This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(107)

I say nothing.

Brady continues, “I bet he volunteered to help search for me. Insisted on it. He feels so bad about the situation that he wants to help find me. Take the risks alongside you two. The truth? He doesn’t trust you. He wanted to be there when you caught me, to make sure you brought me in and maybe use the opportunity to stage a tragic accident.”

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “That explains why he offered to stay behind as hostage. In Casey’s place.”

“Because that guaranteed you’d turn me over to those savages.”

“Except he escaped,” I say.

Brady finally goes silent. At least a minute passes.

“Can’t explain that away?” Dalton says.

“No, Sheriff, I can’t. I could speculate that he overheard something that made him think he might not survive the exchange. But that’s speculation. I only know something happened in that camp, and he decided he’d overstayed his welcome. I bet he took out a few of the locals on his way, too.”

“Actually, no,” I say. “He hurt a woman, but he left her alive and made his escape.”

“Okay, that makes sense. It’s hard to keep pretending you’re a good guy if—”

“Down!” Dalton shouts.

He falls onto me and, for a moment, I think he’s been hit. Then I realize he’s pinning me down. There’s a shot. Then Storm lets out a yelp of pain.





57





My dog has been shot. There’s a sniper in the trees, and Storm has been shot. I try to scramble up, but Dalton holds me fast, whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Casey.”

I fight the urge to snarl at him. To get free of him. To get to her.

I dig my fingers into the ground to hold myself still, and I listen, as hard as I can. After a moment, I hear a labored pant, each breath ending in a whimper.

She’s been shot.

Definitely shot.

As I twist toward her, I catch a blur of motion. It’s Kenny rolling into the undergrowth, his arms around Storm.

“I’ve got—” Kenny starts.

Another shot. Kenny’s whole body jerks.

Dalton starts to leap up. I tackle and yank him into the undergrowth.

“Careful,” I say. “We have to be careful.”

He nods, and we creep on our bellies. We’re on the same side of the path as Kenny and Storm, and I can see their shapes ahead.

As we move, I hear Jacob whispering, “You’re okay, you’re okay, just stay still. Play dead.”

“Kenny?” I whisper, as loudly as I dare.

“I’ve got him,” Jacob whispers back. “I have Kenny and Storm. Stay down. Casey. Keep Eric down. Stay where you are. Do not move.”

He’s right. Any movement we make is going to draw fire. I reach out for Dalton’s hand and clasp it, and we lie there, listening to Kenny’s ragged breathing.

That’s when I see Brady crawling away.

Dalton squeezes my hand hard, getting my attention, and then he shakes his head.

Let him go.

Don’t take the risk of going after him.

But I have to, don’t I? As long as Oliver Brady is out there, people will keep dying.

I look in the direction of the shots. I see nothing. It isn’t like the city, where I could scan the buildings and know which is most likely to hold the gunman. This is a forest filled with towering trees, all perfect for a sniper.

And as long as this gunman is out there, we are sitting ducks. Eventually we need to come out, and all the sniper has to do is track us and wait for us to stop moving.

So we can’t stop moving.

We can’t wait for the shooter to figure out where we are. We have a wounded man and dog, and we need to get them someplace safe.

I watch Brady sneak off, and I wait for Dalton to relax, convinced I’m giving up on my prey. Then I leap up to a crouch, call “Get them someplace safe!” and break into a run.

Dalton grabs for me. His fingers brush my leg. But I’m gone.

I zigzag. One shot fires into a tree several feet away. Another does the same. I’m careful, though, moving up, down, left, right, zipping behind every tree and bush in my path.

Behind me, Dalton whispers urgently to Jacob. I can’t slow enough to focus on words, but I know Dalton’s trusting that I’m okay while he gets the others to safety.

Brady hears me coming. He straightens to run faster. A shot hits a tree, clearly intended for me, but when he hears that hit, and he sprawls into a home-plate slide. I sprint and leap on his back. He bucks. I grab his still-bound wrists and wrench them so hard he howls.

“Shut the hell up,” I say, slamming his head into the dirt. “I’m doing you a favor. Exactly how long do you think you’d survive out here with your hands tied behind your back?”

He glowers over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” I whisper. “I’m a stone-cold bitch. I’ve heard it already. You would do well to note that you’re still alive, when it would be a hell of a lot more convenient for me to change that. I will kill you, Oliver, but I need a reason. So don’t give me one.”

I wait until I’m sure the shots have stopped, the sniper trying to find targets again. I’m checking whether we’re hidden enough to move when something thumps in the trees to my right. A family of ptarmigan explodes from the bushes, startled by whatever Dalton must have thrown at them.