On the other hand, the memory was a good reminder.
“You can’t stay hidden forever, bitch,” one of the men said in thickly accented English. He punctuated his words with the cocking of his own weapon, the internationally recognizable sound a bit more chilling than it ever had been in her youth.
Lynnette tipped her head back against the tree trunk.They might be alive, but they have no respect for life.Working as part of a cartel that so heavily dabbled in human trafficking was proof of that. Cooperating with the abduction and inhumane holding of a nineteen-year-old girl was proof of that. Killing, or standing idly by during the killing of, an elderly woman who was armed with nothing more threatening than a digital photo and a backbone was proof of that.
“There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ scared, Lynnie.”Her father’s amber eyes glowed like embers under the angled afternoon sunlight as he smiled down at her, gun resting at his shoulder.“Bein’ scared is how you know you’re alive. Just remember not to let the fear control you. Not ever.” He pressed one finger into her chest, over her heart, as his expression became stern. “And don’t ever let the thing that’s scaring yousee that fear, either. Show your back if you gotta, but never let it look like fear. Understand?”
If—when—she made it through this mess, she really needed to call her father. It’d been too long since they’d had a chance to just talk. And he would want to know she had a boyfriend.
Calmness settling over her, Lynnette listened for the nearest slide of movement beyond her tree with quiet breaths. The moment she heard it, she twisted and fired, barely bothering to aim. They were closing in on her, attempting to surround her, which meant her aim would have to be shit for her to miss.
The downside of that was it generally meant the same in reverse.
It felt a little like fire had ripped into, and through, the side of her thigh. She had to grit her teeth to keep from yelling out and instead pivoted in a manner to swiftly remove her weight from the screaming limb—if only for a moment—as she swung the barrel of her gun around. That time she saw her shot blow out the shoulder of the man approaching her, one of the ones she suspected had killed Diane. Her wound was potentially more damaging to him than his to her, but it was highly likely he’d been shot before. Or was on something that might make him care a whole lot less about the pain.
The only thing she was on was adrenaline, she had definitely not been shot before, and her leg hurt like a son of a bitch.
More shuffling and groaning behind the enclosing men drew her attention from the sharp, radiating pain in her leg and Lynnette looked up. One of the men had gone to assist the guy she’d successfully shot—who was glaring at her—another held her at gun-point, and the guy she’d previously maced had managed to drag himself to their location. Despite his induced blindness and all the terrible symptoms he was surely feeling.
Seriously, does Quetzal pay obscenely well? Or does he own their souls?It would not have been unreasonable for half ofthese assholes to have dropped from the chase, yet instead, all four more or less held in front of her. Two of them bloodied by bullets technically from their own gun, and one veritably poisoned. If she didn’t loathe them so strongly, she might have applauded them.
The first guy she’d shot, who’d suffered a graze to the torso, snapped something to one of the others without removing his glare from her.
The guy still aiming a gun on her chuckled, tilted his head toward his colleague, and said, “He says you owe us a reward for making us chase you down.” His eyes raked over her and a leer lifted his lips. “’Course, you might have to work extra hard for Juan here to enjoy his.”
Lynnette made sure he could see the entire cringe on her face. “Sorry. I’m a modern-day woman. I choose my own playmates. But by all means, if you guys are feeling frisky, there’re enough of you for everyone to get some.”
One of the guys in her periphery made an agitated sound. So, they understood English, at least.
The one in front of her snarled and ducked his head back behind the scope of his weapon, as if he needed it to make his shot with three feet between them. His mouth opened, but whatever he’d intended to say died on his tongue as a large, gloved hand dropped onto the barrel of his rifle from the wrong side of their standoff.
A hand thatsparked.
“You want areward, motherfucker?” Lance asked, his voice little more than a warning growl as his fist clenched around the gun barrel. “You point a gun at my woman, you make her fucking bleed, and you think you get to ask for a goddamn fucking reward?” Electricity crackled in a wide, ominous arc around his knuckles.
Lynnette could only stare, wide-eyed and almost sympathetically breathless, her heart launching again into a sprint inside her chest. But she at least had a perfect view for when the man who’d just moments ago been sneering at her flicked his wide-eyed gaze between the electrified grip and its owner, and promptly went white as a cartoon ghost. Seemed he hadn’t signed up forthat.
One of the men Lynnette had already shot had the nerve to call out, though she didn’t know what he said.
Lance turned his head a fraction of an inch in their direction, just enough for Lynnette to catch the severe angle of the glare on his face.
The man in front of him dropped the rifle, letting it dangle from Lance’s grip, and spun on his heel to run in the opposite direction. He shouted something that had a strong ‘fuck this’ vibe.
While multiple voices called after him in tones of agitation, Lance lifted a handgun from his waist and squeezed the trigger. Exactly once. The fleeing asshole dropped to the dirt.
The shot spurred the other three into motion. The guy she’d maced apparently had had a second, smaller, gun on him because he raised it in Lance’s general direction and made an angry garbled sound as the other two properly found their feet and swung their larger weapons around. They still had the numbers, though their numbers weren’t exactly thriving, and they seemed intent on taking advantage of that.
Except the foliage around them rustled and three more men in shades of green and black, all armed, swept forward like a small tide. They ignored Lynnette, swarmed her assailants, and in the span of about ten seconds had her already wounded and entirely unprepared attackers on their bellies.
“Keep ‘em alive so I can kill ‘em later,” Lance barked. He dropped the weapon the other guy had abandoned to theground, tucked his handgun away, and turned to face her as one of the newcomers let out a snicker of amusement.
Lynnette finally lowered her gun, her memory re-engaging and drawing up names and faces to match the blurred images of movement she’d just seen. The men in makeshift fatigues were the friends Lance had introduced her to before he’d left. The ones Jon had called in.
Lance cupped her face, drawing her complete attention like a magnet. “Lynn, look at me.” His eyes roved over her, brow pinching and lips thinning. “Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so sor—”
Lynnette tugged him close and silenced his needless apology with a hard kiss.
He kept an arm around her shoulders and lowered the other to her hip, his fingers digging into her side as he kissed her back. They kissed like he’d been gone for weeks. Like they’d been lovers for months, perhaps years, and he’d been gone for an achingly long time.
