Nick waited until they vanished, any hint of sound bleeding into the rustle of leaves as the wind picked up, trees swayingback and forth, the odd squeal as two trunks rubbed together. He checked his phone, inhaled.
Cracks covered the screen, a sliver of lead lodged in the front. A piece of the damn bullet that had ricocheted. While the cell had saved him from another minor wound, it had destroyed his one lifeline.
His tether to Sloane.
A strangled laugh tried to bubble free, but he crushed it, staggered down the right trail, navigating on pure instinct. The pain ebbed a bit, more like the distant roar of the ocean than the white-hot raging river it had been. A clear indication he was losing the battle.
Shock, the clinical part of his brain noted.
He ignored it, pushed on, when movement sounded ahead of him. Not the quiet professionalism of the tangos, something else. Something equally lethal.
A scuffle.
A muffled grunt.
A single, panicked shout cut short.
Then silence. A predatory emptiness that made the hairs on his arms stand up.
He shuffled over to a massive cedar, flattened his body against the trunk — Sig raised shoulder high, arms shaking like he needed a hit. The air shifted behind him, then a shadow peeled off the trees, lean, compact.
He aimed, his gun wobbling, breath rasping.
The figure snorted, tilted its head, their face a wash of skin and hair. “If you pull the trigger, Colter, you’re gonna ruin one hell of a rescue.”
Nick inhaled, tripped onto one knee as everything slid out from beneath him. “Tierney?”
Tierney O’Rourke — former-Interpol and a ghost from Nick’s past. She’d been part of an incident response team assigned toNick’s joint task force when she’d been ambushed — presumed dead until he’d come face-to-face with her when he’d helped out Bodie a couple months back. The off-the-books mission that had swayed him to finally leave the CIA behind.
Tierney had carved out a new life for herself as a guide in the small, coastal town, though, she carried the scars of her experience beneath the surface like a festering wound. Had all but isolated herself from the rest of the world.
She stepped into the fading light, golden-brown hair tied into a high ponytail, her blue eyes drinking everything in. She darted over to him, crouched low. “Guess you’re not dead, yet, if you recognize me. Though, judging on how much blood you’re leaving behind, you’re not that far from the grave.”
She heaved him to his feet, bracing most of his weight. “Your buddies weren’t very friendly. Had to knock them out just to keep them from squealing.”
Nick snorted, the innocuous motion rolling his eyes. “You eliminated five guys?”
She looked at him as if he’d struck her. “Please, I was MI6 when I got shuffled off to Interpol for a three-year gig.”
“I know how Interpol works.”
“Then, your obvious lack of faith in my abilities hurts, Colter.”
“It’s not…” He grunted, sagging a bit before she adjusted her grip, shouldered more of his weight. “Did Bodie send you?”
A tentative smile curved her lips. “Buck. Sent me a nine-one-one text as soon as your consult went sideways. Claimed his favorite spook had gotten separated. Took heavy fire, and I needed to get my ass over here. Say hello.”
“I’m the only spook he knows.”
“Guess that’s why you’re his favorite, then. And luckily for you, I was only five miles away, scouting a new trail. Made good time.”
Nick arched a brow. “You always scout new terrain with a carbine?”
She scrunched up her face. “The real question is, why don’t you?”
“It was a consultation. Bodie prefers a calmer, less weaponized approach before we’re hired.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
