Page 22 of Raven’s Watch (Raven’s Cliff #1)
She knew the moment he’d changed from the charming man she was quickly falling for, to the hardened warrior whose loyalty and determination seemed limitless.
This was the Foster Beckett her dad had sent on various missions. Who defied orders if it meant saving a life. Who had risked his own life so his brothers would come home. And she knew, without a doubt, he wasn’t going to simply drive past.
He rolled his right shoulder, grimacing a bit as it obviously pulled on those plates and screws he’d mentioned before he steeled his resolve. Any hint of uncertainty fading away as he turned off the ignition.
He looked over at her, tilting his head as if he was considering what to say.
If he should accept the help he knew she’d offer or find a way to insist she stayed in the truck.
That maybe he’d only trusted her to have their backs earlier because he’d been worried about Zain — had wanted to get to his buddy as quickly as possible.
Until he simply blew out another rough breath. “Do you prefer a handgun or that rifle?”
The question caught her off-guard, and she stared for a moment before she broke into a broad smile. “What are we talking for the pistol? A Sig like your buddies?”
“It’s our weapon of choice.”
“Then, I’ll stick with the Sauer rifle. I’m assuming you’ve got a forty-five in the back, and that’s a bit more kickback than I’m accustomed to. You’ll be the better shot if it comes down to that.”
“Let’s try to see that it doesn’t but…”
He was out of the truck and at the back in under five seconds. Just like before. Five more seconds, and he had a couple containers pulled to the edge of the flatbed. He rummaged through one, removing two ballistic vests along with a couple flashlights, some extra ammo and two multitools.
Foster handed her the slightly smaller of the two vests. “Put this on.”
“It’s too big.”
“Big beats nothing, though you have a point.” He grabbed another spare hoodie he had in the back. “Put this on first then the vest. It’ll take up a bit of the room. And no, this isn’t up for debate. You want to have my six, then you wear the appropriate protective gear.”
She didn’t argue, just tugged the hoodie over her head. It smelled like pine and cottonwood, and she couldn’t help but wonder how often he changed out his gear. If he still saw the world as a series of endless threats.
Which, of course he did. He’d been in the military for twenty years. That kind of training never went away.
Foster gave her a thorough once-over after she had the vest secured and the rifle in her hands. He pursed his lips again, looking as if he might change his mind before he nodded. “You sure you’re okay with this? We have no idea what we’re up against. If it’s one person or a freaking gang.”
“All the more reason to have backup.”
“Until all hell breaks loose, and you get hit.”
“You’re not going searching alone. And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s just someone looking for junk to grab.”
“Right. It’s simply a run-of-the-mill upcycler who’s out in the middle of an apocalyptic storm wearing night vision to search through a bunch of debris for some spare parts.”
“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.”
“What about the debris? That canister? Don’t you want to have a look?”
Foster glanced at the spot then back to her. “You’re exhausted and cold.”
“And yet, not dead. Come on. Ten minutes, then we’ll hop back in the truck.”
Foster huffed but nodded, covering her six as they trekked back down the hill and over to the pile where the tango had been picking through bits of metal and plastic.
Foster didn’t talk, just started rummaging through his half of the junk as she took the other side.
Her internal clock was closing in on those ten minutes when Foster inhaled, the rough breath sounding loud in the surrounding silence.
She shifted over to his side, crouching beside him. “Did you find something interesting?”
“I’ll say.” He held up part of a small black box with some frayed wires and what looked like a circuit board. “More than interesting, really.”
Mac frowned. “You’re excited because you found half of a garage door opener?”
“That’s what it looks like, but Greer’s Bronco had a built-in one. And seeing as she’s tech savvy, why would she have a manual one, too?”
She inhaled. “Wait. Do you think it’s some kind of detonator?”
“That would explain how Greer’s Bronco had enough momentum to suddenly fly off the road and roll all the way down here. Why that guy was standing out on the side. He needed to be able to activate it.”
“But if they used an explosive, why aren’t Chase and Greer dead?”
“The right explosive in the right amount... Or maybe they used the wrong amount, and it didn’t go as planned. But I guarantee this is what our mystery guy was looking for.”
“Because you might be able to lift some prints off the inside.”
“If we’re lucky.” He shoved it in his pocket, glancing over at her before doing a double take. “Crap. You’re more than just cold and wet now, even with the scrubs and the borrowed hoodies. Which means, it’s time to get you into some dry clothes.”
“Or at least, out of these wet ones.”
Foster coughed, shaking his head as he took her hand, grabbed the spent canister as they passed by then trotted back to the truck, giving her a boost inside before slipping behind the wheel again, and pulling back onto the road.
Mac buckled in, glancing at the area as it faded behind them. This was far more than some sophisticated burglars. And she had a bad feeling Foster had been right, and it was only going to get deadlier the longer they played the game.