Page 23 of Tango

Ethan rounded into the carriage house where they stowed three off-road vehicles.

He had located the keys on a nearby row of hooks and tested them as part of his morning prep. As Ethan reached for a set, there was growling and banging on the other side of the wall.

Focusing out the window, Ethan saw a man dangling, feet flailing. He must have thrown himself off the roof, hoping to break Tango’s grip. He obviously didn’t understand the tenacity of a Malinois and how he’d just upped the fun and games.

Ethan rounded out, thinking that if he got the guy tied up, he might get a few answers.

But he was also aware that a dart took minutes to work and someone was most likely tracking the progress of the limo. When it crashed, they’d be there ready to scoop up their treasure. Whatever that meant to the criminals.

Tango and the man dropped to the ground.

The guy was obviously in shock—his arm covered in blood.

The pressure to get up the road raged through Ethan’s veins.

“Tango, release,” Ethan called.

And as soon as Tango spun away and landed at Ethan’s side, Ethan cocked his hand back and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw.

He was lights out.

Ethan calculated that the shooter had done his job and thought he’d slide off the roof and leave, his goal accomplished.

Low priority.

Up ahead, a team waited in an advanced position. They were going after the limo.

High priority.

Ethan had to protect the target.

With a chirrup, Ethan brought Tango over to where the limo had idled. “Scent. Scent.” And when she looked up, he signaled “follow” with a quick snap of his elbow that meant she wasn’t to be polite about it. She needed to get on that trail and keep on the trail.

Tango squatted and followed along the drive, picking up speed as she gained confidence that she was on the right trail.

Ethan turned, flung himself onto the off-road vehicle and cranked the engine. Off he powered, glad that this was an electric motor, and he wouldn’t be announcing himself long before he caught up.

Could he catch up to the limo?

Eventually, the guy would pass out, and the limo would stop.

It was more a question of whether he could get there in time to do something.

He’d been told no guns; Ms. Tifton said Tango was weapon enough.

At the time, Ethan had agreed. Now, as he roared along the field alongside Tango, who had switched to cheetah-mode, Ethan would prefer a gun.

Up ahead, Ethan watched as the limo swerved into the ditch, coming to a bucking stop as it hit the swell of land.

A motorbike swung around in a cloud of dust. Dressed head to toe in riding leathers, the rider topped the outfit with a tinted-visor helmet.

Ethan leaned forward as if it would give his vehicle momentum, driving full out and bouncing hard over the field, teeth gritted.

Tango was closing in. But she wouldn’t act unless she perceived a threat.

The rider tested the doors, signaled for the woman to open up, then punched the driver’s window, cleared it with his leather glove to reach in, pop the lock, and open the door.

Ethan was almost there.