"This is where we split," he whispered, eyes scanning the terrain ahead. "Ransom, take the west flank, circle wide. Harlow, east side, use the creek bed for cover. I'll go up the middle. We need to know what we're dealing with before we move in."
I nodded, already mapping my route in my head. The creek bed would give me perfect cover all the way to the edge of the clearing where the road ended.
"If it's Dan against those poachers," Knox continued, his voice deadly serious, "we come in quiet and fast. No heroics."
The look he gave me made it clear that last part was specifically for me. I met his gaze without flinching. "I won't do anything stupid," I promised. "But I'm not leaving Dan out there."
"None of us are," Ransom assured me, checking his knife before disappearing into the underbrush to my left.
Knox gripped my shoulder once, then pointed toward the creek bed. "Go. And Harlow—be careful."
I moved without another word, sliding down into the shallow creek and making my way east. Dan was out there, facing danger alone because he thought he was protecting me. He was about to learn that McKenzies protected their own—and like it or not, he was one of ours now.
The creek bed gave me perfect cover as I moved toward the road, keeping low and stepping careful like Pa taught me when tracking wounded deer. Water splashed soft around my boots, but I made less noise than the breeze through the trees.
When I reached the edge where forest met clearing, I sank down behind a fallen log thick with moss and peered through a gap in the underbrush.
What I saw made my blood run cold—Dan's truck lay on its side, riddled with bullet holes, and Dan himself was crouched behind it, clutching his arm where a dark stain spread across his sleeve.
Blood. Dan was bleeding.
My fingers dug into the soft, rotting wood of the log as I fought the urge to rush straight to him. Two men stood near a black SUV about thirty yards from Dan's position, both holding handguns pointed in his direction.
One wore a dark jacket and baseball cap, while the other, taller one had on a flannel shirt that reminded me of my own. They were taking turns firing shots at Dan's truck, not aiming to hit him but to keep him pinned.
"Collins wants you alive," the taller one called out, his voice carrying easily in the still forest air. "But he didn't say nothing about not hurting you first!"
Dan didn't answer, but I saw him check his service weapon, his movements quick and practiced despite his injury. His face was set in determined lines, jaw clenched tight against pain or fear or both. Even from my position, I could see the bloodsoaking through the sleeve of his shirt, but his hand remained steady on his gun.
Something dark and fierce rose inside me at the sight of him wounded, cornered like an animal. These men had hurt Dan. They could kill him if they got tired of this game. The thought made my chest tighten until it was hard to breathe proper.
I scanned the area, looking for Knox and Ransom. A subtle movement in the undergrowth across the clearing told me Ransom was already in position on the west side. Knox would be approaching from directly behind the SUV, using the road as cover. Smart. The three of us had the shooters surrounded, but they didn't know it yet.
Pa's voice echoed in my head, lessons from childhood hunting trips: "Patience, Harlow. Move like you're part of the forest itself." I slipped from behind the log and began circling to get closer, using every skill I'd learned tracking deer and elk through these woods. Each step deliberate. Each movement controlled despite my size. I was good at this—better than most people expected from someone as big as me.
The shooters were focused on Dan, not bothering to check their flanks. Sloppy. Dangerous. I worked my way through the thick underbrush until I was barely fifteen feet from the man in the baseball cap, close enough to see the sweat on his neck, to smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.
He shifted nervously, checking over his shoulder but not looking low enough to spot me crouched in the ferns and salal. "This is taking too long," he muttered to his partner. "Let's just rush him and be done with it."
The taller man shook his head. "Collins said not to kill him unless we have to."
"Screw Collins. I'm not standing out here all night."
They were getting impatient. That made them more dangerous. I needed to act before they decided to charge Dan'sposition. A quick glance across the clearing showed Ransom ready, his body coiled like a spring. Knox would be in position by now too.
I reached down, found a decent-sized branch, and snapped it deliberately. The sharp crack echoed through the clearing, causing both men to whirl toward the sound—toward me.
That was all the distraction we needed.
I erupted from the underbrush with a roar that came from somewhere deep and primal, a sound I barely recognized as my own. The man in the baseball cap had just enough time to widen his eyes in shock before I slammed into him, my 255 pounds of muscle and bone knocking him flat. His gun went flying as we hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
Across the clearing, Ransom had launched himself at the taller man, taking him down in a flying tackle that would have made our high school football coach proud. Their bodies hit the ground with a heavy thud followed by cursing and the sound of fists meeting flesh.
The man beneath me struggled, clawing at my face, trying to buck me off. I pinned his arms with my knees and pressed one large hand against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath my palm.
"Don't move," I growled, putting just enough pressure to make breathing difficult but not impossible.
"Hands where I can see them!" Knox's voice rang out as he emerged from behind the SUV, his hunting rifle aimed at Ransom's opponent, who was already subdued with Ransom's knee in his back.
