Page 13 of Outlaw Ridge: Ryker
They had no cover. Just rocks, frozen dirt, and open field. The cruiser was too far, twenty feet might as well have been a mile under fire.
Emma’s mind spun.
Who the hell was doing this? And more importantly, why now?
If this was punishment, some twisted sense of retribution for Ethan’s disappearance… then the suspect pool narrowed fast. His sister? Charlotte had hated Emma from the moment Ethan vanished. Or his lover, the woman in the photo, the one who’d sent that text that blew everything up.
But if it was revenge, why wait four years? Why now, just as everything was unraveling?
Unless this wasn’t just about Ethan at all.
The roar of an engine cut through the storm of gunfire and sleet. Emma twisted her head just enough to look back.
Hayes and Jesse were coming.
Their cruiser tore across the field, tires churning through mud and frozen gravel. The ground was rough, littered with dips and jagged rocks, and the cruiser bounced violently as it closed the distance.
Her heart clenched as the car kept coming, no hesitation, no signs of slowing.
Then Hayes cut the wheel and drove straight into the line of fire, swinging the front of the cruiser between them and the shooter. Metal groaned as the tires locked into place, the vehicle angled perfectly to shield her and Ryker.
The next shot rang out and slammed into the cruiser’s side.
Then another.
And another.
The bullets kept coming, hitting metal with hard, vicious thuds. But the cruiser held. Bullet-resistant glass. Reinforced panels. It wasn’t invincible, but it was enough.
Inside, Jesse turned, his body twisted around in the front seat. He shoved the back door open with one hand, the other still gripping his radio.
Emma didn’t wait for an invitation. She and Ryker scrambled up from the frozen ground, sprinted the few feet to the open door, and dove inside just as another round struck the rear quarter panel.
Emma landed hard against the seat, breath catching in her chest, heart still racing. Ryker slammed the door shut behind them, sealing them in.
Safe, for now. But the war outside wasn’t over.
And whoever was pulling the trigger wasn’t finished with them yet.
Hayes slammed the cruiser into gear. The gravel spun beneath the tires as he jerked the wheel hard and punched it toward the far side of the field.
“Hold on,” he barked. “I’m going after the son of a bitch.”
Emma braced herself against the door as they sped across the uneven ground. The cruiser bucked over rocks and shallow dips, the suspension groaning, sleet streaking across the windshield like icy claws.
They rounded the pump just in time to catch a figure breaking into a sprint.
“Ski mask,” Ryker said, already reaching for the door. “Bulky coat. That’s our shooter.”
The figure was fast, arms pumping hard, cutting across the back of the field toward a stand of leafless trees. The mud didn’t seem to slow them down.
Hayes slammed the brakes, and all four doors flew open.
Emma bolted out with Ryker beside her, weapon up, boots skidding across the frozen ground. Hayes and Jesse flanked left, splitting wide.
“Police,” Ryker shouted, voice carrying above the wind. “Stop! Don’t move!”
The shooter didn’t so much as glance back, and he sure as heck didn’t stop.
