Skye picked up her pace. No sign of Conn, but the gate was in sight ahead of her. Careful to stay in the shadows of a row of tall cypress, she hurried toward the gate. Behind her, gunfire erupted. Skye started running, nearly colliding with the looming figure that stepped in front of her.
“You are leaving so soon?” In the faint glow of a distant light, Petrov’s hard features looked demonic. “I don’t think so.” He reached out to grab her, but Skye jerked up her pistol and shoved the barrel into his face.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
Fury darkened the Russian’s features as he stared down at the pistol. “You think you can stop me with that little toy?” Reaching behind him, he pulled out a big semiautomatic and aimed it at the center of her chest.
With no time for options, Skye leaped forward, knocking the barrel to the side. Petrov fired and so did Skye. She felt the sting of the bullet clipping her upper arm, saw Petrov go down, and started running. Bullets pinged off the stucco walls of the cabana. Gunfire echoed around her. She thought she heard Petrov firing but didn’t slow to find out.
She made the gate just seconds after Trace arrived. He swung the gate open, and both of them bolted through and kept on running. More shots echoed behind them.Conn.He was giving them time to reach their destination—wherever that was.
The top of her arm was burning, blood trailing down to her elbow. She glanced around, trying to spot Conn, but saw only dirt fields and rolling hills.
She slowed. “Where are we going?”
“Helicopter,” Trace said. “Should be here any minute. I’m going back to help your brother.” Trace turned and started running. Skye raced up beside him.
“Dammit, Skye! Get over the first hill, and wait for the helo!”
“In your dreams,” she said, and then both of them were firing as Conn raced toward them.
Skye glanced over her shoulder.Where the hell was the chopper?
“Keep going!” Conn shouted. “Get over that ridge out of sight!”
Skye and Trace both spun in unison and raced up the hill, leaving Conn to lay down cover fire behind them. They hit the ridge and flattened themselves on the ground just over the top of the rise. Petrov’s men were firing from the bottom of the hill—what seemed an army of them.
“If they flank us,” Skye said, “we won’t be able to hold out long.”
“Where the hell is that chopper?” Trace said, repeating her thoughts.
Skye watched Petrov’s men spreading out, circling, making their way around their position on the hill. Her heart was hammering so hard she didn’t hear the helicopter coming in until dirt started swirling around her.
The helo hovered. Trace raced for the cargo bay door and slid it open.
“Go!” Conn said. Skye took off at a crouching run, threw herself into the opening, and Trace followed her in. Then Conn was there, and the helo was lifting away.
She glanced toward the cockpit, glimpsed the profile of the pilot, recognized the shadow of beard that lined the hard jaw of Morgan Burke. So not only a marine but a marine helicopter pilot.
For the first time, it occurred to Skye that bullets were no longer flying in their direction. As Burke worked the controls and the helicopter gained altitude, she could see a wave of flashing, red-and-blue lights below. Law enforcement had arrived, and agents were swarming the house and grounds.
“Dammit, you’re hit.” Trace knelt beside her, eased her down on the floor of the chopper. Then Conn appeared at her side.
“It’s only a crease,” she told them. “It hurts like blazes, but it isn’t serious.”
Conn ignored her. He found the first-aid kit and went to work as the helicopter winged its way back toward Las Vegas. The sparkling array of lights continued to build below them as more law enforcement arrived, and Skye breathed a sigh of relief. Then she thought of Edge, and her relief disappeared.
“What about Edge?”
“No idea,” Conn said, his features grim as he swabbed the gash in her upper arm. “None of us has heard a word from him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“LET’S HEAD BACK,” DUTCH SAID, SATISFIED THAT THE TRUCK WASon its way. They walked toward the van.
“Where are they taking the load?” Edge asked, his gaze following the big rig.
“The product’s being dropped in two different locations.” Dutch flashed him a warning glance.No more questions.
