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“Well, when you put it like that…” She snorted. “Regardless, I’ve got your back.”
“We’ll stick together, go slow, and we won’t fire unless it’s life or death. This isn’t the service, and we’re not the law. This is strictly info gathering, though if we get the chance to have a chat…”
He patted down his vest as she was sure he’d done a thousand times in the service. Some kind of ritual that ensured he was fully armed and ready to wage war. Then, he rolled that shoulder one more time, shaking his right hand out before he took off. Not fast. More of a quick side-step from his truck, down the short hill then over to a group of trees.
He darted behind the thickest one, waving her in behind him. “I don’t see anything but without using our lights, he has the advantage.”
“I can’t imagine there’s much natural light for his goggles to amplify. But if we turn on the flashlights…”
Foster merely nodded as he wiped away the rain running down his face. He gave her a quick signal then was out and moving toward the riverbank. Staying low. Silent. No broken twigs, no scuffing the gravel. Just him moving over the ground like a ghost.
She’d definitely underestimated his skill level. Hadn’t considered that he’d either elected or been forced to engage in ground maneuvers. That maybe he’d seen the kind of action she’d only touched on with the TACLET units.
Sure, she’d been under fire. Had faced off against drug lords and weapons traffickers. But she’d never done anything like this.
Good, because I’d prefer a partner.
That’s what he’d said in his house that night — without hesitation, and he’d proven he trusted her to have his back twice today. There was no way she was letting him down.
Mac shadowed Foster’s movements, constantly checking their six. She wasn’t sure where he was headed, but she wasn’t going to let anyone get behind them.
Foster pulled up short, ducking behind a large stump. He motioned off to his right. “Tango. Two o’clock.”
She peeked out, spying the same figure she’d spotted from the truck. What looked disturbingly similar to the silhouette she’d encountered in Foster’s house and who fit the description Zain had given of the guy he’d seen standing in front of that white truck prior to the accidents. The perp was rummaging through some debris at the edge of the bank, stopping to check his surroundings every ten seconds.
Foster leaned in. “Stay close.”
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t getting more than a foot away when he started moving, again. Quickly closing in on the guy as Foster kept them hidden behind brush and trees. They got within twenty feet when the guy froze, tilting his head their way before he turned suddenly, a nine millimeter aimed their way. But Foster already had his flashlight directed at the man’s eyes, the bright light illuminating the fog with an eerie glow. The bastard clawed his goggles off his face, losing any advantage as they all stood there, that jerk’s weapon pointed toward the ground.
“Uh, uh.” Foster motioned to the guy’s weapon with his Sig. “Put it on the ground before I decide it’s definitely worth another trip to the ER.”
The man scowled, looking between them for a few moments as he stood there. Staring.
Foster inched closer. “Call me crazy, asshole, but I have a feeling that even if I do shoot you, you’re in no position to report it. So, either put the fucking gun down, or I’ll call your bluff.”
He snarled this time but allowed his weapon to rotate around his finger before he held it up. He made a show of bending over, when a canister bounced down the hill, each impact emitting a shrill tone until it spun to a halt between the three of them.
Mac had barely registered it was a grenade when Foster had his arms around her — was launching them behind a log. They hit the muddy ground a moment before the flash bang erupted, lights and smoke and ear-piercing wails exploding around them. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering how Foster didn’t puke when he took the brunt of the attack, shielding her with the sheer size of him.
But he had her on her feet and racing behind the perp in after what seemed like only a second or two. Though, it was more staggering than actually running but just being on her feet seemed like a medal-worthy accomplishment.
Foster kept moving, his strong grip preventing her from tripping. Their perp was already jumping into a white truck when they crested that small rise, the taillights quickly fading around the far bend.
Mac palmed her knees when Foster finally eased up, nearly tipping onto her ass before he had her braced against him, keeping her from simply collapsing in the mud. She scrubbed her hand down her face when she was finally able to straighten, shaking her head at him in awe. “How the hell are you upright and steady? I swear I’m gonna puke.”
He sighed, encouraging her to bridge more of her weight against him. “Practice.”
“You practiced getting assaulted by flash bangs?”
He stared at her, looking as if he wasn’t sure how to answer — probably how much he could answer — before sighing. “How much do you know about Flight Concepts?”
“Not nearly enough because I had no idea you trained for that. Though, it all makes sense, now. How you move like Zain and Kash and Chase. Why you’re so comfortable with weapons. I’m just not sure if I’m impressed or intimidated.”
He snorted. “Says the woman who’s faced off against cartel and mafia assholes.”
“Sure, in the air. It’s a lot creepier down here.”
He laughed. “You really are something else. And I agree. Way creepier. Which is our cue to get out of here before we push our luck and tempt fate one too many times.”