Isla dropped to her knees beside the man, her hands moving fast, searching for injuries. Nothing obvious beyond the gash on his head, but the bleeding was bad. She caught his trembling hand and pressed it against the wound.
“Hold it here,” she urged, her voice sharp but steady. “Keep the pressure. Don’t let go. Help’s coming.”
His eyes fluttered open for a second, unfocused, then slid shut again. She gave his arm a squeeze. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”
Her chest was tight, but she knew what had to come next. An ambulance would never make it down this road while the gunfire kept flying. They had to end this first.
Isla crouched low and moved toward the end of the pickup, using its battered frame for cover. Her pistol felt heavier in her grip than it ever had, her breath loud in her own ears. She edged forward until she could peer past the front bumper.
Garrett was ahead, down in the ditch, moving like a shadow through the brush. Each step was calculated, each angle giving him the smallest slice of cover. Bullets still peppered the ground around him, spitting dirt into the air.
Her heart pounded. He was driving straight into the line of fire, and she couldn’t just sit back and watch.
Isla’s breath caught in her throat when she saw it happen. A round sliced across Garrett’s arm, jerking him sideways. Blood darkened the sleeve of his jacket, the shock of crimson searing into her vision.
“No,” she whispered, fear twisting hard in her gut. The thought of him going down, of losing him here in this ditch, slammed into her harder than the gunfire.
She couldn’t just crouch behind the truck and watch.
Lifting her pistol, she aimed into the thick cover where the shots kept flashing. She couldn’t see the shooter, not clearly, but she knew the direction. She squeezed the trigger twice, the recoil jarring up her arms.
Garrett’s head snapped her way, his eyes dark fire. “Get down!” he snarled.
She ignored him, fury and terror driving her. Another squeeze of the trigger, then another. The crack of her shots broke through the relentless rhythm of the attacker’s fire.
Garrett used the opening, sliding lower into the ditch, closing the distance to the gunman. Isla’s pulse thundered, her stomach knotted, but she kept her stance steady, giving him every second she could buy.
If he was going into the fire, she was damn well going to cover him.
The sharp wail of sirens cut through the chaos, rolling closer, louder with each passing second. Relief and dread tangled in Isla’s chest. Noah had gotten through. The cops were coming.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the gunfire stopped.
The silence pressed down hard, heavier than the shots had been. Isla held her breath, her pistol still aimed at the tree line, finger taut on the trigger. Every muscle in her body screamed with tension, waiting for the next round to rip through the air.
Nothing.
The sirens howled closer, echoing off the trees.
Her throat was dry when the truth settled in. The bastard was gone. Slipped away under cover of the distraction, leaving them with nothing but blood, broken glass, and questions that cut deeper than bullets.
The shooter had escaped.
Chapter Nine
Garrett sat stiff in the chair across from Sheriff Raines’ desk, jaw locked as Beck Culver swabbed antiseptic across the graze on his arm.
The sting was nothing compared to the memory of the bullets tearing through the SUV. Nothing compared to the sight of Isla pressed against the ground, shards of glass in her hair, firing into the tree line like her life depended on it.
“Could’ve been worse,” Beck muttered, his voice steady as he taped a bandage over the cut. The man had a medic’s hands, quick and sure, though Garrett knew every scar on Beck’s arms had come from battlefields, not classrooms.
“Could’ve been better,” Isla countered, sitting on the edge of the desk with her arms folded. Beck had already patched up the shallow cut on her head, but Garrett could see the tremor beneath her defiant stance. Her shoulders were drawn too tight, her voice too sharp.
Beck cocked a brow at her. “You planning to argue with medical science now?”
“Only if it’s yours,” she shot back, but Garrett caught the edge in her tone. Banter, sure, but it was a shield.
Beck chuckled, shaking his head as he started packing his kit. “You’re a pain in my ass, Prescott.”
