. . .

  The second bullets started to fly, Josh ran for cover. Two guys rushed out of the building so fast he nearly ran into them.

  Guns lifted.

  He said, “Whoa.” Praying in that split second that they didn’t just drop him and go. He watched it register on their faces the second they realized who he was. POLICE. Josh moved around them, going for cover against the building. “Neema.”

  His dog was already at his side as he pressed his back against the wall and whipped his head back and forth. Finally he caught sight of Dakota’s dark hair as she rounded the back of the building. Heading for a flanking position.

  “Let’s go.”

  It took a second to realize the guy was talking to him. What did he expect Josh to do? “Cover fire?”

  The biker shook his head. In that second, Josh decided this guy was the man in charge. Older than him but younger than the Marine sent out to talk with them. He had a look about him. There might be a civil veneer, but it was pretty thin. “You’re with us.”

  Bullets flew across the spot where he’d stood with Dakota just minutes ago. Maybe seconds.

  Someone screamed. A window smashed, and gunfire answered. The sound of rifle fire. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that make and model wasn’t available to buy in this country.

  They wanted him out of their space but where they could keep track of what he was doing.

  Josh went with them, one guy in front and one behind. Skirting to the side. Coming around to the source of the gunfire.

  “Foos.”

  Neema hadn’t left his side. Giving the command for her to heel was a comfort to both of them. A shared plan. They were going to stick together in this, even though they had no idea what they were running into.

  And maybe Josh was ascribing a whole lot more cognition to a dog who ate, slept, played and worked, but other than that, wasn’t interested in much. But she was his dog. She was happier when she knew he was happy. Just like he was happier when he knew she was content.

  “Two o’clock.”

  Josh saw one guy in a jumpsuit who stuck out between the trees. “How many?”

  “One.” The guy gave a hand signal. They slowed, then dropped to a crouch. “Dax, swoop around. Holler if there are more.” Definitely in charge, his face maybe mid-forties but lined with experiences that could never be erased.

  Dax whispered away through the trees.

  “What do you say, Mr. Federal Agent? Wanna get your hands dirty?” The fire in his eyes preceded low growled words. “These people killed Sie. That means they pay.”

  “The jarhead?” Was Sie the older man now lying in the dirt?

  The biker nodded.

  Josh had seen the older Marine drop. If he was dead, and this man wanted to exact revenge, what could Josh do about it? Interfere and risk his own life? Maybe he should head back to the compound and find Dakota. Help her.

  Regroup.

  After that they could see what was left of Clare and her people. Clean up the mess.

  Trying to decide what his mentor agent would do—write a report while drinking green tea—wasn’t any kind of help.

  “You need to let me take the escaped inmates back in.” And Dakota’s father. And Josh needed to arrest Clare. “They have VX, and they’re going to use it. That needs to be contained.”

  The man almost smiled, but it settled into a kind of sneer. “When I’m done, you can have what’s left.”

  Before he could object, the man raced away. Not good.

  Josh moved into a crouch, still mostly undercover. He called out in the direction the man had gone. “This is the DEA. Lay down your weapons and surrender—”

  Two shots hit the tree right by his head. Josh ducked so fast he lost balance and landed on one knee.

  Someone yelled, a low roar that could only come from a man threatened. Gunshots. Three. Four. Josh lost count as his heartbeat thumped in his ears. Neema barked, way too close to his head.

  Two dogs ran toward him. After them came a man he’d seen at Clare’s compound. Then another man he didn’t know. Josh yelled again. “Stand down!”

  They lifted weapons. One fired at him, while the other fired to the side. Someone fired back. One man went down with a cry, blood spraying from his shoulder. Josh was going to run out of bullets.

  The dogs pounced on Neema. Teeth snapped. Low snarls.

  He pulled on one collar. The dog must have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

  Neema yelped in pain.

  Josh kicked at the dog closest to him. He fired over the other’s head, barely missing it, then lifted up. Landed his weight on the dog and forced it into submission under him.

  It let go of Neema’s shoulder and snapped at Josh.

  He put his arm up in defense and the dog latched on. Josh twisted off Neema, who was at the bottom of this pile of man and animals. He swung his leg around and kicked the dog until it let go of him.

  Then he launched at it, praying the dog took notice.

  It backed up. Josh didn’t stop himself until the last second, making sure the dog wasn’t going to retaliate.

  He held his gun ready just in case. Ouch. His forearm stung, and he could see the red on his bare skin. Josh lost balance and landed on his butt.

  The man who’d fired at him yelled, “Dumb dogs.”

  An assessment of their having backed down?

  They broke off from snarling at Neema and went to the man. Called by their master using the most frequent name they heard. The man loped on, leaving Josh here with his dog.

  He sank to the dirt beside her, blood dripping from his arm. The gunshot wound in his shoulder screamed but he ignored it. He watched each sharp rise of her chest. Blood seeped from her shoulder down onto the earth. He touched her muzzle, her eyes glassy with pain.

  “Oh, baby.”

  Josh looked around, half expecting to get shot at any moment.

  Where was Dakota?

  . . .

  She headed for the source of the sound—a gunfight between Clare and her people and the bikers she’d seen run. She slowed before she could even make them out. Was Harlem here? Duty warred against the fear he’d put in that scrawny girl with the ratted dark hair and too big eyes. Most of the time she still felt like that little girl. It was why she’d tried so hard to push out the memories, to forget.

  A shot whizzed past her. Dakota crouched, shoulder against a tree. All her aches and pains decided that now was a good time to remind her she wasn’t at a hundred percent capacity. Like she hadn’t known that? Where was Josh, and Neema?

  Maybe he’d been hit. Maybe she was out here, alone. The way she’d been when her father kicked her out every time he decided that’s what she needed. Out of the house and outside the fence. She’d seen the looks on the faces of her father’s friends. Associates. She didn’t know what the relationship had been, just that other guys had hung around the house.

  That one scrap of sympathy was something she’d never forgotten. Not because it had happened often, but because she had sucked up every smidgen of connection she could get her hands on.

  Now she just tried to avoid it.

  Not that it had worked. She had more of a family now than she’d ever known. And then there was Josh.

  Where was he?

  The gunfire had died down now. Dakota made her way over to the source, expecting carnage. She found one man dressed in a jumpsuit, clutching his leg and moaning. Across from him was a dead biker.

  Two men stood over the injured escapee. Bikers from the compound.

  “Easy fellas.”

  “Not hardly,” the older one said. “He killed Sie. And now he’s killed Smalls.”

  Dakota said, “There’s a woman back there as well. Shot in the stomach but she’s alive. Misty, I think the other one said.”

  The shorter of the two men spun so fast she took half a step back as he tore past her, back toward the compound.

  Evidently Misty meant something to him.

  “Guess it’s just us,” the other one said. His mustache shifted up and then down as he moved his lips in thought. “Means I could kill you. Blame him and then walk away.” As if for emphasis, he kicked at the wounded man on the ground.

  The inmate moaned, eyes wide and glassy.

  She wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, considering his face gave nothing away. “My team is on their way.”

  “Guess we’re going to have to figure out what they’ll find when they get here.”

  “Preferably not my dead body.”

  She held her gun in a loose grip, pointed at the moaning inmate. But not too far it would take her more than a split second to train it on the biker if she had to.

  She lifted the other hand up, palm out. “If I get a vote, that is.”

  The biker flashed his teeth in what was probably a smile. “The committee is gonna take it into consider—”

  He dropped to the ground. A hole blossomed blood on his forehead.

  The inmate started laughing, still a half-moan as he bled out from his leg. Dakota spun around. She wanted to kick herself for not noticing anyone else approach. Her father strode over, a rifle in his arms. Clare Norton beside him. Her smile turned to a cackle as they neared. That was the only way to describe the noise she made above the rush in Dakota’s ears.

  “Gun down.”

  Everything in her stilled. Did he even know who she was? It had been years since they’d seen each other.

  “You’ll have to shoot me.” She knew full well what he was capable of. “I’m not going to let go of my gun.”

  Clare sidled up next to him, her mushed nose red from the cold. “Or I could just jam this down your throat, and we can all watch you squirm.”

  She lifted the vial in her hand, a gleam in her eyes. She knew what she had. And she was prepared to cause maximum damage with it.

  Her father didn’t take his attention from her. “No, you won’t.”

  His words had been directed at Clare. Which of them was in charge? Or was this simply a battle of wills, and one would die before they figured it out.

  “Why?”

  Dakota didn’t even know what she wanted an explanation for. Something. Anything.

  All of it.

  It wasn’t like he needed her. What did he care if she was dead?

  Maybe he wanted to be the one to put her out of her misery himself. Had he been nursing dreams of revenge all these years? It wasn’t like she’d said one word about what happened. They only knew she’d witnessed it because she hadn’t moved from the time he fired the gun to when the sheriff had shown up.

  Drawn there by someone’s frantic phone call.

  Just like then, Dakota was frozen to this spot right now.

  There was no way she would let go of her grip on reality as well. Or her hold on the strength of what her training gave her.

  His face was pitted, the bottom half peppered with the shadow of a gray beard. His stomach stretched the front of the jumpsuit. Never a small man, he’d always seemed so imposing in her mind. Now she was taller than him, and he seemed almost tired.

  And angry.

  “How’d you end up hooked up with her.” Dakota motioned to Clare with the barrel of her weapon.

  He kept a straight face. “Happy circumstances.”

  Clare said, “Money.”

  “And Terrence?”

  “Waste of space.” Clare rolled her eyes. “Good riddance.”

  Not exactly a confession. “Both of you put your weapons down and your hands up.”

  “I’m not going back to prison.” Her dad didn’t move the rifle at all. “You’ll have to kill me.”

  She saw the intention in his eyes and cut him off before he lifted his gun. “Fine,” she said. “Dad.”

  His eyes flared, and he held his aim on her. Dakota watched the anger surge in him.

  Finger to the trigger.

  He was going to shoot her, center mass.

  Her father wanted to kill her.

  In that split second between decision and the squeeze of his finger, Dakota fired.

  . . .

  Harlem’s gun moved on impact. His bullet went wide, into the escapee who’d been shot in the leg. The man slumped to the side.

  “No!” Josh raced toward her. He’d seen the tail end of the conversation after he carried Neema part way, then left her close, curled up at the base of the tree.

  She needed help.

  Dakota dived to the ground.

  Harlem’s body landed with a thud.

  They all needed help.

  Clare squealed and raced away.

  Josh ran to where Dakota lay. Don’t be dead. God, please don’t let her be dead. His boot hit a twig and snapped it. Dakota sat halfway up, gasping. Pointed her weapon at him.

  “Easy.” He dropped to his knees beside her. “I saw you go down.”

  She blew out a breath. “That was close.”

  Her eyes darkened at the sight of her father. She stared, emotion washing over her face for the first time he’d seen. This evidently strong enough to break through that shell.

  He spoke gently. “You killed him?”

  She nodded, then looked away from Harlem as tears filled her eyes.

  “I saw it,” Josh said. “He gave you no choice.”

  She said nothing more

  Josh motioned to the trees. “Clare got away.”

  “With the vial containing the VX.” She paused a second and then said, “Go after her.”

  He shook his head. “Neema is bleeding, and so am I. We need to regroup.” He sucked in a breath of his own, adrenaline still pumping through his system.

  Dakota couldn’t stand without help. Commotion drew both their attention. Sal and a team of marshals rushed through the trees. Vests and rifles. Sal wore aviator sunglasses that Josh thought looked ridiculous.

  He slowed when he saw them and scanned the area. “You okay, Cupcake?”

  Dakota called back. “Yeah, Puddin’. I’m fine.”

  One of the marshals snickered. Sal shot him a death glare over the top of his glasses.

  “Clare Norton went that way—” Josh pointed southwest. “—if you’re interested.”

  Sal tore off with his marshal friends.

  “Guess that answers that.” He heard a whine and spun around. “Neema?” They made their way to the spot where he’d placed her. She was breathing low now, and it was sporadic.

  “She needs a vet.” He looked over at Dakota and saw the wet in her eyes.

  “Let’s go then.”

  He had her call the vet and tell him they were on their way. Josh carried his dog, despite the screaming pain in his arm and shoulder. The vet could look at him after he saw to Neema. They reached the SUV, and he laid Neema in the back. There wasn’t even time to reassure her.

  He trotted to the driver’s seat and climbed in.

  Dakota was already buckling up when Josh shoved the car into drive. He was about to pull out onto the road when the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his neck.

  “You go where I tell you to go.” The voice belonged to a man. “Or both your brains are on the dash.”

  Chapter 23

  Dakota twisted far enough to see the beige of the man’s inmate scrubs. The one she hadn’t left dead in the woods from Harlem’s gunshot.

  The tattoo on his neck shifted. “Want your head blown off?”

  All she could think of was her father falling to the ground, dead from her shot. “Not especially.” Dakota bit the words out.

  “Drive.” The inmate jerked his gun to the left.

  Josh flipped a U-turn and got onto the highway. “Where are we going?”

  “Just go. I’ll tell you when to turn.” He shifted to speak to her. “Pull out all the weapons you two got on you and hand them over.” The inmate touched the gun to Dakota’s shoulder. “Or you know what will happen.”

  She said, “I’m reaching for my weapon.”

  “Nice and slow.” He pointed his gun at Josh while Dakota pulled her Sig out with two fingers nowhere near the trigger.

  “Backup?”

  “In my boot,” she said.

  “Hand it over.”

  She pulled out the tiny revolver and handed it over the exact same way. The guy tossed it to the floor of the backseat.

  In the very back, Neema whined.

  Dakota said, “That dog needs medical attention. She has a serious injury.”

  “You’ll have a serious injury unless you shut up.”

  She pressed her lips together. Josh’s hands were on the steering wheel, both sets of knuckles white with tension as he drove.

  “Get his gun.”

  She reached over and pulled it from the holster on his belt.

  The inmate said, “Backup?”

  “Not today,” Josh said.

  “I’m supposed to believe that?” The guy shifted in his seat. Not overly stressed, or freaking out. Just tense. The situation was tense, and he knew it.

  “It’s the truth,” Josh said.

  “You’d better hope so.” He rested the gun on Dakota’s shoulder. Josh saw it. “Just drive. No one moves, and we won’t have any problems.” He shifted and she heard him root around in the back seat.

  Dakota glanced at Josh. He kept his gaze forward, lines around his taut mouth. She wanted to say something. Look at me. She didn’t like there not being a connection between them. But was it worth being shot, just for a glance?

  Fear reared its head again. Curled up in her stomach, it shifted. Unfurled. Slithered like a snake until it filled her throat, trying to choke her.

  The beige outfit was discarded, and he pulled on clothes. Stinky workout clothes, judging by the smell. Who did those belong to? She figured Sal. If they were Niall’s then this guy was going to look ridiculous wearing high waters and a crop top.

  “It doesn’t matter how far you get,” she said. “The man whose clothes those are is going to catch you. He’s the best tracker I know.”

  “I’ll be long gone by then.”

  But would she and Josh be alive? And Neema? She said, “Do you even have a plan?”

 

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