Page 1 of Rogue Survivor
Prologue
Connor
The seedy motelon the outskirts of Dallas is mostly deserted. The only car in the parking lot belongs to the Bureau. I shouldn’t be here. If Brent—my boss—finds out I appropriated resources for averyunofficial assignment, my career will be over faster than a duck on a June bug.
The two junior agents get out of a nondescript black sedan the second I park. They hang their heads, until the one on the left clears his throat. “The target is gone. We’re not sure when he left. Could have been up to eight hours ago.”
“Eight hours?You jack-offs had one job! One. And you fucked it right up,” I snap. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I slam the door of my truck, my hand going to my sidearm. Habit. Just like adjusting my Stetson.
The skies open, and not even the hat can protect me from the torrential downpour. “Fuckin’ amateurs. Go home. I don’t want to see either of your faces right now.”
The two trainees—I don’t even remember their names—mutter apologies, but I only care about one thing. Figuring out where my brother’s ex—Alec—went when he left. Those fresh-out-of-Quantico fucks can’t even tell me how long he’s been gone.
I shoulder through the door, then clear the room in under thirty seconds. It’s pristine. The only evidenceanyonewas here? An empty bag of granola in the trash. Isawthe asshole through the curtains last night. Watching TV. Hell, I sat on him for six hours before I called in Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber to take over for me so I could get some sleep.
Shit. Whatever the hell Alec was doing here? He didn’t stay long. Even the toilet paper on the roll is still folded into a little triangle. But on the bathroom window sill? Scuff marks. He escaped out the back. Did he spot the surveillance? Fuck. IknewI should have called in sick and watched the twat myself.
I stalk back to my truck, half-blinded by the rain and soaked to the skin. I need a Stetson with a bigger brim. Texas storms are no joke, and this one? It came out of nowhere.
Wrenching the door open, I’m about to climb inside, but pain explodes across the back of my skull and the hat tumbles onto the seat. Time slows, and the rain isn’t the only thing obscuring my vision. Black spots form, spreading out until the lights inside the cab are nothing but pinpricks. A second blow, and they fade away completely.
The ground rushesup to meet me, and I land with a weak “oof.” Where the hell am I? Above me, the Texas sky goes on forever, but only a few stars remain amid the billowing clouds. I’m not in the city anymore. It’s no longer raining. And it’s too dark. Except for twin beams of light to my left. I blink hard. Headlights. Cold air rushes over my skin, and my head throbs with each beat of my heart.
Hotel. Alec. Ambush.
I’m only wearing my boxers and socks. No cell phone. No gun. No backup piece. Not even my pocket knife.
Shit. Think. Or you’re fucked.
“You want to go first?” a gleeful male voice with a heavy Texas twang asks.
First? For what?
“Hell, yes.” The second man is on the other side of me, but before I turn my head, something hard hits my right arm. The crack of bone sends white hot pain from my fingers to my shoulder, and I curl into a ball as another blow lands just above my knee. I catch a glimpse of a light, rounded length of wood, and by the time I figure out that it’s a baseball bat, both of them are wailing on me.
Move! Do something, idiot!
My right hand is useless, but I claw at the ground with my left, desperate to get away. Lightning arcs across the sky, hitting a tree a couple hundred feet away.
The thunderclap shakes the ground, and the bat connects with my skull.
It’s hard to breathe. Blood trickles into my left eye. The first voice is so close he must be kneeling next to me, but all I see is a diffuse shadow. “You fucked with the wrong man, Mr. F-B-I. Storm’s rollin’ in. I reckon you got another hour—maybe two—before you’re so far underwater, they’ll never find the body. And Quint…well, he’s back where he’s supposed to be. With Alec.”
No. Anything but that.
My thoughts fracture. Memories so ephemeral I can barely hold onto them. Quinton when I rescued him from Alec’s condo. His anger the last time we talked. How all he wanted was for me to be hisbrother. Not FBI Special Agent Connor Davis. Not Connor the Army Staff Sergeant. Not Connor the asshole. Just…Connor.
I’m beyond trying to protect myself. My head feels like it’s full of cotton, and I can’t fight anymore. My right side went numb a few minutes ago. Or was it longer? Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the dark clouds with my one good eye.
The pain fades with each blow. That’s not good. I canfeelthe impact, but either there ain’t much left to break, or my body’s shutting down.
A fat drop of water hits my cheek. Then another. And another.
One of the fuckwits grabs my hair and slams my head against the hard-packed dirt. “Enjoy the rain, Davis. I hear Flash Flood Alley is theperfectplace to drown.”
With a last kick to my knee, they laugh, then get in their vehicle and drive away.
I’m dead. The blood flows thick and hot into my eye, and every few seconds, a fresh spasm of pure agony wracks my body. Each one weaker than the last. The stars are gone. But is that from the storm? Or my injuries?
