Chapter Fourteen
The shot slammed into the house, splintering wood near the porch rail.
Everything erupted at once.
Jessa felt Deacon’s arm hook around her, and he hauled her down as Noah moved fast, the three of them hitting the deck hard. Roman hurdled off the side of the porch, dropping down beside the steps where the foundation gave him cover. She hoped it would anyway.
Corbin yelled something and scrambled for his truck, hitting the gravel and rolling behind the rear tire.
The gunfire didn’t stop.
It came in a brutal stream, crack after crack after crack, tearing through wood and dirt like the shooter wanted nothing left standing. With her heart hammering, Jessa pressed her cheek against the cold decking. And she listened, trying to gather any info as to what the heck was going on.
The shots were too fast. Too steady.
Automatic.
“AK,” she said, forcing the words out between breaths. “That’s an AK.”
The nonstop fire chewed at the porch, rattling the house and sending chips flying. Whoever was out there wasn’t warning them. They were trying to wipe everyone out.
The gunfire kept ripping through the air, relentless and deafening, but Deacon’s voice somehow managed to cut through it. “Keep an eye on Corbin. He could’ve set this up.”
Jessa twisted just enough to confirm Corbin was still pinned behind his truck, hands visible. For now.
“No one’s got eyes on the shooter?” Deacon called out.
“No,” Roman answered. “But the shots are coming from straight across the ranch. Probably behind the berm. Or the low hill past the fence line.”
The angle made sense. Elevation. Cover. A clear line of fire.
Whoever it was had gotten close enough to trip Deacon’s security. Close enough to know exactly where to sit.
Then another thought slammed into her.
“Deacon,” she yelled. “What if there’re two attackers?”
He went still. Even over the gunfire, she felt it.
“One could’ve tripped the sensors,” she continued fast. “Forced everyone’s attention here while the shooter set up.”
There was a beat of silence between bursts of gunfire.
“Shit,” Deacon said. “You’re right.”
That realization made everything worse. Because if they were dealing with more than one person, then that could make it much easier for this to turn into a fatal attack.
Deacon shouted orders over the gunfire. “Noah, keep watch of the east side. Jessa, eyes on the west.”
She shifted her position, angling low and steady, eyes scanning through the scrub and fence line even as rounds tore through wood and dirt.
“I’m going for him,” Deacon said.
“Like hell you are,” Roman snapped. “You’re injured. Stay put.”
Before anyone could argue, Roman broke from cover. He sprinted low, fast, boots pounding the dirt, and he slid in behind his SUV, weapon up and already tracking the rise beyond the berm.
“Damn it,” Deacon cursed.
He hauled himself up just enough to fire, sending controlled shots toward the hillside, trying to pin the shooter down and give Roman a chance to move. Every motion cost him. Jessa could see it in the tightness of his face, the way his body fought him.
Corbin flattened himself under his truck, crawling farther in until only his boots were visible.
“Coward,” Jessa muttered under her breath.
She hated this angle. Hated that the shooter had elevation. Hated that she couldn’t get a clean line of sight on Roman or the gunman. All she could see was dirt erupting where bullets tore through the ground and splinters flying off the fence posts.
Someone had planned this. Planned who would be where.
And Roman was running straight into it.
Roman reached into his SUV and came up with a smoke bomb. He didn’t hesitate. He hurled it toward the berm with a sharp overhand throw.
A second later, gray smoke bloomed, thick and fast, swallowing the shooter’s position.
Jessa’s chest tightened.
Don’t you dare get yourself killed.
Fear churned through her, but it didn’t crack her focus. She trusted Roman. He knew how to move under fire. He’d trained for moments just like this.
Still, watching him disappear into the smoke made her breath catch.
While keeping an eye on the west side of the property, she made glances at the edges of the haze, ready to fire if the shooter broke cover. Because trusting her brother didn’t mean she was willing to let him face this alone.
The gunfire cut off as suddenly as it had started. And the silence seemed to thunder in her ears.
Roman didn’t slow. He reached his SUV, yanked open the rear, and he pulled on a mask before breaking into a run toward the berm, running low and hard, cutting across open ground before the smoke fully settled.
His timing was perfect, using the confusion to mask his movement.
He disappeared into the thinning smoke, moving with purpose, every step calculated.
Then, Jessa caught movement to her right.
Her pulse spiked.
Wynn.
He slipped between patches of cover, half crouched, frantic eyes flashing before he ducked behind a fallen oak. His voice tore through the quiet.
“You killed her,” he shouted. “You all killed Lauren. And you’re going to pay for it.”
Jessa’s grip tightened on her weapon. Rage and grief twisted together on his face. He looked unmoored. Dangerous.
Deacon raised his voice, sharp and absolute. “Wynn, you fire one shot and you’re dead. You hear me? Call off your thug or whoever it is shooting at us.”
Wynn spewed out a stream of vicious profanity. “It’s not my thug. I came alone.”
She didn’t believe him, and judging from the sound Deacon made, neither did he. But why would Wynn lie about that when he’d made it clear he was there to kill them? Later, she’d give that some thought, but for now she had to focus on staying alive.
Jessa kept her sights trained in Wynn’s direction. Her heart pounded, and she was well aware that Roman was somewhere ahead, chasing the shooter, while Wynn stood close enough to ruin everything with a single pull of a trigger.
Gunfire cracked from across the road, sharp and fast.
Then Roman’s voice cut through it. “Shooter’s down.”
Relief slammed through her.
Deacon didn’t hesitate. “Jessa, Noah, keep Corbin covered. Don’t let him make a move.”
Before either of them could answer, Deacon was off the porch, charging straight toward the trees where she’d last spotted Wynn. Thin strands of smoke still drifted through the air, smearing outlines and swallowing him fast.
“Deacon,” she yelled, but he was already gone from her line of sight.
Ranger lunged after him, barking hard.
“Stay,” Jessa snapped.
The dog skidded to a stop, whining but holding position.
She turned just in time to meet Noah’s gaze. Everything unspoken passed between them in a split second. Fear. Calculation. Trust.
“Go with Deacon,” Noah said. “I’ve got Corbin.”
Jessa didn’t argue. She broke from cover and ran, heart hammering, weapon up as she headed after Deacon into the smoke and trees.
Noah shifted toward Corbin, weapon trained and voice sharp as he shouted commands. Jessa barely registered it.
She was already running.
Deacon was more than capable. She knew that. He had training, instincts, experience. But he was injured, and that mattered.
Every wrong move could cost him.
“Deacon,” she yelled as she sprinted through the thinning smoke. “It’s me. I’m coming to you.”
Branches snapped under her boots. She heard heavy breathing. A scuffle. The unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Her heart sank.
He shouldn’t be fighting anyone. Not like this. She broke through the last wisps of smoke and froze. And was shocked at what she saw.
Deacon wasn’t facing Wynn.
He was locked in brutal close quarters with a man she didn’t recognize. They were chest to chest, both straining. Deacon had both hands clamped around the man’s shooting arm, forcing the muzzle away, muscles shaking with the effort.
The man snarled, trying to wrench free and get a finger on the trigger.
She raised her weapon, but there was no clean angle. Deacon and the man were too close, locked together, twisting as they struggled for control of the gun.
“Damn it,” she breathed.
Deacon was holding his own, but she could see the strain in his face. The injury slowed him. Pain pulled at every movement. His jaw was set, teeth clenched, breath harsh.
She didn’t hesitate. Jessa rushed in and drove her boot hard into the man’s side. The impact knocked the air from him. He grunted and staggered just enough.
Deacon instantly took the advantage. He wrenched the man’s arm down, shifted his weight, and slammed him back against a tree. The gun dipped. For a split second, it looked like Deacon had him.
But the man twisted fast. Desperate. Wild. The muzzle came up. There was no more time.
Deacon fired.
The shot echoed through the trees, sharp and final.
And the man went still, collapsing to the ground.