Chapter Five
The bullet smacked into the tree inches from Beck’s head, splinters slicing past his cheek. He dropped instantly, pulling Grace with him as they hit the ground hard. Another round split the air, biting into the brush behind them.
Grace let out a sharp sound, more of a strangled gasp than a cry, and Beck’s heart seized. For one crushing beat he thought she had been hit.
“Grace?” His voice was raw, his eyes scanning her.
She quickly shook her head, her face tight with pain. “Ribs,” she whispered. “Just the way I landed.”
Relief surged through him, sharp and fleeting. There was no time to dwell on the pain though. The gunfire came again, rapid, splintering branches overhead. Beck pressed his shoulder against the rough bark and angled his head, searching the tree line just beyond the cabin.
The shooter was out there. Hidden. Waiting.
Beck’s pulse thundered as he tried to pin down the origin of the shots, his instincts running hot. Whoever it was, they had planned this ambush, and they knew exactly where to aim.
Beck tapped the comm clipped to his vest. “Garrett, Cal, do you have eyes on the shooter?”
Cal’s voice came back, calm but clipped. “Negative. But there are several more cabins tucked in the woods. Shots aren’t coming from them, but there might be someone inside. Someone not part of this attack. Watch for that if you return fire.”
Another round cracked through the clearing, thudding into the underbrush. Bark rained down as the echo rolled through the trees.
Grace shifted beside him, easing forward just enough to peer past the trunk.
“Stay down,” Beck hissed.
A shot ripped through the air, so close it snapped across her line of sight. Grace jerked back, hitting the ground again.
Beck cursed under his breath. “That came too damn close.”
His grip tightened on his gun, eyes scanning the tree line, rage and fear pounding together in his chest. Whoever had his sights on Grace wasn’t just warning them off. They were trying to finish the job.
Beck ripped off his black baseball cap and flicked his wrist, sending it sailing into the air. A shot cracked, shredding the fabric mid-arc before it hit the ground.
His jaw tightened. That narrowed it down.
“Behind the cabin,” Beck muttered. “To the right. Not on the ground.” He squinted through the limbs, his gut locking down on the truth. “Up in the trees.”
Grace’s breathing was quick beside him, but she didn’t flinch. She angled her head, her eyes scanning the tree line with his.
Was it Jonah? Had he set this ambush? Or was it someone else?
The thought twisted hard in Beck’s chest. Any one of their suspects could be behind the scope of a rifle.
Elena with her grudge. Denny with his bruised pride.
Or Silas, who had peeled out of the lot ahead of them and could have cut around on a back route, arriving just in time to put them in his crosshairs.
But why?
Beck’s grip on his gun tightened. He still didn’t know the reason they were under attack, only that someone wanted Grace down and was willing to wait for the perfect shot to do it.
Another shot rang out, the bark exploding on Grace’s side of the tree. She flinched, and Beck’s stomach lurched. Too close. Way too close.
His mind raced as he tracked the pattern. None of the shots were aimed toward Cal or Garrett. Every single one was meant for him and Grace.
Through the comm, Cal’s voice crackled. “Garrett and I are moving closer. Trying to get eyes on the shooter so we can take him out.”
Beck pressed his shoulder harder against the trunk, his grip tight on the gun. He hated being pinned down, hated the way Grace was forced to crouch at his side while bullets chewed the air around them. But Cal and Garrett knew what they were doing. Both men were seasoned, sharp, and steady.
“They’ll be careful,” Beck muttered under his breath, more to reassure Grace than himself. Still, the coil in his chest wound tighter with every second.
Another shot cracked overhead, splintering branches. The shooter wasn’t letting up. And if Cal and Garrett didn’t find him fast, it was only a matter of time before one of those rounds found its mark.
Grace’s breath brushed against his ear. “We need to do something,” she whispered. “A diversion, something to keep him from spotting Cal and Garrett.”
Beck met her gaze. The fear was there, but so was the determination. She wasn’t going to sit and wait to be shot like prey.
“You’re right,” he murmured. His eyes darted across the ground until they landed on a branch, not much thicker than his wrist, lying half-hidden in the brush. He grabbed it, the bark rough against his palm.
“Stay tight,” he said.
Keeping his body shielded behind the trunk, Beck thrust the branch out into open view. A shot cracked instantly, splintering the wood with deadly precision.
Beck jerked the branch back, heart pounding. That one had been aimed as clean as if the shooter had drawn a bead on a living target.
He met Grace’s eyes, his pulse still hammering. “Whoever that is, they’re not just spraying rounds. That’s training. All of our suspects could pull off shots just like that.”
Grace’s lips pressed tight, her shoulders taut against the tree. Every second that passed, the circle of danger seemed to close tighter around them.
Cal’s voice broke over the comm, low but charged. “We’ve got a glint in the trees. Definitely a rifle. Shooter’s behind a heavy limb. We’re lining up the shot.”
Beck’s grip tightened on his weapon. He glanced at Grace, and she already had her gun angled, her jaw set. Together they shifted, preparing to move out from cover the second the shooter broke.
The crack of a rifle split the air from the rear of the cabin. Cal, no doubt.
Beck leaned out, his weapon steady, ready to put the gunman down the instant he moved. His pulse thundered in his ears. This was it.
Instead of a figure, a sudden burst of smoke poured into the clearing, thick and choking, rolling fast through the trees.
“Dammit,” Beck muttered, pulling back against the trunk. The acrid haze stung his nose and eyes as it spread.
The shooter had been waiting for this. He wasn’t just skilled. He was prepared.
Grace coughed beside him, her weapon still raised though her eyes watered from the sting. The smoke swallowed the clearing, turning the woods into a shifting blur of shadows.
Whoever was in those trees wasn’t trying to hold ground anymore. He was covering his escape.
The smoke thickened, curling around them until the world blurred into a choking gray. Beck pressed a sleeve against his mouth, eyes stinging. Through the comm he heard Cal and Garrett hacking, the static-laced coughs grating in his ear.
“Son of a bitch,” Cal cursed. “We can’t see the shooter.”
That didn’t surprise Beck. He couldn’t see a damn thing either. But a thought sliced through him cold and sharp. What if the smoke wasn’t cover for an escape? What if it was a cloak for the shooter to close in?
He stilled, forcing his breathing low and even, every muscle straining to catch a sound.
There. To his right. The faint crunch of a boot on brush.
It couldn’t be Cal or Garrett. They would have called out if they were this close, made their positions clear to avoid friendly fire.
His heart slammed hard, the weight of realization crashing down.
The shooter wasn’t running. He was coming straight at them.
And Grace was the target.
“Stay put,” Beck whispered, barely moving his lips. He shifted his weight, ready to move toward the sound and cut the shooter off before he could get to Grace.
Grace’s eyes widened, and she shook her head sharply. He could see the frantic refusal in her gaze. She didn’t want him stepping into fire, didn’t want him taking the kind of risk that could leave her alone against the threat.
Beck’s jaw clenched. He was going to do it anyway.
Grace cursed under her breath and rolled to the side, her weapon coming up, clearly bracing herself for the attacker to break cover.
The footsteps stopped.
Beck froze, his lungs tight, every sense sharpened. He held his breath and listened, waiting for the brush to shift, for the rush of movement, for anything.
The silence pressed in, thick and merciless.
Whoever was out there had gone still. Watching. Waiting.
The silence pressed down until Beck’s pulse was the only sound in his ears. Then came a sharp metallic clink on the ground, rolling against the brush. His gut dropped an instant before the world erupted.
A flashbang exploded in front of them, searing white light flooding his vision. The blast cracked against his eardrums, leaving a high, piercing ring in its wake. His head reeled, his stomach pitching, but instinct drove him to the ground, one arm thrown across Grace to shield her.
He fought against the haze in his senses, forcing his body to steady. If the attacker had tossed a flashbang, then he was moving in now, pushing through the cover of smoke and chaos to get to Grace.
Beck shoved up against the tree, blinking hard through the blur, and raised his gun. He fired several shots into the haze, controlled bursts, keeping them high and angled away from the cabin lane to avoid hitting anyone who might be on the road.
The sound of his own weapon steadied him, the recoil grounding him. Somewhere in the smoke, the attacker would have to react. Beck just needed to see him before Grace became the next target.
Grace lifted her weapon and fired into the haze, following Beck’s lead. The crack of her shots cut through the ringing in his ears, each one a sharp reminder that she refused to sit still and wait to be picked off.
They stayed crouched low, bracing for the rush of footsteps, for the figure breaking through the smoke. Beck kept his finger poised on the trigger, every muscle drawn tight.
“Status,” Cal whispered through the comm, his voice thin in Beck’s earpiece.
Beck didn’t answer. He didn’t dare. Any sound could mark their position more clearly.
The woods held its breath with them, the smoke curling, the silence deepening until Beck could feel his own pulse hammering in his throat.
Then came the sound. Footsteps pounding against the ground, quick and heavy.
Not toward them.
Beck turned his head, tracking the rhythm fading into the distance.
The shooter was running.
Getting away.