Royce
“Topher’s my best friend. Can you run?” Royce asked quietly. There was no way to know how far away the shooter was and whether they would be able to spot Royce and Briar through the hedge. The rain had finally stopped and everything was sodden and dripping, but the cloud cover was heavy, making it seem later in the day than it was.
“Can I run?” Briar whispered back, managing to sound grievously offended. “Do you want to know if I can run a six-minute mile? The answer is yes.”
Royce rolled his eyes to the sky. The situation was serious but Briar was continuing to be her competitive self. He seemed to remember now that she’d been on the track team in high school. The alphabets—the ATF, FBI, etc. —were, for lack of a better word, a breeding ground for type-A personalities. It was surprising that teams actually worked together considering the climate that was fostered. He imagined Briar fit right in.
He was also trying not to think about how nice Briar had felt underneath him—and not because she’d been acting as a cushion. Her lean body wasn’t the softest—except in all the places he liked. He’d lain on top of her just long enough to draw her scent deep into his lungs and he didn’t think he’d ever forget it. She felt like home—safe and indefinably comfortable. Which was extremely unsettling.
“Topher has weapons for sure at his place, which is a half click from here, and I know he has a project car stored in his garage. But to get there without exposing ourselves, we’ll have to cut through some properties, cross at least one field, and hike along the river. It’s going to be muddy and rough terrain.”
He waited for her reply. More weapons were a good thing, so why weren’t they moving?
“What are we standing here for?”
Royce absolutely did not roll his eyes again. Without responding, he gestured forward with two fingers, then led Briar off the porch and around the right side of the house, all the while listening for noises that didn’t belong—like gunshots—and feeling grateful that they were both wearing dark clothing.
The shooter had likely set up in one of the fields across from Tor’s house but how far away was impossible to know. A decent sniper, with the right scope, could be one hundred yards away —or twice that far.
“The god damned hedge,” muttered Briar as they crouched and ran alongside it until Royce found a spot they could probably squeeze through.
It wasn’t easy, the hedge having been left to its own devices for years, and some of the branches were as thick as tree trunks. Mounds of leathery, decomposing leaves gave off a mildewy scent that tickled Royce’s nose. It was difficult enough moving quietly without having to sneeze on top of it. There were no more gunshots—which made Royce increasingly nervous. He wanted to know where the shooter was. He needed to know.
The hedge ended, thinning out as its newer growth attempted to extend further but without much success. Royce raised a hand to keep Briar from stepping out of their cover as he slowed down. He needed to assess where they were. No, he hadn’t been a foot soldier, but he’d been in combat zones. Multiple combat zones.
Briar tapped him on the shoulder. “What?” she mouthed.
Royce shook his head, not sure there was anything, but the hairs on the back of his neck were twitching. To their right was a line of trees that ran along the riverbank. To their left was the road. In front of them was an empty parcel, and in the distance, Topher’s place.
He pointed toward the river. At least going that way would let them keep to the hedge for a while. The only problem Royce had with the plan was that, if the shooter had done his homework, he likely knew they had no good escape route and the road was too exposed. But maybe whoever was shooting at them didn’t know about Topher. Maybe he thought he had them pinned down and helpless.
Was the shooting about Royce or Briar? Royce was betting on Briar. After all, he’d been back a year now, and no one had tried to kill him yet, not until Briar entered the picture.
“Are we going or what?” The woman in question muttered under her breath.
Nodding, Royce pointed to the right and once again Briar followed him.
By the time they arrived at Topher’s, they were both soaking, muddy, and freezing. The river was running high from all the rain and its mushy, mossy banks were treacherous. Royce had stepped awkwardly at one point and nearly slid down the bank, but Briar had managed to grab his shoulder and he’d been able to pull himself back up. But at least no one had shot them.
Royce had the code to Topher’s security system—as long as he hadn’t gotten paranoid and changed his code without telling Royce, or just to fuck with him. Topher had a quirky sense of humor and his security codes reflected that.
“Wait here, I’ll go around and open up, then let you in through the back door. We have to be careful not to alert the shooter we’re here.”
The withering look Briar gave him was priceless and Royce didn’t bother suppressing his grin as he jogged around to the front. Wiping mud, and probably duck crap, off his hands, Royce tapped in the numbers and was pleased when the light flashed twice.
Quickly, he made his way through the dim living room to the back of the house and let Briar inside.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to complain before he saw the gleam in her eye.
“Fuck off.”
“Get over yourself. Christ, I’m freezing.” She rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up, and brushed past him and into the kitchen. “Do you think there’s any ibuprofen around?”
He frowned. “Probably in the bathroom down the hall. Are you hurt?”
Topher’s kitchen was basic, so much so that Royce was fairly sure the appliance with the highest use was his microwave. Royce couldn’t imagine him cooking.