Author: Jaci Burton

The RV came in a few minutes later. Nate pulled up into the camp spot and cut his engine, followed right after that by several ATVs and pickup trucks. The survivalists. For a while it was chaos, loud engines, talking. Diaz lifted his thumb, and they slowly raised up and peered around the rocks and vegetation to take a look at the action.

It was the same group from last night, only this time they’d brought a few more. About twenty men, from what Jessie could count, all heavily armed.

Jessie took the camera out of her bag.

“Let me do it,” Spence whispered. “I’ve got a clear angle here.”

She handed the camera to Spence and he started filming. The truck and ATV headlights had been left on, giving them plenty of light to see everyone.

The survivalists were an unruly-looking bunch. They wore dark hats pulled low over their eyes, sported full beards—no way to even recognize faces. All of them were dressed in hiking boots, camouflage pants and jackets, no doubt so they’d blend in with the forest, all nondescript in appearance.

And those rifles the survivalists cradled were definitely not any kind you’d buy in a gun shop. Jessie was no weapons expert, but they looked like military issue. Wherever they’d gotten them, they had to have been obtained illegally. These guys were prepared for war. A shiver skittered down her spine as she thought of the possibilities. This was serious business, and she felt ill prepared to face these people with nothing more than a forty-caliber pistol. She’d wager that Rex, Nate, and the other bikers were armed, too. She was suddenly very glad to have the ATF with them.

With the comm devices in their ears, they could pick up what was being said. The survivalists approached the RV. The man who’d done most of the talking last night—George, she thought was his name—was there again.

“Are they in here?”

Rex nodded. “There’s a false bottom built in, almost like a storage room. Guns and ammo.”

George spit out a wad of chewing tobacco. “Good.”

“You got our money?” Nate asked.

“’Course we do. We’re honest businessmen. We make a deal, we stick to the terms.” George surveyed the area. “You sure you weren’t followed?”

“I’d hardly pass the test to get into your group if I were dumb enough to be tailed.”

Rex wanted to join the survivalists?

“We’ll see how smart you are,” George said, stepping forward and crouching down in front of the RV. He crawled under, remaining there for about five minutes before reappearing, wiping his hands off. “Damn genius idea to create that false bottom. Hardly noticeable.”

Nate beamed a smile. “Thanks.”

“We could use someone with your smarts in our ranks. You interested in joining the real militia?”

Rex elbowed him, and Nate stumbled, “Uh, yeah. I mean, sure. Yes, sir. I’d be real interested in joining up.”

George nodded, spit again. “We’ll have to check you out, then. You got family?”

“Ex-wife is all. She sure as hell wouldn’t miss me if I disappeared.”

“Good enough. We’ll talk about you later. Let’s get this unloaded.”

Now the action was really beginning. Jessie wondered how long the ATF would wait before moving in. She glanced over at Walt, but he was watching intently, making no sign to move in. He had a comm device strapped to his shoulder, his rifle at the ready, but he appeared relaxed, listening. Spence was filming, getting all of this on tape, which would make great evidence when they arrested all these guys and this went to court.

The bikers and survivalists pitched in to unload the arms from under the RV into the waiting pickup trucks.

Jessie tensed, pulled her weapon, waiting for the signal so they could go in and take these guys down.

As soon as the trucks were loaded, Rex and George met up in front of one of the pickups. George pulled a duffel bag from the cab of the truck and handed it to Rex.

“Two hundred fifty thousand, like we talked about. It’s all there.”

Rex nodded and accepted the bag.

“That’s it,” Walt said, then gave the signal through his communicator. “Move in, now!”

Flash grenades detonated in the clearing, to blind the survivalists and bikers. ATF burst out from all directions, ordering everyone to freeze.

Then the sound of gunfire exploded.

Jessie blew out a breath, leaped from her hiding place, and headed out at a dead run, following Diaz’s lead.

Game on.

SEVENTEEN

DIAZ LED HIS TEAM AS CONFUSION REIGNED AROUND THEM. Gunfire rang out, so loud he could barely hear his own voice as he shouted orders.

“Stay low and grab for cover!” Diaz shouted, concerned only for his team at the moment. He snapped his gaze to Crush, satisfied that Crush had a weapon of his own. “You, stay back,” he ordered. Crush nodded and took up position behind him as they moved in behind the lead row of ATF agents.

Their job wasn’t to handle the corralling and arrests, but to provide backup. They’d done their part, but now that they were knee-deep in this melee, no way was Diaz going to stand around with his thumb up his ass and just watch it all go down. Nor was he going to put his team in the line of fire. Survivalists usually didn’t surrender, which meant there was serious danger ahead. Gunfire was everywhere, ricocheting off trees, bark flying past their heads as bullets hit nearby. Diaz was thankful the ATF had brought a damn army with them.

“Stay behind these trees. Don’t enter the clearing. We’ll go in if help is needed.”

But then the unmistakable sound of bike engines drew his attention away from the battle and toward the main road.

“Do you hear that?” Spence moved in behind Diaz.

“Yeah.”

“I think our friends are trying to make a getaway.”

“Not today, they’re not.” The ATF were engaged, their big black SUVs already having moved into the camping area to block the exit.

Diaz and his team had a much better chance of catching Rex and the others. “Head back to the bikes,” Diaz said on the run. “We’re going to have to follow them. I don’t want to lose these guys.”

They hustled back to their bikes, uncovered them, and hopped on, using the GPS unit to track Rex and his guys. They cut into the woods, taking it slow but deliberate.

Just as he figured, the bikes had waded through the forest and back out onto the main road.

Goddammit, this wasn’t going to happen. They’d worked too hard to let these guys get away. He cranked the throttle and sped up, the others tucked in right behind him. They hadn’t made it far along the road before Diaz caught sight of Rex and the others.

The rain made the narrow stretch of two-lane road even more treacherous.

Diaz caught up, moved beside them, his intent to buzz past them in order to slow them down. Rex tried to slam into him but Diaz was faster, swerving around him and hitting the brakes to move back behind him. They were careening around curves so fast Rex and the others wouldn’t be able to use their guns.

When they hit a fork in the road, Rex and two of the other guys shot left, the other three right. Diaz signaled to Spence, and Spence and Crush went to the right, while Diaz and Jessie followed Rex and the other two.

The road Rex had taken was going to dead-end up ahead at the river. Despite the falling rain, Diaz spotted a wide sandbar and an upward slope peppered with grass and scrub. Nothing else. Rex took his bike up and over the edge, down the grassy hill and then started paralleling the river.

Where the hell did he think he was going? Rex’s friends followed, and so did Diaz and Jess.

Diaz spotted the bridge up ahead, knew that’s where Rex was headed. He throttled up and pushed past the two bikers, intending to cut them off before they hit the bridge. Jessie moved quickly, too, using her bike to wedge between the other two and Rex.

Rex made it to the bridge, but Jessie had managed to veer off the other two. Diaz had no choice but to follow Rex over the wooden planked bridge. He couldn’t let him get away, but he didn’t like leaving Jessie alone to deal with the other two bikers.

He had to think of the mission first. Jessie was armed. She could handle it, right?

Bullshit. He’d get to Rex later. He wasn’t leaving Jessie to deal with two bikers.

A shot rang out and he skidded in the middle of the bridge as he applied the brakes, turning his bike a hundred and eighty degrees. One bike was down on the sandbar, and in the falling rain he couldn’t make out who it was. Was it Jessie or one of the other bikers? He shot a glance to the end of the bridge, saw Rex’s tail-lights disappearing in the rain and darkness.

Shit.

You didn’t leave a team member in danger. Cardinal rule of the Wild Riders, especially when the big deal went down, and this was definitely the big deal. He was responsible for Jessie, a junior member of the team. He wasn’t going to leave her, no matter how much he wanted to drag Rex in.

He hit the throttle, heading back toward the fallen bike. It seemed to take forever to get there, like time had slowed to a crawl. He squinted through the rain, which now came down in sheets, trying to make out the bike and the fallen rider lying beside it. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded.

What if it was Jessie? What if she was shot, bleeding, hurt bad? Or worse?

Adrenaline pumping, he flew off his bike as soon as he was close enough and ran to the fallen biker. It was one of Rex’s guys, shot in the shoulder and out cold. Relief flooded him, followed immediately by confusion and renewed fear.

Where was the other biker? Where was Jessie? He scanned the area, but didn’t see a damn thing. After determining the biker’s injuries weren’t life threatening, he grabbed a set of handcuffs out of his bag, cuffed the biker’s hands behind his back, alerted the Feds to his location, the fallen biker’s status, and what was going on, then climbed back on his bike, raking his fingers through his hair.

He breathed in, out, trying to settle the panic jumbling in his gut.

Then he heard it, whipped his head around at the rumbling sound of motorcycle engines.

He grabbed his GPS and followed the signals, figuring if she was tailing one of Rex’s buddies then the signal would lead to her, and it had to be the closest one since he’d heard the bike. He maneuvered out of the sand and up the grassy embankment, locating a road in the rain-filled darkness, following that and his tracking unit. The sound of his own bike’s engine drowned out the possibility of hearing their bikes, but he concentrated on his GPS unit, determined it was going to lead him to Jess. He refused to consider any other possibility. He had to find her.

The signal pinpointed him moving in on one of the units, then showed that the bike had stopped. Diaz slowed, not wanting to tip his hand. Whoever he was tracking wasn’t moving any longer. That was either good or really bad.

He spotted a gravel pit up ahead, and that’s where the signal ended.

Shit. Definitely not good. Piles of crushed rock made great camouflage. Who knew where they could be hiding? He slowed the bike to a crawl as he rode around each hill-sized pile of gravel, searching for a bike or people. There were lights on at the crushing center, but it was closed, locks firmly attached to the steel entrance doors. He continued on, searching for any signs of the bikers or Jess. The only good thing about the rain was it made great bike tracks in the mud. He spotted a line from one of the doors—they’d probably tried to get into the factory and realized they couldn’t, and took off. He followed the bike tracks, leading his bike slowly along, keeping an ever watchful eye out for—

He was rocketed off his bike by something slamming into his left shoulder. White-hot pain knifed into him, sending him sprawling into the thick mud. Momentarily dazed, he blinked to clear the fog of pain and confusion, fighting to breathe, knowing he’d been shot but no idea how bad. He flexed his fingers on that side, relieved to know they worked. He rolled over, using his fallen bike as cover, and with his good arm reached into his pocket for his own gun. A quick scan of the area showed nothing. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch and he felt the trickle of cascading blood, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at the moment, only hope that he wouldn’t bleed hard enough to pass out.