She blinked. Her mind spun and her stomach ached. Her ribs felt like a hot poker was wedged between them. “Huck?”
No sound came from the downed officer.
More bullets hit the truck in rapid succession.
“Huck!” She released her seatbelt and fell to the crumpled roof, her left hand catching her so she could flip around to her knees. Another volley attacked the truck, and she covered Huck’s prone body while reaching for her gun in the laptop bag. Her right arm ached and her fingers wouldn’t curl. When the volley stopped, she held her breath and bent down, the gun in her left hand. She was ambidextrous but definitely better with her right hand.
A figure stalked down the vacant road toward them, gun out, moving quickly and barely visible in the darkness.
She lifted her left hand, aimed, and squeezed off several shots through the already damaged windshield. The glass cracked loudly and her ears screamed in pain.
The figure dropped to the ground and fired back.
She crouched to cover Huck and scrambled in her coat pocket for her phone to dial 911.
“911—”
“Officer down on Hourglass Road about five miles from Raspy’s Restaurant,” she yelled, her voice already hoarse. “Active shooter, FBI agent engaged. Send backup.”
When the firing stopped, she peered into the darkness but couldn’t see the attacker. He must’ve been reloading. This was her only chance.
Grunting, she put her back to the seat and kicked the windshield in rapid succession, aiming for the side that was already damaged. It cracked again and fell. Holding her weapon, she rolled out, feeling glass cut into her neck. Then she angled around the truck, staying low, sinking to her thighs in the snow.
Her heart thundered in her head and her lungs seized, but she kept one hand steady on the gun. She took several deep breaths of the glacial air to clear her mind and tried to push the pain away for now.
The shooter stood and fired again.
She ducked to the side, rolled in the snow, and came up shooting at his former position.
He leaped behind a snowbank.
She inched to the front of the truck, searching in the darkness. Slowly, she crept forward, her gun at the ready.
No movement. Then the sound of a branch snapping beyond the snowbank. She raced toward the road, sinking into the thick snow, keeping low and ready to fire. She reached the road and slid to the middle, pointing her weapon at where the shooter had stood. A truck roared to life beyond the trees on the other side, and snow fell off the branches. The vehicle zoomed away down a side road.
Damn it.
The cold had her shaking but she didn’t feel it thanks to the adrenaline flooding her system. Wiping blood off her forehead, she turned back and shoved through the heavy snow as fast as she could to the overturned truck. “Huck?” She bent down, trying to avoid the snowy glass. “Huck?”
He lay motionless on the roof, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Blood covered the side of his face, and his eyes remained closed. Was he breathing?
Panic pushed away the cloudiness in her head.
Sirens trilled in the distance.
She bent to avoid shards of glass and moved back inside the truck, feeling for the pulse at his wrist with her good hand. “Huck?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Huck couldn’t reach the surface. Ice and water trapped him, sucking the life from him. His lungs compressed, desperate for air. He came to with a gasp, sitting up and punching out. His fist connected with a hand. The echo of the slap penetrated his panicked brain, and he started to fight in earnest.
“Dude. Stop,” a male voice said as strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him down.
Down. Back into the water. He couldn’t go. With a roar, he struck out, ready to tear the world apart.
“Huck.” A soft voice. One he knew. “Stop it.”
He stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. Pain scissored into his brain with sharp blades and he winced, closing his eyes. “Laurel?”
