Exit Strategy (24 page)

Ace didn’t look too happy, but he nodded.

“I guess we’ll have to. Thanks buddy. I knew I could count on you.”

“Yep. Just hold out until dawn. We’ll be there.”

The line clicked. “Now what?” Mason asked.

“Now, I shorten that list of mine. By two.”

Mason dove at Ace’s knife arm, yanking it away from Sabrina’s neck just as Ace got off a shot. It slammed into Mason’s Kevlar, stealing his breath. Sabrina dropped underneath Ace’s arm and tried to get away but he grabbed for her. Mason rolled toward him to grab his gun arm but Sabrina got in the way by accident.

The three of them became a flurry of arms and legs. Another shot went off, slamming into the wall. The knife skittered across the floor. Mason, still trying to catch his breath from the gunshot to his vest, slammed his fist down on Ace’s gun arm. The gun flew through the air and hit the wall, then slid back toward him.

Mason lunged for the gun and brought it up just as the door slammed open and Ace ran outside. Mason ran to Sabrina, who was sitting on the floor, shoving her hair out of her face, breathing hard.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine, yes, I’m fine. Go.”

He ran to the door and looked outside. Ace was gone. But way down at the bottom of the hill, just over the next rise, a handful of men were running toward the cavern, probably alerted by the gunshot. As he watched, they disappeared because they were blocked by the last hilltop.

“We have to get out of here. Now.” He turned around, but Sabrina was already at his side holding his crossbow and quiver of arrows. “Where—­”

“They were behind the door. I guess Stryker brought them in when they put you in here.”

He handed her Ace’s gun and took the bow and arrows. “I didn’t see where Ace went, but Stryker’s men are coming up the ridge. We’ll have to make a run for the trees to our right and hope we make cover before his men top the next rise and see us.”

“We just can’t catch a break, can we?” she grumbled

“You’re alive,” he said, as he slid Ace’s knife into his boot to replace his own. “That’s the best break I could have hoped for.” He gave her a fierce kiss. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Nineteen

Day Five—­6:45 a.m.

S
abrina lay on her belly behind a fallen, rotten log, clutching the pistol that Mason had taken from Ace last night. Mason lay to her right, holding a Glock that he’d taken from one of Stryker’s men after catching him trying to sneak up on the two of them. With his crossbow at his elbow, and his quiver of extra arrows on his back, Mason aimed his gun in the same direction Sabrina was pointing hers, at the woods down the hill.

It had been one of the longest nights of Sabrina’s life, but they’d both survived, which was saying something. Now, if Ramsey and the others would just get here before Stryker figured out where she and Mason were currently hiding, they just might survive the day.

The sun was just starting to come up, its rays lightening the long, dark night into gray, and finally to a beautiful, soft blue that would have been gorgeous to look at any other time. But right now Sabrina was more focused on watching the trees for any signs of Stryker or his men. Or Ace.

“It’s a shame we didn’t think to look for Ace’s phone before we left the cavern,” she said. “We could have warned Buchanan that Ace is gunning for him, that the call was a trick.”

“No need to warn him. He already knows.”

“What? How?”

“Because of what I said on the phone. I acted like we were longtime friends and he’d helped me out of a few scrapes.”

“You aren’t friends?”

“I met him the same night I met you. He realized something was up. I’m sure that he planned for it.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he said they were in the panhandle picking up Logan Richards, and that they couldn’t make it until sunrise. Ramsey told me yesterday that Logan was already with them. They didn’t have to go to Florida to get him.”

She lowered her gun and stared at him. “Then where are they?”

“My guess is they reached Asheville several hours ago and have been working their way toward us in the dark, one thug at a time. They should be able to pinpoint our exact GPS location, as long as they’re tracking us. We’ll probably see them soon.”

“Tracking?”

He tapped his watch. “It’s a multipurpose unit, and waterproof, thankfully, with a GPS tracker. Ramsey has the frequency.”

“It would have been nice if you’d shared all of this with me last night,” she continued. “I’ve been worried that Buchanan was stepping into an ambush and we couldn’t warn him.”

“He
is
stepping into an ambush. Ace is out there, somewhere, gunning for him. But at least Buchanan knows to be on alert, even if he doesn’t realize that it’s Ace, specifically, who’s after him.”

A loud boom sounded in the distance.

“Wait. Was that a . . . mortar?” Sabrina asked.

Mason slowly nodded. “Sounded like it to me.”

She glanced at her nine-­millimeter and shook her head. “We need to find more of Stryker’s guys and take their guns and ammo to give us half a chance. Come on.” She pushed up from the ground, ready to hop over the log and run to the woods, but Mason pulled her back down.

“Hold on, little storm trooper. I don’t think Stryker’s the one with artillery.”

“Really,
Skywalker
? What makes you say that?”

He arched a brow. “You get points for getting the
Star Wars
reference. But you went negative calling me Skywalker.”

“My bad. I should’ve called you Chewie, with all that wild hair hanging to your shoulders.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll pay for that, my pretty.”

“Nuh, uh. You can’t switch metaphors in the middle like that. It’s against the rules.”

His answering laughter lightened her spirits like nothing else could have done. It felt good being silly, as if this were a normal day, even if only for a moment.

Something white flashed down the hill. She tensed and squinted, trying to see what it was. “Um, Mason? Is that a . . . white flag? Is Stryker
surrendering
?”

He shook his head. “I forgot how blind you were. That’s not Stryker. It’s Ramsey. He’s waving his
T-shirt on a stick so we don’t shoot him.” He put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle.

Sabrina hated not being able to see clearly. It certainly made defending herself challenging when she wasn’t sure what she was shooting at in the distance. Right now she’d trade her trust fund for the spare pair of glasses in her desk drawer back home. “How do you know it’s Ramsey?”

“Because Ram eats and breathes NASCAR. He’s got the number eighty-­eight painted on the shirt.”

“Eighty-­eight?”

He pressed his hand over his heart and gave her an incredulous look as if she’d just insulted him and everyone in his family tree. “You don’t know Junior’s number?”

“Sorry? Who?”

He slowly shook his head. “When Ram gets here, don’t mention that you didn’t realize number eighty-­eight is Dale Earnhardt Junior’s number. He may never speak to you again.”

She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Will he forgive me if I call him Han Solo?”

“Probably. But
I
won’t.”

She laughed and watched Ramsey running toward them up the hill. As he neared, she realized he was only wearing jeans and a Kevlar vest with the number eighty-­eight in white letters so big that she could see them even without her glasses. And since he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all, when he got closer she got an excellent glimpse of sculpted biceps and a gorgeous golden tan.

“Close your mouth,” Mason snapped. “You’re drooling.”

“Just enjoying the view.”

He gave her an annoyed look. When Ramsey reached them, he hopped over the fallen log and slid into position beside Mason, aiming his pistol down the hill as if they’d planned this rendezvous all along.

“Glad to see me?” Ramsey asked.

“That depends. Got any extra ammo? Forty caliber for mine, nine mill for Sabrina.”

He took a magazine out of his pocket and handed it to Mason. “Nine millimeter for the lady.”

Mason handed it to Sabrina.

She leaned past him and shook the magazine in the air. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“You can put your shirt back on now,” Mason reminded his friend.

Ramsey chuckled. “It’s shirts and skins today. Only way to make sure we don’t kill each other with all those annoying mercenaries running around in the woods. Hard to tell us apart otherwise.” He leaned past Mason and waved at Sabrina. “Miss Hightower. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Ramsey Tate.”

She reached in front of Mason to shake Ramsey’s hand. Mason chose that moment to edge his gun higher, pushing her hand away.

“What took you so long to bring the cavalry?” Mason asked, as if he hadn’t just intentionally prevented her from shaking Ramsey’s hand.

Ramsey didn’t look concerned about Mason’s bad manners. “It took a while to drive here and then we had to hunker down through the darkest hours because we were worried we’d lose your trail.”

“What’s the sitrep? Who brought the mortar?”

Ramsey laughed. “Logan Richards, one of the most serious guys I’ve met, until he teams up with his best friend, Pierce Buchanan, and plays war games. He’s having the time of his life down there. Our guys are coming up behind Stryker and his men, trying to work their way toward us in a flanking maneuver.”

“Who exactly is this Richards guy?” Sabrina asked.

More gunshots sounded, still far away, but nowhere near as loud as the mortar. The “cavalry” must be exchanging fire with Stryker’s men.

“He’s the chief of police in a little Podunk town in the Florida panhandle. He was helping the Buchanans find their missing brother and decided to come with us to help you two out. Used his contacts to convince some retired police guy here in Asheville to loan us a few goodies from his surplus military equipment collection, no questions asked.”

“Handy friend to have,” Sabrina said, even though she was amazed that someone in law enforcement would be told anything about EXIT or would want to involve himself in the dangerous craziness that had become her world.

Another shot sounded, closer than the others.

“How many are with you?” Mason asked, scanning the woods, all signs of frivolity gone as the sounds of fighting got closer.

Ramsey became more focused too. “Besides me and Logan, there’s Devlin and his brother Pierce.”

“What’s Pierce’s background?” Mason asked.

“FBI. Used to hunt serial killers.”

Sabrina’s spirits plummeted. “Only four? That’s six total, against how many?”

“We managed to pick off a few last night. I figure maybe twenty more are lying in wait. Those aren’t bad odds, ma’am, considering that we do this kind of stuff for a living and most of those guys are crackhead criminals. It’ll be all right.”

“Ace is out here, somewhere,” Mason said. “He came up here on his own, not with Stryker. I imagine he brought plenty of firepower and stashed it somewhere. And Buchanan is his favorite target. You’d better warn him.”

“I really hate that guy.” Ramsey pulled out a phone to call Buchanan.

“Trust me. I hate him more,” Mason gritted out.

“It’s worse than that,” Sabrina said, remembering what Ace had told her in the cavern. “Last night Ace said he had something ‘special’ planned for Buchanan. I have a feeling it’s really bad.”

Ramsey nodded and relayed her information over the phone, then ended the call. “They’re in position. Things are about to get interesting.”

Mason leaned over and whispered something to Ramsey, who didn’t look like he was happy with whatever was being said. After a heated exchange, Ramsey appeared to give in.

“Don’t forget,” Ramsey said. “We’re skins.”

Mason eased up and pulled his shirt off over his head, leaving him in his Kevlar. Sabrina wasn’t sure why she’d even glanced at Ramsey’s biceps. He certainly didn’t make her mouth water like the sight of all those muscles on Mason. The man was a living work of art that would have made the masters drool with envy.

“What about me?” Sabrina asked. “Am I supposed to run around in my bra?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ramsey offered.

Mason shoved him, hard. “Our guys know you’re out here. They’ll know not to shoot any women.”

“Gee, that’s comforting. I hope they can tell I’m a woman from a distance.”

He raked her with a steamy glance. “Trust me,” he said, keeping his voice low and intimate. “They can tell.”

Her face warmed. She watched the play of sunlight over his golden skin and didn’t even try to hide her interest. What would have been the point? If she was going to die in the next few minutes, she didn’t want to die wishing she’d looked her fill. She sighed, remembering the last time they’d been together.

“Eyes to the front, Rina.”

“Why?” she asked. “You keep telling me how blind I am.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, his mouth lingering against hers, making her toes curl. He groaned deep in his throat before pulling back.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered.

“You’re amazing.”

He smiled and focused on the tree line. Sporadic gunfire broke out every few minutes, though not as much as Sabrina would have expected based on the number of men Stryker supposedly had.

“How do we know when to leave our position?” She kept her gun steady on the trees, hoping she’d get a chance soon to join the fray. Hiding behind a log while others risked their lives for her totally sucked.

“We wait for the signal,” Ramsey said.

“What signal?”

“You’ll know it when you hear it.”

A few minutes later, a loud boom made Sabrina start.

“And that would be the signal,” Ramsey added.

Mason suddenly leaped over the log and ran toward the trees, his pistol aimed in front of him, his crossbow and arrows on his back.

“Wait.” Sabrina started to jump up.

Something cold and hard clamped around her wrist, pulling her up short. “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t let you do that.”

She blinked in surprise at the handcuffs on her right wrist. They dangled from a small chain that led to another handcuff around Ramsey’s left wrist. She jerked the chain, tugging on Ramsey’s arm. “You’re clever, and fast. I’ll give you that. But if you don’t unlock those cuffs right now you’re going to regret it. I promise you that.”

He dipped his head as if he were a cowboy tipping his hat, except that he wasn’t wearing one. “I imagine you can make good on that promise, but keep in mind I’m just following orders. Mason doesn’t want you in the middle of a gun battle. And if he’s worrying about protecting you the whole time he’s out there, it’ll just distract him.”

“If he’s really that worried about me, why didn’t he stay with me while you went with the others?”

“I asked him the same thing. He feels it’s his duty to put his life on the line since everyone else is risking their lives.”

“I couldn’t agree more. And that’s precisely why
I
should be out there fighting.” She jangled the chain between them. “Take these off, Ramsey. It’s not right for me to sit and do nothing. I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it.”

“Sorry. I really am. But I’m more worried about what Mason would do to me if I let you go than what you’ll do to me if I don’t. Like it or not, we’re stuck together until this is over.”

M
A
SON STEADIED HIS
crossbow and squeezed the trigger. The arrow zipped through the trees in a beautiful, straight line, slamming into his target. The man screamed and fell to the ground. In spite of the arrow embedded in his back, he twisted around, bringing up his gun. But Mason had already notched another arrow. He let it fly. His aim was true. The gun dropped from the man’s lifeless hand.

A twig snapped behind him. He whirled around, raising his pistol.

“Hold up, Mason,” a voice called out as a man ducked behind a tree. “It’s Devlin.”

Mason lowered his gun. “Next time announce yourself
before
you sneak up on me.”

Buchanan stepped from behind the tree and strode over to him. “I was about to call out when you drew your gun.” He nodded toward the dead man, the black and yellow feathers on the haft of the arrow ruffling in the breeze. “Good shot. I always wanted to learn to use one of those things.”