Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. “Is that Jimmy out there shooting at us...or Cale?”
Shock squeezed her heart. “B-but you said...Jimmy...”
“I never saw the shooter.” His confession was a rough rasp. “I just assumed...” He shook his head. “Never mind. We have to get out there. Gunner needs to know who he’s facing.” His gaze penned hers. “You stay low and you move fast, got it?”
She had it, all right. But she’d feel better if she had a weapon. If she had something. Her gaze flew around the room. The filing cabinets. The desk.
She swiped out with her hand, grabbing the small weapon that probably wouldn’t do her a bit of good.
Then she followed Wyatt. She stayed down. She moved fast. Just as he’d told her. Just as...
“Get in,” Wyatt ordered roughly.
They were at his patrol car. He was trying to push her into the back.
There was no gunfire. No sign of Gunner or Cale or Jimmy.
And Wyatt was sweating so much. From fear. From adrenaline. From...something more?
Her fingers were curled around the small letter opener that she’d grabbed from the desk. “You didn’t say we were going to leave Gunner.”
“I don’t see him.” His gaze darted to the left. To the right. “So the only thing we can do is go to the ranch and try to find the others. Then we’ll come back.”
“But Jimmy could get away. Cale could—”
He pushed her toward the backseat. “We don’t have time to argue, Veronica! Let’s go!”
But she hesitated. Something just felt wrong.
“Veronica!”
Cale’s voice. She started to smile then. It was going to be all right. It was—
Wyatt spun at Cale’s shout. He brought up his gun and fired.
She screamed when her brother fell back. Screamed—and shoved that letter opener into Wyatt’s shoulder. The bellow of pain was his, but she was already moving, trying to jerk his gun away. He was strong, though, far stronger than she’d realized, and he shoved her, sending her tumbling into the back of his patrol car. She lunged up in an instant.
And found herself staring down the barrel of his gun.
“Didn’t want it to be like this,” Wyatt muttered, with a shake of his head. “Not for you. I had other plans for you.”
“Wyatt?”
Another gunshot rang out. It ricocheted off the open patrol car door. Wyatt swore and dropped low. She rushed forward, but he slammed the door, sealing her inside.
There were no handles on the back door. No way to lower the windows. A wire cage separated her from the front seat.
More gunfire erupted. One bullet hit Wyatt in the shoulder. He was snarling and lifting his gun, spinning around and seeming to fire right up into the air. Then he was lunging into the front of the patrol car. Revving the car’s engine and racing away. Veronica was yelling for him to stop. But he wasn’t.
She spun back to look behind her. Cale was trying to sit up. His chest was soaked with blood and his hand was up, as if he were reaching for her.
Gunner ran up behind Cale, a gun still gripped in the agent’s hand. Gunner lifted that gun, as if he’d fire.
Then his gaze locked on hers.
Help me.
Gunner didn’t fire.