The hustle to the Bronco left Nick winded. He got Lori into the passenger side and climbed in behind the wheel. Keeping his Glock holstered, he chucked the rifle and machete in the back to get them out of the way. They hit the seat and floor in a clatter. He cranked the engine, backed around and hit the gas. Heart pounding off the rails, he sped out of the parking lot behind the sheriff’s department, the tires squealing.
He checked all his mirrors. Belladonna and her crew wouldn’t be far behind. It was a small town. One way in and one way out. At least, as far as he knew. Only a matter of time before they found him, and he couldn’t waste time looping around and backtracking. That would give the chance to form a roadblock and box them in.
Best to make a beeline straight out of town. The great race was on, but they were at a disadvantage in the beat-up, late-model Bronco. Flooring this thing to seventy might be pushing it past its limits.
He checked his mirrors again. All clear behind him.
Lori groaned, opening her eyes. She went to sit forward but winced and dropped back in the seat. The pain must’ve been excruciating.
In Afghanistan, he’d taken a bullet once. His vest had saved him, too, but his chest had ached for days.
“Can you take off the vest?” His gaze bounced between the road ahead and the road behind in the mirrors, and then over to Lori. “I need to make sure you aren’t injured.”
The slug had snapped Lori’s body to the ground with such violent force, it was as though a steel fist had gripped his heart. The bullet had struck dangerously close to her throat. If Belladonna’s aim hadn’t been off, another couple of inches higher, and Lori would be bleeding out. But her collarbone could still be broken.
Nick made a sharp left turn, hit the next corner and made a right onto SR 18.
Removing the Velcro straps, Lori wheezed through the agony her poor body had endured today. She was taking it like a real trouper. No complaints. No whining.
“You okay?” she asked, groaning as she pulled the body armor overhead.
Lori’s worrying about him when her clavicle might be broken and her chest must’ve been throbbing revealed another quality about her that he found endearing. He wanted to wipe his mind clean of the ugly things he’d learned. Turn back the clock to when she had been his Lori.
Not that she had ever really been his, but his heart didn’t seem to realize it.
“Let me see,” he said, pulling down the collar of her shirt and inspecting her with his fingers.
She winced, shrinking back from his touch. The blunt force of the bullet would leave a nasty bruise.
“It’s not broken. But the area will start bruising soon.”
“Where are we going? To meet up with your tactical teammates?”
Nick shook his head, gaze flickering to the rearview and side mirrors. “No. Doing so means putting you in the palm of Draper’s hands.” He trusted Yaz and Charlie with his life, but Nick didn’t trust Draper as far as he could throw him. “He’d decide which San Diego safe house to put you in overnight and who’ll be on your protective detail. Odds-on certainty that Draper will pull me.”
Alarm crossed Lori’s face. “I don’t want that.”
Neither did Nick. He gritted his teeth, wishing the only reason was to finish the mission.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Plan B. Or is this C?”
“Honestly, I think we’re up to D.” She flashed a sad, weak smile.
He clenched his fingers, resisting the urge to caress her cheek, and pulled the phone from his pocket. Most numbers he didn’t know by heart, so used to having everything saved on his cell and at his fingertips. Other than the office, he had two other numbers memorized.
His mother’s and his older brother’s.
He dialed and was relieved when his call was answered on the third ring.
“Hello, this Bowen McKenna.” His brother’s voice, deep and powerful, the way Dad’s had been, resonated over the phone.
“Hey, Bo. It’s me.”
“What kind of hot water are you in this time?”
Nick groaned. “Why would you assume I’m in trouble?”
“Because you call Mom when everything is fine,” Bo said, “and you call me when you’re in trouble.”
Fair enough. “I need help.”
“See. What do you need?”
“Airlift. Can you fly into Big Bear Airport, pick me and a witness up?”
“A witness? That sounds like a violation of USMS protocol.”
“It’s a long story, but I promise my reasons for asking are solid. If you don’t do this, I’m pretty sure my witness won’t live to see the sun rise.” He exchanged a glance with Lori, and the trust in her eyes, the affection she had for him, shredded him. If he could just get through tomorrow, his life would go back to normal, the way it was supposed to, and this temptation, his anger, the gut-wrenching disappointment, would fade, and he could work on forgetting her. Reestablish the line in the sand that he’d never cross again. “And no guarantees that I’ll make it, either.”
“No pressure there.” Bo chuffed a deep laugh. “You’re lucky it’s my day off. I’ll get the helicopter fired up and head out. Is this a good number to reach you?”
“For now, anyway, yeah. Be sure to use Mom’s maiden name for the logs. I don’t want any record of a McKenna flying in and out.”
“Got it. Be there as soon as I can.”
He owed his brother one. Bo was the most reliable, dependable, bail-your-butt-out-no-matter-what person Nick knew. His brother never considered the blowback from helping, simply dove in and gave an assist whenever needed.
“And don’t say you owe me one because you owe me like a million.”
Nick smiled on the inside. “Who’s counting, right? Thanks, Bo.” He disconnected. “We’ll spend the night in Nevada at my family’s compound and fly into San Diego in the morning.” Going totally dark was for the best. Too many coincidences and unanswered questions surrounding Draper.
His family was trustworthy. The compound was fortified. And they had a working relationship with the local law enforcement. Most important, no one in the USMS would know that they were there.
Hope bloomed in his chest. As he looked up in the rearview mirror again, that hope withered. He spied a hulking black SUV speeding up behind them. His fingers itched in warning. The road headed out of town was flat, and the SUV whipped around the sparse traffic in sight, eating up the asphalt and closing the distance.
“We’re being followed.”
Lori turned around and looked through the back windshield. “It’s her. Isn’t it? Belladonna, the damn terminator. She keeps coming and won’t stop until I’m dead.”
Protective instincts flared hot. “Well, she’s going to have to come through me to get to you.” He had to separate the personal from the professional, like church and state. “Because I won’t stop until you’ve testified. Then you become some other deputy marshal’s problem.”
Lori sucked in a shaky breath, emotion burning in her eyes. “Right.”
He hurt at the pain he saw in her features. Pain that he’d caused. But there was no time to worry about bruised feelings, not when the much higher priority was keeping them both breathing.
Letting out an irritated groan, he refocused.
When the SUV behind them cut around a minivan, he spotted two vehicles following them. Not one.
Great. The more, the deadlier.
The lead SUV roared up, eating the asphalt between them. If that beast of a vehicle was armored, they were screwed.
Nick gripped the wheel hard enough to make the leather groan, preparing for anything.
They crossed the town limits. He floored it, hitting seventy-five before the engine protested.
The SUV rammed them, jostling the truck forward.
A squeak of surprise left Lori’s lips. “Oh, God. They’re trying to run us off the road.”
“No, they’re not. But we’d be lucky if they did.”
She shot him a perplexed look. “Huh?”
“If they wanted to run us off the road, they’d be alongside us.”
The car raced closer. Rammed them again, this time hitting the left corner of the rear bumper, confirming his guess. Belladonna’s team was executing the PIT maneuver—precision intervention technique—he had learned from Bo when he was on terminal leave from the army deciding between joining the family business and the US Marshals Service.
“They’re trying to knock us into a spin and force us to a stop. Surround us from there.”
“How is being run off the road better?” Her voice was frantic. “We could die in a crash.”
“Could, yes, but—” Another hard ram interrupted him. “We’d have a chance of making a run for it. They force us to stop. Box us in. We’re dead. There’s no bulletproof glass or armored plating on this vehicle. All they’d have to do is open fire to turn us into Swiss cheese.”
“But what about all the stuff in the woods? Aren’t there mountain lions, bears, snakes?”
“Better the wildlife in the woods than the Jackals behind us.”
The SUV bulldozed up from behind to take another swipe at them. This time Nick hit the brakes. The antilock braking system kicked in. Then he cut the wheel hard to the right. The Bronco gave an ear-splitting squeal as the rear end fishtailed. Another ram from the SUV sent both vehicles into a wicked spin.
But their Bronco went spiraling off the road over to the left, sideways and downhill. The car flipped and bounced. The rough terrain of an embankment rushed up to greet them.
Down the car went again at a sharp angle and in a long, fast slide.
If not for the seat belt that cut into his chest and abdomen, he would’ve gone out the windshield. The car’s frame shrieked as it contorted.
Metal grinding, glass shattered and imploded, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt as it slammed into a tree.
An airbag inflated, knocking him back in his seat. Dust saturated his airway. Dazed, he pulled his Glock and shot the deployed airbag. It deflated instantly. He looked over. Lori was in the same predicament. One bullet rectified the problem.
His brain kicked into gear. He processed that they were upside down.
The thought of time hit him next. They had no time.
Belladonna and her people would swarm down the hill as soon as possible.
He fumbled with the seat belt and depressed it. Bound by gravity, he dropped down to the roof of the car. His hands landed atop shards of glass. But he had to keep moving. No pain. No weakness. Driving forward no matter what.
Lori was conscious, but stuck. He helped unbuckle her, making sure to keep her hands out of the glass. The soles of her feet were already damaged from earlier. He’d spare her any further suffering that he could.
He kicked out what was left of the windshield, not simple in the cramped space, and steered her out. But he didn’t follow right away. They needed weapons.
Turning back, he smiled at the one thing in their favor. With their being inverted, every weapon in the truck was on the roof in plain sight and he didn’t have to scavenge for them.
He handed Lori his Glock. She seemed reasonably comfortable with a 9mm when she was shooting like Annie Oakley earlier, but she’d dropped both guns when the bullet hit her vest. “Here.”
She took it and her gaze was drawn uphill. “Get out of the truck.”
Nick slung the rifle over his shoulder, shoved another 9mm in the back of his waistband and grabbed the machete.
“Get out, Nick! Now!”
He crawled through the open windshield and scrambled to his feet.
At the top of the hill, a man stood on the crest of the embankment. A rocket launcher rested on his shoulder and he flipped up the sights.
Nick grabbed Lori’s hand and they bolted into the woods. He shoved branches out of their way, guiding her under larger limbs as they wound around old, massive trees.
Behind them, a jarring explosion shook the ground. There was no need to look back to see that the Bronco was a ball of fire. Or to know that Belladonna’s team was headed downhill after them.
Nick pulled Lori, forcing her tired feet to move faster. They were both exhausted, mentally and physically, but he prayed that adrenaline fueled her system hot as jet fuel, the same as his.
He wasn’t sure how long they had until Belladonna’s team dispersed and attacked from various flanks. They wouldn’t all come head-on.
“Keep going. Head northeast.”
Her eyes flared wide in alarm. Ragged breaths tore from her mouth. “No. We should stick together.”
“We separate or we die.”
“I’m slowing you down. Aren’t I?”
She was. “No. If you keep going, then I can hang back and take a few of them. I swear to you, I’ll catch up. I won’t leave you alone. If you run into trouble, fire the weapon. I’ll hear it. I’ll come for you.”
Lori’s eyes were clouded with fear and doubt, but she nodded. “Don’t die on me.”
“I won’t. Go!” he said in a harsh whisper, and Lori took off.
Nick repositioned the sling of the rifle across his body and slipped behind a redwood. Rotating his neck, letting the joints pop, he got ready for war.
Rangers were shock troops. Quick strike force and highly trained at capturing, securing and killing.
THE SKY HAD darkened to the point that you couldn’t tell if it was dusk or day. Distant thunder rumbled. The air smelled of rain. And something bad.
Something close to failure.
Belladonna shrugged it off. Failure wasn’t an option.
Her people had scattered, fanning out to encircle McKenna and the target. But Belladonna slowed her pace, hanging back a bit. She knew something the others didn’t. McKenna’s history. His military record.
He used to be a ranger. Trained to operate in mountains similar to these. Skilled in taking out the enemy in Iraq and Afghanistan, in someone else’s backyard and at the disadvantage.
As if making her point for her, a bolt of lightning illuminated a wide, sharp blade swinging out, taking the head of the bishop twenty feet in front of her.
Belladonna raised her suppressed weapon and fired away. Bullets struck bark.
McKenna was gone. Vanished like a phantom.
Fat indigo clouds swelled on the horizon and the wind changed, along with her forecast.
On her right, she glimpsed McKenna dart out from behind a redwood, snap a neck and disappear again. Seconds passed. One of her men screamed thirty feet ahead. She was on the move, slinking around trees. By the time she got there, another bishop was down. In pieces.
McKenna was pretty good at killing. Too bad he wasn’t on her team.
Alas, he worked for the opposition, and two kings couldn’t remain on the same playing board much longer.
Movement on her left. A tortured scream. McKenna sliced through another like a searing blade through softened butter.
Her pulse kicked up, but her focus was laser sharp.
A breeze whispered past her. She spun three hundred sixty degrees, ready to pop a cap in anyone who wasn’t on her side.
Where the hell was Lori Carpenter? Squirreled away inside a hollowed-out tree trunk?
Belladonna wouldn’t put it past McKenna.
She crept through the woods, tracking her quarry, determined to remain the hunter and not to become the prey.
Thunder roared, but over it a shot was fired. Wild and telling.
McKenna had been doing his best to remain silent, not using his government-issued gun that lacked a suppressor and would give away his position, opting for a machete instead. The target, Carpenter, had discharged the gun. A stupid civilian unaware of how the loud report would echo.
Belladonna took off in the direction of the shot at a controlled pace, eyes on the lookout for any booby traps, just in case it was an ambush. She wouldn’t be the one ensnared.
Coming into a clearing, the light was dim. The sky dark.
Twigs snapped behind her. She pivoted and spotted one of her few remaining rooks. Her numbers were rapidly dwindling. She could execute any job on her own, but backup was better on an assignment such as this.
In the clearing she spotted McKenna, hacking away another of her brethren like a bloodthirsty butcher. Behind him the target stood, holding her neck, raking in air as if she’d come within inches of losing her life. Yet again.
Belladonna’s teeth ached to make it happen and be done with this.
As she took aim, stepping into the meadow, McKenna spotted her.
Belladonna had them, finally, and she couldn’t contain her smile.
Lori Carpenter gasped and reeled back. McKenna raised his hands, still clutching the bloody machete. Standing in front of the target and blocking a clean shot, he backed up, slowly, head lowered.
It was the oddest thing. Rather than reveling in the posture and cowered look, Belladonna’s skin crawled.
A roar blasted behind her, rattling her to the marrow. It wasn’t thunder. It was feral.
She pivoted, slowly, cautiously, training her weapon in the direction of the sound.
A black bear charged the rook behind her. He screamed and ran—toward her.
What the hell? It was every soul for themselves.
She wasn’t an outdoorsy person and hated camping, but she’d picked up a thing or two. Never run from a bear.
Then it dawned on her that McKenna had spotted the animal and had responded to its presence, not to hers.
There was no time to check if McKenna and the target were still behind her—only a fool would be standing there. She took aim on the bear.
The charging beast swooped down on her rook. She fired. A claw ripped through the arm, connecting with human flesh. A double tap from her gun. Her rook’s screams died. The bear growled and bellowed. Then it stormed toward her.
Her heart flew into her throat. Fear wasn’t new. She embraced it, owned it and stood her ground. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the trigger twice.
The beast gave a whimper and dropped.
Belladonna whirled and took after McKenna and the target. She was a hunter, not a tracker, but she could tell what direction they had headed.
No matter the developments in her life, taking time off from work, becoming a wife and a mother, she’d never let herself go. She was in peak physical condition and could run a marathon if the mission necessitated it.
She leaped over a log and ducked under a low-hanging branch, her footfalls light and sure. Running all out at full speed, she’d trained herself not to take noisy breaths.
It paid off. She heard them.
One hundred feet ahead. Two running and a river—water rushing fast, something large. Not a babbling brook.
She wound around trees, sending little creatures scurrying. Faster. She needed to be faster and close the distance. Not let them slip through her fingers again.
Pumping her arms, driving her legs, ignoring the burn, she pushed even harder to close the distance. She glimpsed McKenna and Carpenter. This time, Carpenter wasn’t wearing a vest.
They were hand in hand. Smart enough not to run in a straight line. They cut around a large redwood that obscured them.
Belladonna lengthened her stride, tasting victory on her tongue. Her heart pounded so hard, she thought it might explode. But she didn’t care. There was only the chase. And her prey.
Her blood thudded against her eardrums. She was so close, could smell their sweat and fear in the air, the distant roar of the river amplifying the jolt firing in her muscles.
She burst through the tree line that opened onto a rugged dirt trail. Gun raised, vision clear, mind steady, the sweet rush of adrenaline singing in her veins.
They stopped to take a breath, and Belladonna stopped to take a shot, her finger on the trigger.
A twig snapped beneath her foot. The sound sent the two scurrying to the side and diving down a hill.
She took off after them, sprinting to the spot where they’d been standing only seconds ago. They skidded and tumbled in a wild descent down a steep grade. Belladonna squeezed off a few rounds, narrowly missing the target’s head each time and hitting dirt, or rocks, or a damn tree.
Maybe Carpenter would break her neck on the way, or at least her leg to slow them down.
Belladonna redirected her aim, approximating where they’d stop. Have a steady, clean shot. The two reached the bottom, precisely where she’d calculated—as if landing on a marker—but soft earth gave way.
They both went in a violent whoosh as the river snatched them both, ripping them downstream.
Shock and frustration roiled hot through her, building and spiraling until it exploded. Belladonna screamed, raging at the air, at the storm coming in.
Taking a breath, she pulled in control. Battened down all emotion tight. They might drown. But might wasn’t good enough. She needed Carpenter’s head on a platter.
The river led somewhere. She’d find it. Then what?
They were hunters, not trackers. It wasn’t the same thing at all.
There was also the possibility that McKenna and Carpenter would find their way out of the water before they reached the mouth of the river.
Belladonna tapped her earpiece. “Who is left?”
Smokey was the first to respond, followed by two others. She’d started the day with fifteen. Now the target was in the wind.
Things couldn’t get much worse.
Then her phone rang. She’d programmed a ringtone for anyone who might call this number. “Tubular Bells” played. The theme song for The Exorcist.
Her day just got worse.
Sucking in a calming breath, she answered the phone.