Chapter 48

Mason crept through the undergrowth,rifle clutched tightly in his hands. He was approaching the structure from the south. Alone. The rest of the team had fanned out, planning to encircle the area then tighten the noose on Goshiro.

“He’s a hundred feet ahead of you,” Tai informed him. “Be advised. Avery’s down. He’s got his gun on her.”

Mason’s nostrils flared. He wouldn’t dwell on her terror. It was time to dive deep into machine mode. No emotions. No mistakes.

He allowed himself one indulgence a mental plea to Avery. I’m here. I got this.

And then he crept forward through the brush, senses open, footsteps silent.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead, and then with a fierce, determined set to his jaw, he popped his head up from the bushes, his eyes scanning the scene before him: Goshiro, standing over Avery, who cowered in the mud at his feet, a handgun pointed straight at her head.

The man could pull the trigger at any second. Despite his vow, Mason’s stomach churned with fear and desperation. He raised his M16, his finger hovering over the trigger. He could take the shot, but Goshiro’s finger was on the trigger.

He couldn’t risk it. If Goshiro flinched, Avery died.

“Yo, Goshiro.” He dropped his rifle and raised his hands overhead, desperate to divert the man’s attention.

Graham’s voice burst over the comlink, tinny and distant. “I’m not in position yet.”

Tai’s voice followed, equally strained. “I don’t have eyes on Paul.”

Paul was probably still in the shack, unconscious, most likely. But he couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment.

Every warrior instinct swelled within him, blocking out all emotion as he focused completely on his prey. Hands still high, he tromped through the undergrowth toward Goshiro, his voice ringing out across the clearing. “Stop!” he yelled.

Anything to buy Avery precious seconds to get away.

“Looks like this isn’t going your way,” Mason called out, his words dripping with sarcasm. “How about we talk about Plan B?”

Goshiro’s face hardened into a mask of fury, but his shooting arm didn’t tense. As long as Mason kept talking, he might just get close enough …

With Avery on the ground, watching, Mason and Goshiro locked eyes, their gazes filled with a kind of primal, animalistic fury. Over the comms, Tai and Graham’s voices crackled in his ear.

“We’re in position,” Graham announced. “The instant I have a shot, I’ll take it.”

Mason’s mind raced, trying to devise a way to warn Avery to stay down without giving away that the team was out there. But to his horror, Goshiro seemed to understand his intentions, his eyes narrowing with a kind of cruel, calculating gleam.

“Plan B doesn’t work for me, brother.” With a sudden, violent motion, he bent down and dragged Avery to her feet, clearly intending to use her as a human shield.

Mason’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t let Goshiro use Avery as a bargaining chip.

But just as he was about to lunge at Goshiro, a deafening explosion rocked the clearing.

The force of the blast knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as he rolled to the side, his ears ringing with the aftershock. For a moment, he lay there, stunned and disoriented, his mind reeling.

He forced himself up on his elbows. And then, through the haze of smoke and debris, he saw it.

The shack, or what was left of it, a twisted, mangled heap of wood and metal. Flames licked at the remains and trailed along the debris of the dock that stretched out into the water, terminating at a pile of junk engulfed in thick, black smoke.

A figure stumbled on shore through the weeds, his clothes singed and torn, his face blackened with soot and ash.

Paul.