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Two of Dawg’s brothers-in-law rushed past her, heading for Duke.
The second Rowdy called the word and the men began rushing to Duke’s position, she felt it. The sudden attention focused on them, watching them.
She slid her finger closer to the trigger of the assault rifle, remained in place, knowing Duke had better by God remember to watch her rather than listen to Rowdy’s opinion of “clear.”
Was he doing that, though?
She didn’t dare give her position away to whoever she could feel out there, searching for a target. She would have the only chance of . . .
There . . .
It wasn’t a flash, a gleam, or anything so easy. It was like the foliage itself, positioned with the only straight view to this particular entrance, took a deep breath.
She didn’t think, she fired.
Rolling quickly to her knees behind a nearby log, she continued firing, laying cover for the men to get to safety. Ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her leg, she kept firing. The camouflaged figure moved as she kept her shots precise.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
She didn’t spray the area with gunfire, she forced him to move. Distance shooting wasn’t her strong suit. She made a better spotter than a shooter, but she knew how to compensate.
Her target jerked, went down, then a breath later, rolled.
“Go. Go.” On her feet, she quickly followed, bringing up the rear as she ran backward, until she cleared the heavy growth of thick branches and foliage that would provide a barrier to return fire.
“Move. Move,” someone snapped behind her.
Once in the clear herself, she turned quickly and moved for the house.
They’d be inside whether wounded or not. From her periphery she caught sight of Chaya and Natches with Declan. The younger man was pretty much carrying himself, though with a pronounced limp as Natches covered them with that rifle he was known for.
“Ethan’s inside,” she heard someone snap. “Get her inside. She’s bleeding.”
Her? She stopped, her gaze searching for Chaya, the only other “her.”
A flash of movement at her side had her rounding, finger on the trigger of the Glock that cleared her holster and stopped only inches from the surprised face of Army Intelligence officer Major Graham Brock.
His dark gray eyes went to the barrel of the gun even as his arms were held carefully out from his sides.
“My bad,” he said calmly as she stared back at him. “You’re bleeding, Angel. It’s dripping from your fingers; your shirt’s wet with it. You’re wounded.”
She was aware, distantly, of the fact that she stood in the kitchen now. Shades were closed, the room was thick with male tension, and too many eyes were on her.
Her blood dripped from her wrist, three beads of scarlet dropping in slow motion to the tile floor at her feet.
She dropped her arm as she swung to where Duke stood next to Natches, Chaya, and Bliss.
“Mad skills,” Bliss breathed out, her green eyes shining with excitement as her mother watched her, her face pale, grief and something else shining in her eyes.
It wasn’t her sister, her praise or pride, or anything else that held Angel’s attention. It was the pure raw fury that exploded in her mind as she stared at Duke.
He’d broken rank on her. Rather than waiting for her “all clear,” he’d taken someone else’s. Someone that hadn’t been out there with him, that hadn’t kept his back covered coming in. Rather tha
n waiting for her signal to proceed, he’d taken Rowdy’s instead.
“I’m kicking your fucking ass,” she yelled as she flew at him, nearly shaking, her finger poised in his surprised face as Chaya, Natches, and Bliss stepped back hurriedly. “Go fight with Rowdy and his merry band of fucking assholes next time. You’ll die with them, too, but at least it won’t be on my watch.”
Her gaze swept around, her look encompassing the room of government agents and former soldiers.
