I calm my breathing and circle around the truck, looking for the driver or Ryker. Hoping I find one and not the other.
I’m crossing around the back of the truck when a large body knocks me to the ground, and I hear a series of pings seconds later.
My rescuer pushed me down on my bad shoulder, and tears sprang to my eyes.
“Kitten? Are you okay?” Ryker’s hands roam over my body.
“Can’t,” I wheeze. “Talk.”
“Oh, shit,” Ryker eyeballs my left shoulder. “I think I reopened your stitches.”
Gunfire erupts to our side. The gasoline smell gets worse.
“Can you get up? We need to run, Kitten.”
I nod and barely remember Ryker lifting me over his shoulder in a hulked-out fireman carry. He’s three steps away from the truck when it bursts into flames. The concussion knocks both of us to the ground.
“Damn it!” I swear.
“Sorry, Kitten,” Ryker pulls me toward him. “Thought we had more time than that.”
“I’m sick to death of being shot at and blown up,” I ease to standing. “Let’s get that motherfucker.”
Ryker doesn’t argue. He gives me hand signals to split up. Adrenaline courses through my veins, momentarily making me forget about the reopened gunshot wound to my shoulder.
We stalk through the forest. Our target must be the biggest dumbass alive because he keeps shooting at the truck. He not only missed our escape, but he’s giving us the perfect place to find him.
A squishy brown-skinned man is hunkered behind a stump, shooting at the truck. I raise my weapon and wait until he runs out of bullets.
“Dakota Helfinger,” I command. “Drop the weapon. Step away from the tree and put your hands up.”
His head jerks in my direction, and he produces another gun, shooting at me. I dive to the right, landing on my side, but thankfully not the wounded one. I don’t tell him a second time. I spray bullets in that fucker’s direction.
Dakota drops after the second or third bullet.
My hand is shaking from the exertion as I stop firing. I hold the gun at my waist, using my left hand for support. It’s covered in so much blood, but I can’t think about that right now.
I need to bring in this motherfucker.
I step closer to the domestic terrorist. “Dakota Helfinger. Put your hands behind your head.”
He doesn’t respond.
I move as close as I can without getting into his reach, which is a good thing because that cocksucker is still alive and trying to grab my ankles.
I stomp on his hand, then kick him in the jaw. “I said - put your hands behind your head. I won’t tell you again. The next time you try something, I won’t bother bringing you in to face trial.”
Dakota finally puts both hands behind his head. Ryker appears at my side and pats Dakota down for weapons. He ties up our fugitive until our backup arrives three minutes later.
I fall to the stump and look at Ryker, who isn’t even breathing heavily. “One down. One to go.”
Chapter 35
“There’s always a spin doctor.”
-Ryker
Cat winces in pain every time she moves around the exterior interrogation room. And every time she winces in pain, it shoots an arrow right through my heart.
