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Striker stared at Foster, then grabbed the bag. He held it up, checking the bottom before smirking. “You open it.”
“It’s not rigged.”
Striker snapped his fingers, and Thompson pointed his gun at Kash and Mac. “Then, you won’t mind opening the damn bag.”
“Fine, just everyone relax.” Foster walked over, lowered the zipper then spread the sides apart. “Do I have to read all the research to you, too?”
Striker gave him a shove. “I doubt you’ll think this is funny when it’s all said and done.” He grabbed a bottle, opened it then popped one of the pills, shivering in response as he closed his eyes. It took him a moment to snap back, his pupils already looking slightly dilated.
He rummaged around in the sack before frowning as he pulled out a metal cylinder. “What the hell is this, Beckett?”
“Carrington’s research.” Foster held up one hand. “Don’t look at me. That’s how we found it. There’s a thumb drive in the bottom, too.”
Striker scoffed. “No fucking way I’m opening this.”
Foster covered the few short strides separating them. “You realize if I put an explosive inside, it’ll kill me and Chase, too, right?” He pried off the cap, holding the canister close to his chest. “Still breathing, Voss.”
Striker waved his fingers at him. “Show me what’s inside.”
“Sure thing.”
Foster tilted it toward Voss, waiting until he’d finally inched close enough to peer inside before slamming it against his head. The strike caught Voss in the face, knocking him back as Foster lunged at the man, grabbing his rifle and smashing it into his head just as shots echoed through the clearing, two of Striker’s men dropping a second later.
That got everyone running and yelling, bursts of gunfire spraying across the area — one catching Foster in the arm. Chase managed to toss out the mini smoke grenade he’d smuggled in as Bodie and Zain appeared out of the mist like wraiths moving through the ranks.
But Foster was laser focused, using his hold on Striker’s weapon to wrap the strap around the bastard’s neck as he pulled up and back. Striker’s feet lifted off the ground for a moment before he managed to palm his knife and cut the strap.
The resulting snap sent them both tumbling as more bullets whizzed past. Foster scrambled to his feet, hoping to get off a burst of gunfire, but Striker was already on him, brandishing his Kabar in long, arcing strokes.
Foster used the weapon to block the strikes, missing high when the blade sliced a line across his ribs. But the hit brought Voss in close enough Foster countered with a hard jab to his face, the resulting impact knocking Striker off balance.
That was all the advantage Foster needed.
A step and a turn, and he had Striker within reach — the guy’s right side completely exposed. A lunge and a kick, and the man’s knee cracked beneath Foster’s boot, dropping him onto the mud. Another pivot and a hard swing, and the bastard was on the ground, blood pouring from his nose, his leg bent at an unusual angle.
Not that Foster had time to celebrate when Thompson materialized out of the rain and smoke, his service weapon aimed Foster’s way. Foster dove to one side when Thompson fired, the second shot grazing a groove across his thigh. He rolled to his feet with the rifle zeroed in on the sheriff when Nyx bounded out of the mist. The canine jumped, all eighty pounds colliding with Thompson in a brutal attack, the dog locking its jaws around Thompson’s arm, then dragging him backwards. Kash appeared a moment later, knocking Thompson out with a firm boot to the head.
His buddy leaned over, palmed his knees as he teetered left and right then tripped onto his ass. Foster did a quick sweep of the clearing, wishing he could see more than a few feet in front of him, before rushing over to Kash. Foster took a moment to cinch Thompson’s handcuffs around his wrists, using a set of zip ties to secure Striker, then bodily lifted Kash to his feet.
Kash mumbled something about not being dead, yet, but he didn’t resist as Foster braced most of his weight before slowly limping back toward the chopper. Zain and Bodie had anyone still breathing hogtied at the edge of the clearing as Chase hovered over Mac.
Kash shoved him off, motioning toward Mackenzie. “Go. I’m good.”
Foster shook his head, holding onto Kash until Saylor darted over and took his place. Then he was racing toward Chase and dropping to his knees beside him. Praying he wasn’t too late.
Mac blinked a few times, grinning weakly at him as she touched his hand. “Not fair. I didn’t get to shoot Striker in the ass.”
He laughed, lifting her hand then kissing the back of it. “That can still be arranged.”
She scoffed, inhaling when Chase jabbed something in her arm. “Not as much fun when he’s unconscious.”
“Then, we’ll wait until he wakes up.” He leaned in close. “Pretty sure I told you not to get shot.”
“No, you said to be…”
Foster squeezed her hand when she started to fade. “Safe. Which is the exact opposite of getting shot.”
She barely responded, her eyes drifting closed.