She nodded instantly this time.
No argument.
We moved downstairs carefully.
Weapon first.
Eyes scanning.
But the second I reached the bottom step?—
I stopped cold.
Because there was a man face-down on the tavern floor.
Bleeding.
Badly.
Wolf had a knee planted between his shoulders while Tate covered him with a shotgun.
Trigger stood nearby looking equal parts furious and stunned.
And Ava?
Ava had gone pale.
The man on the floor laughed weakly through blood.
Then slowly lifted his head.
My stomach dropped instantly.
Because I recognized him.
Former Deputy Marshal Eric Vaughn.
Missing six months.
Dirty as hell.
Corrupt.
And staring straight at Flick.
“You should’ve run farther,” he rasped.
Flick made a shattered sound behind me.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Pure horror.
Because she knew him too.
21
