He crept forward, ignoring the pain and the blood leaking down his chest, crawling on his belly through the mud puddles, twigs, and wet leaves.
Josh figured the sniper was doing exactly what Josh would be doing—waiting. Figuring, sooner or later, his target would have to move. As soon as Josh gave the shooter an opening, he would be dead.
He dropped down behind a fallen log covered in muck and branches and rested the rifle barrel on top, pausing to scan the distant woods through the scope. The sniper’s nest came into focus and he prepared to take the shot.
He couldn’t afford to rush the shot again. If he missed, the killer could take him out and then come after Tory.
As he watched his opponent, everything inside him went still, his mind congealed into a single thought.Make this one count.
Josh sighted down the barrel through the scope. The target’s camouflaged body shifted. Josh waited. The shooter moved a fraction, bringing the side of his head into the crosshairs, and Josh gently squeezed the trigger.
The rifle shot echoed and the man was dead, his body slumping forward, into the tall, wet grass.
Josh closed his eyes and his tense muscles relaxed. A slow breath seeped from his lungs. He searched the surrounding area through the scope, scanning carefully, checking with his well-trained naked eye, but didn’t see any other threat.
From the start there had been two shooters. Pete and Coy were dead. Now both of their killers were dead, too.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed to his feet, and started toward Tory. She was still behind the tree, but she was holding her. 38 revolver in her hand, pointed in the direction of the shooter.
His heart squeezed. She was amazing. And she could have been killed.
Tory shoved her pistol back into the holster at her waist, shot to her feet, and raced toward him. Careful of his wound, she ducked under his good arm, propping him up on her shoulder, helping him walk back to the oak. She set him down and leaned him back against the trunk of the tree.
Josh smiled up at her. “It’s over, baby. This time it’s finished.”
She glanced around. “Are you sure there aren’t more?”
“None here. We’ll talk to Taggart, but I’m thinking this was the last member of the cell.”
“You need a doctor, Josh. We’ve got to get you home.”
“We’ll have to catch the horses.”
“Rose is just over there. I’ll ride back and get help.”
He didn’t argue. The blood loss was beginning to make him lightheaded. Tory started for the mare, but as she grabbed the reins and tugged Rosebud forward, he heard the whop of helicopter blades pounding through the air in the distance.
Josh looked toward the west and saw a chopper heading in their direction. As it circled the open pasture, Tory ran into the open and started waving her arms. The chopper spotted her and began to descend. It settled in the wet green grass just a few dozen yards away.
The letters FBI on the side of the aircraft couldn’t have been a more welcome sight. Josh shoved himself to his feet and started toward them. He had only taken a couple of steps before he passed out cold in the grass.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tory sat next to Josh’s hospital bed. They had kept him at Iron Springs Medical overnight. He had lost a lot of blood, plus he needed antibiotics to protect against infection.
He was cranky and anxious to go home. According to the doctor, the bullet had missed his ribs and hit soft tissue instead of bone. Nice and clean, the doctor had said. Josh had been lucky.
Tory thought they had both been extremely lucky.
The shooting had been a huge story on the eleven o’clock local news last night. It had been picked up by the wire service and spread all over the country. Josh was a hero once more. He wasn’t happy about it but there was nothing he could do.
She reached over and fluffed his pillow, helping him get more comfortable, then looked up to see Agent Quinn Taggart pushing through the door of the private room Josh had been assigned, probably thanks to Linc.
According to Taggart, when he hadn’t heard from Josh, he had phoned the ranch again. Mrs. Thompson had told him Tory had ridden out to find Josh, but they hadn’t returned. She was worried, Clara had said.
Nervous about the second shooter, who so far hadn’t been located, Taggart and several other FBI agents had helicoptered out from the Dallas office, arriving just in time to whisk Josh off to the hospital.
Other agents had been called in to handle the crime scene, bring the horses in, and remove the body of the terrorist who had killed Coy Whitmore and tried to kill Josh.
