Chapter 22 #2
Buck cursed. If this Jones asshole caught them before they were clear…
He picked up the pace, shimmied them both out the door before bracing her against the rig as he quickstepped over to the side, listened for movement. He holstered his Sig. He couldn’t chance firing a weapon, not with the amount of diesel soaking through the mud and the fumes swirling around him.
Footsteps crunched inside the motorhome, the rig shifting beneath the added weight. “Looks like they’re in the bedroom.”
“Then, finish them, and we can all go home.”
Buck glanced back at Tierney, mentally counting down the seconds until the asshole opened the bedroom door, blew the claymore, when Jones popped out, gun sweeping the back of the rig.
He spotted Tierney first, shifted his aim, his shot going wide as Buck stepped into him, deflected the barrel.
The suppressed thut sounded around them, the round kicking up mud and rock, missing the pool of diesel by a few inches, as Buck elbowed the guy in the head, one hand keeping the barrel angled away, the other following with a throat punch.
The asshole coughed, mouth gaped open as he struggled to breathe, boots slipping on the thick mud. Another elbow and a few kicks, and he collapsed, face down, no hint of movement.
Either Whitmore heard the shot, the fighting, or he’d grown impatient, his voice sounding again. “Jones? What’s going on?”
Inside, the footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom door. Whether the guy was waiting for Jones’ response or deciding how to open the door, Buck had no idea. He only knew they were out of time.
He raced back, Whitmore calling out to Jones one more time as Buck scooped Tierney into his arms, carried her over to the edge of the embankment.
No clear trail down, just a small ledge that would likely shield them from the blast. Assuming it went as planned, but if the RV shifted, changed the angle of detonation…
Buck scrambled over the edge as the handle on the door rattled.
A click, then the bomb blew.
The force knocked Buck on his ass, nearly shaking him off the narrow rock as he curled over Tierney, watching the scene play out in that eerie slow motion of battle, as the claymore exploded, taking the ruptured fuel lines with it.
A massive fire ball roared up and out, belching out steel and foam, ripping apart the twin cedar trees holding the rig above the water.
The wood cracked, bark shredding into kindling as the motorhome surged forward, cracking through the remaining branches, cartwheeling down the side.
The heat liquified the ground, burned through half the bank as mud poured over the edge, raining down rocks and earth into the river.
Whitmore screamed, legs caught up in the massive run-off, the ground sloughing off beneath his feet. He clawed at the rock, trying to hold on, only to be swept over the edge, his voice abruptly cut off a moment later.
Mud and ash rained down on the hillside, the blast still echoing across the ravine.
Buck blinked through the smoke and fire, staring at the aftermath.
At the charred path of metal and wood. The smoldering pile of rubber and foam.
Debris covered what was left of the bank, a scattering of clothes and papers tumbling in the wind.
Tierney inhaled, gaze half-lidded, but she blinked, mouth opening and closing a few times before she looked up at him. “God, Buck, your rig.”
He shrugged. “I’d already decided I needed an upgrade.”
“Upgrade, sure, but this… I’m sorry.”
“Told you before, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got everything I need, right here.”
A figure moved down the embankment, looking more like an extension of the darkness than a man before Dalton moved out of the shadows, skidded to a halt at the edge of the ravine.
He stared down, shaking his head before glancing back. “I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes…” He moved closer. “You both okay?”
Buck shuffled her against his chest. “She’s still bleeding.”
“Team’s on their way. I got a signal just before you went rogue. Should be here…” He smiled as sirens wailed in the distance. “Any minute now.”
Buck held Tierney close as he scrambled up the hill, stepped over the mangled guardrail. Whitmore’s black SUV still idled on the shoulder, classical music playing inside.
His gut tightened.
Her own people had sold her out. That had to sting.
Blue lights broke the darkness, the sirens getting closer. He held her tight, silently vowing to do whatever it took to help her get through this.
To ensure she stayed in the light.
Tierney touched his face. “Stop worrying.”
He frowned. “You’re bleeding. I’ll stop once you do.”
“I’ll live. Besides, you have bigger issues to worry about.”
“What’s bigger than you not dying on me?”
“The fact we need a place to live that doesn’t require your team camped outside the door. And our first option’s sitting at the bottom of the ravine.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You promised me a future, Buck. No reneging now.”
“Not a chance.”
He dropped a kiss on her lips just as Avery screeched to a halt, smoke rising from her tires. She jumped out, raced over, weapon in one hand, gaze searching where the RV had punched through the guardrail.
She shook her head, holstering her weapon. “I swear, you guys are going to be the death of me. When we saw that fireball…” She focused on Dalton, slapped his chest. “More details next time. I wasn’t sure what I’d find.”
He rubbed the spot. “I didn’t have any other details.”
“Then lie, jackass, so I don’t pop a blood vessel on the drive.”
A smile. The kind that told Buck, Dalton was already smitten. Already more invested than he realized, and that it was only a matter of time before he fully surrendered.
The ambulance arrived a minute later, and Buck climbed into the back, watching every move they made as they ran an IV, headed back to Providence.
The hospital had been reduced to chaos, with federal and CIA officers cramming the joint.
Judson Ferris had sustained multiple gunshot wounds but would pull through.
Everything else seemed unimportant compared to the pale cast of Tierney’s skin, the way she drifted off every few minutes.
They stayed just long enough for the doctor to stitch her up, clean and treat any new wounds, as he read Buck the riot act about letting her pull out her stitches.
Foster showed up in the wee hours of the morning, shuttled them back to Raven’s Cliff.
Something about not trusting Buck not to attract more mercs if left to his own devices.
Dalton insisted they stay at the marina again, hinting that he’d bought better ear plugs, before they’d collapsed on the bed and slept for the next twelve hours straight.
Tierney had finally felt strong enough to move to the couch as the sun began to set, painting the sky with rusts and golds as the water curled against the pier, only a few whitecaps rolling across the ocean.
Buck claimed the cushion beside her, smiling as she leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand rubbing his thigh. “I could definitely get used to a view like this.”
She laughed. “As long as we have the occasional mercenary trying to burn it all down. We don’t want to get complacent.”
“God forbid.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry about the RV. I know you had everything inside.”
He dropped a kiss on her head. “Not everything.”
“Charmer.”
“Gotta keep you coming back for more.”
“That’s already a given. And I think it would have been nice to have a mobile unit.”
“I can always get another trailer. But there’s no replacing you.”
“Hell, no.” She nudged him. “Rumor has it, I’m worth an obscene amount.”
He laughed. “Good to know I’ve got a fallback.”
“Don’t get too cocky. Sloane said your performance in the Gauntlet put a pretty nice price tag on you, too.” She looked up at him, smiling. “Looks like we’ve got another thing in common.”
“It’s the little things… And I pity anyone who tries to cash in. They’ve got no idea what they’re up against.”
She settled, then looked up at him. “We’ll still set charges around our new place, right?”
“Of course. We’re upgrading, not throwing in the towel. I’ll just make sure they’re more sophisticated.” Another kiss. “Now, rest, because as soon as you’re cleared to go out in the wild, we’re going on our own hunt.”