The Line of Duty

by Nichole Severn

  The growl of a distant engine reached through the trees.

  “That sounds like an ATV,” she said.

  And it was closing in.

  They didn’t have much time before the cops who’d shot him headed them off. It’d be easy to track his and Shea’s path through the snow, but ATVs couldn’t navigate through these trees. Hell only knew how many of them were out there now, on foot. “That would explain how they found the plane so quickly. We wouldn’t have been able to hear the engines from the amount of snow blocking the entrance of the cave.”

  “I thought it’d take them longer to regroup.” Shea rubbed her hands together, then swiped her hand across her face. She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and covered it with her coat, all the while never taking her arm from around his lower back. “These guys are persistent. I’ll give them that.”

  “Which means we can’t go to the next ranger station. They’ll be waiting for us there.” If they weren’t already. He couldn’t take the chance. Not after Shea had risked her life to save his. He’d promised to get her to New York to fight for her son, and he had no intention of failing her again. “We have to go deeper into the woods. North. They won’t be looking for us there.”

  “Every minute we spend out here is another chance we don’t make it out of these mountains.” Wide eyes searched his face. “If we head north, we’ll just be saving the guys with the guns the trouble when we die out here from exposure.”

  “I know what I’m asking of you, Shea.” He’d never wanted any of this, but it was the only way. “We have to take the risk. Otherwise, they’ll shoot us on sight. I need you to trust me.” They still had their supply pack with the extra food she’d packaged and plenty of fresh snow to keep hydrated. The problem would be heat. They’d used all of the kindling he’d had and lighting a fire would only give away their position, and any they found out here would be too wet to catch fire. If they were going to make it through the night, they’d have to rely on each other. Trust each other. Completely. Vincent lowered his voice. This was it. This was the moment that would either drive them apart or bring them together. There was no going back. “We survive together.”

  “Or we die alone.” With a small nod, Shea adjusted her hold around his back and brought him into her side. Her body heat seeped through his coat down into muscle. Her rich scent gathered at the back of his throat as they moved north through the trees as one in some kind of demented three-legged race. Only this race was for their lives. “I hope you’re right about this.”

  “Me, too.” Vincent couldn’t let his past ruin her future. He’d never forgive himself for tearing apart her life. Not when she’d risked everything to save him back there at the ranger station. But even before then, he’d known he’d do whatever it took to ensure she made it out of this alive. She had to. For the innocents she protected, for her family. For him.

  A grouping of flashlight beams bounced in the distance.

  Vincent instantly killed theirs to stay hidden but kept them moving. Damn it. How many of them were out there? A dozen? More? He spun them northeast and took a step forward. More flashlights. He turned back the way they’d come and froze. Shea’s uneven breathing registered in the darkness as the lights danced around them.

  “We’re surrounded.” She’d lowered her voice to avoid giving away their position, but it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. The corrupt officers he’d worked to expose back in New York had found them.

  But he and Shea weren’t dead. Not yet. He could still get her out of this mess. The flashlight beams steadied as the hit men carrying them slowed, closing the circle around them. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness. He counted eleven hostiles, all heavily armed, and stepped away from Shea as every muscle along his spine contracted with battle-ready tension. A chance to escape. That was all he needed to give her. Vincent slipped his hand beneath the seam of her coat, over the gun at her back, but didn’t draw. Any movement on their part could be his and Shea’s last, but he wasn’t finished with her yet. He studied the single officer stepping forward from the circle of cops, the one Shea had shot back at the station. The SOB’s name had pierced through the haze as he’d watched her pull the trigger. Officer Charles Grillo.

  “I gave you the chance to walk away, Officer Ramsey, and you shot me.” Grillo raised his weapon, aimed directly at Shea. The flashlight beams highlighted the blood spreading across the officer’s coat a split second before he pulled the trigger.

  She wrenched back, her scream loud in his ears as Shea hit the ground.

  “No!” Vincent crouched over her, applying pressure to the wound in her side. Her breathing shallow, her eyes shut tight as she fought against the pain of the bullet tearing through her. Rage—unlike anything he’d felt before—surfaced in a dark, overwhelming current. He focused on Grillo as he suffocated the agony from the shot to his shoulder. The cold had slowed the bleeding, numbed the area around the wound, but now he felt everything. “You’re going to die for that, Officer Grillo.”

  “You got her involved in this. Not me. You could’ve walked away, started your life over, but instead you decided you wanted to play the hero.” The officer swung the barrel of his weapon at Vincent. “We already know about Officer Ramsey here. Who else did you bring into your investigation?”

  Containment. That was the only reason he and Shea were still alive. Whoever’d sent these bastards wanted to ensure nobody else had gotten hold of the evidence from Officer Ashton Walter’s death scene. Otherwise, Vincent had the feeling Grillo and his team of corrupt cops would’ve already disposed of their bodies. Blood welled between his fingers as he increased the pressure on Shea’s wound. She wasn’t struggling anymore, her breathing slow. He’d run that print through the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System—IAFIS—with the help of Blackhawk’s network security analyst, which meant his entire Blackhawk team could be at risk now. Because of him. “Go to hell.”

  He wrapped his fingers around Shea’s service weapon, drew and fired.

  * * *

  GUNSHOTS EXPLODED FROM all around.

  Shea forced her eyes open, but the haze at the edges of her vision threatened to pull her into unconsciousness. More shots echoed through the night, shadows shifting around her. She couldn’t make out anything distinctive. The ringing in her ears was too loud to discern the shouts, but the feel of her weapon at her back was gone. Vincent. He must’ve taken her gun. Curls slid into her vision as she turned on her side. Clamping her hand over the wound, she pushed upright. Lightning fired through her pain receptors, and she ducked her chin to her chest to keep the scream working up her throat at bay. Where was he?

  Chaos pulled her attention to the broken ring of gunmen as another round of bullets pierced the night. Getting to her feet, Shea stumbled forward, free hand outstretched as her boot collided with something heavy and unmoving in the snow. Rocking back on her heels, she landed on her butt in the powder. She clawed for the flashlight discarded a few feet away and swept it over the body, her throat tight. Instant relief coursed through her. One of the gunmen. Not Vincent. She collected the officer’s weapon and killed the flashlight beam. He was out there, taking on an entire ring of corrupt cops on his own. He needed help.

  Shea straightened again, hugging her arm into her side, and took cover behind the nearest tree. There. Another gunshot exploded from nearby and a flashlight hit the ground. Several more closed in on the shooter’s position, and she turned to approach the group from behind.

  Stinging agony spread across her scalp as a fist clenched her hair, her back hitting solid muscle and a wall of Kevlar.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The man Vincent had called Grillo shoved her forward, and she hit the ground face-first. “You’re as much a part of this as your partner is now, and we’re not done.”

  Ice worked beneath the collar of her coat and T-shirt, shocking her into action. Shea flipp
ed over just as he lunged for her again and rolled out of his reach but lost her newly acquired gun in the snow. The wound in her side screamed in protest, but she forced herself to get back to her feet. He came at her, his fist aimed directly for her face. Dodging the first attempt to knock her out, she slammed her forearm into his as he tried again, but she wasn’t fast enough to block his free hand. Bone met the flesh of her face. The momentum of his hit twisted her head to the side, her eyes watering from the hit, but she kept upright. Copper and salt filled her mouth. She spit the blood, the inside of her cheek stinging where her teeth had cut into the soft tissue.

  “You shouldn’t have sided with Kalani, Officer Ramsey,” he said. “Because now I’m going to have to hurt you.”

  Dread curled at the base of her stomach. This man had access to her son. And no matter which way she looked at it, as a mother, as an officer, she couldn’t let him leave this clearing. Not without risking him contacting the men he had watching Wells. Shea shot her fist forward, connecting with one temple, then landed a kick center mass to his chest before he could recover. “And you shouldn’t have gone after my son.”

  Grillo stumbled back, but didn’t go down, and she raised her fists for another attack. Unsheathing a knife in one hand, her attacker tried to circle around her position. He rushed forward, the knife leading the way, and the snow slowed her down. The tip of the knife cut through her thick coat and sliced across her upper arm. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Another wave of pain helped her forget the bullet that had embedded in her midsection. She wrapped her numb fingers around his wrist as he lunged forward again, maneuvered behind him, and put as much pressure as she could manage against his injured arm. He let go of the knife as she forced him to double over, the weight on his elbow too much to do anything else. With enough pressure, she’d do irreparable damage. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Blood pooled beneath her clothing, dripping into the waistband of her jeans. “Call off your men.” Only his breathing registered, and she applied more pressure. His groan heightened the effects of the nausea swirling in her gut. She didn’t like hurting people. She’d sworn to protect them, but she wouldn’t let Vincent die out here while he fought to protect her. “Now.”

  A rumble of laughter vibrated through Grillo’s chest and into her grip on his arm. “You going to kill me, Ramsey? Because that’s the only way you’re walking out of here. That’s the only way you’re going to save your son before my guys get to him.”

  She didn’t get a chance to respond as Grillo swung his opposite hand up, grabbed on to her neck, and slammed her into the ground. The air crushed from her lungs, the darkness threatening to consume her all over again. Her head pounded in rhythm to her racing heartbeat as his shadow moved over her, but she wasn’t going to die here. Shea kicked out, catching him in the stomach, and clawed for the gun she’d lost a few minutes ago. The metal chilled her hand as she brought it out in front of her and aimed. Her chest heaved as her lungs fought to catch up with the rest of her body. “Don’t move.”

  “You already shot me once, Ramsey. You sure as hell better make sure you kill me this time.” Grillo took a step forward, and she pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again, and again, but the gun wouldn’t fire. Her lips parted. No. No, no, no, no. Silence descended. Ice worked through her veins, and it had nothing to do with the dropping temperatures. Raising her gaze to Grillo’s, she caught the hint of a smile thinning his lips.

  “Now it’s my turn.” He unholstered a hidden weapon from his lower back, centering her in his crosshairs, and her insides clenched.

  She’d been on the wrong end of a gun before in the line of duty, but nothing like this. No one had ever wanted to kill her, to kill one of her partners, to hurt her son. Whoever these people were working for—whoever’d sent them to kill Vincent—they were going to get away with it if she didn’t get up. But she’d already lost too much blood. The ringing in her ears was back, weblike patterns at the corners of her eyes. She tried sitting up, tried blocking the path of Grillo’s bullet with one hand, but the very idea didn’t even make sense. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t save Vincent. She couldn’t save her son. She couldn’t even save herself. Just as she hadn’t been able to after giving birth to Wells.

  Vincent. His name echoed in her mind, and the fear holding her in place evaporated. The gunfire had died down. Was he injured? Would she survive long enough to make it to him in time? The man she’d kept at a distance due to her own private battle with the way he’d made her feel these past few months had saved her life out here. More times than she could count. Vincent and his team had skirted the law when it came to their investigations time and time again, but Shea couldn’t deny the fact that they’d saved so many lives in the process. Including hers. The thought of this team of corrupt cops burying the forensic investigator she’d come to rely on churned her stomach. Shea put everything she had into getting to her feet, but it wasn’t enough. Her knees buckled as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Now it was time to save his.

  “You don’t know when to give up, do you, Officer Ramsey?” he asked. “Maybe you and I aren’t so different after all.”

  “I took the same oath as you to protect the innocent. The only difference between us is I actually try to hold up my end.” Shea rushed her attacker. She’d trained in active shooter situations. The best chance she had of surviving—of Vincent surviving—was to get control of that gun. Dark eyes widened a split second before a wall of muscle slammed into Grillo from the right, knocking all three of them to the ground. The trees surrounding them blurred in streaks of black and white as she rolled down an incline. A scream escaped up her throat as she slammed into a boulder mere feet from where Grillo and another man struggled to their feet. “Vincent.”

  She scanned the area, counted the bodies around the clearing. Ten. Not including Grillo. He’d taken them all down. Who the hell had she partnered with these past few months? Shea smothered the fear climbing up her throat. He was injured, favoring his right leg and the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Grillo shook his head as though trying to clear it and attacked. Vincent blocked the first hit, then the next, but took the third and fourth directly to the kidneys. Pressing her hand to her own wound, Shea hauled herself to her feet. Adrenaline narrowed her focus on the weapon Grillo had dropped as they’d rolled down the hill. Wrapping her hand around the grip, she brought the gun up.

  “I told you I enjoyed a challenge.” A hand clamped over her mouth, wrenching her back. Icy metal pressed against her temple, the scent of stale cigarettes and cologne overwhelming, and everything inside her went cold. The cop, the one who’d knocked her unconscious back at the ranger station, lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’d prefer not to put a bullet in you before I’ve had my chance to pay you back for the new scar to my face. Get rid of the gun.”

  Hesitation coursed through her, but she’d lost the upper hand. The breath rushed out of her. Tossing the weapon a few feet away, she fought back the nausea and pain swirling through her as Vincent took another hit. He collapsed to the ground, those mesmerizing brown eyes settling on her as Grillo launched his knee into Vincent’s face. Her protector slumped to the ground. Out cold. Grillo gathered the discarded gun and shot Vincent two times to the chest. Center mass. Exactly as she’d been trained.

  “No!” she screamed from behind the hand braced over her mouth, the sound distorted and desperate. Her legs threatened to give out as the last of her adrenaline drained. Tears burned in her eyes, and she wrenched herself out of her attacker’s grasp and launched forward. Only she couldn’t reach Vincent in time.

  Grillo pushed her toward his partner, his grip bruising.

  The officer at her back spun her around and pressed the gun’s barrel to her temple once again. Those perfect white teeth flashed in a wide smile. Dried blood flaked from the laceration at his temple
where she’d hit him as Grillo circled around to face her. “Let’s talk about what’s going to happen next, Officer Ramsey.”

  Chapter Eight

  Vincent sat up, gasping for air. His lungs protested the sharp bite of cold as pain radiated outward from the two slugs Grillo had buried dead center in his chest. He locked his jaw against the groan in his throat as he battled to stay upright. Hell, it was hard to breathe with this damn thing on. Not to mention the impact of two bullets to the chest. Leveraging his back against the nearest tree, he closed his eyes against the soreness as he unzipped his heavy coat to examine the damage. A combination of pink and orange filtered across the sky, giving him enough light to pick one crumpled bullet from the Kevlar vest. The metal was still warm to the touch. Patterns in the snow a few feet away demanded his attention. Divots cut a path around him, south through the trees. And blood. His gut clenched as he crawled the few feet between him and the drops. Shea.

  They couldn’t have gotten far. If he hurried, he still might be able to save her. He’d gotten Shea into this mess. He’d fight to get her out of it, but more than that, he couldn’t stand the thought of working with a new partner on the department’s joint investigations with Blackhawk. Couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. Not when he was beginning to break past those icy barriers and see the vulnerable, fiery, secretive woman beneath. They’d survived this long as a team. He wasn’t about to give that up.