Page 78 of Tactical Lies

Two men were outside and two inside, and while his SEAL training was indeed far superior to theirs, there was still the storm to consider.

A few seconds later he was rewarded by the sound of a voice.

“Was that a gunshot?”

“Just thunder,” the confident man replied.

“Really? I know your nickname is Cocky but come on, dude,” the other snapped irritably. “That was no thunder. Couldn’t have been. Had to be a gunshot.”

“Hey, you asked the question, so you don’t know either,” Cocky snapped back. “How the hell am I supposed to know anyway? It was supposed to be an easy job for a lot of money. Break the generator and kill the man when he came out to check. Then get the girl. This storm is ruining everything.”

Actually, it was going to save his life, Connor thought.

Two shadowy figures came into view, and he dropped his saw and focused. At this distance, with the wind and the rain, it wasn't going to be an easy shot. He had to take out both before they could return fire.

Apparently, mother nature was on his side because right at that moment, a bolt of lightning lit up the night, and he took aim, going for the man called Ridge first since Cocky seemed too arrogant to be smart, Connor fired.

Then without wasting a single second, he fired again into the oppressive darkness right where he’d seen Cocky before the lightning had disappeared blanketing them in the dark again.

He’d hit them.

Neither of them had fired back which meant they were dead or dying.

As badly as he wanted to get to the cabin, he had to confirm though. He didn’t want any nasty surprises popping back up.

Taking the saw with him in case it came in handy again, he closed the distance to where the two men were. Finding their bodies he confirmed both were deceased, then he took off at a dead run to the cabin.

I'm on my way, moonlight.

August 23rd

1:31 A.M.

“What the hell was that?” one of the men asked, a hint of panic in his tone as though he feared the storm.

“Just the storm,” the one who appeared to be the leader said in that lazy tone. He didn't seem fazed by whatever had just shaken the cabin. In fact, he’d taken off his wet shirt and tossed it carelessly onto the kitchen counter and was standing there eyeing her up like she was a piece of meat, and he was starving.

A gust of wind suddenly ripped through the cabin making her shiver as it made the wet clothes clinging to her feel like ice.

“Looks like a branch came down,” someone called out from the door.

“See, just the storm,” the leader drawled.

“Could be the guy,” another countered. “We don’t know how badly he was hit.”

Please be Connor.

Please be Connor.

Please be Connor.

Becca chanted that over and over again. Because if Connor was responsible for a branch coming down and hitting the cabin and not the storm, it meant not only was he still alive, but he couldn’t have been badly injured. Even if she was still consumed with anger toward Connor like she had been when he showed up in Cambodia, she still would have trusted him implicitly to get her out of this mess alive.

If anyone could do it, it was him.

Sitting tied to a chair, dripping wet, shaking uncontrollably, terrified of what these men were going to do to her, it finally sank in.

She trusted Connor.

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