“They turned again,” said Austin, guiding Maddox through the darkened streets. “Head west.”
I stared out the window as we whipped past Rock Springs and straight through Monterrey. It was exciting. Exciting in the sense that we’d be getting answers, yes. But also exciting to just be a part of everything.
They’re a team, I kept reminding myself. You’re gonna need to stay out of their way.
It was good advice, except that I had a stake in this too. These men in black — if that’s who we were even chasing right now — had something to do with my brother’s death. They’d left me without Connor; homeless, penniless, and with nothing to lose.
And there was something very reckless, very dangerous about that.
“Slow up,” said Austin. “They’ve stopped.”
We were in Summerlin now: a masterfully-planned community with a circular, central hub. An old ex had taken me here a few times. The downtown area was always clean and bright and bustling, but in a way very unlike the main Vegas strip. Less cheesy. More real.
“Remember,” warned Maddox. “This could be nothing. That SUV is part of the Nellis base motor pool. It could be it’s been taken out by nothing more than a couple of flyboys tonight, for a night on the town.”
“Yeah,” said Austin. “Except this particular vehicle keeps going to the same three spots, over and over. And this is one of them.”
A click from beside me told me Kane had chambered a round. His usual casual demeanor had been replaced by one a lot more frosty. He was silent but observant. Totally aware and alert.
“There.”
We were winding through a series of back alleyways when the truck suddenly slowed down. Maddox killed the lights as we rolled to a stop. Everything was quiet. You could literally hear a pin drop.
Up ahead, two vehicles were parked nose to nose. I recognized one of the big, black SUV’s from the photographs instantly. The other was a sand-colored Jeep.
“Ready?"
Austin and Kane nodded. Apparently they’d clicked open their doors before the engine had been killed, and now they exited with surgical silence. Maddox remained behind the wheel, his window open, listening.
“What are they—”
He silenced me with a finger over my lips. Straining to see, I climbed defiantly into the front seat.
“You were supposed to stay in the back!” he hissed.
I shook my head. “Fuck that.”
I felt his hand on my head, pushing me down. He kept going until all but my eyes were below the level of the dash.
“I hear voices,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“What are they sayin—”
“Do you not understand the concept of being quiet?”
I blushed foolishly, but Maddox wasn’t even looking. He was laser-focused on Kane and Austin, who were now leapfrogging between parked cars as they made their way up the avenue.
It was fascinating, watching them. They glided with practiced movements, each advancing forward with military precision. Both had their rifles drawn. Both were ready for anything.
Long, agonizing seconds ticked by. Eventually we couldn’t see anything anymore. Maddox and I sat there, ears cocked, trying to focus on the distant sounds of voices, even laughter.
All at once, the laughter stopped.
“Dallas, I—”
Maddox’s whisper was shattered by a staccato of gunfire, as everything seemed to happen at once. Light flared from rifle-barrels. There were men running, yelling. Screaming.