Chapter Eight
The bullet slammed into the building, sending fragments of brick and dust scattering into the air. Remi hit the ground hard, dragging Langley down with her as Brody dropped beside them, his gun already in hand.
“Stay down!” Brody barked, scanning the parking lot for movement.
Remi was doing the same thing, but she didn’t see anyone. Someone was out there, though, and judging from the angle of the shot, the shooter was maybe on the roof of a law office directly across the street.
Smoke billowed from the building behind them, thick and pungent, stinging Remi’s eyes and burning her throat. Going back inside wasn’t an option, not unless they wanted to choke on it.
Langley was panicking, his breathing ragged, eyes wild with fear. “We’re going to die!” he shouted, his voice shrill and cracking.
Before Remi could shut him up, he scrambled to his feet, trying to bolt toward the street.
“Damn it,” she hissed, lunging after him.
She caught a fistful of his collar and yanked him back down just as another shot rang out. The bullet slammed into the pavement where he’d been standing a heartbeat before. Langley crumpled, trembling, his face pale with terror.
Brody was already on his phone, his voice clipped and sharp as he spoke into it. “I’m Sheriff Walker from Lost Canyon. I’ve got an active shooter and a possible fire at Melborn Medical Center. We need immediate backup. Shots fired. Requesting San Antonio PD assistance now.”
Remi’s heart pounded in her chest, and the adrenaline burned hot in her veins. The gunfire wasn’t random. Someone wanted them dead. And that meant she and Brody might be close to finding answers.
Or finding his son.
Someone clearly wanted to stop that.
Another shot cracked through the night, sparking against the pavement just inches from where Remi’s hand had been. They were sitting ducks if they remained where they were. So she grabbed Langley by the arm and dragged him behind the metal sign at the entrance to the medical center.
Brody scrambled in after them, crouched low, his gun steady as his gaze fired around them. “I don’t have a clean shot,” he muttered, saying the words like profanity.
No, he couldn’t return fire. All they could do was wait and try not to die while they figured out a way to stop this SOB.
The cold metal of the sign pressed against her arm as Remi leaned out so she could try to pinpoint the shooter.
Her breath was coming out in quick bursts, her pulse slamming in her ears, and every muscle was twisted into knots.
They were in the middle of a fight for their lives, and she didn’t even know who was trying to kill them.
But whoever it was, they were determined.
The shots kept coming, bullets slamming into the sign with bone-jarring thuds, splintering chips of metal into the air.
Langley was a mess, trembling, his face ghost-pale, sweat dripping down his temples despite the cool night air. He kept muttering under his breath, his words lost in the deafening noise of the gunfire.
Who the heck was doing this?
It had to be someone trying to stop them. But who? The obvious answer was Tarrant. Or someone helping him. But it wasn’t Langley himself. That much was clear. He was right there with them, panicked and useless.
Her pulse kept on pounding as she risked another look around the edge of the metal sign. And she focused on the building across the street. The vantage point was perfect. High ground, a clear view of them and just enough shadows to keep a shooter hidden.
Then she saw it.
A flash of movement. A dark figure shifting just behind the ledge.
And then—Tarrant.
Adrenaline shot through her veins. It wasn’t just some hired gun. It was him.
“Tarrant,” she hissed under her breath, her grip tightening on her gun.
Brody shifted his gaze to her, reading the intensity in her face instantly. “You sure?”
She nodded, her eyes locked on the rooftop. “I saw him just now. He’s up there.”
The air around them pulsed with tension. Brody’s expression hardened, his jaw ticking. If Tarrant was here, it meant one thing. He wasn’t just running anymore.
He was hunting.
And they were the prey. He was going to try to take them out before they caught him and used him to find Brody’s son.
The wail of sirens cut through the night, growing louder, closer. The instant the sound filled the air, the gunfire stopped.
Remi’s heartbeat went into overdrive. Tarrant wasn’t stupid. He knew backup was coming. And he was getting the heck out of there.
Brody moved away from the cover of the sign, his eyes locked on the rooftop. “Stay down, Langley,” he ordered. “I’m going after him.”
Langley let out a shaky breath, nodding, but Remi wasn’t about to sit still. Brody took off, and the second he did, she was right behind him.
“Damn it, Remi,” he cursed over his shoulder, not slowing down.
She didn’t either. “We’re in this together,” she shot back, matching his pace.
They raced across the parking lot, heading straight for the street. Ahead, the glow of blue police lights lit up the darkness, the first cruiser speeding toward them. Brody skidded to a stop just before they stepped into the street, yanking his badge from his belt and holding it up high.
Two San Antonio PD officers were already stepping out of their cruiser, hands hovering near their weapons, eyes scanning the chaos.
“I’m Sheriff Walker, from Lost Canyon!” Brody called out, voice steady but firm. “I’m in pursuit of the shooter, and the suspect is on the roof of that building.” He pointed toward the rooftop where Tarrant had been.
The officers hesitated for only a second before nodding, recognizing the situation for what it was. “You got backup?” one of them asked.
Brody’s gaze flicked to Remi. “Yeah. I do.”
No more time for explanations. They took off again, heading for the door.
As expected, it was locked, so she and Brody raced for the alley beside the building, then behind it where they spotted the fire escape.
They ran toward it with Brody getting to it first and Remi and the two cops right behind him.
Remi’s boots pounded against the metal rungs of the fire escape as she climbed, her muscles burning from the exertion. Brody stayed way ahead of her and made it to the roof first. She saw him lift his gun, shifting it around to all corners.
And she heard him curse.
It didn’t take her long to find out why.
Remi pulled herself over the edge and took in the scene. The air was thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder, the odor unmistakable. Near the ledge where Tarrant had fired, there were several dozen spent shell casings glinting under the harsh glow of the city lights.
But no Tarrant.
Brody cursed under his breath, shoving his gun back into his holster. “Damn it. He’s gone.”
One of the San Antonio cops—Rodriguez, as per his name badge—stepped up beside him. “Who the hell are we chasing?”
Brody’s jaw clenched. “Tarrant Eddington. Fugitive. Wanted for murder.”
The cop blew out a hard breath. “Hell.”
The four of them split up, moving to the edges of the roof. Remi rushed to the side where she’d last seen Tarrant’s silhouette before he disappeared. She looked down, searching the alley below for any sign of movement, a shadow, a disturbance.
Nothing.
Well, nothing other than Langley who was still lying on the ground right where they’d left him. She could see that he was talking to someone on his phone.
Brody scanned the opposite side, his breathing heavy with frustration. “He’s gone.”
Rodriguez’s partner, a younger cop named Willis, shook his head. “He must have made it down before we even got here.”
No, no, no. Remi groaned and wanted to shout every curse word she knew. They’d been so close to catching Tarrant, and while she and Brody wouldn’t have put his head on a silver platter, they would have used him to start negotiations with the person holding his son.
Now they were empty-handed and no closer to finding the baby.
Brody’s phone rang just as they hit the fire escape, and Remi watched as his entire body went rigid when he saw the caller ID.
“It’s dispatch,” he relayed to her. “Lost Canyon dispatch.” He answered immediately, putting it on Speaker. “Sheriff Walker.”
“Sheriff, we just got an anonymous call,” the dispatcher said. “The person claimed there’s an intruder at your ranch.”
Remi’s stomach dropped. Oh, God. The baby.
Brody didn’t hesitate. “Send a unit now. I’m on my way.”
He ended the call, already moving, his pace even faster than before. Remi kept up, a new slam of adrenaline surging through her. With a white-knuckle grip on his phone, Brody used the voice command to call Holt.
The call connected, and Holt’s voice came through, calm but alert. “Yeah, boss?”
“Do you see or hear anything suspicious?” Brody demanded.
A pause. “No. Everything’s quiet.”
Remi could hear Holt shifting on the other end, probably already checking the windows, reaching for his weapon.
Brody exhaled but didn’t relax. “Stay alert. Lost Canyon units are en route. I’ll be there soon.”
“Got it,” Holt said. “I’ll be ready.”
He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. His jaw was clenched so tight Remi thought his teeth might crack. When they hit the ground, two more San Antonio officers were already approaching.
Brody barely slowed as he flipped his badge. “My newborn might be in danger in Lost Canyon. I have to go. I’ll call to handle reports on the attack. Oh, and check on the man over there.” He pointed in Langley’s direction. “He could be in danger if the shooter comes back.”
Before Brody had even finished talking, he was heading toward his cruiser, and Remi followed without question.
They had to get to the ranch.
And fast.