Chapter Twelve
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Harlan yanked Laney down with him as more shots cracked against the glass. The sound was deafening inside the SUV, sharp jolts that rattled through his bones. He felt Laney’s breath hitch beside him, fast and shallow, and he pressed her head lower against the seat.
The windshield shuddered with each impact, white spiderwebs blooming across the surface.
Thank God the bullet-resistant glass was holding, but the shooter was focused, pouring round after round into the same spot.
The cracks thickened, lines spreading like veins, and Harlan’s gut tightened.
Bullet-resistant didn’t mean indestructible.
Laney flinched as another round of gunfire smacked against the glass, closer to her side this time. “It’s weakening,” she whispered, her voice tight with fear and anger.
“I know,” Harlan growled, eyes narrowing as he tried to track the direction of the shots. The muzzle flashes were faint, quick bursts from the darkness beyond the tree line. Whoever it was, they knew exactly where to aim and were not letting up.
He forced his breathing steady, keeping his body between Laney and the windshield. “Stay down. If that glass gives, I’ll cover you.”
His heart pounded with every shot, but his mind was already moving, running through options, angles, and ways to strike back.
The night outside was alive with gunfire, and inside the SUV, it felt like time was running out.
Harlan raised his head just enough to peer over the dash.
His eyes narrowed against the fractured glass, trying to cut through the dark.
Nothing. No clear silhouette. Just shadows and the faint flicker of muzzle flashes.
The shots were steady, precise, hammering from across the road. Somewhere in that cluster of trees.
His jaw tightened. Was it Billy? The man could have doubled back after bolting, slipped into position with a rifle. It would not take long. But Billy had sworn he was not carrying explosives or weapons. Was that another lie?
Or was it Sherry? Or Brannigan?
Both had motive, both had fury boiling under the surface. Or maybe this was someone else entirely. A hired gun, paid to take them out while suspicion kept circling around familiar names.
Laney shifted beside him, her grip tight on her weapon, her breathing fast. “Can you see him?” she whispered.
Harlan shook his head. “Not yet.” His voice was low, controlled, but inside his pulse raced. He hated being pinned like this, waiting for the glass to give way while the shooter kept raining fire from the dark.
Another crack spread across the windshield, splintering toward the edge. The SUV could hold, but for how much longer?
They were trapped, staring into shadows, knowing danger was only yards away.
Harlan’s gut was a hard knot as another round slammed into the windshield, the spiderweb of cracks spreading wider. The SUV could take it, but the shooter was not letting up. Whoever it was wanted them pinned and panicked.
“Text Garrett,” Harlan ordered, his voice rough but steady. “Let him know what’s happening.”
Laney already had her phone in her hand, fingers shaking as she typed.
“Tell him to stay with Evie and Carol,” Harlan added. “No matter what he’s seeing on the feeds, he does not leave them unprotected.”
Laney’s head jerked toward him, eyes flashing. “You think this is about Evie.”
Harlan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but the thought had been gnawing at him since the first shot.
“It could be,” he admitted. “This whole thing might be designed to draw Garrett out, leaving them exposed. If Evie’s the target, that’s when the real strike happens.”
Her breath caught, the weight of it hitting her. She finished the text and sent it off, then tightened her grip on her gun, her knuckles pale against the dark metal.
Another volley of shots rang out, the windshield vibrating under the impact. The night pressed close, the trees across the road hiding whoever had them in their sights.
Harlan’s mind raced. Whoever was out there was smart enough to keep hidden, patient enough to keep the fire concentrated. That made them dangerous.
Harlan’s mind worked fast. He thought about cracking his window, leaning out, and sending fire back across the road.
It might make the shooter pull back, but it would also expose him.
One opening, one flash of skin in the dark, and whoever was out there would have the perfect shot.
And there could be two of them. A second shooter could be waiting for exactly that mistake.
The pounding rattle of bullets kept hammering into the glass, the steady rhythm drilling into his chest. Then the windshield gave way with a violent shatter, safety glass raining down on them. The sound was like ice breaking on a frozen lake, sharp and final.
Laney flinched beside him, throwing an arm up against the shower of fragments. Harlan shoved closer to her, shielding her with his body while shards tumbled onto them. The front of the SUV looked gutted, the night air rushing in with the smell of gunpowder and the bitter tang of splintered glass.
His heart was pounding, his instincts screaming that the shooter was waiting for them to panic, to open a door, to make one wrong move.
Harlan’s muscles coiled, his hand gripping the rifle tight as he weighed his options. Throwing the SUV into reverse would get them out of the line of fire, but it would also drag the shooter’s aim straight toward the house. Toward Evie. Toward Carol.
That wasn’t an option.
He forced himself higher, enough to clear his weapon, and lined up across the cracked remains of the windshield. His finger curled, ready to squeeze the trigger and send a message back into the dark.
A cry split the gunfire. Raw. Jagged. Pain.
“Ah, hell—I’m hit!”
Billy.
The sound of his voice burned through Harlan’s head as he froze, weapon steady but his pulse spiking harder. He didn’t lower the barrel, not yet, but his eyes flicked toward the tree line, straining to catch movement. The gunfire had stopped.
Laney sucked in a sharp breath beside him, her gaze snapping toward him. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her sidearm.
Billy’s voice came again, weaker, echoing through the dark. “I need help! I’ve been shot.”
Harlan’s jaw tightened. This could be a trick. Or it could be the one person with answers bleeding out in the woods.
The phone buzzed against his thigh. Harlan risked a quick glance, then let out a tight breath when he saw Garrett’s message. Backup was coming. Deputies. Crossfire Ops. Reinforcements they needed.
But help was still minutes away.
His mind worked fast. If Billy really was down, bleeding in those trees, they might need more than armed men.
They might need an ambulance. But calling EMTs here, now, would be signing their death warrants.
No medic unit could roll up without lights, without sound, and whoever had just lit up the SUV was still out there. Waiting. Watching.
Harlan’s gut told him moving too soon would only paint targets on their backs.
Beside him, Laney kept her gun at the ready, eyes on the dark beyond the cracked windshield. She was silent, but he didn’t need words to feel the same battle raging through her. Stay safe in the SUV, or risk stepping into a trap.
Another faint groan carried from the trees. Billy again. Closer this time, or maybe weaker. Hard to tell.
Harlan ground his teeth and forced himself to stay still. Too risky. They had to wait, no matter how much every instinct screamed at him to move.
The gunfire started up. Each round slammed into the front of the SUV with a jolt that rattled through the frame. Billy’s shouts for help carried over the bursts, thinner now, more desperate. He was fading.
Or maybe pretending to do that anyway.
Laney’s voice cut through the barrage. “If we fire together, keep it constant, it’ll pin the shooter down. They’ll have to stop or pull back.”
Harlan’s jaw tightened. She was right. Sitting still was only giving the shooter the advantage.
The SUV had extra weapons, full magazines stacked for exactly this kind of nightmare.
If they lit up the tree line, it could force whoever was out there to break cover.
Or at least keep the rounds off them long enough for backup to close in.
But if there was a second shooter lying in wait, rising up could be suicide.
He looked at Laney. She was steady, gun ready, her eyes locked on his. No hesitation. No fear. Just fire and determination.
They couldn’t wait.
“All right,” he muttered, reaching for a fresh magazine. He slammed it into place and racked the slide. “We do this together. Sit up, aim at the tree line, and do not stop until I tell you.”
Her nod was quick without a shred of hesitation.
Harlan drew in a breath, feeling the weight of what came next. “On three,” he said, his voice low but firm. “One… two…”
He shifted, bracing himself to rise and unleash hell.
“Three.”
Harlan rose with Laney at his side, and they opened fire together. The sound was deafening inside the cab, their rounds chewing into the trees where the muzzle flashes had sparked. The answering gunfire stopped, but Harlan’s finger kept working the trigger.
He knew better than to believe the silence meant safety.
Laney stayed with him, their weapons barking in unison until the smell of gunpowder hung thick. When their magazines ran dry, they dropped back down, reloaded, and came up firing again. The trees shredded under the onslaught, bark and leaves flying, but no more shots came back at them.
Sweat slicked Harlan’s palms as he pushed through the next mag, emptying it into the tree line. Laney did the same, her jaw tight, her eyes fierce. They reached for backup guns, switched, and kept it going.
Finally, they let the weapons fall still and slid down against the seats, lungs dragging in harsh gulps of air. The SUV reeked of cordite and heat.
Seconds stretched. No return fire. No movement. Only the faint sound of the night pressing in around them.
Harlan’s gut tightened as the truth sank in. Whoever had been out there was gone.
Their attacker had gotten away.
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