CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Crouched on the porch, Wes peered around the corner of the house, scanning the horizon for any sign of the shooter.
Nothing. No movement. Nothing that stood out among the woods and the white snow.
Where were they?
The whimper of Wes’s wounded friend carried through the near silence of the snow-covered forest. Best he could tell Wöden was somewhere northeast of the cabin. Was he hurt so badly he couldn’t move?
The door beside him creaked open a fraction.
“Do you see him?” Chloe asked.
“No, and I told you to stay inside,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the drive and the snowy forest beyond it.
“What’s your plan?” she whispered, ignoring his orders to stay safely inside the cabin.
Good question.
Smart move would be to get Chloe to Westen, freeing him up to come back and track down the shooter. Deal with them and find Wöden. Hopefully before his four-legged friend died.
Problem was, he didn’t have a clue who was shooting or where they were. By the sound of the rifle fire, it was a high speed, long distance shot. Which meant they had a scope. Any movement from the cabin would put them in the line of site.
“I need to get you out of here,” he whispered.
“What about Wöden? We can’t leave him out there wounded, bleeding and alone.”
He’d once considered her a high-maintenance woman. Self-indulgent. Ego-centric. The fact that she was more worried about the wolf-dog than herself spoke volumes to the woman’s moral compass and just how wrong he’d been. Defending her younger sister at all costs. Pro-bono work for the defenseless. Caring for strays, like Wöden—and him.
Which was exactly why his priority was her safety.
Damn. Why did he choose a house so far away from town? If he lived in town, help would already be on its way. Now they were trapped and no one knew they were here. No one except Bulldog and Dylan—Dylan who was supposed to call Bobby this morning.
“What time is it?” he whispered, turning to meet Chloe’s gaze.
She looked in the direction of the clock on his oven. “Seven-fifteen,” she said, fixing an inquiring look at him.
“How punctual is Dylan?”
“Unless she’s in surgery or an emergency has come up, she’s usually pretty on time. You think she’s called Bobby by now? We could call Gage.”
“We could, if I hadn’t gotten distracted last night and remembered to charge my phone,” he said with disgust at his own stupidity. “Thing was dead this morning. I put it on the charger right before I handed you your coffee.”
“That leaves us getting to the SUV and going for Wöden.”
Wes studied her face. No trace of panic. Calm. Cool. Ready to do whatever it took to get them out of this.
“I’ll go first,” he said. He noticed she’d already put on her coat, no need to wait for her to get ready. “Once I’m inside, I’ll move it as close to the porch as I can, and cover you. Okay?”
“Got it,” she said, scooting out the door beside him. Then, before he could move, she grabbed his arm, pulling him closer and plastering her lips on his in a hot wet kiss.
“Be careful,” she said as they parted. “I’m not done with you, yet.”
With one last scan of the tree line edging the clearing to the right of the cabin, he gripped his gun in one hand and started down the porch steps. He slid on the last one, landing sideways, just as the sounded of gunfire echoed through the air. A hole blew in the left front tire of the SUV.
Wes scrambled back up the steps, pushing Chloe inside the cabin in front of him.
“Shit.” Crouching near the window, he tried to see where the shot had come from. “Wish the bastard would show his face.”
“Are they in the forest?” Chloe asked, for the first time there was a tremor in her voice.
Damn, he hated that. She should never be afraid.
Wes shook his head. “I have no idea where they’re at.”
“So, we’re trapped here, then?”
“Not really,” he said, already forming a plan. Hopefully whoever was out there hadn’t had time to really scope out his place or the area.
“What do you mean, not really?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you. And keep down.”
Taking her hand, they moved through the cabin towards the bedroom in a crouching duck-walk. Inside the room, he closed the door, but motioned for her to stay down.
He went to the closet door, pulled out his black go-bag and set it to the side and re-holstered his gun.
“When I bought this place, I was still paranoid someone from the agency would want to retire me permanently. First thing I did was make an escape route.”
Chloe shrugged. “Not surprising, consider who you were working for and what happened on that last mission,” she said, as if it was no big deal and everyone made an escape route in their homes.
Wiggling his fingers along the side of one floorboard, he pulled up the panel he’d cut out of the wood slats and set it aside. “You’re going to go first, okay? Just drop down below the house. It’s not a big drop, maybe four feet. Stay there and wait for me. The stones around the east, south and west sides of the house will hide you from sight until I come down.”
“What about the north face?” she asked, already crawling up to the hole.
“Tore most of those stones out to make the exit easy. Covered the whole back side with evergreen boxwood plants. Ready?”
“You’ll be right behind me?”
“Right on your tail, counselor,” he said with a wink.
Holding her hand, he helped her into the hole and held on until her feet touched the ground. She ducked down and moved away from the hole. Next, he dropped his go bag—the bag he kept packed with clothes, weapons and ammo, basic first-aid stuff, his passport and a few food items, just in case he had to bug out or the agency decided to coerce him back into service—into the hole. It disappeared as Chloe dragged it to the side with her.
A window shattered in the front of the house. Whoever it was, they meant to force him and Chloe out the front. Too damn bad. He had other plans.
Finally, he dropped into the hole. Reaching for the rope he’d tied to the bottom of the wood panel, he pulled it closed. Crouching down, they crawled crab-walked to where the bushes hid their exit. His gun once more in his hand, he slipped through the spot where two boxwoods met. Chloe handed him the go bag, then joined him.
“Where to?” she whispered in his ear.
Before he could answer her, more gunfire sounded, followed by breaking glass. His SUV or the house?
“What’s the matter, Chief?” a voice called from the distance. “Afraid to come out and face justice for your actions?”
“Who’s that?” Chloe asked.
Wes shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You gonna hide inside like you hid in the jungle and let your men die?” the shooter yelled.
More gunfire sounded, this time hitting the generator to the west side of the house.
“We need to move, Chloe. If they hit the gasoline tanks by the generator, this whole place could blow.” He grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Follow me and stay close.”
Still crouching, he started marching north through the knee-deep snow, knowing the river and the forest curved from the west side to the north. Chloe followed on his left hip, away from his gun hand. Damn, he loved a smart woman.
The snow made their escape slow, but he took solace in knowing it also slowed down the shooter. He wished he could hide their tracks, but there was no time.
He just prayed he could get Chloe to a safe spot, before whoever was after them caught up.