“She’s safe but shaken. We’re holed up for now, but it’s only a matter of time before he sends someone else.”
“I’ll come,” Cross said, already moving to grab his gear. “I’m closer than Mac and the rest of the crew. Can you make it to the meet site?”
“Yeah, but don’t dawdle. I’m not feeling great, and I don’t want to leave Tessa alone.”
“Sit tight. I’m on the way.”
Stone cursed under his breath. “You sure it’s a good idea? You’ve got enough heat on you.”
“I’m not letting you or Tessa die because I sat on my ass.” He ended the call and turned back to Drew, who stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes already blazing with fury and determination.
“You’re not leaving me behind,” she said flatly.
“Drew—”
“No. I’m coming.”
“It’s too risky.” The last thing Cross needed was Drew in danger. He’d lose his mind.
“No shit. Everything about this swamp is dangerous. The Weasel could be out there, waiting. And guess what? I’m still not staying behind. And you know what? The Weasel could come here, so take me or leave me, I’m still in danger.”
Cross exhaled through his nose, heart pounding. “Rick can keep you safe?—”
“Rick isn’t the man I came here for,” she snapped. “You are.”
And just like that, the argument ended. They both knew she wasn’t going to stay behind. And he wasn’t going to stop her. Because this was Drew. Brave, stubborn, maddening Drew. And if he tried to leave her behind, she’d probably follow him anyway and make more noise doing it. Besides, he owed her his trust. She had the skills. He had to show her that he believed in her if he was ever going to get her back.
He crossed to her in two strides, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Then we move fast. And we move quiet. You ready?”
She nodded. “I was born ready.”
They packed quickly; gear checked, weapons loaded. As the clock ticked closer to dawn, they slipped back into the boat under fog-veiled moonlight, heading for the place where everything could fall apart—or finally come together.
And in the back of Cross’s mind, one truth echoed: He’d already made the biggest mistake of his life by letting her go once. He wouldn’t make it again. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe, but he would also trust her. Trust her skill and her abilities. Maybe then she would let him back in. He had a lot of making up to do. The only thing he really needed to do was make sure both of them lived long enough for him to fix the last mistake he’d made with her.
The skiff creaked as it slid through the water, the motor barely more than a whisper. The sky overhead was still black, but the darkness had softened, like the bayou was holding its breath for dawn. Cross’s hand rested on the throttle, his other gripped the pistol in his lap. Beside him, Drew crouched low, her gaze sweeping the reeds and mangroves crowding the banks, gun drawn but held low beside her.
They were close now. Maybe another mile to the dock and from there a quick drive to the rendezvous site with Stone and Tessa.
Then his gut twisted. He cut the engine. Drew aimed a sharp glance at him, but he just shook his head and gestured for her to remain quiet. Someone was out there. He knew it to his core. He also knew cranking the engine and trying to make a break for it was putting the final nail in his coffin. His best course of action was to be patient and play it smart. He only hoped Stone could hold out while he played cat and mouse with the Weasel, if that’s who was out here.
Cross lifted a hand, his eyes scanning the twisted trees. Cypress knees rose from the murky water like warning signs. The frogs had gone silent. Not even the mosquitoes buzzed. Theywere being watched. All the hair on his arms was standing up, and the base of his spine tingled.
He pulled the skiff into the shadows of a leaning tupelo and motioned for Drew to grab her gear. “We’re walking.”
“In this?” she hissed, eyeing the chest-deep muck and gnarled roots.
“Unless you want to meet him on open water. My guess is he has a surprise waiting for us there.”
That shut her up. She grabbed her pack. The boat barely rocked as they slid over the side and into the swamp. Water closed around their thighs, thick and warm and full of God-knew-what. Branches slapped their faces. Spanish moss clung like spiderwebs. The smell—rot and brine—burned in Cross’s nostrils.
The ground beneath their feet shifted…still swampy, but more solid. They crouched low and moved forward a few feet.
Then—Crack! A bullet ripped through the air, slamming into the skiff. Then another. Then three more. Cross yanked Drew down, shoving her behind a fallen log. “He’s not trying to kill. He wants to herd us.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “Weasel.”
A low whistle echoed through the trees—mocking. Confirming the identity of their predator.
