Page 82 of Tactical Lies

The shot had hit him in the neck, and he’d bled out quickly. Who had fired the bullet?

Becca? If she had, how had she gotten her hands on a weapon?

The missing man? Had he shot his teammate and gone rogue?

Was that why Becca wasn't there now?

Shoving to his feet, Connor paced toward the stairs. He couldn’t hear any sounds to indicate that someone was up there, but he intended to check. If they had fled out into the storm what did that mean? Where were they?

What the hell had gone on in this room?

Just as he passed the table, something caught his attention. A crack of lightning lit up the world outside, and some light filtered into the cabin. It illuminated the table, and he caught sight of something shimmering on the smooth wood.

It looked like something wet.

Blood.

There was a puddle of blood on the table.

Whose blood?

Becca’s?

It was clear she’d been in the chair at some point, the men wouldn’t have tied up one of their group, that made no sense. So she’d been the one in the chair and yet someone had cut her free. Why?

His gaze landed on the sweater.

It was soaked and lying in a puddle of water. He couldn’t see Becca going out of her way to ask to take it off. She faced bigger problems than sitting in a wet sweater, and even if she had taken it off, her T-shirt and shorts would have been wet anyway.

Someone had taken it off her.

To rape her.

There was no other option.

It was the only thing that made sense, and he already knew what the men sent here had planned.

So one of the men had cut her free from her bonds with the intent of raping her only somehow she must have gotten away from him and gotten her hands on the weapon. She had to have been the one to shoot the other man because, otherwise, the two would have overpowered her together and she’d still be there.

She must have gotten another shot off as well, hit the man who’d been going to rape her. It had to be his blood on the table. With both out of commission, she must have taken her chance and run.

Out into the storm.

Only the second man wasn't dead.

And he wasn't in the cabin.

Connor’s gaze shifted to the open front door. The other man must be out there hunting her, injured but still able to move, and now with a grudge against her.

Did Becca know she wasn't alone out there?

Did she know she was prey being hunted?

Locating the flashlight, Connor switched it off and pocketed it. If the man came back to the cabin, he didn't want to give him any advantage, and if he found Becca and she was hurt, he wanted to be able to attend to her.

Then he took off back into the storm.

It hadn't abated, if anything, it seemed to somehow be increasing in intensity. The wind was so strong even he was struggling to make progress against it, he couldn’t imagine how much harder it was for Becca, who was not only so much smaller than him but had a prosthetic that would give her another disadvantage.

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