Harlan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but the thought had been gnawing at him since the first shot.
“It could be,” he admitted. “This whole thing might be designed to draw Garrett out, leaving them exposed. If Evie’s the target, that’s when the real strike happens.”
Her breath caught, the weight of it hitting her. She finished the text and sent it off, then tightened her grip on her gun, her knuckles pale against the dark metal.
Another volley of shots rang out, the windshield vibrating under the impact. The night pressed close, the trees across the road hiding whoever had them in their sights.
Harlan’s mind raced. Whoever was out there was smart enough to keep hidden, patient enough to keep the fire concentrated. That made them dangerous.
Harlan’s mind worked fast. He thought about cracking his window, leaning out, and sending fire back across the road. It might make the shooter pull back, but it would also expose him. One opening, one flash of skin in the dark, and whoever was out there would have the perfect shot. And there could be two of them. A second shooter could be waiting for exactly that mistake.
The pounding rattle of bullets kept hammering into the glass, the steady rhythm drilling into his chest. Then the windshield gave way with a violent shatter, safety glass raining down on them. The sound was like ice breaking on a frozen lake, sharp and final.
Laney flinched beside him, throwing an arm up against the shower of fragments. Harlan shoved closer to her, shielding her with his body while shards tumbled onto them. The front of the SUV looked gutted, the night air rushing in with the smell of gunpowder and the bitter tang of splintered glass.
His heart was pounding, his instincts screaming that the shooter was waiting for them to panic, to open a door, to make one wrong move.
Harlan’s muscles coiled, his hand gripping the rifle tight as he weighed his options. Throwing the SUV into reverse would get them out of the line of fire, but it would also drag the shooter’s aim straight toward the house. Toward Evie. Toward Carol.
That wasn’t an option.
He forced himself higher, enough to clear his weapon, and lined up across the cracked remains of the windshield. His finger curled, ready to squeeze the trigger and send a message back into the dark.
A cry split the gunfire. Raw. Jagged. Pain.
“Ah, hell—I’m hit!”
Billy.
The sound of his voice burned through Harlan’s head as he froze, weapon steady but his pulse spiking harder. He didn’t lower the barrel, not yet, but his eyes flicked toward the tree line, straining to catch movement. The gunfire had stopped.
Laney sucked in a sharp breath beside him, her gaze snapping toward him. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her sidearm.
Billy’s voice came again, weaker, echoing through the dark. “I need help! I’ve been shot.”
Harlan’s jaw tightened. This could be a trick. Or it could be the one person with answers bleeding out in the woods.
The phone buzzed against his thigh. Harlan risked a quick glance, then let out a tight breath when he saw Garrett’s message. Backup was coming. Deputies. Crossfire Ops. Reinforcements they needed.
But help was still minutes away.
His mind worked fast. If Billy really was down, bleeding in those trees, they might need more than armed men. They might need an ambulance. But calling EMTs here, now, would be signing their death warrants. No medic unit could roll up without lights, without sound, and whoever had just lit up the SUV was still out there. Waiting. Watching.
Harlan’s gut told him moving too soon would only paint targets on their backs.
Beside him, Laney kept her gun at the ready, eyes on the dark beyond the cracked windshield. She was silent, but he didn’t need words to feel the same battle raging through her. Stay safe in the SUV, or risk stepping into a trap.
Another faint groan carried from the trees. Billy again. Closer this time, or maybe weaker. Hard to tell.
Harlan ground his teeth and forced himself to stay still. Too risky. They had to wait, no matter how much every instinct screamed at him to move.
The gunfire started up. Each round slammed into the front of the SUV with a jolt that rattled through the frame. Billy’s shouts for help carried over the bursts, thinner now, more desperate. He was fading.
Or maybe pretending to do that anyway.
Laney’s voice cut through the barrage. “If we fire together, keep it constant, it’ll pin the shooter down. They’ll have to stop or pull back.”
Harlan’s jaw tightened. She was right. Sitting still was only giving the shooter the advantage. The SUV had extra weapons, full magazines stacked for exactly this kind of nightmare. If they lit up the tree line, it could force whoever was out there to break cover. Or at least keep the rounds off them long enough for backup to close in.
