opening he had been waiting for.
Jack drove his good heel into the gravel and rolled hard behind the SUV just as the men advanced. His hand went straight to his ankle, fingers closing around the grip of the backup revolver they hadn’t found. He pushed himself upright, braced his back against the vehicle, and rose.
“Annie, get down!”
The words tore from his throat as he brought the revolver up and fired.
The first shot struck the nearest guard in the chest. The man went down without a sound.
The second guard spun, startled, weapon rising. Jack fired again, but his injured shoulder screamed and the round went wide, chewing into the concrete pad instead. The guard dove behind the pickup, returning fire in a brutal burst that shattered glass and sent sparks ricocheting across metal.
Annie dropped flat behind a concrete barrier as bullets chewed the air above her.
Jack moved, half-falling into cover as the recoil jarred his wounded arm. He forced himself to breathe through the pain, forced his vision to steady, and raised the revolver again.
Three rounds left.
The guard behind the truck had a rifle, cover, and backup closing fast.
“Jack, you’re hit!” Annie shouted.
“Shoulder,” he called back. “I’m still in it.”
Voices echoed from the tree line. Multiple. Organized. Closing distance.
“Team One, converge on base. We have contact.”
