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Chase kept Saylor between them, constantly checking their six, though Foster doubted Striker would bother having someone circle around and trail them. Not when he held the cards. Or, thought he did.
Actually reaching the top without falling to their deaths was a nice surprise. Not getting shot on the spot, another. Not that Foster had thought Striker would simply kill them the moment they appeared. The guy wasn’t naïve, and he wasn’t stupid. He’d suspect Foster would have a plan, and Striker would want to know what he was up against before he permanently eliminated anyone.
Foster checked over his shoulder before heading off. Saylor had reluctantly agreed to stay just out of sight until their plan was underway. Not that she’d liked it, but he’d reminded her she was his and Chase’s backup. That he was relying on her to have their six.
The chopper was parked in the middle of the clearing, the rotors flexing in the increasing winds. It didn’t look as if the machine was damaged, which meant Kash and Mac had likely been ambushed after they’d started toward the trail.
A lone gunman appeared once they’d reached the halfway point, his rifle pointed directly at them. He didn’t talk, just waved them on, following their progression until they disappeared around the tail end of the aircraft.
Foster stopped, his gaze immediately landing on Kash and Mac. His buddy was sitting beside Mackenzie, blood staining his face as he squinted at Foster. Kash nodded once, then nudged Mackenzie, leaning toward her to whisper something.
Mac roused enough to focus on him, and damn, she looked like death. Her skin was several shades lighter than normal, with an almost bluish tinge to it. Someone had bandaged her shoulder, though the wound was already bleeding through, a few dots of red eating through the pristine white. She pursed her lips then sat up straighter, grimacing as she cupped her elbow, fading for a moment before snapping back.
Striker walked toward him, stopping several feet away. “I’m surprised you followed my instructions, Beckett. I expected you to show up with an entire army.”
Foster crossed his arms, making a mental map of where Striker’s men were located and how far they were from the cliff, before looking at Striker. “The cops are already here, along with half my team. Not sure who you expected me to call.”
“What about Bodie Page?”
“He’s watching Deputy Hudson. Which I guess was a good call considering she’s the only cop in town not in your pocket.” Foster looked at Thompson. “Did you kill my parents or just cover it up?”
Thompson didn’t even flinch. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a disgrace to the uniform, and I’m going to enjoy watching you burn.”
Striker laughed. “That’s what I like about you honorable types. You always think there’s a way out that doesn’t end with you failing.” He took a step closer. “I know you’re both packing. On the ground.”
Foster made a show of removing his Sig then tossing it on the grass as Chase did the same.
Striker waved at his leg. “Backups, too.”
Foster pulled up his pant leg. “I didn’t bring any. Unless you want my Swiss Army knife.”
Striker cocked his head. “Remington can toss any knives he has on the ground, but you can keep yours.”
Foster kept his expression neutral. He suspected Striker assumed he was his team’s weak link. The one guy who hadn’t acquired any real-world tactical experience. Who hadn’t fought his way through hostile territory. And that one assumption would be Striker’s undoing.
Chase tossed two tactical knives in the mud, staying close as Striker nodded.
Foster stared Striker in the eyes. “We good, now?”
Voss relaxed a bit. “Just saving you from getting any wild ideas that you have a chance at executing some insane plan. As your buddy discovered, no one’s that fast when we’re already zeroed in. The drugs.”
Foster held out his hand to Chase, accepting the bag his buddy handed him before holding it up.
Striker glanced at Thompson then inched forward. “Hand it over. Nice and easy.”
Foster huffed, then tossed it a few feet in front of Striker. “You want it. Get it yourself.”
Striker glared at him. “This had better not be rigged.”
Foster simply stared at the man, sliding Kash a quick glance when Voss diverted his gaze for a moment. Praying his buddy got the message.
Kash scoured the crowd, then gave Foster a curt nod, looking as if he was readying himself to strike. Not that Foster was convinced the man would do more than face-plant on the ground, especially with his hands zip tied. But he’d give Kash the benefit of the doubt.
Striker stopped at the bag, tapping it with his boot then taking a step back as if he expected it to explode. Foster held his ground, not wavering when Striker glared at him again.
This was it. The point of no return. Either Zain and Bodie were in position and ready to strike, or this would be a short and bloody encounter.