Page 37 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

My hands shaking, I push back his coat and pull the pistol from his holster. The solid weight of it calms me. “Stay under cover,” he says. I look up to find his eyes shining down at me. His gaze drops to my lips. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ll be safe,” I say.

A muscle jumps in Ash’s cheek. He doesn’t like that answer. Wants me to say the words he said. But I can’t. Because I won’t stay under cover. There is something I need to do.

Ash doesn’t press me. There isn’t time. He moves to another tree and, extending his uninjured right arm, lays down fire, giving Alesana cover as he swims to us.

I pull off my sweater and let it fall, limp and heavy to the mossy ground. My fingers fumbling, I struggle with the buttons of my flannel shirt.

Peering around the tree trunk reveals Alesana almost to the shore. Beyond him, Martin is crossing the suspension bridge while Ash fires at him, his bullets pinging off the metal with tiny sparks of light.

I peel off my shirt and am down to just a sopping wet T-shirt, my jeans and boots. I start to run. My legs eat up the ground. “Angela!” Ash’s voice calls out behind me. But I’m flying, darting between the trees, my limbs coming back to life.

Ash’s footsteps pound behind me, but he won’t catch me—not with his injury. Not in this thick forest. My legs extend, arms pump, my focus lasered. I’m not letting this opportunity slip past. No fucking way.

Martin’s hair flashes in the trees ahead of me, and I dip behind a trunk. Quieting my breathing, I listen. He’s not trying to be quiet. Doesn’t expect me to stalk him. Martin expects me to flee.

I check my position. My right wrist is in line with the rear of the pistol. My pinkie, ring, and middle fingers are curled around the grip. My trigger finger lies flat against the barrel…for now.

The thumb of my support hand presses against the side of the pistol, and the fingers curl to clutch the pistol with both hands, a hair’s breadth less than as hard as I can.

A twig snaps near me and my finger finds the trigger. Martin appears between the trees, running at an angle toward where he imagines me to be. He’s looking straight ahead, moving fast, his own gun just as ready as mine.

I wait for him to get a little past me—so that he won’t see me emerge from the trees.

Keeping my head erect, my neck and shoulders neutral, I push out with my support thumb as my trigger finger eases back.

Looking through the sight, not at it, with my dominant eye, I find the back of Martin’s head. And I fire.

The sound roars in my ears in the same moment that Martin falls. Bending my elbows again, I move toward him, picking my way across the forest floor. Martin’s gun lies next to his hand and I kick it away, then prod him with my boot.

His body is still. No billowing breaths. A calmness settles over me as his blood soaks into the earth. The chattering cold from earlier is gone, replaced by a powerful heat.

The sound of an engine breaks the spell. About fifty yards to my right an SUV flashes through the trees. There is a road there. We are still on the Crown’s land. The vehicle comes to a stop and men start to pile out.

I need to find Ash.

I try to be quiet as I run back the way I came, but leaves crunch and sticks crack. The cold starts to seep in again. I see Ash in my peripheral vision at the same moment his hand wraps around my bicep and tugs me against his body.

Ash turns, forcing my front against the tree he was hiding behind, his warmth pressing against my back. My arms are pinned between me and the trunk, my gun still gripped in both hands. “Stay.” His whisper is so low it seems to come from his chest as much as the lips at my ear. “Please.”

I nod, my cheek scratching against bark. Ash levers his weight off me and puts his back against the thick trunk next to me. His injured arm is curled up, left hand resting against his chest. Ash’s right hand is empty. Where is his gun?

He lifts his chin and Alesana’s bulk emerges from a nearby tree and then disappears again—elegant, deadly, and somehow almost invisible.

A twig cracks. Someone is coming. Ash raises his right hand, fingers loose, his jaw totally relaxed. I’m staring at him, fascinated because I’ve never seen him like this—then he moves.

Ash’s hand shoots out, ripping a gun from the hand of the man holding it.

I take in a startled breath as he steps sideways and uses that same hand, now holding a pistol, to backhand our attacker.

The man slams into the trunk of the tree, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

He bounces off it, and goes back at Ash who strikes him in the throat with a savage blow.

The man’s back hits the tree this time. His body slides down it while he makes horrific choking gasping sounds.

Ash isn’t looking at him, though. He flips the gun around like a fucking gunslinger and with blood dripping off his left elbow fires once in the direction of our attackers, shifts his aim and fires again.

Shots echo around us—the forest filled with the blasts of bullets.

Then silence falls. Except for the desperate attempts at breath coming from the man slouched at the base of the tree I’m still leaning into. Staying just like Ash asked me to.

Ash turns his body fully to face the fallen man. He aims the black pistol at him. Then his cobalt gaze finds mine. Ash raises a brow. Do you want to end him?

I take in a stuttering breath and shake my head. No, thanks.

Ash fires. The man slumps, silent.