Page 85 of The Belle and the Biker

"I've got to go, Crash. Stay put. Do not get involved in this in any way. Multiple agencies are working on this, and we'll handle it. I don't want to have to throw your ass in jail, but if you try to horn in on our operation, I'll do it in a heartbeat. We'll be in touch." And he hangs up before I can say anything else.

Asshole. Not that I expected any different from him.

Axl, Tank, and I have already agreed that even though we've turned this over to the cops, we're not going to sit this one out. This kind of thing is not only part of our mission of removing evil from the world, and it's personal.

As soon as I finish talking to the sheriff, we start getting supplies together, and a little while later, we head out on our bikes.

Once we've crossed state lines, the risky part begins. I've arranged for a connection of mine to meet us near Swampy Bottom County with two M2010-enhanced sniper rifles. If we're caught with them, we're in deep trouble.

We stash our bikes at the home of a biker friend of Tank's, and the friend drops us off by the roadside in Swampy Bottom County, where we hike into the woods. Between the twelve-pound rifles, the ammo, and the gear we're packing, we're pouring sweat by the time we reach our location, which is a mountainous overlook with a perfect view of the parking lot where the trap has been set.

It's a half mile away, and that's okay. The M2010s have a range of up to three-quarters of a mile, and Axl and I are both more than capable.

"Jesus, these bastards are heavy," I groan as I set my bag down.

"You're getting soft," Tank, who is not carrying a sniper rifle, observes drily.

I shoot him a dirty look. "Want to carry one?"

"No thanks. I'm good." His own backpack is heavy enough, with food, gear, and spare ammo for us.

That night, we eat cold food because we don't want to start a campfire. Too much risk of the smoke being seen.

In the morning, we shuck our clothes and put on camo gear. Then Axl and I apply camo paint to each other's faces.

Axl barks out a laugh. "Didn't expect to be wearing this shit again."

"It sure looks purty." Tank grins, baring big white teeth.

Axl scowls. "If you tell me I've got a real purty mouth, I'm going to have to rethink bringing you along."

And then, we hike the short distance to the overlook and settle in to watch the warehouse and the road approaching it in both directions through binoculars and our scopes. Tank, Axl, and I spell each other.

The police snipers and SWAT team arrive early and enter the warehouse. About half a dozen officers are stationed in the woods on either side of the warehouse.

I know the cops will send a decoy car in Savannah's place, which will be bulletproof. They'll have a police officer, and she'll be wearing body armor.

The hours drag by. We stay silent, chewing on protein bars, sipping water from our canteens, and sweating in our camo. Feels all too familiar, like being in Afghanistan again, although considerably cooler.

"Five minutes," I murmur to Axl.

He replies with a barely perceptible nod. "I know."

I don't know what we'll do if he doesn't show…and I don't think he will. I'm afraid this has all been for nothing, and with Savannah not speaking to me, how can I keep her safe? If I could see her face to face, I'd beg for her forgiveness and vow never to keep secrets from her again.

Three minutes. But I think it in my head. I don't say it out loud. Axl already knows.

We haven't seen a car go by in maybe twenty minutes. This is a very rural part of the county, with minimal traffic.

Fuck. It's not going to happen. Damn, damn, damn…

"Maybe that one," Tank says. He's been watching the west, Axl's been watching the warehouse, and I'm watching the east.

Tank points at a small, blue Nissan G-TR. That's a car that can accelerate quickly, which makes it a good getaway car. It's also not something you'd see out here too often. Pickup trucks and SUVs are more common. "Good catch."

The car pulls over to the side of the road a short distance from the warehouse.

Looking through my scope, I watch the driver. He's wearing a cap and sunglasses and hiding his identity. He's fumbling with something that I can't see. Everything points to him being the shooter. Why else would he be out here in the middle of nowhere, at the exact time of the rendezvous, in this ridiculous little sporty car, obscuring his facial features?

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