“Hang on.” Stone shone a flashlight into the front. Empty. Where was the driver?
“Stone!”
Weapon snapped up, he wheeled around, losing his balance and falling against the upended vehicle as the dark mass rushed him. Canyon. Thank God!
His agile brother negotiated the scene and reached his side. “Just like you, throwing a party and not inviting the relatives. Sorry I’m late.”
“No. Just in time.” Relief whooshed through him, his brain arguing over his brother being here and yet glad he was. “Driver’s MIA.” Even as his brother communicated that information to someone else, Stone dropped to his knees, then all fours next to the SUV. “She’s trapped.” He angled inside and inched over to her. “Are you hurt?”
Blood trickled down her temple. “I … I don’t know.”
Stone gently probed her neck and shoulders. “Paramedics are on their way. It’s tricky to move you.”
“No,” she whimpered, catching his hand. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
Her words had a way of squeezing his heart tight. “I’m not going anywhere, Tizzy.”
“Finch?—where is he? Oh, God. Get me out. He swore to kill me.”
“Stone, think we got a problem here.”
Crack. Pop!
A whoosh of another kind erupted, sending smoke and the fetor of fuel into the SUV.
Crap!
“Taking fire!” Canyon hunkered against the incoming barrage.
“Get me out. Get me out!”
Stone jerked to Brighton. “Can you release the seat belt?”
She whimpered, blood on her face and side. “No. It won’t?—” She cried out in pain.
“Okay, easy. Easy.” He levered himself into the back and retrieved his pocketknife. Sliding beneath her, their faces nearly touching, he reached the belt. “Lean on me and hold still.”
Her hands found his shoulders and she grunted softly as he started sawing through the strap. A few more slices and she dropped a few inches, but was yanked tight. She yelped.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Stone shifted to support her weight more with his shoulder. “I’ve got you.” Working around her, he felt the time slipping away before this thing blew or a bullet found its way into one or both of them.
“You came,” she whispered. “You hit the Tahoe.”
“Told you.” He sawed the strap a few more times. “You got me all jangled. Not thinking straight.”
Whoosh! A strange whistle rent the air in the same moment Brighton dropped into him. Crashed hard against his shoulder. She screamed through the pain, but her arms were a vise around his shoulders, her breaths jagged rasps against his neck.
Hooking an arm around her waist, he scrambled backward. Glass dug into his palms. He didn’t care. Only sought escape. As he hiked his tail over the lip of the upside-down roof, he felt assistance dragging them backward. Thank God.
Free of the fire, he shifted to the right??—straight into the barrel of an M4.
“That doesn’t belong to you. She’s Horvath’s property,” the man leered as his bloody finger grabbed the trigger.
The report of the gun rattled the night.
Stone jerked. Braced for the pain. But it didn’t come. He mentally patted himself down, then saw Canyon closing in, his weapon cradled confidently in both hands as he sent several rounds into the goon.
Shielding Brighton, Stone guided them to the side where paramedics met them. They drew her away.
