“I’m ex-military. Ex-ranger, actually,” he added, using the first specialty that came to mind, the Special Operations unit Davis had worked with until he left the military. “My friends and I, we all got dishonorably discharged for a little...incident. We’ve all got rifles and pistols, things we owned before we went in, but now? After those court-martials?” He scowled, put as much anger as he could on his face, knowing it turned him from irreverent and easygoing to threatening. “Now, I can’t legally buy guns. And for our plan to get even with the military? We need more guns.”
The guy’s gaze darted to Melinda again and he shook his head. “You really think we’re going to help you now?”
Kane shrugged, tried to insert a bit of that cocky attitude back into his persona. But it felt flat this time, like he wasn’t fully occupying his cover, like he was still partly Kane Bradshaw, FBI agent terrified of losing another partner. “No. But if your backup moves any closer—or you pull that trigger—my ranger brothers are going to put neat little holes in your forehead from about five hundred feet that way.” He pointed behind him, in the direction where there was high cover.
His contact’s gaze darted that way, and he took an instinctive step backward. Then, his lips twisted up in a snarl and Kane knew his bluff hadn’t worked.
It was all over.
Knowing it was futile didn’t stop Kane from spinning around and leaping on top of Melinda as the boom of a bullet rang out. He felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as he flattened her with his body.
Still, she was squirming under him, and as she partially shoved him off her, he realized she was holding a tiny pistol. Where she’d been hiding it, he had no idea.
He yanked the gun from his ankle holster even as he shifted, getting a look at the contact, who was lying dead on the ground. He looked beyond the guy, toward his backup, and saw they had their arms up, with agents advancing on them.
Kane looked from Melinda to the contact, then he realized the guy hadn’t been shot with a small-caliber gun. He glanced back toward high cover, where he’d bluffed and said he had backup. Apparently it hadn’t been a lie.
Rolling fully off Melinda, he lifted his arm in a half salute, half wave in the direction he knew Laura Smith must have been hiding with a rifle. She looked like someone who worked in some high-powered civilian firm, with her no-nonsense attitude and her affinity for suits. But she was the perfect proof that looks could be deceiving. He’d never seen anyone without military sniper training who could shoot a rifle like that.
Then, he stared back at his partner, who’d somehow figured out not only what he was up to but also where his meet was going down. Instead of talking it over with him, she’d taken it upon herself to just show up. Not only had she completely blown their chances of getting him inside BECA, but also she’d blown the CI he’d cultivated for years. Now the FBI would have to help Dougie relocate, maybe even disappear.
The longer he stared at Melinda, the more his anger grew, until he wasn’t even sure he could speak at all. When he could finally form words, he expected it to come out in a scream, so he was surprised when his voice was barely above a whisper.
“What have you done?”
Chapter Twelve
Leila had been sitting there, shivering in the sixty-degree weather, sopping wet and staring blankly at the river that had almost swept her under, for too long.
Davis had zip-tied her attacker’s hands and feet together, so there was no way he could go anywhere fast, then called in the attack to TCD headquarters. In turn, they’d contacted local PD to take the perp in for now, because apparently Davis’s team was out helping Kane and Melinda, who’d run into trouble in a meeting with a BECA contact.
It was no coincidence. Davis felt it in his gut, but couldn’t worry about it at the moment.
He showed his credentials to the cops who were taking in Leila’s attacker, and spoke in whispered tones to them for a few minutes about holding him until someone from his team could come in and get a statement. Then, he turned his back on them, focused on Leila.
She’d already been in shock over what he’d told her about the illegal gun sales coming out of Petrov Armor. Now, she looked completely lost.
It wasn’t even remotely close to being over. He still hadn’t told her the truth about her father.
He needed to get her out of here. The river water had been cold, not enough to send her body into shock, but enough that he was getting worried about how long she’d sat there immobile.
He knelt in front of her, waiting for her to make eye contact. She didn’t for a long moment.
Then she blinked slowly, awareness returning as she shifted her gaze to him. The dazed look disappeared, replaced by wariness and fear.
“It’s going to be okay,” he promised her softly. “We’re going to figure this out.”
His words didn’t ease the fear in her eyes, but the wariness shifted into anger. Not wanting to wait to find out if that anger was directed at him, he hooked his hands under her elbows and pulled her carefully to her feet.
“Let’s get you home.” She let him lead her out of the woods, then he had one of the responding officers give them a ride back to her house. He’d worry about their vehicles later.
Luckily, she had a keypad at her back door, so they could get in. She seemed to be moving on autopilot as he followed her inside, waved the cop off and locked the door behind them.
As the dead bolt slid into place with a click that echoed in her granite and tile kitchen, she turned toward him, looking
