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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.

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.

Foster swallowed the bitter fear cresting his throat, turning to stare at his best friend. “Chase. Brother you need to keep her breathing.”

Chase grunted, hanging a second saline bag on his makeshift hook. “She’s lost at least a liter of blood. I’m doing all I can.”

“Can’t you do some kind of direct transfusion?”

“I could, if I had someone to match her blood type. She said she’s O negative.

Which would be ideal if anyone else needed blood.

But it means I need another O negative donor for her, and the last time I checked, none of us fit the bill.

And Bodie and Saylor aren’t a match, either.

” He pushed another shot of something into the IV.

“She needs to get to a hospital, Foster. Now.”

Foster clenched his jaw then looked at the helicopter. There were bullet holes in the fuselage and part of the bubble was cracked, but he didn’t see any obvious damage that would warrant not at least trying to start her up.

He nodded, gave Mac a kiss on her forehead then stood. “Bodie? Is that state trooper buddy of yours on his way?”

Bodie nodded, kicking one of the men when he looked as if he was rousing.

“He and a few of his colleagues just started hiking the trail. They should be here in about twenty. I’m sure we could head out and grab some keys — use one of their cruisers to get Mac to a hospital.

Or procure whatever Striker and Thompson have. ”

Chase grunted. “Beckett.”

Foster merely sighed. “I know. She doesn’t have that kind of time. And since the boat’s not an option…”

He darted over to the machine, doing a quick walk around before opening the rear doors. “Bodie? Are you okay holding down the fort until your friend gets here?”

“I’ll stay with him.” Saylor shifted in beside him. “I haven’t gotten a chance to shoot anyone in the ass, either.”

Bodie nodded, again. “We’re good.”

Foster walked back over to Mac and gathered her in his arms as Chase moved all the lines and meds he’d set up. “Then, get anyone else who needs medical support onboard.”

Saylor frowned. “But how is Mac gonna fly when she’s not even conscious?”

Foster stopped at the rear doors, looking at Saylor over his shoulder. “She’s not. So, saddle up, folks. This is going to be one hell of a ride.”