The line clicked, Noah’s voice sharp and alert. “What’s your status?”
“We’ve got a former deputy, Sherry Dalton, down near the culvert where the other IED was found just a few days ago. She’s possibly injured. Could be bait. Could be she’s using herself as a trapfor Laney and me. Sheriff can’t send help, and I need you to move operatives now. Have them bring equipment to scan for explosives.”
As Noah started issuing rapid-fire instructions to someone in the background, Harlan tightened his grip on the phone. His grip was so hard that his knuckles ached, and every muscle was wired tight as he watched for the smallest movement in the kill zone stretched before them.
Through the glass, Harlan froze when Sherry moved. She shifted weakly onto her side, then tried to push herself up, her voice ragged and carrying just enough to reach them.
“Help me. Please,” Sherry called out.
Harlan raised the binoculars and zoomed in. The details cut into sharp relief. A gash streaked across her temple, blood seeping down into her hairline. Her hands were bound in front of her with coarse rope, and there was more blood on her mouth and shirt.
“Damn,” Harlan muttered under his breath.
Laney leaned forward, tension in every line of her body. “She’s tied up.”
“Yeah. I see it.” He adjusted the focus and studied every inch of the ground around her. No glint of wire, no obvious trigger device, but that didn’t mean anything. “That cut on her head looks bad, but it could be staged. Same with the blood. We don’t know if any of this is real.”
Laney’s hand pressed against the dash, her breath uneven. “She sounds desperate, Harlan.”
He lowered the binoculars, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Once Crossfire Ops arrives, they’ll sweep this entire stretch for explosives. Then we’ll move in. Not before because if we step on an IED, we could blow her up with us.”
Laney nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on Sherry. The desperation in her gaze was different, softer, but edged with fear. Harlan reached over, brushing his hand over hers for just a second before tightening his grip on the binoculars again.
“After Crossfire Ops gets here, I’ll keep her in my sights the whole time,” Harlan let Laney know. “If Sherry so much as twitches wrong, I’ll stop her before she can make a move.”
And he knew Laney would do the same thing. She was the best kind of backup he could have.
He focused on Sherry once more, but his mind stayed on Laney. He couldn’t risk her walking into a trap, not when every instinct screamed this was exactly what Billy, Brannigan, or someone else wanted.
The phone buzzed in his hand. Harlan glanced at the screen and saw that it was a text from Noah.
Help’s on the way. Ten minutes out. Sending Beck with them.
Harlan’s shoulders eased a fraction. Beck Culver was Crossfire Ops’ combat medic, a man who had patched them up in places where there had been no hospitals for miles. If anyone could keep Sherry alive long enough to answer questions, it was Beck.
His thumb hovered over the screen, ready to type a quick thanks, when a sharp sound cracked through the stillness.
A heavy thud.
His head snapped up. The noise had come from behind them.
Laney turned too, eyes narrowing. “What was that?”
Before he could answer, the road behind their SUV ripped open in a violent flash. The boom shattered the air, heat and debris blasting upward as the asphalt tore apart.
A grenade.
The vehicle rocked with the force, rattling his bones. He ducked instinctively, arm flung across Laney to shield her as dirt and gravel slammed against the SUV’s windows.
The SUV shuddered again, the echo of the blast still rattling through his ribs. Shards of asphalt and rock hammered the roof and hood, each impact like the strike of a hammer. The smell of smoke and scorched earth burned his nostrils.
Then came another crack, another thud.
“Brace yourself,” Harlan barked.
The grenade detonated ahead of them, a searing flash followed by a violent roar. The shockwave slammed the front of the vehicle, the windshield trembling in its frame.
Laney gasped, hand gripping the dashboard. “Oh God.”
