Chapter Five
Tree branches swayed with a deceptive serenity outside the cabin.
Jason reached into his pocket for the rental’s keyring.
An hour ago, he would’ve described his boss as greedy with questionable morals.
Now, as he approached the SUV, Jason decided that intoxicated and egotistically unbalanced were better ways to describe Buck Baer.
The front door of the cabin creaked before Buck slapped it against the exterior wall. “Don’t make this mistake.”
Jason kept his pace, refusing to kowtow to the narcissistic fucker until he heard the smooth, gut-churning click of Buck chambering his weapon.
The hairs at the base of Jason’s scalp jumped in warning as he covered the final steps to the driver’s door.
Buck might’ve been shitfaced, but the asshole wouldn’t shoot Jason in the back.
He reached for the door handle. “Go sleep it off.”
The Desert Eagle exploded with a booming ka-chunk that tore a fist-sized hole in the rear tire.
Jason yanked the door open and whirled. No use in getting into a duel with a drunk who had the better position and weapon. “What the fuck?”
Buck lifted a hand as if Jason had him at a loss. “I won’t accept your resignation.” He swayed off the front porch. “I won’t lose you to Jared fucking Westin.”
“Not gonna.” The vehicle’s door wouldn’t serve well as body armor, but it was the best Jason had at the moment.
Buck miscalculated his step but caught himself before he stumbled. “Convince me.”
Even if Jason chose his words carefully, Buck was still deluded and drunk. Jason needed to understand the problem to understand his boss. “That’s fair,” Jason offered. “But you can’t leave me hanging. What’d that son of a bitch do?”
“Westin?”
“Yeah.”
Buck stilled, sneering, but he lowered his weapon.
“Known that boy scout since the army.” His tone shifted as if they were at a bar, retelling old war stories.
“Same Ranger battalion. Good at what he did unless you asked him to be a team player,” Buck snorted, “acting as if he sat at the right hand of the Lord Almighty.”
“Sounds like a peach.”
Buck spat on the ground. “Didn’t trust him then. Don’t now.”
In Buck’s paranoid inebriation, he had connected a rule-follower and a contract poacher as one in the same. But Jason nodded as though Buck’s rationale were faultless.
“I wanna know about the woman,” Buck demanded. “Who set up the partnership?”
Did he mean Roxana? Jason wouldn’t breathe her name into Buck’s hallucinations. “I’m not partnering with anyone.”
Buck chambered another round and blasted the front tire. “Don’t lie.”
Hell, Jason was done with talking out the situation.
He ducked into the driver’s side and pulled the door closed, slamming the key into the ignition.
The SUV wouldn’t get far, but it’d get him off the side of this damn mountain.
He threw the gear into reverse and whipped around. Gravel rocks spit in a cloud of dust.
Buck fired again, blowing out a third tire.
“Not a bad shot, you old drunk.” Jason gritted his teeth and slapped the gearshift into Drive.
The crazy son of a bitch wasn’t shooting to kill, and for a brief second, Jason weighed the possibility of throwing up his hands, announcing that he’d changed his mind.
GSI was the perfect job for him, and they should go find a bottle of bourbon to celebrate with.
Another .50-cal shot tore into a metal side panel, then another as Jason hit the gas, fishtailing onto the driveway.
The steering wheel locked, and the indicator needle of the three main gauges on the dashboard dropped to a flat line.
A colorful assortment of dashboard lights was the only thing that worked.
Jason punched the steering wheel, snagged an emergency bag from the passenger seat, and rolled out of the SUV until a thicket of briars camouflaged his body from view.
“All’ight,” Buck called. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”
“Fucking nuts,” Jason muttered.
Two additional shots took out the remaining tire. Buck staggered to the back of the SUV, holstered the Desert Eagle, and dusted his hands off. “All’ight. Games are over.”
From Jason’s prone position, they were only getting started. Buck didn’t have the fortitude to wait for his prey to make a move, while Jason could lie in place for days if he needed to.
Two minutes ticked by. Buck paced the edge of the driveway, half-talking to Jason, half-muttering to himself. Boredom shadowed the man’s features. He leaned against the SUV more often than he paced.
“Last call,” Buck snickered and waited half a beat. “Guess not.”
Jason’s cell phone buzzed the moment that nature chose to hold its breath, and the vibrations echoed like thunderclaps hitting a mountain.
He silenced the call, crinkling in the underbrush with an announcement of his pinpointed location.
Buck pivoted and stumbled, firing the last of his . 50-cals like a madman without a target.
Bark splintered above Jason.
“Reload.” Buck called that he was out of bullets with a hearty laugh.
With his placement compromised and his boss drunk and unstable, Jason had no option. He swung his go-bag over his shoulders, stayed low, and hauled ass through the thick vegetation that covered the mountain.
“You still kicking?” Buck sounded as if he’d retrieved a bullhorn. “Up for another round, you cheatin’ traitor?”
Leaves and branches tumbled along with Jason as he continued through virgin territory.
His phone buzzed two more times. He found a downed tree as wide as a garbage can and ducked against it, sweeping for problems. Security cameras and sensors could be anywhere, and at this point, Jason didn’t doubt that Buck would line his property with triggers and trappers.
Nothing caught his eye, and he wanted to see if Roxana was the person who’d called.
Ignoring three calls might spike her anxiety, and hell if he would let that happen today.
Jason checked the phone and squeezed his eyes shut.
Roxana’s brother. That conversation would have to happen another day. A text message from Hagan appeared.
How much do you plan to tell her?
“Everything.” Jason swiped the message off the screen and turned his phone onto silent, but caught Hagan’s next text as it popped into view.
We should be on the same page. If she doesn’t understand, she’ll kill us both.
That was the truth, but he was too busy to discuss the finer points of a disastrous revelation. He sent a quick message that relayed Hagan’s crappy timing, swore to himself that he would tell Roxana everything, and pocketed his phone.
The terrain grew steeper. Jason picked his path as best he could, sliding down on his ass more than he wanted to.
Branches and briars scratched his face and arms. He tuned out their bites of pain by replaying the previous night, still unable to believe he’d pulled off the surprise—the ground gave way.
He couldn’t correct the misstep or control the flurry of dead leaves and baseball-sized rocks that tumbled along the loose footing.
Gravity pulled. Jason fell too fast. Brush slapped his face.
Branches snapped when he fought for a handhold.
Grit burned his eyes and nose. Individual spikes of pain whirled into a consuming blur of agony.
The treacherous, virgin ground cover left him no choice but to protect his head and roll with the avalanche of debris.
Jason stopped with enough force to steal the air from his lungs.
He stayed on his back. Immobile. Unable to take a breath.
His mind demanded he stay calm and wait for his lungs to work again.
If he didn’t keep that under control, he’d panic.
Microseconds seemed to take years. Dead leaves rained over his body in slow motion, coming to a softer landing than he did, and with a start, his heart punched into his lungs.
He sucked in air, gasping and coughing and choking, then wiped his watering eyes and nose.
Several seconds passed before he had his bearings.
Jason assessed his new surroundings and, without an immediate threat, took stock of himself.
Everything hurt. His go-bag and shoulder blade had taken the brunt of his landing.
Even with the bag’s help, his back would be a massive bruise.
His concern focused on one of his legs that had been twisted unnaturally.
The more his head cleared, the more his lower leg throbbed.
But, on the bright side, Jason had probably avoided a concussion thanks to the way he landed on his go-bag.
Not to mention, Buck wasn’t nearby with a gun.
Jason eased onto his side and spat out a mouthful of dirt and blood.
“Not how I saw this going.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and waited to see if time would lessen the pain in his lower leg.
Two minutes into waiting, and he had an answer.
Not only had it not reduced, but the pain had localized at his ankle and worsened.
It wouldn’t be something he could shake off.
Jason bet GSI’s Human Resource department wouldn’t bat an eye over what had just happened.
His best bet would be to wait on Buck to sober up, then have the conversation again.
The fact that Jason wasn’t all that surprised at what had happened was proof enough that quitting was the right thing to do. GSI was bad news in more ways than one.
He checked his watch. Time still hadn’t helped his ankle, and there was no reason to sit on his ass and wait for Buck’s inebriated mea culpa.
With the help of an oak tree, Jason stood and tested his ability to put weight on his foot.
Probably not broken, but his ankle would be a problem during the rest of his mountain descent.
After a pitiful step-turned-stumble, he stopped and fashioned a makeshift splint to keep his shoe on.
He amassed a small collection of short, straight branches that wouldn’t easily snap and diligently secured them in place with the duct tape from his bag.
He grimaced with the final band of tape and cursed Buck Baer, GSI, and the whole damn mountain.
How would he explain a busted ankle to Roxana? An injury wasn’t supposed to be the catalyst for the conversation about GSI. Steaks and rum had been his plan, but he’d jumped to the good part. The best part. The absolute most important part—asking Roxana to always be by his side.
Jason dropped his head back and stared at the tree canopies that blocked most of the blue sky. This had Karma’s fingerprints all over it. Fate and destiny had teamed up to kick his ass down the side of this mountain because he proposed before telling Roxana the truth.
He rubbed his hands over his face. Variations of “Babe, I collect information on targets” and “it’s important to understand the difference between a sniper and a mercenary” didn’t bode well.
Jason tried out his splint and double checked the ground cover before he set off. Conversation starter after conversation starter drifted to mind as he hobbled. He tried to gauge how much sympathy might come with a sprained ankle and a discussion opener like, “I had a shitty day at the office.”
Not much.
But he didn’t have to have the answer that moment. He’d work on his explanation once he’d figured out how to get out of the Appalachian Mountains and into Louisville on an injured ankle, without a vehicle.