Page 54 of Risk of a Lifetime
He’d mentioned he needed to be able to react hard and fast. Fingerless gloves and lack of a hat caught her attention. The gloves she understood for the gun, the knife, but he should wear his hat. She pointed to her own then him. He shook his head, pointed to his ears and the surroundings. She got it…he needed to hear.
Again, the crunch of leaves. This time from the front of the house. He tensed and spun in that direction, gun raised, finger on the trigger.
Her heart rate notched up as fear grazed her senses. She’d heard people in counseling talk about the taste of fear. Until now, she hadn’t known what such a thing would taste like. Now she did. Not so good. Wouldn’t be easy to forget. Her breathing jumped into overdrive as she tried to ignore the vile taste permeating her senses. She had to get her control back. The last thing he needed was for her to hyperventilate.
JB pushed her back and stepped in front of her. Held his hand for her not to move. The rocker on the front porch squeaked with movement. Wind? Was there enough to move the chair? More crisp, brittle sounds of breaking, dried leaves littering the ground.
He tugged her close behind him and edged to the corner of the house. Flattening herself to the siding, she tried to blend in with her dark coat and gloves. He’d made sure neither of them had any light color clothing on. He inched a small corner mirror out in front of him. She glanced over his arm to see the reflection. Nothing.
Turning back to her, he holstered the gun. Evidently, he thought it was nothing more than the wind.
She looped her thumbs under the backpack straps across her chest. That had been their I’m-ready-to-go signal years ago when she’d gone hunting with him. He did the same with his, then turned and headed in a low crouch to the tree line. She followed close behind.
Her vision focused, cleared, and she stumbled, crashing into him. He turned, catching her with one arm, then jerked his eyes to the left. The semi-automatic strapped to his thigh was in his hand before she realized JB had moved. The one she thought of as his SWAT gun. Her heart raced, pounding fast and heavy. He never wore that unless the situation was wild. Unpredictable. Dangerous beyond dangerous.
And, she’d never seen him pull it…until now.
He pushed her in front of him, then turned and walked backwards behind her.
The taste in her mouth deepened. What the hell had he seen?
Patting her coat pocket to make sure her own gun was still there, the enormity of their situation bombarded her. After about twenty steps, he motioned her to stop. She steadied herself and stood beside him. Ready and waiting to follow his order. He nodded and hooked his thumbs under his straps—she did the same.
They moved forward as one as the woods closed in behind them.
Chapter Eighteen
JB flipped the image through his mind as he shortened his strides so Marcy could keep up. What had zipped around the back of their house as he turned to catch her? A fat raccoon? A wolf? Or something more ominous? Maybe a shadow, nothing else. A shadow. His gut instinct warned otherwise. As professional as the hits had been so far, the perp wouldn’t chance entering the house before the people inside had a chance to fall asleep. He would wait. Wait until they were sound asleep, then charge in to wreak his chaos.
The couple trekked through the trees and brush, downed limbs tangled in mud from tiny hillside rivulets. A slight mist of rain helped cushion the sound of their footsteps on the fallen leaves. The hike stayed uneventful. He stopped, pointed to a few deer making their way through the night, trying to stay warm. For an instant, it seemed like old times. He heard her breathing lessen just a bit. A shared moment, fingertips, and a memory. Then the moment passed, and they trudged on through the darkness of the forest.
The sound of a truck revving its engine signaled him they were close to the next leg of their journey. He tucked her close behind him until glimpses of the road ahead flickered through the brush. They crept to the edge of the tree line. The truck idled close to a hundred feet down the gravel road. Inching through the cover of trees and darkness, he positioned them straight across from their ride. His mind, eyes, and instincts sharpened to the surroundings. Was this the right truck? The right driver? Or, had someone else come? Figured everything out?
A lighter flickered in the driver’s area. First time got his attention. Second time, he got enough of a look at the man behind the wheel to risk their lives. Marcy leaned into JB as he pointed to the open, passenger door on the rear cab of the truck. Interior lights dark, only a small, directed, pin-sized glow of light beamed from the floor bed.
“When we break the trees, all you have to do is get in the back seat. I’ll be right behind you.” He tightened his fingers around the sleeve of her coat. “Understand?”
She nodded. “Are you sure it’s Cain?”
“Yeah.” At least he hoped the driver was Cain. If JB’s instincts had been wrong in trusting the man, then it wouldn’t matter, because their lives wouldn’t be worth the price of a bullet.
“Are you sure?” She glanced at the truck and back to him, her eyes wide with fear.
Ignoring her question, he eased his Glock from the shoulder holster, and then hung his arm back down his side, finger on the trigger. “Get ready.”
Grasping the straps, she hefted her backpack further up on her shoulders, the look on her face focused and intent. He looked behind them one last time and scanned right, front, left.
Up the road, headlights beamed in the distance, growing in size. The man in the truck jumped out, ran around the back side, a shadow of a pistol in his hand. JB shoved Marcy to the ground and crouched beside her. Looked like Cain’s build. Who was behind the wheel of the approaching car, though?
JB handed Marcy the Glock and released the semi-automatic from his thigh. If he was wrong, they’d need everything he had. There’d be no time to run. No time to disappear. No time to think. Reaction meant everything. Would his timing be better than the perp’s?
The man stopped by the back fender. Headlights closed on the scene. Marcy shivered as she braced on her elbows, gun focused straight ahead and tight in her grip. JB locked the semi-automatic’s handle into place, ready to fire. Didn’t matter who heard the click. Too late for stealth.
“Hold where you are.” Cain’s voice rasped. “I got this covered.”
The car pulled to a stop along the truck. “Car trouble?”
Cain wandered back around the rear fender, zipping, readjusting his pants, his coat. “No. That last beer made a beeline straight through. Had to stop for a nature call.”
