She made her way quietly down the road. No traffic. The sun was low on the horizon, casting an orange-pink haze over the trees. Still too far out to be seen, but as she got closer, she slipped into the tree line, moving through the woods as silently as she could.
She stopped.
Listened.
Nothing.
No rustle of wildlife. No bugs. No wind. Even the mosquitoes seemed to have vanished. A chill slid over her skin. Something was off. The entire bayou felt like it was holding its breath.
Then—there it was.
A softptooie.
The sound of someone spitting.
She grinned. Charlie Diaz. She knew that sound anywhere. She’d crossed paths with Charlie more times than she could count. He was a legend in the business—mean, wily, and a little reckless. But he wasn’t smart. He had habits. And one of them was chewing tobacco.
She crept forward and found his truck jammed awkwardly between two trees about three hundred yards from where Cross’s cabin was supposed to be. Sure enough, Charlie sat in the driver’s seat, spitting out the window like it was just another day.
Last time they tangled, he’d sucker punched her and knocked her out cold. To be fair, it hadn’t been entirely her fault—Billy had sneezed and given away their position. But she’d gotten her revenge.
Once she’d come to, she’d tasered Charlie, taken the skip, and made the drop. He’d been livid. But she’d stopped by later and handed him a cut of the money. In this business, enemies were dangerous. Friendly competition, though? That you could work with.
She crept up to the back of his truck and waited.Ptooie. There it was again. She smirked, pulled her stun gun from her belt, and popped her head in the window.
“Hey, Charlie.”
“SHIT!” he squealed, nearly jumping out of his seat. He slapped a hand on the gun resting on the center console, then looked her way, recognized her and moved his hand back to the steering wheel. “Drew, you scared the ever-lovin’ crap outta me! What the hell!”
“Sorry, Charlie,” she said, grinning widely. “Couldn’t resist.”
He scowled at her. “This one’s mine, girl. My retirement job. I get this one—I walk away.”
Drew gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry, Charlie. This one’s too big to pass up. I’m gonna have to take it from you.”
“I will not let you do it this time.”
“Come on. You know I’m always good to you.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Charlie’s hand twitched toward his gun again.
She didn’t flinch. She knew he wouldn’t shoot her—not in a million years. Still, she moved fast. In a blink, she leaned in and zapped him on the neck.
“Sorry, Charlie.”
His whole body vibrated as electricity swept through him, then he slumped over the steering wheel with a groan. She let out a breath of relief. If Charlie was the first one here, she had a little time. Not much—but maybe just enough.
She slipped the binoculars off his neck and looked through them. The cabin came into view—small, low, and tucked into a break in the trees. A narrow deck off the back. Corrugated tin roof. Not a single light visible. The kind of place someone could disappear into.
She stood, heart pounding. The place looked abandoned.
What if someone already had Cross? What if the Weasel got here first? Most bounty hunters wouldn’t go this far—but the Weasel? He’d do anything for a payout. She needed eyes inside.
The trees were thicker near the left side of the cabin. She wove her way through them, taking her time, batting moss out of her face and stepping around thick roots and patches of damp earth. The sound of Charlie’s engine rolling over reached her, and she smiled. Giving up so soon? Nah, if she knew Charlie, he’d probably wet himself when she’d tased him, and now he was going to some motel somewhere to change. Charlie hated being wet in any sense of the word.
She reached the edge of the woods. Still no sound or movement from the cabin. She closed her eyes and stilled her body, reaching out with all of her senses. She trusted her instincts. Cross had taught her that. And her instincts told her no one was inside. No movement. No tension in the air. Just bugs. And heat.
