Bear Trapped (Bear Creek Grizzlies #5)

33. Finn

FINN

F inn knew generally where the drug runners would be, based on the wind and a few shots he’d heard earlier. Shotgun gave him a tipper and claimed it was where the fuckers were based, but Finn wasn’t about to trust just that. He stashed his clothes after hiking into the trees, and transformed into his bear side to do more scouting. He hated leaving Lauren at the cabin, but the faster he dealt with the drug running assholes and Shotgun’s bastards, the faster he could get her somewhere much safer, warmer, and ideally with much better food and a more comfortable bed, so they could stay naked for as long as possible. A hot shower would be nice, also for sharing.

He shook his head and shoved upright to lean on a tree and knock it over, the dead-fall balancing on the top of a steep slide. Finn kept moving through the trees, searching for places to create traps and snares he could drive unsuspecting humans into, and paused occasionally to inhale the air and listen for telltale signs of metal weapons or men. The snow slowed and left the air clear and cold and crisp, the sun watery and pale where it filtered through the trees. He’d expected an immediate ambush, yet nothing moved.

Finn worked his way back through the trees to the trail, uneasiness gripping his stomach as the time ticked away. Lauren was still safe in the cabin, at least, so it didn’t really matter how long he spent fucking around trying to find Shotgun and the drug runners. He just had to keep telling himself that. He shifted back to his human form and got dressed, cursing Shotgun under his breath. So much for the emergency that required Finn to go out that minute to find the bastards. The forest was so damn quiet it was like nothing else stirred in a few square miles.

He held his breath for a long moment to listen, then headed along the trail away from the cabin and away from town. He’d headed into the park down the slopes, toward where the drug runners came from when they ambushed Lauren, but maybe they’d found a different angle from where he’d originally hiked in. He made it almost a full mile down the trail before the first sign of trouble showed up.

A large meadow, the snow untouched, opened up along the south side of the trail with a vast white expanse framed by trees. He hesitated before proceeding down the trail next to it, not wanting to expose his dark silhouette against so much fucking white, and listened hard as the wind moved through the bare branches all around. He should have brought Nordic gear that blended in, instead of his typical darker clothes. Stupid.

Finn adjusted his grip on the rifle and started to turn, ready to retreat to the cabin to fetch Lauren. They could come up with a different way to deal with the charges and Shotgun, and with a pissed-off Simon when he landed on their heads. A crack echoed through the trees, sharp enough Finn expected to see an entire tree fall to pieces from the sap exploding, then fire ripped through his arm and an impact sent him back a step.

Fuck . He looked down and found a tear in his jacket from the track a bullet made as it creased his arm. Finn scowled, more pissed off than hurt, and dropped to the ground before whoever shot at him got a better bead. He slid across the trail to press up against a tree, getting some kind of cover. Nothing else stirred once the birds screamed out of the trees, and he breathed as quietly as possible as he strained to hear where the pot-shot came from. The fucker got his right arm, which meant holding the rifle up and steady would be more painful than it needed to be.

He was really starting to hate those assholes. It was becoming personal instead of just business, and the second it crossed over to personal, he’d let the bear out. Maybe literally.

Finn shook off the small pack and freed a mirror from the interior pocket so he could see behind him at the tree line on the other side of the meadow. At least the assholes weren’t used to hiding in snow, either, because they stood out just as badly as he did. Four of them, hunkered down and shivering in substandard gear, all held weapons and whispered to each other. Maybe trying to decide if he’d been killed when he dropped to the ground. The wind brought a hint of their voices but not their actual words.

He checked his rifle to make sure snow hadn’t obscured the sights and he had all his ammunition ready to go, then used the tree to brace and conceal his movements as he got back to his feet.

It didn’t take long for the smugglers to make a mistake: they left the trails to sneak up on him through the brush. They didn’t realize they might have worn bells to give away their locations to his sensitive hearing.

More comfortable with the sudden advantage, Finn captured them one by one. It wasn’t even that difficult, although he didn’t have enough zip-ties to restrain all three and had to use rope on the last one.

The first one put up more of a fight than he’d expected, but seeing their buddy’s bloodied face helped settle the next two down real quick. Finn appreciated a sensible adversary.

He signalled Shotgun with his phone, sending the GPS coordinates, and dragged the three cursing, threatening smugglers into one small sheltered clearing adjacent to the big open meadow. Then it was just a matter of waiting for reinforcements to take custody of the bad guys so he could get back to Lauren. His bear side got antsier the longer they were apart, and his skin felt like it would split from all the energy he tried to control.

It would all be over soon. Just a few more minutes, a few more aggravating conversations with Shotgun and his guys, a little bit of hiking and then he’d be with Lauren.

Finn glanced up from where he stooped over the three bodies of the drug runners, hearing boots breaking twigs and radios chirping. “Over here. I’ve got the?—”

That time, the impact knocked him off his feet entirely and the punch snapped the air out of his lungs. His breathing rasped and he rolled hard, keeping hold of his rifle only from long practice and experience. He landed on his back and swung the rifle up, ready to shoot whoever shot him first, and found himself staring at three of Shotgun’s cruelest assholes bearing down on him and armed for war.