Chapter 24

chapter

twenty-four

The shooter had found them.

Sawyer ducked, pressing himself tight against the ground, the taste of chalky dirt coating his mouth.

The gunfire stopped.

Dirt and pebbles rained down around his shoulders, and then something slid by him, going fast.

"Lucy!" He reached out blindly where she had been just moments ago, fingers scrabbling against loose earth and sharp rocks. He found nothing but air.

Lucy must have fallen.

Jesus. She hadn't made a sound. Had she been shot?

Fear choked him, and he pushed himself backward, descending as quickly as he could until the slope started to level off. He straightened, and his injured knee screamed in protest with each jarring step he took. He could feel blood trickling down his shin, could smell the metallic scent of it. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was finding Lucy and making sure she was safe.

He squinted at his surroundings, willing something to move and orientate him, but it was all just static, vaguely tree-like shapes in weird colors that didn't make sense.

His fucking brain. Why wouldn't it work right, just this once?

Somewhere up the slope, Zelda whined.

"Stay there, girl," he called. Her training and instincts would be telling her to come back to him, to help him, but he didn't want her anywhere near the killer. "Stay."

He reached out, swiping his hand back and forth through the air. "Lucy?"

Something moved in his periphery. He spun toward it, but it had stopped moving again. His gut tightened with dread. The shooter, whoever they were, knew he could only see movement and was using it as camouflage.

"I know you're there."

The voice that answered him was chillingly familiar. "Course you do, Murphy. You've got a sixth sense for trouble."

Sawyer froze, blood in his veins boiling over with rage. "Grant."

There was a pause, then: "Not my real name."

"What have you done with Lucy?"

"She's here. Say hello to your boy toy, Luce."

There was short scuffle and for a moment, Lucy and Grant appeared. He had his arm locked around her neck and she was trying to fight him off. Blood covered her face. Then Grant hit her in the stomach, grabbed her around the throat, and they stopped moving, disappearing into the hazy stillness once again.

"Let her go, Grant," he said, his voice steady despite the maelstrom of terror and anger inside him. "Throw away your weapon and let her go."

"You're not really in a position to be making demands, Murphy."

Sawyer bared his teeth in a feral grin. "You'd be surprised what I'm capable of."

Grant scoffed. "What are you going to do to me ?"

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Was that… fingers? Yes. Lucy was wiggling her fingers at her side.

"Who are you?" he asked to keep Grant distracted while he tried to interrupt her hand signals.

"My name doesn't matter. I'm just a hired gun."

"Then why haven't you killed us yet?" C'mon, Luce, he urged silently. What are you trying to tell me?

She bladed her hand, pointing like a flight attendant, then made her fingers into a gun before they faded from his sight again.

"I need to know what you know first," Grant said.

Sawyer slid a step in the direction she'd indicated, and his foot nudged something. Her backpack. "I know you're a fucking coward, hiding from a blind guy behind a woman."

Grant growled. "Where is Pierce St. James?"

Sawyer froze. "What the fuck does Pierce have to do with this?"

That question seemed to piss Grant off, because the next thing Sawyer knew, there was a gun pressing into his forehead. "Don't play games with me, Murphy. I know he's in Steam Valley. Word on the street is he's involved with your little dog show. Redwood Coast Rescue. Where is he?" Grant pressed the muzzle harder into his forehead. "What has he told you?"

Sawyer dropped to his knees. The impact jarred his already aching body, but it put him closer to Lucy's pack. His hand brushed something partially buried in the dirt and his heart pounded in his chest as he realized what it was—the gun he'd given Lucy. That was what she was trying to tell him.

"I told you before when you attacked me, I don't know where Pierce is." He figured the truth was his best option for distraction as his hand closed around the gun. "I came up here looking for him, too."

"You expect me to believe that?" Grant's voice was a low growl, the pressure on his forehead relenting a little.

"It's the truth." Sawyer gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from his knee. The sleek metal of the gun nestled into his palm like an old friend, its weight comforting and familiar. He kept it hidden in the dirt as he considered his options.

He could shoot Grant, but he didn't know where Lucy was. Did he really want to run the risk of hitting her, too?

Suddenly Grant's foot crunched down on his hand, and he bit back a shout of pain. He wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction.

"You're not being as stealthy as you think you are." Grant yanked the gun from under his hand and then pressed more of his weight down on Sawyer's hand. "My employers will get what they're after, one way or another."

Sawyer gritted his teeth against the pain. "They won't get it from me."

"Then I have no use for you anymore." For a moment, Grant shifted his weight, easing the pressure on Sawyer's hand. It was a brief moment of relief that Sawyer would have savored if he wasn't suddenly aware of something else— Lucy's presence.

She was close.

"Sawyer, duck!"

His body moved on pure instinct, dropping flat to the ground as a gunshot exploded way too close to his head.

Jesus, if she hadn't told him to move…

Ears ringing, he rolled and grabbed a handful of pebbles and dirt, flinging them toward where he last saw Grant. There was a grunt of surprise, then another wild gunshot. Something heavy fell at his side. He felt around until his fingers touched cool metal—the gun Grant had taken from him.

He held it up. "Lucy!"

Lucy lunged for the gun in Sawyer's hand, getting to it milliseconds before Grant. He bared his teeth at her. His eyes were red and irritated from the dirt Sawyer had thrown at him. A small cut had opened up above his eyebrow and streamed blood down his face.

She didn't give him time to react—just shoved the gun at his chest and fired.

Nothing happened.

The gun was jammed.

Grant laughed, an ugly sound, and ripped it out of her hand, then backhanded her so hard she tumbled backwards. Her head hit the ground hard, stars exploding in her vision. Through the haze of pain and dizziness, she heard him say, "You really thought that would work?"

Something whistled through the air, followed by a sharp crack as it connected with Grant's skull. He stumbled back, releasing his grip on Lucy's ankle. Sawyer surged forward, swinging what looked like a fallen branch at Grant again. The makeshift weapon connected with force, sending Grant sprawling in the dirt.

But the bastard didn't stay down. He sprang back up, launching himself at Sawyer. They grappled for a moment before Grant landed a hard blow to Sawyer's stomach. Sawyer doubled over, dropping to one knee. Grant stood over him, swaying unsteady, the working gun back in his hand. He raised it to Sawyer's head.

No!

Pushing the nausea down, Lucy surged forward with a scream and slammed into him with all of her strength. They both tumbled to the ground, wrestling for control of the gun. It was a frantic struggle—dirt and blood mixing with sweat as they grappled.

Above them, Zelda's furious barking echoed through the valley.

And beyond that, distantly, another sound—the steady thrum of helicopter blades closing in.

Rescue was coming. They just had to hold on for a few more seconds.

With renewed strength, Lucy twisted beneath Grant, managing to get the upper hand for a split second. She slammed her hand into his face, feeling his nose crunch under the blow. He cursed, the gun slipping from his grasp and landing just out of reach.

Ignoring the blood streaming down her face from a fresh cut on her forehead, she turned and crawled towards it. Her hand closed around it just as Grant lunged for her again, catching her around her hips.

No. She was not going to be a victim again.

Every muscle screamed as she twisted and fired.

The recoil sent pain singing through her every nerve ending, but the satisfaction as Grant jerked back, clutching at his shoulder where the bullet hit him, made it worth it.

Staggering back, he fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "You bitch," he spat out.

Lucy took another shaky step back, clutching the gun in shaking hands. He looked up at her, the shadows deepening the lines on his face and making him look even more monstrous.

"Go ahead," he said hoarsely.

She swallowed hard, staring down at him with a mix of fear and disgust. Then she tightened her grip on the gun and raised it.

Grant flinched, but the shot never came.

Instead, she stumbled back and dropped to her knees next to Sawyer. He was still on the ground where Grant had left him, dry heaving into the dirt, where it looked like he'd already emptied his stomach. His face was pale under a layer of sweat and grime.

Grant made a move as if to stand, but Lucy pointed the gun back at him without hesitation. "Stay down!"

The helicopter was getting louder now, the chopping blades echoing through the valley and drowning out everything else. Lucy squinted against the wind kicked up by the propellers as a rope dropped from the sky, quickly followed by several figures zipping down a line. As the first man hit the ground, he immediately reached behind him to unclip a mean-looking Shepard with yellow eyes from his harness. The dog bounded toward them, stopping short of Lucy and growling at Grant.

Relief swept through Lucy, followed by a profound wave of exhaustion. Her legs wobbled and gave out as the men and dogs of Redwood Coast Rescue surrounded and secured Grant. She crawled over to where Sawyer has collapsed and cupped her face in his hands.

His pale eyes fluttered open, but his gaze was more unfocused than usual. He was shocky, she realized. And maybe so was she.

"Sawyer," she said, her voice breaking with relief. "We made it."

He tried to smile through the pain, but the corners of his mouth twitched with effort. "I'd...hoped to give you...a better second date."

Lucy let out a shaky laugh and leaned down to press her lips against his forehead. "This is definitely our third."

His hands covered hers. "The fourth will be better."

"Promises, promises."

"Jesus Christ, Sawyer," one of their rescuers said. He was a big, intimidating man covered in tattoos. Lucy knew his name, but it had escaped her at that moment. "Why didn't you invite us to the party sooner?"

Sawyer gave a weak chuckle. "You guys always have all the fun, Van. I thought it was my turn."

Zak Hendricks crouched down beside them. "You two all right?"

Lucy looked at him, her vision blurring slightly. "Define all right."

Zak's gaze was steady, assessing. "Still breathing?"

"Yes," she said, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Good. But I think we'll still get you checked out." He straightened and signaled Connelly over. "Sawyer's in pretty rough shape. Lucy's not much better."

Lucy felt Connelly's hands on her, checking for injuries. She mostly responded to his quiet questions and gentle prodding with nods and grunts.

Sawyer was lifted onto a stretcher, his face pinched with pain. As they carried him toward the helicopter, Lucy tried to stand up, but a wave of dizziness made her stumble.

"Easy there," Connelly said, steadying her with a firm grip around her waist. "Let someone else be the hero now."

She gave him a shaky smile but didn't reply. Her focus was on Sawyer as he was loaded into the helicopter. "Will he be okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Some rest, some painkillers, and ice for that knee, and he'll be back to his usual charming self in no time," Connelly reassured her. His gaze landed on her leg and sharpened with concern. "Jesus. Were you shot?"

"Oh." She looked down at her thigh and poked a finger at the very obvious bullet hole in her pants. "I don't feel it."

Even as she said the words, her vision dimmed. The last thing she heard was Connelly's curse, and then the world spun out of her control. She was barely aware of the hard grip catching her as she collapsed.