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He still approached slowly, knowing the need for caution regardless of what his eyes were telling him. He did two complete circuits around his truck before unlocking the door.
Well, that was good. It didn’t blow up.
Now, before he opened it up, he’d look for trip wires that would detonate a bomb upon entering, or any other red-flags that might be cause for alarm.
He dropped to the ground and peered under the back of his truck, looking first for the tracker which was still in place, before perusing the rest of the undercarriage.
No wires, but…
When he saw fluid dripping to the ground from locations on the side and front of his vehicle, he slid all the way under on his back, cursing when he noticed the damage to his brake-lines. Plural. This was no accidental scrape on a rock that had torn through a single rubber hose. This was sabotage, pure and simple. Both the feed to the front brakes and rear brakes had been compromised.
What the hell?
The sound of a car pulling close to his rear bumper had Mike pausing his inspection. Had the subversives returned? It sure seemed like it, since whoever it was had apparently blocked his vehicle in.
Mike scooted further forward and into the shadow of the front wheels, waiting to see if someone would come close.
A door closed, and footsteps moved in his direction.
A pair of dirty hiking boots came into view, and he watched as they moved around his vehicle, just as he’d done earlier.
When they paused, near his head, Mike didn’t hesitate. He snapped out a hand, grabbed an ankle, and yanked.
There was a grunt before the body went down, hitting the dirt on the opposite side of the front tire from where he lay.
Fuck yeah.
Now, Mike would get some answers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cripes!
Some son-of-a-biscuit baker had dropped her like a rock, and Joelle was pissed. She’d thought the murder-intending duo had left the scene, but one clearly still had to be under Mike’s truck.
Joe was going to make the person pay; wish like helium they’d taken off. Whoever it was had started her chin bleeding profusely again, so she wasn’t about to go lightly on the perp, even if it meant cuffing them and calling in the authorities. Having to explain herself to the local PD—without giving them her real name, of course—would require some finesse, but Joe made up her mind, quickly. She was done playing games. If it came down to it, she’d instruct whatever law enforcement cadre that arrived to contact the DEA’s Portland office if they wanted more information. Which they wouldn’t get. The agent in charge there would back her up as an official with them, without blowing her undercover status. She was sure of it.
Rolling quickly to her back, Joelle made ready to kick her attacker the minute they came out from under the truck.
She waited, and waited, and waited…
Joe gave a huff. Whoever was under the truck was chicken-shift to emerge, probably waiting for Joe to either take off or make the first move. Well scrub them. She’d do neither. Slowly and quietly extracting her firearm from her waistband, she sat up and placed her back against the truck next to Mike’s.
She could wait this out.
Minutes ticked by before?—
“You might as well give up.” A male voice stated from underneath the chassis. “I have back-up coming.”
Yeah. Right. Since she now knew it was Cameron talking, that meant back-up would be none other than the pouty Melanie.
Joe was petrified. Not.
“You think I’m budging?” she questioned with a snort. “Think again. My advice to you? Inch out slowly if you know what’s good for you,” she countered. “I have a weapon trained on your sorry self, and if you decide not to cooperate, I’d hate to have to explain a firearms discharge to the authorities when they arrive.”
“Wait. What?” The response held a modicum of astonishment.
Right. Because she’d just told she had a gun.