“Guys,” Martinelli said. “Me first.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, even as Rousseau’s voice lifted.
“Please. I did everything you asked. I threatened the ranchers, made them sell their properties, I kept quiet about the Shadow Syndicate.”
The Shadow Syndicate. Rowan knew it. This wasn’t just about local land deals. This was part of something much larger.
“Plans change,” one of the men replied, pulling out a pistol. “Nothing personal.”
Go, go!
Martinelli read his mind. He nodded as Saxon moved out and kicked open the door. Then the detective burst in, his weapon trained on the gunman. “Police! Drop your weapons!”
Rowan rolled in, sighted the man who’d raised his pistol.
He wasn’t sure whose shot took him out. The shooter crumpled where he stood. The other man dove behind the desk. The third took off, running, shooting.
Rowan threw himself sideways, ducking behind a filing cabinet as bullets splintered the wood paneling where his head had been seconds before.
Saxon had jerked back out of the room. Martinelli pulled Rousseau to his feet.
And then it just…happened.
The armed thug rose from behind the table, swinging his pistol toward Martinelli. Rowan stepped out, his weapon already trained center mass. Two quick shots. The gunman’s chest exploded in crimson.
And then another shot, outside the room.
Rowan glanced at Saxon, but he’d taken off, footsteps echoing down the garage.
Martinelli moved to check the downed gunmen, his weapon still drawn. “Clear,” he called, kicking the fallen pistol away.
Rowan took off, out of the office, after Saxon. He found him standing in the driveway, breathing hard.
“Lost him. He had a vehicle waiting.” He turned. “Should I go after him?”
“Let’s get Rousseau.”
They ran back inside.
Rousseau lay on the floor, his breathing labored. A gunshot leaked blood from his abdomen, which Martinelli tried to staunch. “I need to call this in.”
They traded places and Martinelli got up, stepped away.
Saxon knelt next to Rowan. “He doesn’t look so good.”
“You think?” Rowan rolled him over, cutting the ropes with his tactical knife. “We’re the good guys. You’re safe now.”
Rousseau met his eyes. “I never meant it to get this far.” Blood trickled from the corner of the man’s mouth. His voice came out thick and slurred.
Martinelli approached, holstering his weapon. “Medical’s on the way. How is he?”
“Alive, but barely,” Rowan said, noting the man’s dilated pupils and shallow breathing.
“The ranchers,” Rousseau whispered. “They’re going after the families now. The Blackwoods, the Hendricks, anyone who won’t sell.”
Rowan stared at him. “What do you mean, going after the families?”
“Leverage. Kidnapping. Whatever it takes to force the sales.” Ralph’s gaze struggled to focus.
