Don Meadows lifted his head trying to peer out, saw the fence coming at them. “Stop!”
Kadan’s boot found the back of his neck and shoved him low as the front of the vehicle hit the chain, weakened by the acid bath Gator had provided. The Humvee tore through the second fence and struck the third at full throttle. The splintering crash was loud as the boards gave way and the vehicle passed through unscathed.
Gator had a map of the rough terrain imprinted in his head. The property backed up to the steep canyons. The dense foliage and trees would provide them with cover as they made their way to the safe house. The Humvee went up and over a slope and down the other side, and they were dropping off the earth, with mountain peaks rising above them and wilderness surrounding them.
Kadan took his boot off Don Meadows’s neck and indicated for him to get in the seat. “Get your wife strapped in so she doesn’t get hurt.”
Meadows glanced out the window and then around at the three grim-faced men. The Humvee bounced over rocks and brush, and although Gator had slowed considerably, the motion was intense, jostling the passengers, throwing them from side to side and up toward the roof. Don reached down, his grip gentle, to turn Sharon over and up into his arms. Ryland and Kadan were guarding each side of the vehicle, guns out, waiting for signs of pursuit.
“Nico should be coming at us anytime,” Gator called, slowing more. He turned the wheel hard to his right, the wheel jerking violently as they went up and over a series of rocks and then dropped down a brush-covered slope into a creek bed.
“Movement to the right,” Ryland reported.
“Hold your fire,” Kadan cautioned. “Nico? Are you seeing us?”
Static was the only answer.
“Incoming,” Ryland announced.
Don automatically covered his wife, trying to press her limp body against the seat as tightly as he could.
Gator took the Humvee into a fairly thick stand of heavy brush, smashing through leaves and branches while Kadan shifted to the right. A four-wheel-drive Jeep burst through the trees, coming at them fast. Kadan calmly fired three shots through the window at the driver while Ryland took out the passenger with a head shot. The driver slumped to one side, and the Jeep hit a rock and bounced into the air, crashed down, and hit a tree, coming to a stop. Gator drove a few yards deeper into the brush and once again made a hard right to try to get to the point where Nico should have been waiting.
He brought the vehicle to a stop, and Kadan signaled to Ryland to watch their packages, while he yanked open the door and leapt out, running low along the ground, his skin changing, his clothing reflecting the surrounding brush. He went up the slope, leaping over downed, rotting tree trunks and a few brambles to land back on a narrow trail.
He could hear the sound of a small motorcycle and knew Nico was in full retreat. Behind him came another much larger engine and the sound of gunfire. Nico was trying to lead them away from the Humvee.
“Bring them to me,” Kadan ordered, hoping the command got through to Nico.
The canyon was steep, narrow, and covered in dense shrubs and trees. Nico had to be taking a beating on the small bike as he tore through the underbrush without protection. The whine of the engine grew louder as Nico seemed to circle back toward him. Then he burst through the bushes just a foot or so from Kadan, his face and arms covered in angry scratches, bleeding from a hundred tears in his skin. He abandoned the bike, leaping off it and rolling into the brush while it was still moving forward, his rifle protected by his body.
Nico came up on one knee, the butt of the rifle fitting snugly against his shoulder as he sought a target. Kadan looked him over once to ensure none of the wounds were too bad; most looked like brambles had ripped the sniper up as he traveled through the brush. Then the pursuing truck topped the slope and bounced over it. The guards in the back were thrown from side to side, making the shots difficult.
Nico, of course, had no problems taking out the marksman steadying his rifle, but Kadan’s first bullet took the man behind the shooter high in the shoulder, spun him around, and knocked him out of the truck. He was still moving, and Kadan had no choice but to waste a second shot, giving the third guard a chance to get off a shot. The bullet whistled past Kadan’s face, and he felt the burn along his cheek, although it never touched him.
Nico’s rifle bucked again and the shooter went down. Kadan took out the driver and without a word, the two GhostWalkers raced back toward the Humvee. Ryland threw the doors open and they climbed in. Gator gunned the engine and they were on the move.
“You look a little worse for wear,” Nico said in greeting. “That woman of yours is going to get all mushy over you.”
Kadan didn’t change expression or look at Tansy’s father, but inside, his heart did a peculiar little flip. No one had ever had a mushy reaction to a few wounds on him. Would she? Even with her parents present? He hadn’t considered that. The thought warmed him a little. He didn’t want to think about her when he was working. She had no place in this part of his life. He was born to fight, born to kill, and someone as compassionate as Tansy would never understand the need and desire that drove him to take on the assignments he did—or maybe he was wrong. Maybe that same desire was in her—that thirteen-year-old girl offering herself as a sacrifice in order to track evil—maybe the need simply manifested itself differently.
He wiped his hand across his face and was surprised when it came back smeared with blood. He didn’t even know whose blood he wore, only that he was going back to her covered in it. He seemed to spend a lot of his time with blood on his skin.
Ryland prodded him with his boot. “You’ve got a hole in your shirt. You hurt?”
Don Meadows cleared his throat. “He took a bullet when Fredrickson tried to kill my wife. They said if there was a rescue, they’d kill her and they meant it.”
“Fredrickson was an idiot. He should have taken me out first and then killed her,” Kadan said, shrugging his shoulders. It was what he would have done if the situation had been reversed. Take out the badass and then do your work.
Nico handed him a bottle of water from his pack. “Drink up, man, you look like you could use it.”
He must look worse than he’d thought for Nico, the one covered in raw scratches, to point out that he looked bad. He took the bottle and downed half of it in one swallow.
“Who are you?” Don asked. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s safe. I’ve got a couple of good men guarding her.”