Page 24 of Avenging Angel

“Vinny, are you sure these coordinates are correct?” I ask. “There’s nothing but trees and snow. It’s been two days of the same thing. Dead leaves and dead ends.”

Daisy stops and lifts the binoculars dangling around her neck as Vinny answers in our comm devices. “You’re almost there. Thermal imaging shows a warm spot about 100 yards ahead of you with a roughly 10-to-15-degree disparity in temperature from the surrounding area.”

I squat down, swiveling my head as far from left to right as it will go. Daisy notices the same thing I do and takes the liberty of informing Vinny of the situation. “There are fresh deer tracks heading toward the bottom of the mountain and a set of bear prints heading in the direction you’re leading us. No human boot prints or any sign that there are any that have been covered up. The cave is likely a bear’s den. We’ll follow the tracks to confirm.”

Sure enough, the tracks lead to a cave with a four-foot opening. “I’m not about to poke a bear by shining a light in its face. We should move on.”

What we really should do is stop wasting our time searching for potential areas where someone can hide. The area is far too vast. Instead, we should be scouting the campsites.

“I can hear your thoughts from where I’m standing,” Daisy says without a hint of sarcasm. “No need to shine a flashlight; you’ll wake the bear with how loudly you’re projecting.”

“And what am I thinking?”

“That this is a waste of time. That we should be canvassing where the people are rather than the unknown.” Daisy huffs. “Though I loathe to admit it, you might be right.”

I chuckle. “I didn’t actually say any of that.”

“Your facial expressions and body language screamed it. It was the slight dip of the chin and closing of the eyes before you said, ‘We should move on’ that gave you away.”

Daisy starts heading back the way we came, already making up her mind that this day is a bust. After cinching my pack, I jog to catch up to her. “You have an uncanny ability to read people.”

She shakes her head and adjusts her pack. “Not really; just the people I care enough about to pay attention to.”

I grin and bump her hip, singsonging my words. “You care about me.”

“You know I do, so don’t let it go to your head.”

Vinny’s voice rings loud and clear. “You have company. Approximately 500 meters out. I’m going in for a closer look.”

Daisy and I both draw our weapons: my issued Glock and her Browning .380 Black Label Medallion 1911. “There’s no way a BBLM 1911 is standard issue for the Southern Knights,” I say with a pang of jealousy. The fact that Daisy loves weapons as much as I do—maybe even more—means that if we ever get married, I’ll never have to ask if I can buy a gun. She’d agree as long as she could get one too.

I’m silently laughing at the thought when she whispers, “It’s not. We don’t have a standard issue because every gun feels different for every person, as I’m sure you well know. However, we do have to register which of our personal weapons we want to use for work in the event it’s used in the line of duty. Do you prefer the Glock in your hand, or is that just what you’re used to?”

I’m about to answer that I prefer a Beretta 9mm because of its size and weight versus the smaller Glock 22 when Vinny starts yelling, “No! No! No! Don’t….”

Crack! Boom!

Instinct takes over at the sound of gunfire, and I tackle Daisy to the ground. Heart pounding and blood pumping fast, I act as a shield while pointing my gun down the animal trail. Her backpack presses against my chest, but it also provides leverage for my arm as I take aim and steady my breath.

“You could have at least cushioned my fall,” Daisy says as she shifts her weight. I keep my gun pointed down the animal path we’re on while I get to my feet. I extend my hand to help her up, but she simply places her weapon in my palm while she pushes off the ground.

She takes her weapon and puffs away a strand of hair. “The gunshot was….”

“An AR-15, 5.56 NATO round,” I finish for her. “If I had to guess, 55-grain, which means….”

“The shooter isn’t hunting big game,” Daisy says. “If that’s the case, then why would he….”

“Need a gun? Good question. Let’s go ask him.”

“Are you two done finishing each other’s sentences?” Vinny asks. “As cute as it is, both of you need to be on your A-game. There’s a threat in the area and I don’t have visual.”

“What happened?” I ask in a hushed voice. I move in front of Daisy in case we’re the intended targets; taking slow, measured steps.

“The guy from the diner appears to have been following you before he shot my drone,” Vinny says more calmly than I expected. The drone wasn’t CIA property; it was his personal equipment. It set him back the cost of a small car. “The good news is that I got an image and am running it through facial recognition. We’ll know who he is soon enough.”

When she hears that it’s that man from the diner, Daisy sidesteps me and takes off running in the direction the shot came from. “Or we can find out now!”

Even with a rucksack strapped to her back, she’s quick on her feet. By the time I catch up to her, the man in the forest is long gone. “Haven’t you ever heard of the word ‘stealth’?”