She veered right, cutting through the camp’s machine area—rusted bulldozers, a dented pickup with a shattered windshield, a pile of old tires. The scent of rust and oil hung thick in the air.
Beyond that, a great wall of forest would hide Mars forever. Or at least until they could track him down at another camp.
Or he committed another felony.
Enough.
“Stop! There’s nowhere to go!”
Mars glanced back, turned, and she dove behind a dented station wagon as a shot pinged against the metal.
One shot to go, if he’d had one in the chamber and two in the magazine.
After a second, she popped her head up and spotted him again fleeing, his head turning to scan for pursuit.
She, too, took off. Her boots slipped on a frozen oil slick, her hand catching the station wagon’s back hatch.
He had nearly reached the forest.
She raised her Glock. “Mars, stop!”
He spun, his shotgun swinging up.
And then he smiled. Or maybe it was a snarl—hard to tell from here. “Is that you, Harley Tatum? Ready for round two?”
The recognition jerked her, just a second.
He pulled the trigger.
The shotgun boomed.
She should have ducked, or fell, but shock stilled her. The buckshot slammed into her chest, the impact a sledgehammer against her vest.
She flew backward, her body hitting the wagon, crashing to the earth.
Her breath whooshed out, the pain exploding out of her.
She lay in the snow, unmoving, dazed, the world spinning.
Breathe.But her entire body had seized.
Her vision swam, the sunlight fracturing in her eyes. Her Glock fell away, the acrid taste of blood filled her mouth.
Breathe!
Her heart pounded, one painful punch at a time, so she was still alive, but—
“Harley!”
Jericho’s voice burst from behind her, cluttered with more shouting and feet pounding on the snow.
“Oh my! Harley!” He landed beside her, arching over her.
And now, finally, she wheezed in a breath. Hard and fast and her entire body convulsed with fire.
“Are you shot?”
She wanted to nod, butC’mon,breathe!consumed her as she took another gulp of air.Oh,more fire.She groaned.