Chapter 4
It wasn’t going to get any better if she sat there longer, and Drew knew it.
She stared through the windshield. Moss hung from the trees like torn drapery, swaying slightly in the still, humid air.
The buzzing and chirping bugs created a relentless wall of sound, loud and grating.
But worse—there were no bird calls. No wing beats. Nothing natural beyond the insects.
Night was falling, and Drew knew she was going to have to do this in the dark. She already imagined the creepy crawlies skittering across her skin—and she hadn’t even gotten out of the SUV yet.
She checked her sidearm and holstered it on her hip. Then she checked the second weapon, snug beneath her armpit in her underarm holster. Deep breath. She slid out of the truck and closed the door quietly behind her.
The air was thick. Heavy. Like she could chew it. Her skin immediately developed a clammy sheen. A floral scent wafted on the breeze—overripe and cloying. She tried not to squirm but found herself smacking a mosquito on her arm almost immediately.
“Goddamn swamp,” she muttered under her breath. “This is gonna suck.”
She made her way quietly down the road. No traffic. The sun was low on the horizon, casting an orange-pink haze over the trees. Still too far out to be seen, but as she got closer, she slipped into the tree line, moving through the woods as silently as she could.
She stopped.
Listened.
Nothing.
No rustle of wildlife. No bugs. No wind. Even the mosquitoes seemed to have vanished. A chill slid over her skin. Something was off. The entire bayou felt like it was holding its breath.
Then—there it was.
A soft ptooie.
The sound of someone spitting.
She grinned. Charlie Diaz. She knew that sound anywhere. She’d crossed paths with Charlie more times than she could count. He was a legend in the business—mean, wily, and a little reckless. But he wasn’t smart. He had habits. And one of them was chewing tobacco.
She crept forward and found his truck jammed awkwardly between two trees about three hundred yards from where Cross’s cabin was supposed to be. Sure enough, Charlie sat in the driver’s seat, spitting out the window like it was just another day.
Last time they tangled, he’d sucker punched her and knocked her out cold. To be fair, it hadn’t been entirely her fault—Billy had sneezed and given away their position. But she’d gotten her revenge.
Once she’d come to, she’d tasered Charlie, taken the skip, and made the drop. He’d been livid. But she’d stopped by later and handed him a cut of the money. In this business, enemies were dangerous. Friendly competition, though? That you could work with.
She crept up to the back of his truck and waited. Ptooie. There it was again. She smirked, pulled her stun gun from her belt, and popped her head in the window.
“Hey, Charlie.”
“SHIT!” he squealed, nearly jumping out of his seat. He slapped a hand on the gun resting on the center console, then looked her way, recognized her and moved his hand back to the steering wheel. “Drew, you scared the ever-lovin’ crap outta me! What the hell!”
“Sorry, Charlie,” she said, grinning widely. “Couldn’t resist.”
He scowled at her. “This one’s mine, girl. My retirement job. I get this one—I walk away.”
Drew gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry, Charlie. This one’s too big to pass up. I’m gonna have to take it from you.”
“I will not let you do it this time.”
“Come on. You know I’m always good to you.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Charlie’s hand twitched toward his gun again.
She didn’t flinch. She knew he wouldn’t shoot her—not in a million years. Still, she moved fast. In a blink, she leaned in and zapped him on the neck.
“Sorry, Charlie.”
His whole body vibrated as electricity swept through him, then he slumped over the steering wheel with a groan. She let out a breath of relief. If Charlie was the first one here, she had a little time. Not much—but maybe just enough.
She slipped the binoculars off his neck and looked through them. The cabin came into view—small, low, and tucked into a break in the trees. A narrow deck off the back. Corrugated tin roof. Not a single light visible. The kind of place someone could disappear into.
She stood, heart pounding. The place looked abandoned.
What if someone already had Cross? What if the Weasel got here first? Most bounty hunters wouldn’t go this far—but the Weasel? He’d do anything for a payout. She needed eyes inside.
The trees were thicker near the left side of the cabin.
She wove her way through them, taking her time, batting moss out of her face and stepping around thick roots and patches of damp earth.
The sound of Charlie’s engine rolling over reached her, and she smiled.
Giving up so soon? Nah, if she knew Charlie, he’d probably wet himself when she’d tased him, and now he was going to some motel somewhere to change.
Charlie hated being wet in any sense of the word.
She reached the edge of the woods. Still no sound or movement from the cabin.
She closed her eyes and stilled her body, reaching out with all of her senses.
She trusted her instincts. Cross had taught her that.
And her instincts told her no one was inside.
No movement. No tension in the air. Just bugs. And heat.
Still, she wasn’t taking chances. She sprinted across the clearing, pressed her back to the cabin wall, and rose just enough to peek through the window.
Pitch black.
She couldn’t see a damn thing. She dropped back down, crouched low, and worked her way around the side. The back of the cabin had a small deck and a single door. She ducked under the banister and stepped lightly onto the porch, avoiding the creaky planks near the edge. She reached for the handle.
Locked.
She stood there, debating, her heart pounding in her ears. Bust the door down and maybe get shot? Or knock and maybe get shot? Either one could involve getting shot, but she didn’t figure she had a choice. Her hand moved to her gun. She slid it free.
“Not hesitating would’ve been the better choice,” a voice said from behind her.
She spun, weapon raised—
And came face-to-face with her…
“Cross,” she breathed.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
He stood with arms crossed over his chest, muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. He was tanned, fit, and way too good-looking for her own sanity.
He raked his gaze over her, slow and thorough. “Nice to see you, Drew. You’re looking good.”
There was no way in hell she was going to tell him how he looked. His ego was big enough already.
“You’re a hard man to find,” she said. “But not hard enough.”
He cocked a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave a small shrug. “Your name’s come up.”
“Come up how?” His tone was edged in flint as he cocked his head.
Without another word, he pushed past her, unlocked the door, and yanked it open.
“Inside.”
“Cross, I just—”
“Shut up and get in here.”
He pulled her into the cabin and slammed the door behind them.
“Someone’s out there,” he said under his breath.
“No shit. It’s probably just Charlie.”
“Who the hell is Charlie?”
“The guy in the truck. I knocked him out, and I thought he’d come to and left, but maybe he came back.”
Cross shook his head. “It’s not Charlie. I moved him and his truck farther down the road. He’s currently tied up in the back of it.”
Drew’s stomach knotted at the news. “Shit. You think someone else is out there?”
Even in the darkness of the cabin, she knew his look was of the well, duh variety.
He moved across the room, checking the windows, peering out through the slats in the blinds.
Drew turned in place and took in the cabin. It was rough but solid. Open-plan, with weathered wooden walls and exposed beams. A small kitchenette in one corner. A battered leather couch. A narrow hallway that probably led to a bedroom and bath.
“What are you doing here, Drew?” Cross asked as he checked another window. “Did anyone follow you?”
She snorted. “Give me some credit. I know how to check for a tail. I wasn’t followed. And I know you’re hard to track down, but honestly? Not as hard as you think.”
“You said that before. What’s that supposed to mean?” Cross growled.
“It means there’s a bounty on your head.”
Cross froze. Turned to face her. “A bounty?”
“As in someone wants you caught. Preferably alive. But he’d probably take dead.”
“Who?”
“Octavio Rodríguez. Ring a bell?”
Cross opened his mouth—
And then the first bullet tore through the front door. A pitcher on the counter exploded.
“Get down!” Cross shouted, lunging across the room and slamming into Drew, bringing her down with him.