She watched her shots, a tight pattern of lead from a triple tap, land right into the back of whomever was trying to kill Tucker. A rippling of army fatigues and then a buckling of knees. She could see all this from her crouched cover behind an open car door. She had parked across the street after seeing the crash. And she’d taken up her position after seeing the gunfire.

Using a handgun from her distance was somewhat of a risk and required some lucky shooting. But all through her shooting career, she’d been more good than lucky. Maybe Tucker and his DARC Ops boys would see that now, especially with how their attacker fell to his knees, holding his chest, and then, not holding anything anymore, rolled flat onto his back. His chest unmoving. There was nothing left for him to hold in, blood or life, and he’d gone still almost immediately.

Macy checked back at the driver who was still in the truck, the windshield cracked just above where his head must have struck. She yelled out across the street, “There’s still one in the seat!” Her voice echoed through the otherwise quiet streets, a heavy silence dropping over the entire field after she dropped the asshole.

All she’d seen was the wreck and the fire, and then this guy raining fire against a large concrete block. When he began crossing the road, it had been time to take action. Her next action would be to neutralize any additional threats, and in this case it was the driver—whatever state of consciousness or bodily harm she found him in.

She rushed out into the street, feeling a little safer now that the gunman hadn’t moved once since landing on the street. Approaching the truck, Macy curled around to see through the driver’s window, and through the smoke, she spotted a figure slumped inside. She ran up and climbed the step, holding on to the door and looking inside, gun-first. The driver was covered with blood, his face almost unrecognizable. There was so much red, she couldn’t tell if he was a white or black man. She could tell, however, that he was dead. No sounds, no breathing, his chest perfectly still. A dead calm at sea, the neighborhood returning to its calm quiet since the shooting ended. An odd quiet for such a location. There were no sirens, no screaming pedestrians—although she’d seen several rush out of sight when the whole thing began. A few drivers had been preparing to stop and assist with the accident. That was, until gunshots rang out. In the silence, she called out for her men—Tucker and Jasper. Yes, Tucker especially was already hers, had already in just a day snuck past all her defenses she’d built over years. She just hoped they were still conscious enough to hear her.

She waited for a few silent, scary seconds. And then, around the corner of the concrete block, she saw Tucker’s wide eyes, and then a mouth hung open in amazement. She called out his name, wailing with it, but his response was muffled by the thudding of her own running steps across the street as she rushed over to him.

Tucker was still in one piece, and with hardly any blood on him. When he walked, he moved fluidly, with no signs of limp or even pain. How he’d survived such an impact without any bodily damage was incredible.

“I thought I told you to stay put at the hotel,” he said, smiling like nothing had happened.

Macy couldn’t smile. “I thought I told you that you needed my help.”

Tucker waved her back around the barrier. “You were right about that.” Their banter died at the sight of Jasper huddled against the concrete, pale where he wasn’t stained red with blood.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Tucker said. He was no longer smiling.

“I’m fine,” Jasper muttered, his voice sounding far away and muffled.

“You don’t look fine, Pal,” Tucker said.

“It’s just blood,” Jasper mumbled. “Superficial wounds from the glass.

“Are you sure?” Tucker inspected his face carefully. “Are you cut anywhere major?”

“I bet he has a concussion,” Macy said, crouching next to him. “Jasper, can you hear me?”

Jasper’s face soured. “Of course I can hear you.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Do you have a headache?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, Buddy,” Tucker said, reaching down and holding him under his arms so that he was standing. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Where are we going?” Macy asked. “The hospital?”

“No,” Jasper said quickly. “I’m fine, I’m good.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I just got my bell rung,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m good. Well I mean, I will be good in a few hours.”

“You sure?” Macy asked.

“Of course he’s sure,” Tucker said, rolling his eyes. “He’s our medic.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve had worse. Played football in high school.” He already seemed more refreshed, dusting off some shards of glass from his clothing now and saying with a laugh to Tucker, “I’ll let you drive, though.”

“Drive what?” Tucker looked over to the wreckage.

Jasper turned his head toward Macy. “How did you get here?”

And then Tucker: “And how did you find us?”

“You’re not too hard to track down,” she said.

Tucker was looking out over the scene. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Plus, I’ve spent the last two years trying to escape people. So I guess I’ve learned a few tricks in finding them.”

“Shit,” Jasper said. “We’re late.”

Tucker smiled at Macy and said, “He’s feeling better, the anal type-A personality reemerging from its shell.”

“Shall we go, then?” Macy said. “We can use my car.” She asked Tucker, who had just turned away from her to watch Jasper trying to do something on his phone.

“He’s definitely feeling better,” Tucker said.