Page 122 of Luck of the Devil

I saw his body tense, but then he said, “I’ve tossed my gun away, so why don’t you come out here so we can talk face to face. Or better yet, you can help me up the hill.”

“I think I’m fine where I am,” I said. I had no plans to let his partner shoot me. “But let’s say I agreed to go with you, where would we be going?”

“You’ve made someone nervous,” he said, sounding uncertain about sharing information, but he was putting more pressure on his wound.

“That much is obvious,” I said. “Who did I make nervous?”

He looked up the hill, as though looking for help from his partner, then turned back to face the car. “Fine,” the guy said, “but if I tell you, you have to help me up the hill.”

“Agreed.”

Before he had a chance to speak, a rifle crack split the night air, a flash coming from the top of the hill. The injured man’s head snapped back, and he slumped sideways.

“Fuck,” I grunted, seeing a dark figure where the flash had come from before it streaked to my left.

That confirmed he had a partner. And that he was ruthless.

Our car wasn’t perfectly parallel to the road, and I was worried if he went far enough, he might see me at the back of the car. I scooted more toward the center, then nearly jumped out of my skin when James’s head appeared in the back passenger window like a concussed jack-in-the-box.

“That didn’t go well,” he whispered.

“What the fuck, James?” I grunted under my breath. “I could have shot you.”

I drew a breath to get a hold of myself. My heart had already been racing, but now it was going double time. “Glad to see you’re getting your wits back,” I said sarcastically.

“Right now, I’m seeing two of you, so I doubt I could hit the broadside of a barn. Hell, I’m not sure which of you is real, but I’m not sitting in this car and waitin’ for the jackass at the top of the hill to come down and finish us off.”

The door crept open, and he tried to slip out with his usual predatory grace. Instead, he misjudged the distance to the ground and half-fell, half stumbled out of the car, hitting the ground with a thud that had to further rattle his already injured head. “Fuck.”

“I don’t have any cell service so I can’t call for help.”

He leaned the back of his head against the car, closing his eyes. “Get my sat phone out of the back.”

“You have a sat phone?” I hissed, torn between relief and the urge to smack his concussed head. “That would have been helpful information about five minutes ago.”

He leaned his head against the side panel of the passenger door and closed his eyes. “Never know when you might need one. It’s behind the driver’s seat.”

I gave him a worried look. “How bad’s your head?”

“I’ve been worse,” he said, but the tight lines around his eyes and the way he kept blinking slowly suggested his “worse” had probably involved life support.

There was nothing I could do about his concussion at the moment, other than getting help. I swept my gaze across the hilltop one more time. Still no movement. Moving quickly, I opened the back door and leaned across the floor, feeling for the sat phone. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so when my hand connected with a plastic rectangular box, I grabbed it and backed out of the car. “This it?”

He pried his eyes open into slits. “Yep.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else other than your head?” I asked, trying to hide my worry. James struck me as the type who’d walk around with a compound fracture of his femur before admitting weakness, which meant if he was showing discomfort at all, he was in serious pain.

“Doesn’t really matter right now,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Call Carter.”

I didn’t argue about not calling 911. If we kept law enforcement out of this, then maybe we could still stay under the radar.

Who was I kidding? The fact that a professional sniper had just executed our only lead meant we were definitely targets. But calling the cops would mean handing over evidence, answering questions, and watching our investigation disappear into bureaucratic limbo. They’d take over and we’d be forced to stand back and let them.

I wasn’t handing this over to anyone. Not when we were this close to answers about my mother’s murder. And not when someone was willing to kill to keep those answers buried.

I was handling this myself. Consequences be damned.

I opened the phone case, and James told me how to turn it on, then how to call Carter with his preprogrammed speed dial.