Gunfire.
Hawk moved before I could react, yanking me down behind the truck. Another shot rang out, kicking up dirt beside my tire.
“Stay down,” he ordered.
“Like hell,” I hissed, drawing my weapon and peeking around the bumper. “They’re in the trees!”
“Two shooters,” Hawk said, calm as if he were counting groceries. “South ridge, about fifty yards.”
“How do you—”
He squeezed my arm. “Because I’ve been in this dance before. You cover me; I’ll flank.”
“Flank? Hawk, this isn’t a war zone!”
He gave me that infuriating grin again. “You’d be surprised.”
Before I could stop him, he sprinted toward the side ofthe fence, moving low and fast. My heart jumped to my throat. I fired a warning shot toward the trees, forcing the shooters to duck. Seconds later, the woods went silent.
“Hawk!” I called.
No answer. My heart was pounding.
Then I heard a grunt, the thud of a body hitting the ground, and Hawk stepped out of the brush, dragging one of the gunmen by the collar. The man’s face was bloodied, his pistol lying somewhere back in the woods.
“Found one,” Hawk said, breathing hard. “The other ran.”
I holstered my weapon and grabbed the cuffs from my belt. “You just assaulted a suspect, you know that?”
“He shot at you. You’re welcome.”
I cuffed the man and called for backup. My hands shook a little, but I tried not to let him see. Hawk leaned against the truck, watching me, sweat running down the side of his neck.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like you enjoyed that.”
He smirked. “What can I say? You make danger look good.”
5
Hawk
The interrogation room at the Copper Cove Police Department hadn’t changed much since I was fifteen and the Sheriff hauled me and a buddy here for fighting some other boys. Same buzzing fluorescent lights, same yellowing paint that made the walls look like they’d been smoking for fifty years.
Julia stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, arms crossed, jaw tight. She’d been pacing ever since we brought the cartel thug in.
“Relax,” I said, leaning against the wall. “You’re wearing a hole in the floor. Why are they letting you question the guy? You don’t work here.”
Her eyes flicked to me. “Sometimes I help them out. Plus, he shot at me, Hawk. I’m allowed to pace. Why would someone shoot at me?”
“Technically, he shot at me too.”
“Technically, you’re not law enforcement, which means you shouldn’t have been there.”
“Technically,” I said, grinning, “if I hadn’t been there,you’d still be chasing tire tracks, and it was our property they were on.”
