Page 65 of Philly
“It’s a scratch, Callie,” he said, twisting his torso to look down at her.
“It’s more than a scratch, Gabe,” she shot back, debating whether he’d need stitches.
His hand came down and wrapped under her upper arm. Gently, he pulled her up, using his other hand to bring his sweats up at the same time.
“I promise you,” he said when she stood in front of him, eye to eye. “It’s not serious. I’m not saying that to be macho or whatever, but I’ve been shot and nicked enough times to know the difference. It burns like an inferno. I will get it looked at because it might need stitches. It definitely needs a professional clean. But right now, we need to focus on the shooter.”
She took a deep breath, then another, then nodded. His eyes softened as they held hers, but a heartbeat later, he let her go and grabbed a sweatshirt.
“I guess he wasn’t out for a midnight run,” she said, pulling on a long-sleeved athletic shirt. Gabriel responded with a snort.
“It looked as if he came from the north and was heading south,” he said. “He glanced that way before he started walking toward our cabin.”
“So we head south?” she asked, reaching for the gun safe that held her weapon.
“Sound carries in this part of the world. Let’s see if we hear anything. But if we don’t, that would be my bet for which direction to go.”
“What’s south of here?” she asked, pulling out her weapon and doing a quick safety check.
“Two more cabins, but if they keep going, they’ll meet the road,” he said.
“Which winds back to the resort,” she said, sliding her gun into the slim pocket of her legging. “Or into the canyons.”
“Where are they going? We’re in the desert. They might stay hidden for a while, but…”
“The road is too visible. If they head to canyons and they’re familiar with the area, someone could stay hidden for a long time,” Callie replied. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” He arched an eyebrow at her as he tugged on his sneakers. “Fine, we’re not,” she conceded. Their shooter had used a suppressor, not something an amateur would normally have access to or care about. Whoever had come after them had a strategy. And this was no random attack. “What are they planning? Are they after just us, or?—”
“Whose cabins are past ours?” he asked as they moved to the door. Talk would carry across the open desert, so they had mere seconds to plan before leaving the safety of their cabin.
“The Horvats are right next to us,” she replied. “Oh shit.”
He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Joe is in the second.”
They were out the front door, running to his cabin seconds later. They had no reason to believe that Joe would also be a target, but she knew, as did Gabriel, that he was. And that it was all tied to his father. They pushed all the questions aside, though, as they raced toward his cabin, the last in the row.
They were forty feet away when a familiar muffledthwumpfilled the quiet night. This time, a muted grunt, not the sound of breaking glass, followed.
“He’s in the back,” Callie said as Gabriel veered off the paved path and onto the manicured desertscape.
“Fucking suppressor,” Gabriel said, anger lacing his tone. Whoever shot at Joe—at them—meant business.
They reached Joe’s cabin and, as silently as possible, they put their backs to the side wall. Inching their way toward the far end,they paused at the corner. Once they turned, they’d be looking right into Joe’s semi-enclosed patio area.
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at her. She gave him a sharp nod. Without hesitation, he rounded the corner, his weapon down, but his finger on the trigger. She covered him, her eyes scanning the vast open area behind them.
“Fuck,” Gabriel said.
She turned, catching a glimpse of the youngest Nolan lying on a chaise longue, his right hand resting on his chest. But movement to the south caught her attention. A figure gliding swiftly through the dark.
“Stay with Joe,” she said. Then, without another word, she took off toward the canyons.
35
Callie didn’t look back as she made her way toward the figure, cataloging the few details she could glean from a distance. Male, solid build, around five foot ten, and dressed all in black, including a black beanie.
Her feet hit the ground in a muted rhythm, the packed sand giving little as the grains ground against each other. She didn’t bother keeping her movements silent. There was no way to hide her pursuit. Unless her prey never bothered to look back—and had bad hearing—he’d know she followed.
