His expression told her he didn’t believe her. “Rule number two. Don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to actually shoot them. Guns aren’t toys. They’re inherently dangerous, even in the hands of the most experienced gunman. Accidents happen. Guns go off. Which takes me back to rule number one. You agree to both of those rules, right now, or you’ll never have my help with your investigation. I mean it, Sierra. Say it.”
She blew out a long breath. “Fine. I agree with rule number one and rule number two. How many more rules are there?”
“I’m not sure. I’m making this up as I go.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You made up that whole plan A and plan B thing too, right? There is no plan B.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a plan B. But like I said, getting you safely out of this area and into hiding in Chattanooga is our best option by far.” He checked the time on his phone’s screen. “We’ll reach the interstate in less than twenty minutes. From there it should be smooth sailing.”
She looked out her passenger-side window again, glad that he was going to work on the investigation. But there were limits to what he’d do in his pursuit of the truth, lines she doubted he’d cross as a cop, or former cop.
And lines she would.
Esteban was her brother. Her oldest biological sibling. She’d do anything necessary to discover who’d killed him and why. Then she’d get justice. The problem was that her concept of justice and Beau’s weren’t the same. Sitting around for years to hope the legal system worked in her favor and punished those guilty of killing Esteban wasn’t something she was willing to do. When the time came, she and Beau could end up on opposite sides. Enemies.
Tires screeched. The truck jerked, throwing her against her seat belt. She threw her hands up on the dash, bracing herself as the truck skidded to a stop.
She stared through the windshield in shock. No more than fifty yards ahead of them, a large dark-colored SUV sat facing them in the middle of the road. The doors were open. And behind each one stood a man holding a rifle aimed at them.
Chapter Nine
“Sweet Lord,” Sierra whispered, as she unclicked her seat belt.
Beau reached behind their seats, then tossed something bulky and heavy in her lap. “Put that on. I should have had you do it at the station. I won’t underestimate them again.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand. I thought you said there were cameras, that Collier would call us—”
“There are. He would. They must have tapped into the live feeds and set them on a recorded loop so that all Collier sees on his screens is an empty road. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Hurry, put that on.”
She looked down at what he’d tossed to her, then swallowed hard. “Kevlar? Wait, where’s yours?”
“On you. Or it will be, in a minute. Hurry. We don’t have time to argue.”
He reached between them again, this time coming up with a rifle. Except, not any kind of rifle she’d ever seen before. It was huge, menacing and looked as if it could rip open the side of a tank. She sent up a quick, silent prayer as she shrugged into the vest and tightened the straps.
Beau rolled down his window and settled the end of the rifle on top of the side-view mirror, aiming it at the truck blocking the road.
“Get on the floor, Sierra.”
“Beau—”
“Now.”
She turned around and slid into the floor, tugging at the cumbersome Kevlar vest to squeeze into the tight space. No sooner had she ducked her head down on the front of her seat than the sound of gunshots echoed around them as the gunmen let loose with a volley of shots. Beau’s answering shots boomed like a cannon inside the truck. Sierra gasped and covered her ears, trying to shut out the sound.
Bullets pinged off metal. Glass exploded above her as the windshield shattered and sprinkled down on her like rain. She squeezed her eyes shut as the terrifying barrage continued.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. The silence was broken only by the sound of Beau’s deep ragged breaths. And one brief, keening moan from somewhere outside.
She looked up, noting the tension carved in his face as he stared through the hole framed by the ragged edges of what remained of the windshield.
“Beau,” she whispered, “what’s—”
“Stay down. Wait here.” He set his cell phone on her seat. “Call Collier. Tell him what’s going on. He’s listed in the Favorites.” He popped open his door and hopped down, his boots crunching on glass as he jogged down the road.
Sierra grabbed the phone and made the call. She waited, but it didn’t ring. A quick look at the screen showed no bars, no service. She tried again anyway, but when it didn’t go through, she tossed the phone into the console and tried to unwedge herself from the tight space in the floor. The heavy bulletproof vest kept pulling at her as if she was swimming in quicksand, but she finally got free and plopped onto the seat.
Staying low, she peered over the top of the dash, then drew a sharp breath. The SUV blocking the road was in utter ruins. The tires were shredded. Large pieces of rubber littered the road. Every window appeared to have been shot out. Glasswas everywhere. Enormous holes pockmarked the doors. One sagged down at an awkward angle from its only remaining hinge, scraping the asphalt. But the real damage was to the men who’d been standing by the SUV. Three of them lay crumpled and unmoving on the road. Blood streaked across their clothes and pooled beneath them. But one man must have still been alive. Beau was on his knees beside him, apparently checking his injuries.
