by Norris, Kris
Shit. Jericho. Just as he’d thought.
Damn it, man, keep your head in the game. She’s doing this for a reason. Work with her. Back her up.
No question he’d back her up. He just hated the thought of her being bait, in a sense. Of drawing all the high caliber players to her location. Though, it wasn’t a bad plan. Knowing her, she was counting on Six and Colt to be there. Take out everyone else, leaving her to deal with Dave. Exactly what Cannon had hoped to save her from, but like it or not, it was their best shot.
Which meant he’d need to take care of whoever had been with Faraday. No way that bastard had come here alone. Chances were, he’d teamed up with the SOG guys. Made himself as protected as possible. Well, Cannon would see that the asshole was stripped of that support. That Dave had no one to fall back on. No team. Fucker didn’t deserve one.
Cannon quick-stepped along the perimeter, constantly scanning the area. The garage opened up to the left in front of him around a corner, the voices coming from that direction. He stopped at the edge of the wall, spotted some asshole pointing a gun toward the area, and dropped him. Guy crumpled to the ground, his weapon clanking against the pavement.
Another shadow popped up. Turned. The guy’s weapon in harsh relief. Assault rifle. Magazine curving out of the bottom. Cannon capped him then moved out, skimming along the curb. Another few feet, and he saw her. Standing in the center of a collection of vehicles. Gun raised in front of her. Hands gripping the handle.
They were shaking. Not a lot, but enough he noticed. Saw it in her shadow on the wall behind her. She was focused on Dave, her gaze occasionally sweeping the lot. But she couldn’t cover every direction—not if she wanted to prevent Dave from shooting her. He didn’t look as if he was holding a weapon, but Cannon figured the man didn’t need to. That he’d already arranged for one of his colleagues to kill her.
Not on Cannon’s watch.
He slowed down. Surveyed the lot, looking for places he’d pick to hide in. No way someone trained in special operations would just stand out in the open. He’d hunker down. Get Jericho in his sights then kill her once Dave gave him the signal. Maybe they wanted to know how much she remembered? Who she’d told, first? Estimate how much damage control was needed before silencing her.
Which gave Cannon an opening. The time he needed to hunt them down. Eliminate them. There…tucked in behind a Suburban. Using the roof rack to rest his rifle. Asshole was adjusting the scope—most likely night vision. Something to give him an edge. A clear view of his target.
Cannon could take the shot, but it was risky. The darkness. The roof racks. And with only a small portion of the guy’s head and arm visible. But, if Cannon missed, he’d lose his element of surprise. They obviously thought he was still engaged with Brown. That gave him the advantage.
He weighed his options then took off. Ducking behind pillars, cars—whatever he found. Just enough to blur his movement before he was off, again. Dave was talking. Trying to convince Jericho to join ranks. Weasel out what she knew. Cannon didn’t have much time. He sensed it. Like a clock slowly counting down inside his head. The final tick marking the end. Of Jericho. Of Cannon’s dreams. His chance at a life, because she was it.
He was ten feet off when the guy finished fiddling with the rifle—sealed his eye to the scope. Dave was still rambling on, but maybe getting Jericho to reveal what she knew wasn’t the plan. Maybe it was just a coincidence that the fucker on the truck hadn’t fired, yet. Maybe he simply hadn’t been ready—until now.
Because his finger was sliding inside the trigger guard. Wrapping around the trigger—caressing it. Adjusting then settling as he got the feel he’d been looking for. There’d be a moment of stillness—as the guy drew a breath, then held it—before he fired.
Cannon aimed. He didn’t have a clear shot, but fuck it. Fuck the element of surprise because he would not let the prick get off a shot. Wouldn’t let him come close to hurting Jericho. Cannon planted his next step, used his left hand to steady his right, then fired.
It hit the guy’s arm, knocking him off his mark. He rolled instantly, disappearing off the other side of the vehicle—leaving the rifle on the racks. Cannon changed direction mid-stride. Anticipating the bastard’s route. That he’d try to get behind Cannon by circling around the left of the Suburban. That, or he’d simply camp out back. Wait for Cannon to expose himself then take the shot. He had to have a handgun. Possibly his service weapon, though more likely something else. That couldn’t be traced.
None of it mattered. Cannon was on top of him before he could aim. Asshole was left handed, which meant Cannon had clipped his good hand. And these guys didn’t train to shoot with both hands like the Teams did. Didn’t worry about having to continue if their dominant arm got hurt. That they’d have to defend themselves, their team, while bleeding. Hurting.
So, getting the jump on him—cracking his head against the wall, watching him drop onto the pavement—was easy. Not finishing him off. Binding his hands and feet, leaving him alive—that was hard. Because, a few seconds late, and the bastard would have killed Jericho.
Cannon took a moment to study his face. Wasn’t Andrews, but one of the other guys Cannon had seen that night. Which meant Andrews was still out there. Cannon didn’t have any proof that the man was dirty beyond his gut feeling, but Six wasn’t the only one who sensed things. And this went soul deep.
Jericho was talking, now. Her voice strained. Higher than usual. Damn, she was in pain. Probably pulling her ribs having to hold the gun aimed at Dave that long. And that wasn’t taking into account her mental state. If she was losing it from the realization she might have to shoot her partner. Kill him.
But, there had to be another guy out there. And, if he wasn’t holed up across the street waiting, he was here. In the garage. Hunting. Possibly targeting her, right now, just like this asshole had done.
Cannon could reach her. Take Dave out in the process, but it might not be enough. And, if Dave dropped first…
Time for Plan C.
Cannon vaulted up onto the truck, taking up the other man’s spot with the rifle. He’d been right. Night vision. Thermal setting. It had the works, and just what Cannon needed to end this. He pressed his eye against the lens then started hunting.
Chapter Twenty-Four
God, it really was him. Dave. Standing there amidst the shadows, staring at her. Smiling as if he hadn’t literally shoved a knife in her side. As if they could simply pick up where they’d left off. Friends.
Jericho’s stomach roiled. It made her sick. Looking at him. Hearing his voice. He’d disgraced everything she’d ever stood for. Had thrown her sense of justice and duty back in her face, and for what? Money? Some demented form of power?
Dave glanced at her gun. “I put mine away, Jer. Thinking I, at least, deserve the same courtesy.”
“You fucking stabbed me. You don’t deserve shit.”
He winced. As if she’d actually hurt his feelings. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but—”
“But what? I was worth more dead to you than alive? How much did Macmillan pay you to kill me? What was our partnership worth to you?”
“It’s not like that. He didn’t…” Dave blew out a breath. Visibly calmed himself. “I knew, if you lived, you’d never stop digging. Never stop searching for the truth. And, once you discovered it…” He laughed. Like it was funny. Some cosmic joke she obviously didn’t understand. “They would have done far worse to you than kill you.”
“Oh, so it was a mercy killing? Because you cared?”
“I’ve always cared. Don’t get all self-righteous. Just because I decided to go down a different path doesn’t mean I didn’t have your back all those years. Took a bullet for you, too, once, or have you conveniently forgotten that part?”
“That Dave’s gone. I don’t know who you are, now. Who’s standing in front of me, because the man I knew wouldn’t sell his soul to the devil for money. That’s why you did it, right? To get rich?”
“Like the saying goes…proceed directly to jail.”
“I think we both know that isn’t an option. But, it’s not too late for you to change your mind. There’s always a place for someone of your caliber. Your skill set.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t have tried to kill me. You would have asked me, then. But we both know I’d never turn, so…”
“Then, why are you talking to me? You know I’m not alone. That you’re making yourself out to be a target.”
“Because I need to know one thing. When?”
“When?”
“Did you stop being a marshal. My partner. When?”
“About a year ago. Shauna and I were having issues, and… Like I said. The why isn’t important.”
So, it hadn’t all been a lie. Those years she’d believed in him. Respected and looked up to him. He’d gotten lost.
“I want you to turn around and put your hands against that glass partition. You’re under arrest for attempted murder of a federal marshal.”
“Jericho…think it through. Cannon isn’t here. Even if you have a couple of his buddies with you, I have twenty. Stationed around the garage. Outside. A sniper just waiting to cap anyone who walks out of here. You’re not going anywhere. So…tell me who knows about this, and I’ll make sure it’s quick. That you don’t suffer. Your friends don’t suffer.”
“You’d like that. For me to just roll over. Surrender. How about this? I kill you, then at least I’m not going down empty-handed.”
“You really think you could do that? Kill me when I’m not even holding a gun on you? That’s not the Jericho I know.”
“Yeah, well, you changed that, didn’t you? Now, either turn around or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
“Sorry. I’m going to have to call your bluff on this one, because despite everything, I know you. I—”
Movement. In her peripheral vision. A shadow shifting on top of a car at the far end of the lot. Something long aiming her way. She hit the ground—barely missed the bullet that exploded the glass of the car beside her. Raining fragments down over her head.
There was another sound. A dull whoosh, followed by a cry of pain then a loud crash. More glass breaking. She shook off the shards, glancing out only to realize Dave wasn’t there.
Jericho dropped, again, rolled under the big truck behind her just as Dave rounded the other vehicles—took a shot. It hit the pavement—bounced away. But, if she’d been a second slower…
No time to worry. To consider the what-ifs. Not when he was already closing in on her. Staying low. Out of sight unless someone got close. She had just enough time to gain her feet—dart behind another car—before he was there. Right where she’d been a second earlier. Christ, if she didn’t get some distance between them, she wouldn’t have time to aim. Wing him, because damn it, he was right. Even with him armed, she didn’t think she could take a kill shot. Shoulder, leg. Those, she could do, but his head. Heart?
And the fucker knew it. Obviously didn’t share her reservations. Though, stabbing her had probably eliminated those. And she needed to believe he’d had some. That it hadn’t been easy.
Another ricochet. Then, again…
She dodged right, chancing an open space as she made for another scattering of cars. Two shots. One high, one low. Just missing her. Pinging off the car, the wall. Had they both been from him? Was there another threat? He’d claimed he had other men. Men who’d be heading their way with all the noise they’d made. The booming echo of each shot.
Twenty. That’s what he’d said. Inside and out. Those were crazy odds. Astronomical. It also meant that, if they made it to an exit, they might get picked off as soon as they stepped out. Damn hard to avoid a sniper. Shots you couldn’t see coming.
She needed to change tactics. Go on the offensive. Sure, she’d promised Six she wouldn’t engage—had probably already broken that deal by talking to Dave, even if it had been in an attempt to buy time, especially when he’d been unarmed—but she didn’t have a choice. There weren’t more cars near her. And Dave was close—just standing on the other side, judging if he should follow. Chance the open space. This might be her only opportunity.
Jericho took a deep breath, hissed through the resulting burn in her side, then turned. Readied herself to make a move.
A hand over her mouth. Drawing her back against a wall of male muscle. She instinctively cocked her elbow before his scent prickled her senses. She recognized it. The row of calluses across his palm as it shifted over her mouth. The firm line of his chest. The sheer massiveness of him.
Tears burned her eyes. He was alive. When Dave had said he’d sent Cannon away, she’d feared the worst. That he was pinned down. Defending Art. Brown. That he’d die because of her.
But he was here. Warm, firm flesh against hers. His usual air of confidence slowly easing the tight feeling in her chest.
She relaxed, gaining her a chuckle.
His lips brushed her neck. “Stay close.”
“But the other—”
“Eliminated.”
“Outside—”
“Everywhere.”
He’d taken out twenty guys? Snipers? Gang members? Sure, Colt and Six had probably done their share, but still. Even three against that many.
Considering Cannon had faced over a dozen, alone, the other night, it shouldn’t shock her, now, but… She was pretty damn sure there had been other lawmen. Marshals or agents. Not the typical fare. And, yet, his three-man team had bested all of them.
Cannon eased her away, giving her a quick scan, then stood. Just like that. In plain sight. Where Dave could see him—anyone could see him. And Cannon didn’t even seem concerned. Wasn’t shaking or breathing hard. Didn’t appear to be questioning every move like she’d been doing. Warring with any conflicting emotions. He just stood. Straight. Fierce.
Jericho edged up enough to look through the windows—gauge Dave’s reaction. The man’s gaze swung toward them, his arrogant smile slipping then falling. He’d obviously thought it would be her. That she’d try to deal or maybe make a play he felt confident he could counter. But all that smugness slid away. Replaced by anger. Bitterness. A twinge of jealousy.
He had his gun raised, aimed in their direction, but not directly at them. He’d been guessing where she’d hidden, and he’d missed. Which brought her to her feet. Had her shifting in beside Cannon. Staying close, like he’d asked. But she couldn’t do this crouching behind some car. Avoiding Dave. Being anything less than an equal. Not and still do her job.
Cannon barely moved. Just a slight shift over—covering her a bit more. He had Dave in the crosshairs. Jericho didn’t need to be looking down his gun to know it. She felt it. Sensed it. In the line of his body, the firmness of his stance. Cannon was armed, ready, and willing.
“It’s over, Faraday. Your men are down. And I’ll drop you before you correct your aim. Guaranteed.”
Dave angled over, gun slightly tipped toward the ground. There, but not the threat Cannon’s was. Jericho just wasn’t sure if Dave had intended it as a show of surrender or if he was planning something. Had some kind of ace up his sleeve.
He grinned. Toothy. Smug. “Ya know, if I’d known how damn hard it would be to get rid of you, I would have put someone on it sooner. Christ, you’re like a damn cockroach.”
“Gun down. I won’t ask, again.”
Dave sighed, let his pistol rotate around his finger, tilting the trigger away from him. “It’s pretty impressive you took out everyone.” He shifted his gaze to her. Pinned it there. “Are you sure you got every target?”
The look in Dave’s eyes. The way they strayed a bit to the left, as if trying to look behind him, had her inhaling. Focusing on the stairway door just as a guy barreled through. Assault rifle notched in his shoulder. Muzzle directed at them. He didn’t have to aim
. A spray of bullets would take them out. And with Dave off to their left, he’d be clear. Barely, but clear.
Cannon didn’t move. Didn’t shift his focus, still watching Dave when the air boomed—the sound nearly knocking her down. She jumped, spinning in time to see Six step out from behind a pillar, gun in hand. She glanced back, but the guy was already falling, red blossoming on his shoulder. He hit the pavement then stilled, nothing but the lingering echo of the report sounding around her.
Cannon grinned. “You’re right. There was one left. Figured this would be enough to draw him out. Now, are you going to drop the gun, turn and surrender or do I save us both the trouble and cap your ass?”
Dave stared at the man on the ground, face white. He swallowed, coughed, then looked at Cannon. “If you care about Jericho like you claim, you won’t kill her partner.”
“Ex-partner, and to be honest, I never liked you.”
Dave stilled, eyes wild. He seemed uncertain before grinning. He tossed the gun at his feet then held up his hands. “Fine, you win. But this isn’t the end. I’ll spin a deal. Turn on Macmillan. Get a new start in Wit Sec. You haven’t won.”
Cannon’s left eye twitched, and she knew.
“Rick.” She smiled when he shifted his eyes enough to make contact without losing focus on Dave. “He’s not worth it. Who cares if he walks. I get you, so…he’s wrong. I won.”
Cannon chuckled. “Damn, I’m in trouble. Okay. We’ll take him alive, but something tells me he’s gonna resist arrest. Just a bit.”
“Deal. As long as I get the first jab.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Jericho?”
Cannon sat up in bed, searching the room. He’d reached over for her—had expected to slide his hand around her waist‚ tug her close—but her side was empty. The sheets already cooling. He glanced at the clock, groaning. It was way too early for her to be up, especially after all that had happened.