“Let’s move.” JC withdrew his service weapon and raised it shoulder level. “If that blood belongs to Ramirez, we might already be too late.”
In the year Agent Ramirez had joined Tactical Crime Division, there wasn’t a lot she’d revealed to the team about her past. She’d transferred from missing persons, but other than that, she liked to keep to herself, which he respected. Every agent on their team had secrets. The TCD worked together, trusted each other with their lives when it counted, but that didn’t mean they had to give up their entire personal histories. He imagined Ana Sofia Ramirez had one hell of a story to tell. Evan had noted the way she isolated herself from the rest of the team, insisted on them calling her by her last name, how she took on every case with a detachment he usually only saw in veteran agents who’d seen too much over the years. There was a reason behind it, a familiarity.
She’d lost someone close to her—violently—and in that regard, he and Ramirez were probably more alike than she realized. If it hadn’t been for Annalise, he never would’ve seen past all that anger, that pain that came with losing the person he cared about to circumstances he couldn’t control. Even worse, the guilt that if he’d only been strong enough, fast enough, he could’ve stopped it from happening in the first place. No matter how old he’d been at the time when his sister was taken.
Ramirez carried that same guilt now and had been investing it into saving as many lives as she could as though she was searching for some kind of redemption. He didn’t know for whom, didn’t have to, but it wasn’t any way to live. The Tactical Crime Division had been created for rapid response, but even then, it was impossible to save everyone. As long as Ramirez refused to accept that, she’d destroy everything and everyone she cared about in the process. Then again, she had to have survived whatever had happened here to get that chance. Evan tapped JC on the shoulder twice. “On your six.”
Unholstering his own weapon, he pressed his shoulders against the exterior of the cabin and put one foot in front of the other until they reached the corner. He waited until JC cleared them to move and followed close on his partner’s heels. His heart pounded loud behind his ears as they neared the large pile of wood straight ahead. Countless bullet casings peppered the snow, more blood. Someone had taken cover behind the wall of wood, and another... He traced the path of footsteps near the tree line. And caught sight of a body twenty feet ahead. “JC.”
“I see it.” They moved as one, ready for anything in case whoever’d ambushed the safe house hadn’t gotten far. Wouldn’t be the first time a killer had stuck around to soak up the aftermath of what they’d done. Weapons raised, both agents searched the area for signs of movement as they closed the distance between them and the unidentified victim. The remains burned to a crisp in the fireplace on Benning Reeves’s property, the charm linking back to one of Ramirez’s old cases, now this. The bodies were piling up, too fast to keep up with.
JC crouched beside the body, rolling the victim onto their side. Long, dark hair spilled away from a familiar face, and dread fisted a tight knot in Evan’s stomach. Blood drenched the front of her body from what looked like two bullet wounds—one in her side and one above her right breast—and a wound that’d obviously been a rushed patch job in the field in her left thigh. How she’d survived long enough to ensure Benning Reeves and his daughter had escaped, he didn’t know, but they sure as hell owed her their lives. “Ramirez. Hijo de—”
“She’s alive. I’ve got a pulse, but barely.” Pulling his bare hand from her neck, JC holstered his weapon, then ripped her coat down the middle. “We can’t move her like this, and it’ll take two hours before EMTs can get here by road.”
In a single breath Evan had his phone in his hand and pressed to his ear. The line connected directly to Director Jill Pembrook’s private cell almost instantly. A gust of frigid air worked under Evan’s jacket as JC stared up at him, his partner’s expression blank, helpless. They didn’t have a lot of time. Not if they were going to save Ramirez’s life. The line connected. “I need a chopper to the Sevierville safe house now.” He studied the lack of color in Ramirez’s face, then let his attention drift lower to her injuries. “We’ve got an agent down.”
Chapter Nine
Numb.
She couldn’t feel her fingers, toes, or anything in between, but the soft beeping from nearby said she wasn’t dead. If she was, heaven sucked. Ana struggled to open her eyes. Dim fluorescent lighting, scratchy sheets, uncomfortable bed with a remote next to her hand. Hospital. But the weight pressing into her left side didn’t fall in line with previous experiences she’d had in places like this. Raising her head, she stiffened as her chin collided with a head of soft, beautiful auburn hair.
“She didn’t want you to have to wake up alone.” That voice. His voice. The IV
