Montana Fire (31 page)

Max held her tight and pounded into her hard. He buried his face against her neck,
and grunted as his hot cum exploded. Her eyes shut, she let him take her to a peaceful
place where no sounds entered her brain. She’d been transported to heaven.

Only when he lifted her off his cock, did she remember where they were. Heat rushed
up her face and she looked around. Thankfully, the store was as empty as when they’d
arrived.

Max grinned as if he could read every expression on her face. “Be right back.” He
pulled off the condom then slipped on his briefs with one hand. When he jogged down
the aisle, she couldn’t believe he was in plain view of the outside world.

While she waited for him to return, she put on her bra and slipped into her shirt.
Had she really made love in the aisle of a store?

Apparently
.

Max returned quickly with a towel and wiped her clean. Seconds later they were fully
dressed. Other than Hank, no one would ever know what a marvelously mind-altering
experience had occurred in aisle three. In those few minutes, domestic terrorists
had ceased to exist. For that, she’d be eternally grateful to Max.

He retrieved a few dollars out of his pocket and handed her the money. “Why don’t
you pay for your hair dye while I wait for Trent by the door?” He lifted her chin.
“While I believe it’s safe, can you stay inside? Please?”

He acted like she was in the habit of disobeying him. “I said I would.” Besides, it
was cold outside.

*     *     *

Max needed to have his head examined. What had he been thinking having sex when he
was expecting Trent to arrive any minute? Thank God, Jamie seemed to enjoy their incredible
encounter. If their escapade took the edge off this bad situation, then it was worth
it.

He kept reminding himself he needed to keep away from her until this mess was over,
but every time a situation presented itself, he’d tossed caution to the wind.

Right before they’d made love, he’d placed his gun on a shelf at the end of the aisle
in case he’d needed it. He never would have put Jamie in real danger. It was just
his heart that might break when this was all over.

Christ. They’d never spoken of a possible future. He couldn’t even remember if she
said she liked him. The fact she trusted him, however, boded well for them.

Max never thought he’d even consider having a permanent relationship again, but with
Jamie it seemed right.

Headlights pierced the darkness, cutting off his musings, and a car turned off the
main road. It was hard to miss the red Jeep with the rack on top. It was Trent’s vehicle.
Max relaxed a bit.

He jammed his hand in his pocket, grabbed the flash drive, and stepped outside. This
stupid looking toy had caused so much harm. He’d be glad when the FBI had it. Let
them deal with these crazies.

I don’t really believe that.

Max wanted to be part of the capture. Needed to bring down these men, if only to see
the defeat in their eyes. They’d caused enough destruction.

Trent pulled in, parked next to Edith, and jumped out. “Where’s Jamie?” He jogged
up to Max.

“Inside. I want to keep her safe.” Max handed him the drive. “Take care of this. Enough
people have died.”

“What’s on it?”

When Max had called Trent, he didn’t want to say anything over the phone. Max detailed
the list of names and the needed supplies, along with a list of seat numbers. “The
items look like materials to make a bomb. It’s possible the seat number refers to
where to place the charges.” He pulled out the printed copies and handed them to Trent.

Trent stuffed the flash drive in his pocket and studied both sheets. “Christ. You
have any idea what they’re targeting?”

“No. I can think of a lot of places with seat locations, though.” Max slipped the
sheets from Trent’s fingers. “Look at this. See down here? This looks like a possible
date. And this could be a signature of the head man.”

Trent’s brows rose. “CF? Did that match any of the names on the list?” Max didn’t
like the tentative tone to his friend’s voice.

“No, though we can’t be positive it is a signature. You have someone in mind?” There
were a lot of shady people in Rock Hard. Trent would know more of them than Max would.

Trent waved a dismissive hand. “No, though it’s ironic that Chuck Forbes has the initials
CF.”

Max stilled. “You think our trusty FBI man is a double agent?”

“No. Dan asked the mayor to check if Forbes was on the up and up. The mayor called
in a few favors. The FBI vouched for their agent. To be sure, one of the crime scene
techs sent in a photo of the guy. Feds confirmed Chuck was their man. A high source
said he’s one of their best agents.”

“Good. If he’s that smart, he’ll be able to make sense of this.” Max folded the two
sheets of paper and stuffed them back in his pocket.

“I’m thinking CF could either be another man’s name or the initials of the target.”

Max never liked to make assumptions. “I agree, but which one?”

“Let’s hope Forbes can tell us.” Trent pressed a palm to Max’s shoulder. “Times a
wastin’. Need to get this back to Rock Hard. Let’s hope the Feds can do their magic.”

Trent headed back to his Jeep. Max wanted to get inside and tell Jamie the transfer
was complete. Just as he reached the door, a shuffle sounded behind him, followed
by the sound of bone meeting flesh. Max drew his weapon and spun around. Trent was
on the ground, out cold, his face bloodied. Adrenaline surged through Max.

“Trent!” Max shouted, panic ripping through him.

Keeping his eyes on the two men racing away, Max charged toward his friend. Fuck.
Max didn’t spot a getaway car, not could he hear a motor turning over. They must have
hidden their car. The man in the rear stopped, turned back around, and fired at Max.

Oh, shit.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
he front pane of the storefront shattered.

Jamie
!

Max was torn. He wanted to check on her. He needed to help Trent, but he also couldn’t
let these bastards get away. Jamie had promised him she’d hide if anything happened.
When he left her, she was on the west side of the store. Hank would see to it that
she stayed safe.

Feet pounded on the road. His police training kicked into gear.

“Stop!” Max called after them, knowing his command wouldn’t be obeyed.

Another shot fired. Max crouched down, aimed at the men who’d just tried to kill him,
and pulled the trigger. The man stumbled, grunted, and fell.

One down, one to go.

Max rose, and when he returned to Trent, his friend had come to. He lifted up on his
elbows, shaking his head, if he was trying to figure out what happened. Blood stained
his neck, and his cheek was bright red.

Max leaned over him, his heart pounding. “You okay?”

“Yes. Go,” Trent said, pain lacing his voice. He dragged a hand over his neck. When
he checked the damage, his palm was covered in blood. Fuck. “The man. He got the drive.”

“Damn.”

Trent would live, and as much as Max wanted to stay and help his friend, many lives
were at stake. Max needed to stop the thief. The man pounded his way down the road.
How far he planned to run was anyone’s guess, but no matter what, Max wouldn’t let
him get away.

If the terrorist reached his vehicle and was able to drive off, Max would never catch
him. Once the terrorist cell learned Max had killed one of their own, they’d want
retribution. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d give his life before he let anyone
near Jamie.

Dodging and weaving to lessen the chance of getting shot, Max chased after the man.
The guy slowed, turned, and lifted his weapon. He fired. A second later a deep pain
seared Max’s thigh.
No!
He stumbled, but managed to stay upright.

Don’t stop. Keep going
.

Warm blood soaked his pants, both in the front and back of his thigh, but the adrenaline
kept much of the pain at bay. The man took off again—and vanished just as quickly.
Max kept going, keeping low.

Where the hell was he? Between the quarter moon and the lights from Hank’s store,
Max could detect shadows, but not much else. Nothing moved, not even the leaves. It
was as if he’d stepped into a movie theater and someone had punched pause.

Then snow crunched. The man was on the move again. Max changed directions, heading
toward the sound. Shit. He’d so focused on locating the man that Max almost tripped
over the person he’d shot.

To make sure the criminal on the ground wouldn’t come to and starting firing, Max
took a knee and felt for the man’s pulse.
Dead
. Jesus. Max had hoped to get some information out of him—like the name of the target.
Now that wouldn’t happen.

Max stayed on his knee to conserve his energy, his hand over his wound. He scanned
the area in front of him. People didn’t disappear. The terrorist must be hiding. Waiting.

But where?

He needed to figure out his next move. Max’s leg burned, and it became harder to ignore
the throbbing pain.

Before he’d come up with a concrete plan, an engine roared to life, jacking Max’s
senses into overdrive. The sound came from about a hundred feet away. Max jumped up,
and charged toward him, trying to force the sharp ache out of his mind. With each
step his limp became more severe, and he tripped. His knees smashed to the ground.
The snow cushioned part of the fall.

Get. Up
.

For Jamie, he had to stop him.

Seconds later, the getaway vehicle bounced over the uneven ground toward the pavement.
This was it. Max’s last chance. “I want you, motherfucker.”

He rose to his feet. Putting his weight on his good leg, he kept his arm steady, inhaled,
and pulled the trigger. Glass shattered. He shot again. And again. Until he had one
bullet remaining.

The horn sounded, and the car slowed. It was as if the movie had started up again,
only this time in slow motion. The car veered to the left, hit the slippery slope,
and skidded down the embankment, heading straight toward a tree. The impact sounded
more like a thud than a crash.

Steam sizzled out of the engine, and relief helped spur Max on. This vehicle wasn’t
going anywhere, but Max had to make sure the driver wasn’t either.

Moving as fast as his body would let him, he made his way to the vehicle, his hand
on his bloodied thigh. Keeping his weapon aimed at the where the driver’s head should
be, Max yanked open the door and swallowed a groan as pain rushed up his body.

Stay awake
.

The driver’s head was on the wheel, the airbag deflated. Max’s aim had hit its mark.
The man had two bullets in his body—one at his shoulder and the other a few inches
closer to center. The man groaned. Good. Max needed him alive.

Spotting a weapon on the passenger seat, Max quickly pulled the driver from the car,
biting back the pain.

“Watch it. I’m shot, you fucker.”

“Too bad.” Max worked hard to sound gruff. He didn’t need this ass to know he’d been
shot, too.

Keeping his gun aimed at the possible terrorist, Max pushed him toward the store.
When they reached the parking lot, Trent was gone. Max let go of his prisoner, and
the man dropped to his knees. The shooter’s upper back was covered in blood. As much
as Max wanted to beat the location of the intended target out of the man, he needed
to call for help more.

For the man. For himself.

“Hank!” Max shouted using what little energy he had left. With the front door shattered,
Hank should be able to hear him.

His friend rushed outside, gun in hand. “Holy shit, man. What happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Call Sheriff Duncan. Got one man dead ‘bout a hundred feet
down the road.”

Max waved his gun and faced the man. “You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer,
stealing government property, and for the attempted murder of … me.” It didn’t matter
the flash drive came from the terrorists in the first place.