“Got it. They’re not expecting short Millie and her lawyer to be a threat.” She crouched down against the structure, disappearing into the shadows.
He was counting on being underestimated. “I’ll go up.” He looked wildly around, then caught sight of the edge of the slanted roof. Moss grew over the rough shingles and down the wooden siding. Would the roof even hold his weight? This was such a fucking disaster, but he needed to get his eyes on the attackers.
He had to push fury to the background and go cold.
Shoving the knife in his pocket, careful not to stab himself, he reached up with both hands and flipped himself onto the roof, landing first on his elbows and then his knees so he didn’t make a sound. The mossy shingles slipped beneath him and he stilled, waiting until they settled. From his vantage point, he could see the shadows of the men moving to the front of the structure. One would probably go inside. That left only one man to explore the rear of the building, looking for them.
Keeping as silent as he’d been trained, Scott maneuvered to the side nearest the river and looked down. A shingle slipped and he grabbed it, forcing the square back into place. The broad and tall man below him held the gun like he knew how to handle himself. Scott waited until the man had moved just beyond him and flipped over the side, slashing down with the knife as he dropped.
Shock stilled the asshole for a second, giving Scott time to clap his hand over the man’s mouth and cover his scream. Then he shoved the blade farther into the guy’s neck, ripping through cartilage and muscle. The guy jerked several times as blood spurted from his jugular.
Scott gently eased him down to the ground, stole his gun, and yanked his knife free to put into his back pocket. The body fell to the wet earth and bounced once. A rattle echoed from the guy’s chest and he went still in death.
Scott peered down, realizing he held a Beretta 92FS. He appreciated the gun and knew it well. Making sure the manual safety was released, he took a deep breath and stalked back along the rear of the building toward the fishing boat where he’d acquired the knife. A quick glance confirmed nobody near the boat or various flies strewn across the ground.
“Where is she?” A rough voice came through the mist near the front.
Scott crept between the building and the metal boat to the front of the bunkhouse, keeping close to the building and in the shadows.
“Inside?” a man with a hoarse voice whispered, and the sound of the door being opened creaked through the morning.
Scott turned, weapon ready, only to be hit square on the arm by the butt of a gun. He dropped the Beretta and dodged forward, sweeping out with his elbow and forcing his adversary to lose his gun. Grunting, he punched the man in the face several times, driving him back. “Now!” he bellowed.
A squirrel dropped from an eave and exploded, throwing smoke in every direction.
Millie screamed from her hiding place, and he turned in panic, giving the man in black an opportunity to punch him in the face. Scott stumbled back, pain surging through his skull. The guy followed up with three hard blows to Scott’s midsection.
He gasped from the swift torment, ducked his head, and charged, hitting the asshole in the gut and flinging them onto the wet earth. Millie shrieked, and the sound was farther away.
Another squirrel detonated, and the pieces hit his attacker. He yelped and fought furiously.
Landing on top of the rapidly striking attacker, Scott headbutted him in the nose, which splintered with a satisfying crack.
The man cried out, the shriek high with pain. Grunting, he wrenched a knife from a sheath on his thigh, sliced along Scott’s rib cage, and lifted, struggling to find a position to stab.
Agony speared through Scott’s flank. Snarling, pressing down with his body to keep his opponent pinned, Scott grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted violently, and secured the knife.
Yelling, the man scrabbled with one hand on the ground and grasped his gun, lifting it. Scott slammed the blade into the man’s neck, plunging it as deep as he could. The guy’s eyes widened, he dropped the gun, and grasped for the handle as blood gushed from the wound.
Blood spurted onto Scott’s face and he turned his head as the body shuddered several times and went still.
Scott smoothly rolled off him, snatched the gun off the ground, and charged around the cabin to see the last attacker running into the forest. “On your six,” he yelled to warn Millie, pursuing him.
The guy caught Millie and threw her down.
She fought furiously and shoved what looked like bark in his eyes. The man on top of her lifted a knife, the jagged edge glinting evilly in the morning light.
Scott aimed and fired, hitting the attacker midcenter.
He stilled, his body spasmed, and he fell on her. A red rash already covered his neck and face.
Millie screamed and shoved at him with her hands, which were covered by her parka sleeves, her legs kicking the dirt.
Scott burst forward, grasped the guy by the shoulder, and shoved him off her.
She partially sat up and scrambled away, her legs moving furiously and her breath panting. Her hair was a wild mass around her head, her face pale beneath a cluster of bruises on her left cheek. Drops of blood dotted her chin and down her neck from the spray of the bullet.
Scott nudged the fallen man over with his boot. The guy rolled, his arm flopping uselessly on the ground, his eyes wide open in death.
