Tierney shifted, nearly blacked out, eyes rolling, head lolling until she snapped back. “I thought we were friends.”
A laugh. Hollow. Right next to the driver’s door. “That’s why they call it sacrifice.” The remnants of the front windshield rattled before one of the men swept off the remaining shards with his weapon. “Enough. I’ll make this quick.”
Buck slid over to her, took her hand in his. “We need to go. See if he takes the bait.”
He leaned in, kissed her, then scooped her in his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom, ensuring they left a smear of blood along the edges of the furniture. She grunted, holding back all but the occasional whimper as she helped brace some of her weight before he eased her down against the rear wall.
Buck stopped beside her, pulling the bandages even tighter. “Stay with me, Tier.”
She nodded, closed her eyes, looking worse than when he’d found her after she’d fought Grieves.
His cue to move.
He closed the door, strung the last of the tripwire through the handle, then knocked out the emergency window at the back. Diesel fumes burned a line down his throat, a puddle of fuel collecting beneath the rear bumper. More glass shattered in the main section, the metal creaking as someone climbed through the broken windshield, landed with a crunch on the glass squares.
The guy coughed. “I’ve got a blood trail.”
Whitmore pounded on the side of the rig. “Follow it. And Jones, check around back, just to be sure.”
Buck cursed. If this Jones asshole caught them before they were clear…
He picked up the pace, shimmied them both out the door before bracing her against the rig as he quickstepped over to the side, listened for movement. He holstered his Sig. He couldn’t chance firing a weapon, not with the amount of diesel soaking through the mud and the fumes swirling around him.
Footsteps crunched inside the motorhome, the rig shifting beneath the added weight. “Looks like they’re in the bedroom.”
“Then, finish them, and we can all go home.”
Buck glanced back at Tierney, mentally counting down the seconds until the asshole opened the bedroom door, blew the claymore, when Jones popped out, gun sweeping the back of the rig.
He spotted Tierney first, shifted his aim, his shot going wide as Buck stepped into him, deflected the barrel. The suppressed thut sounded around them, the round kicking up mud and rock, missing the pool of diesel by a few inches, as Buck elbowed the guy in the head, one hand keeping the barrel angled away, the other following with a throat punch.
The asshole coughed, mouth gaped open as he struggled to breathe, boots slipping on the thick mud. Another elbow and a few kicks, and he collapsed, face down, no hint of movement.
Either Whitmore heard the shot, the fighting, or he’d grown impatient, his voice sounding again. “Jones? What’s going on?”
Inside, the footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom door. Whether the guy was waiting for Jones’ response or deciding how to open the door, Buck had no idea. He only knew they were out of time.
He raced back, Whitmore calling out to Jones one more time as Buck scooped Tierney into his arms, carried her over to the edge of the embankment. No clear trail down, just a small ledge that would likely shield them from the blast. Assuming it went as planned, but if the RV shifted, changed the angle of detonation…
Buck scrambled over the edge as the handle on the door rattled.
A click, then the bomb blew.
The force knocked Buck on his ass, nearly shaking him off the narrow rock as he curled over Tierney, watching the scene play out in that eerie slow motion of battle, as the claymore exploded, taking the ruptured fuel lines with it. A massive fire ball roared up and out, belching out steel and foam, ripping apart the twin cedar trees holding the rig above the water. The wood cracked, bark shredding into kindling as the motorhome surged forward, cracking through the remaining branches, cartwheeling down the side.
The heat liquified the ground, burned through half the bank as mud poured over the edge, raining down rocks and earth into the river.
Whitmore screamed, legs caught up in the massive run-off, the ground sloughing off beneath his feet. He clawed at the rock, trying to hold on, only to be swept over the edge, his voice abruptly cut off a moment later.
Mud and ash rained down on the hillside, the blast still echoing across the ravine. Buck blinked through the smoke and fire, staring at the aftermath. At the charred path of metal and wood. The smoldering pile of rubber and foam. Debris covered what was left of the bank, a scattering of clothes and papers tumbling in the wind.
Tierney inhaled, gaze half-lidded, but she blinked, mouth opening and closing a few times before she looked up at him. “God, Buck, your rig.”
He shrugged. “I’d already decided I needed an upgrade.”
“Upgrade, sure, but this… I’m sorry.”
“Told you before, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got everything I need, right here.”
