Jon rolled his jaw. It was clear Parker had been in bed with the Veracruz Cartel to some degree, but would he have been so specific as to identify the two responsible for intervening in that plan? The would-be robbers were dead and the hitmen hadn’t shown up until after the deputies.
He’d assumed those men had circled back on him because he had returned fire on them, defended the bakery, and survived. Because he’d seen at least one of their faces and maybe they’d considered that he might have glimpsed their license plate, too. But what if it had been more than that? What if their attempt to silence him had run deeper, even then?
It would really help if he knew who the fuck PJ was.
Jon met their captive’s one-eyed stare. “Give it your best guess.”
The guy pulled his mouth into a thin line and hesitated with a response. His usable eye darted around, once again taking stock, as if he’d hoped one or all of Jon’s armed buddies might have strolled away. Finally, he responded, “You got in the way. PJ … he likes—”
“Got three bogies crawling up our ass,” Lance interrupted. He lifted his head, fingers still pressed to the dirt. “Looks like our stray had friends.”
“Uh-uh,” Foxe said, settling his canon in his palm as he turned appropriately. “I might like to do a little finger action, but no one fucks me in the ass.”
Billy, Herb, and even Alex immediately erupted in vocal, loudly whispered protest.
To his credit, Lance was biting back the surely crude remark sitting on his tongue.
Jon shook his head, hefted his gun, and ignored Billy’s comment about things that didn’t need to be said as he closed his eyes. He trusted Lance’s version of a superpowered radar sweep as well as he trusted his own, but a second set of eyes never hurt. And while Lance’s never failed to be accurate, Jon had better range.
Jon spotted the three forms Lance surely meant with ease. They were moving up from the southeastern side of the tree line, no one more than four feet from another. Each had a rifle gripped tight, butt pressed to his shoulder, and their back aimed at a comrade. It was a cautious, vulnerable, but not altogether terrible tactic. They clearly knew something was wrong. Their fourth had disappeared from the side of the road while pissing into a perfectly ordinary bush, after all.
“Herb,” Jon said quietly, “give him a nudge.”
The man made a noise like he recognized what was happening. He opened his mouth to call for his brothers-in-arms.
Alex cut Jon a sharp stare, obviously questioning the strategy.
Lance lifted from his kneeling position and shuffled to the side, until their group formed a rough path framed by semi-unwittingly retired military men with loaded guns aimed at the spot in the trees their targets would pass through.
Seconds later, the first of the trio was in sight. By the time he’d swung his rifle around and begun shouting, the guy behind him was also through.
Two quick shots from Billy dropped the third and furthest guy to the forest floor.
Loud, agitated Spanish flew in both directions at once. The newcomers demanding who they were and for them to release their friend. Jon caught half of what sounded amusingly like ‘if you know what’s good for you.’ The guy they’d been chatting with for the last couple of hours was simultaneously trying to tell them to leave him and run. He’d seen enough to make peace with the reality that his crew couldn’t save him.
The scene was equal parts flattering and frustrating, and Jon would have been happy to let it play a little longer if they weren’t short on time. But his instinct said they were. He knew damn well they’d lost too much already.
Lightning crashed down between the arguing factions from the clear sky overhead, an echoing, cracklingsnaplingering in the air even as the bolt faded. The top layer of dirt was singed, an unavoidable and unignorable reminder that no one had hallucinated the sudden event.
Billy let out a whistle.
Alex raised his head from his scope and turned an arched brow over to Jon. Which made sense. He hadn’t had occasion to witness that trick, or probably any other Lance specialty, before.
Jon tipped his head in Lance’s direction as Lance himself opened his mouth.
Lance had lowered his gun and was holding one arm out, pointer finger extended in a gesture that was more symbolicthan necessary. Not unlike the gun. “All you motherfuckers shut up,” he snapped before lowering his arm. “Next one of you who tries turning this into a goddamn episode of Jerry Springer takes it to the chest.” He flexed his fingers and let a spark pop between them, a motion Jon knew he did as an intimidation tactic.
And, as it usually did, it succeeding in cowing his audience. Most people didn’t want to screw around with a human lightning bolt.
Lance flicked his glare between the beaten-up dumbass on one side and the two remaining newcomers on the other. “I have a very strong desire to have a face-to-face with PJ. If you can’t make that happen, I’m going to be upset.”
Jon watched carefully as the two technically mobile men shifted. Their bodies were tense, their heartrates elevated, and their weapons lowered. But they were on their feet and still armed, which meant it was foolish to count them out. Their expressions were wary, uncertain and hesitant, which implied they had some way to form the bridge Jon and the others sought.
The one in the back slowly shook his head.
“Jon.”Jenna’s voice sizzled over Jon’s awareness sharper than the jolt of electricity that had tingled the hair on his skin. His breathing faltered and he shut out the conversation around him on instinct, diverting his consciousness to her and the environment around her.
And he almost wished he hadn’t.
