Not about Wallace. Not about Naomi. Not about Gary.
One of them could be the reason two people were already dead. Or maybe it was someone else entirely.
Either way, he planned to find out. And soon.
The shots tapered off, each one farther apart than the last until finally, silence crept in like fog. Still, Colt did not move. He kept his body low and his rifle ready. The minutes dragged.Sweat trickled down his spine beneath the body armor, but he ignored it.
He wanted to be sure. Absolutely sure.
“Someone’s down there,” Naomi blurted.
Colt’s gaze cut to her. “Where?”
The woman pointed with a trembling hand. “By the creek. Just beyond that big rock.”
Colt followed her line of sight and narrowed his eyes. In the shadows at the bank, movement flickered. A figure. Fast. Low. Disappearing behind the tangle of trees before Colt could get a good look.
“Could be Gary,” Colt muttered, uncertain. “Or not.”
Colt waited. The seconds ticked by with nothing but the wind in the trees and the faint groan of the bridge settling under its own weight. No more shots. No more smoke. No more noise. Just the steady drum of his heart in his ears.
Finally, he lifted his head.
The Crossfire SUV sat about thirty feet away, gleaming and exposed in the early morning light. Too far. Too open. But they needed cover, and they needed to move. He made a decision.
“I’m going,” he said. “Stay down. I’ll bring the SUV to you.”
He didn’t wait for objections. He broke from cover and ran low and fast across the uneven ground.
The crack of the gunshot tore through the air.
The impact slammed into his chest like a hammer. White heat exploded through his torso, followed by blistering pain that stole the breath from his lungs. His vest caught the bullet, but the force of it drove him off balance.
Brenna’s voice rang out behind him, panicked. “Colt!”
Harlan cursed. Another shot rang out—this one from Harlan—followed by the echo of gunfire ripping through the trees.
Because he had no choice, Colt dropped hard onto his side and rolled to cover, dirt grinding into his palms.
“Stay down,” Brenna shouted, already scrambling toward him.
He dragged in a shallow breath that scorched like fire.
“I’m good,” he rasped. “Vest caught it. Just knocked the wind out of me.”
Brenna reached him, one hand pressed to his arm, her eyes searching his face. “Damn it, Colt,” she whispered. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He gave a short nod, still struggling to get a full breath. The pain pulsed in his chest, but he was alive. And now they knew for sure.
This time, someone had aimed.
“Harlan,” Colt called, wincing as he shifted into a crouch. “Shooter’s hiding in the trees, near the creek.”
“Colt, you good?” Harlan shouted back.
“He took one to the vest,” Brenna answered, her voice still tight with concern. “It knocked him flat, but he’s breathing.”
“Cover me,” Harlan growled.
