“Two shooters north ridge!”
Rook answered instantly.
“Take them.”
Automatic fire erupted deeper in the woods.
One scream cut off abruptly.
Then silence.
Not good silence.
The kind right before more killing started.
I risked a glance over the rock?—
and caught movement.
Shepherd.
Running downhill through the trees.
Fast.
Calculated.
Not retreating.
Positioning.
My blood went cold.
“He’s circling,” I growled.
Wolf saw it too.
“That bastard’s trying to separate us.”
Exactly.
Because Shepherd didn’t want a firefight.
He wanted Flick.
A branch snapped somewhere behind us.
I spun instantly?—
weapon up?—
but Rook stepped from the darkness first, soaked in rain and carrying enough weapons to invade a country.
His gray eyes landed on Flick.
Then on me.
“Status.”
