Chapter 26
Hudson planted one hand against the dash as the truck surged forward. The man at the side of the road dropped his raised hand, his weight shifting toward them.
Fuck. An ambush.
The man’s hand swept back toward his hip.
Hudson leaned forward. “Go, go, go?—”
The truck jolted violently as it hit an ice ridge, the back end kicking out. Sarah’s hands tightened on the wheel. She steered into the slide instead of fighting it, feathered the throttle, waited for the tires to bite, then eased the truck smoothly back into line.
Fucker.
A second shape peeled out from behind the pickup, another man, moving toward the road.
Sarah didn’t touch the brake. She yanked the truck hard right, off the packed snow and onto the shoulder, tires catching rough ground and throwing them both against their belts.
She fought the wheel, curving them around the pickup’s nose with two feet of clearance, the whole cab shuddering over ruts and frozen brush before she hauled it back toward the road surface and found traction again.
Headlights filled his side mirror. A second vehicle burst from the tree line, a large SUV, closing fast.
“Incoming.”
Sarah’s eyes were locked straight ahead, both hands firm on the wheel. “Yep.”
The impact came from behind, hard and sudden—a real hit, metal on metal, the truck’s rear end kicking sideways. The tires bit back into the road. The engine howled as she buried the pedal.
Trees blurred past too close on the right.
Ice under the wheels.
The rear tires lost the road. The truck slewed sideways, dropped off the shoulder, and struck the snowbank hard. The impact tipped the cab, filling the windshield with snow and darkness as metal shrieked somewhere near the front end. Hudson’s arm came across Sarah on pure reflex.
The world roared and came undone. His seat belt bit into his shoulder. Loose pens on the dash became shrapnel. Then everything rushed back all at once. Hot coolant hissed somewhere beneath the buckled hood. Airbags whistled as they deflated. The wreck settled with a final groan of tortured metal.
Silence.
His ears rang, his vision fractured, his body still convinced it was moving. Hudson blinked, the world swimming. His lungs refused to work. He dragged in a breath that tasted of burned propellant, his chest rising in agony against the seat belt’s restraint.
No stink of fuel.
He gritted his teeth and blinked again. Reality slammed back into focus.
Sarah.
The truck had come to rest on the driver’s side. Hudson hung above her, suspended by his belt. Sarah was below him, her head slumped against the airbag. Nothing looked obviously broken, but she wasn’t moving.
Everything inside him stopped.
He twisted and reached for her, his heart a violent hammer against his ribs. Airway. Breathing. Consciousness. Training shoved panic into a corner and took over.
Her chest rose.
Thank fuck. “Sarah. Sarah.” He grabbed her shoulder, dug his fingers in.
She gasped awake, her eyelids flickering for a moment before fully opening. “Hudson?”
A thin line of blood tracked from a cut above her eyebrow down the side of her face. Her eyes met his, unfocused for a second. A breath wheezed out of him, and everything narrowed back to something survivable.
She’s alive.
“Look at me. Can you breathe okay?” He slid a hand under her chin and tilted her head toward him.
“I’m fine.” She fumbled toward the seat belt release and missed it twice. “Ringing. Just ringing.”
Car doors slammed. Shouts.
He jerked around, twisting to see out the window. Snow spiraled through the headlights, each gust briefly erasing the men before revealing them again. Two dark figures advanced, one hanging back to cover, while the other closed the distance.
Hudson thumbed the seat belt release. Nothing. He hit it again, harder. Still locked.
Shit. Damn thing’s stuck.
Hudson kicked his door. It was jammed, buckled from the impact. Airbag powder and sweat stung his eyes every time he blinked. He abandoned the door. No time. His hand closed around his Glock.
“Deputy U.S. Marshal!” His voice cracked out flat and hard across the snow. “Show me your hands!”
He kept the sights on the nearer man’s chest, aware of the weight of the pistol in his hand, the spare magazine still riding on his belt. At least two shooters, no cover, and Sarah hurt beneath him.
Bad odds.
One of the men raised his free hand, his weapon held loosely at his hip. “The file, Marshal.”
The nearer man kept walking?—
“I said fucking stop.” Hudson kept his sights centered on the man’s sternum.
Both men froze, and the nearer one gestured.
A fucking signal.
The soft scrape of nylon on nylon from the rear of the truck.
Hudson cut his eyes toward the sound. Beyond the shattered rear window, another man advanced in a slow crouch, his gun aimed at Sarah. She was reaching for the radio, her fingers sliding off the button.
The man to the rear held out the palm of his hand. “Throw it out.”
Hudson reached down between his feet. The file was there. He grabbed it and tossed it through the shattered window, then brought his gun back to bear on the men out front. “Take it.”
The man scooped it up and rifled through it for a second before giving a grunt of satisfaction.
“Time to call it, Marshal.” The man pivoted on his heel and returned to the SUV.
The two men out front backed toward the pickup, keeping their weapons trained on him.
Tires spun on the ice, caught, and the SUV fishtailed before straightening. Its taillights vanished around the dark curve of the road. Seconds later, the pickup that had staged the breakdown pulled away from the shoulder and followed.
Hudson held position for another five seconds, scanning the dark, waiting for movement.
Nothing.
Only then did the adrenaline drain, leaving his arms strangely heavy. He lowered the gun and released a shaky breath. Sarah was fumbling with the truck’s radio, static crackling out of it in broken bursts, her hand too shaky to key the mic properly.
“—unit requesting—” Her voice was hoarse. “Two vehicles. Wait. One vehicle. I need?—”
“I’ve got it.” Hudson closed his hand over hers.
She tightened her grip on the mic. “I need to?—”
Hudson gently pried her fingers loose. “Sarah. I’ve got it. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
He ran his eyes over her shoulders, her face, looking for anything he’d missed. Once wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he’d looked a hundred more times.
A frown crossed her face. “Hudson.” Her voice came out sideways. “You threw away your case file.”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you?—”
“I don’t care.” Hudson keyed the mic. “Aurora Cove Dispatch, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Hudson Kane. We were ambushed and forced off the road. Three armed suspects fleeing westbound in two vehicles. Sheriff injured. Request EMS and immediate law-enforcement response. Priority.”
He reached for her hand. His was shaking.
Her fingers closed around his.