This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(99)

A shot hits the tree above my head.

“Cover,” Dalton yells. I’m already diving. I hit the ground just as another shot passes over me. I roll fast. Keep moving, keep moving. That is the trick here. Do not try to hide and hope for the best. Present a moving target.

I roll and then leap up and weave through trees. Jacob and Kenny are safe—they’ve reached the rocks and gone behind one, disappeared from sight. Dalton sticks to thicker forest with the dog, opting for safety over speed. I can see a rock ahead. I just need to—

A shot passes so close that I swear I feel it. I’m not going to make it. I’m too exposed, and the sniper has gauged my speed and is refining his shots.

I can’t go faster. I don’t dare go slower.

Just a little closer, a little closer . . .

“Hey!” There’s a shout behind me. “Hey, you! Over here!”

I think it is Dalton—it’s exactly the kind of fool thing he’d do. But I can see him, and I know where Jacob and Kenny went, and there’s no way either of them has circled behind me.

Another shot, and it goes nowhere near me. The sniper accepting the newcomer’s invitation.

“Here!” someone calls ahead, and Jacob peeks out.

He’s gesturing at a rock. It’s farther than the one I chose, but bigger, and while the newcomer distracts the sniper, I cross the last few paces and dive. Then I twist to see who is helping us.

I am almost afraid to see who it is. Afraid it is Anders or Sam or Paul come to find us. Afraid it is Cypher or some other settler who has come to our rescue and may pay the ultimate price for it. I even think it may be Wallace, that he has escaped captivity.

It is not any of those.

It is the absolute last person I expect.

Oliver Brady.





54





It is a trap. It must be. But at this moment, all I care about is getting Dalton out of a sniper’s sights, and if this is a trap, we’ll deal with it later.

I wave for Dalton. He’s running my way, aiming for another rock. A shot fires. A tree behind him splinters, and I leap from my hiding spot and wave my arms, shouting, “Hey!”

Dalton motions for me to get the hell back under cover. Then he’s diving, and I withdraw. I make sure Dalton and Storm are safe, Dalton crouched behind the rock, his arms around her.

I spin toward Brady. He’s coming straight at me. Running at me. Motioning for me to stay where I am, remain hidden.

I aim my gun.

Behind me, Dalton snarls, “Stay the fuck away from her or I swear I’ll shoot your ass—”

Brady goes into a slide. The moment he does anything the least bit threatening, I will shoot him. If he gets within a foot of me, Dalton will shoot him.

But he does neither. He slides behind a smaller rock, one that barely hides him. Then he pokes his head out and says, “We’re sitting ducks here. There’s a spot farther down.”

Dalton says, “If you think, for one fucking minute—”

“I just saved you, Sheriff. You and your girlfriend. I risked my life to save you two. What the hell else do I need to do to prove myself? Take the bullet?”

“Depends on where it hits,” Dalton says. “And whether you survive.”

Brady’s eyes narrow, but Dalton is right. We know Brady has an accomplice. Of course that accomplice wouldn’t kill him. Which means he could easily pretend to draw fire while leading us to our deaths.

Jacob whistles. He’s gesturing toward a spot we can’t see, presumably big enough for the three of us and the dog. He’s ignoring Brady, his gaze going between me and Dalton, making sure we see where he’s pointing. Then he disappears.

“Go,” Dalton murmurs.

I do. Behind me I hear, “You stay where you are, Oliver, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

“Head or ass. Make up your mind, Sheriff.”

“Whichever presents the bigger target. Right now, I’m figuring it’s about fifty-fifty.”

I run from rock to rock, and wherever the sniper is, he doesn’t see me. Or he doesn’t care, now that I’m with his partner.

I find Jacob disappearing into a crevice. By the time I reach it, he’s turned and pokes his head out. Then he waves and retreats. I look in to see Kenny inside, safe.

I gesture for Dalton to drop the leash. He does, and I whistle for Storm. She comes running. When she reaches me, I pass her leash to Jacob and turn back to wave for Dalton. He’s already on the move, and I curse him for that, because for a few seconds there, I didn’t have my gun trained on Oliver Brady.

I remedy that, and when Dalton arrives, I make him go into the cave, which means giving him a shove. He gets halfway in before realizing that leaves me outside. He balks. I may kick his ass, possibly literally. Because here’s the thing: we can’t all crawl into this cavern and sit there, with Brady knowing exactly where we’ve gone. So I get Dalton inside, and then I look up to see Brady hightailing it our way.

I meet him with my gun drawn. I’ve plunked myself in front of that opening, ignoring Dalton’s pokes from within. I’m crouched there, gun trained on Brady when he arrives.

The first words out of his mouth are “Oh, come on . . . ,” like we’re kids on the playground, and I’m being terribly unreasonable.