Coulter glanced at her, lips pinched tight, sweat beading his brow. His chest heaved as he shuffled the woman’s weight, holding Neve’s stare long enough she got the message.
She nodded. “No hero moments. I remember.”
He grunted, then took off, scrambling up the short rise before disappearing over the side. Zadie and Wynn followed behind, as Neve changed her mag, blew through another one covering their escape. She crested the rock, took up sentry as her team tripped their way down the slope and onto an overgrown dirt road, heading for a black scar carved into the cliff.
She scanned the debris field one last time. Flames lit up the night as Ramsey doused the charred remains, his team fanning out, their hulking silhouettes backlit by the fire. Ramsey met her gaze, his mouth lifting at one corner. He motioned with his hand, and his men started toward her, every step eating up what remained of their escape window.
One last spray, the casings clicking off the rocks, each tick marking time she didn’t have, before she turned, sprinted down the field knowing that, while they had the girl and whatever Ramsey had wanted to burn, the nightmare had just begun.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sweat slicked the back of Coulter’s neck as he moved along the weed-choked two track, the woman slung across his back, the case strapped to his vest, one corner banging against his hip. He had one arm wrapped around her arm and leg, the other holding his sidearm.
He glanced over his shoulder, the gunfire from Neve’s rifle cutting through the fog like mini forks of lightning. She hadn’t relinquished her position at the ridge yet, a fact that ate at him. If Ramsey hurt her again…
Another spray, then Neve’s silhouette bounding down the slope, too fast for his liking, but she managed to reach the bottom without tripping and likely killing herself on one of the larger boulders. She hit the track, closing in on them, then paused to scan the ridge — firing off a few rounds when one of Ramsey’s men appeared on the crest.
More muzzle flashes sparked through the fog, the rounds kicking up mud and gravel, whizzing way too close. An orange glow brightened the ridge line behind them, rain-soaked pine weaving through the damp air. Ahead, a black void broke up the massive expanse of gray stone, a few tendrils of fog threading across the opening. He hit the entrance, paused, firing off a few cover rounds as Neve’s team entered the tunnel, Neve sprinting in last.
Coulter glanced at the mushroomed slug embedded low in her vest. She’d gotten that drawing Ramsey’s focus away from him. Had bought him time. But seeing her crumple from the hit…
He’d nearly dropped the woman, sprinted over to Neve, until she’d popped back up. No doubt bruised but breathing.
Neve must have felt him staring because she looked over at him before following his gaze to the bullet. “Please, you’ve got multiple slugs in your vest.”
Coulter leaned in a bit closer. “Not the point but noted.”
He followed Scout, relying on the dim glow from the other end of the tunnel and a virtually non-existent red LED Scout held in her hand to keep from tripping over rocks and discarded timber. He metered his breathing, his ribs protesting every hurried step, the added weight challenging the strength in his right thigh — that graze rearing up to bite him in the ass.
Neve stayed on his six, her steps matching his, taking him back to all the missions they’d run together. Thinking he’d lost her this past month had shifted the heaviness in his chest. Made him acutely aware of her steady breathing. Proof, she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. That she was real.
He grinned when she tapped him on the shoulder, signaling their six was clear. A throwback to their JTF2 days together. A simple gesture that felt like more to him than a simple check-in.
It felt intimate. Especially since constantly twisting stole his breath. Had him relying on rage and grit to push through.
Neve grunted, fired off a quick pull as they neared the exit. “I’ve got movement behind us. We need to disappear.”
A couple rounds impacted the rock beside them, the thump echoing the length of the tunnel. Neve kept the men at bay, firing off controlled bursts before taking position as sentry once they stumbled across the half-collapsed exit, the meager opening barely letting them pass single file without climbing through a series of broken braces and deadfall, before they landed on the exposed cliff.
Wind funneled down the massive gorge, bending the trees on either side, making the skeletal bones of the bridge hum. Unlike the one they’d crossed in the SUV, only two metal stringers connected the opposite sides of the ravine, each maybe eight inches wide. What looked like twin freaking balance beams strung across forty feet of raging river. A braided cable handrail that sagged in the middle hung beside the left most stringer, the length of wire vibrating in the steady breeze. The span wasn’t huge but more than long enough to test their balance. Assuming the entire structure didn’t give way the moment a hint of weight settled on top.
Scout stopped at the edge, her hands fisted at her sides, her gaze raking the landscape. She didn’t speak, just stood there, silently assessing for a few moments before shucking her pack and grabbing webbing and prusik cord.
Coulter took a moment to breathe, ribs burning, pain gnawing at his resolve. He shoved it down, drawn to the simple beauty of Neve’s silhouette as she guarded the exit, rifle notched into her shoulder, eye pressed to the scope. She was completely in her element, and it scared the crap out of him how much her skill set warmed his heart, while sending ice through his veins.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling this divided. Having issues separating his emotions from his duty. But standing there, his pulse pounding in his head, his heart laid bare on his sleeve, waiting for the right moment to bleed out, he realized he couldn’t simply box up his feelings. That somewhere between trying to drink away his pain — going rogue at Blackridge Security — and having her save his ass, he’d lost that ability.
That he’d never be able to look at her without seeing the future he’d thought he’d buried.
Scout gathered a handful of makeshift tethers, handing them each one. “The stringers look solid enough. The cable’s another story. Wrap the webbing around the left beam, slipknot a loop through the prusik cord and clip the carabiner to your vest. I’ll go first, test it out.”
Neve looked over her shoulder at Scout, lips pressed tight, gaze drifting to the chasm between them and their only hope at losing Ramsey’s men. “Don’t die.”
Scout grinned. “That’s the plan.”
She turned, clipped in, then started out. Coulter stood at the edge, watching her inch across, one hand tracing the cable, the other stretched out like a damn tightrope walker. She moved confidently onto the slick beam, leaning into the wind when it gusted down the ravine. White water raged beneath them, the forty-foot drop looking twice as high in the shifting fog.
The metal groaned, some of the dirt around the anchor points crumbled into the rift, tiny puffs of dust marking their descent. Scout kept moving, dragging that line, stopping once to leapfrog it over an underlying girder before picking up the pace, quickstepping the last ten feet. She reached the other side, waved the rest of them over as she swung her rifle to her shoulder — took point.
