Montana Fire

by Vella Day

  “What’s on it?”

  When Max had called Trent, he didn’t want to say anything over the phone. Max detailed the list of names and the needed supplies, along with a list of seat numbers. “The items look like materials to make a bomb. It’s possible the seat number refers to where to place the charges.” He pulled out the printed copies and handed them to Trent.

  Trent stuffed the flash drive in his pocket and studied both sheets. “Christ. You have any idea what they’re targeting?”

  “No. I can think of a lot of places with seat locations, though.” Max slipped the sheets from Trent’s fingers. “Look at this. See down here? This looks like a possible date. And this could be a signature of the head man.”

  Trent’s brows rose. “CF? Did that match any of the names on the list?” Max didn’t like the tentative tone to his friend’s voice.

  “No, though we can’t be positive it is a signature. You have someone in mind?” There were a lot of shady people in Rock Hard. Trent would know more of them than Max would.

  Trent waved a dismissive hand. “No, though it’s ironic that Chuck Forbes has the initials CF.”

  Max stilled. “You think our trusty FBI man is a double agent?”

  “No. Dan asked the mayor to check if Forbes was on the up and up. The mayor called in a few favors. The FBI vouched for their agent. To be sure, one of the crime scene techs sent in a photo of the guy. Feds confirmed Chuck was their man. A high source said he’s one of their best agents.”

  “Good. If he’s that smart, he’ll be able to make sense of this.” Max folded the two sheets of paper and stuffed them back in his pocket.

  “I’m thinking CF could either be another man’s name or the initials of the target.”

  Max never liked to make assumptions. “I agree, but which one?”

  “Let’s hope Forbes can tell us.” Trent pressed a palm to Max’s shoulder. “Times a wastin’. Need to get this back to Rock Hard. Let’s hope the Feds can do their magic.”

  Trent headed back to his Jeep. Max wanted to get inside and tell Jamie the transfer was complete. Just as he reached the door, a shuffle sounded behind him, followed by the sound of bone meeting flesh. Max drew his weapon and spun around. Trent was on the ground, out cold, his face bloodied. Adrenaline surged through Max.

  “Trent!” Max shouted, panic ripping through him.

  Keeping his eyes on the two men racing away, Max charged toward his friend. Fuck. Max didn’t spot a getaway car, not could he hear a motor turning over. They must have hidden their car. The man in the rear stopped, turned back around, and fired at Max.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The front pane of the storefront shattered.

  Jamie!

  Max was torn. He wanted to check on her. He needed to help Trent, but he also couldn’t let these bastards get away. Jamie had promised him she’d hide if anything happened. When he left her, she was on the west side of the store. Hank would see to it that she stayed safe.

  Feet pounded on the road. His police training kicked into gear.

  “Stop!” Max called after them, knowing his command wouldn’t be obeyed.

  Another shot fired. Max crouched down, aimed at the men who’d just tried to kill him, and pulled the trigger. The man stumbled, grunted, and fell.

  One down, one to go.

  Max rose, and when he returned to Trent, his friend had come to. He lifted up on his elbows, shaking his head, if he was trying to figure out what happened. Blood stained his neck, and his cheek was bright red.

  Max leaned over him, his heart pounding. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Go,” Trent said, pain lacing his voice. He dragged a hand over his neck. When he checked the damage, his palm was covered in blood. Fuck. “The man. He got the drive.”

  “Damn.”

  Trent would live, and as much as Max wanted to stay and help his friend, many lives were at stake. Max needed to stop the thief. The man pounded his way down the road. How far he planned to run was anyone’s guess, but no matter what, Max wouldn’t let him get away.

  If the terrorist reached his vehicle and was able to drive off, Max would never catch him. Once the terrorist cell learned Max had killed one of their own, they’d want retribution. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d give his life before he let anyone near Jamie.

  Dodging and weaving to lessen the chance of getting shot, Max chased after the man. The guy slowed, turned, and lifted his weapon. He fired. A second later a deep pain seared Max’s thigh. No! He stumbled, but managed to stay upright.

  Don’t stop. Keep going.

  Warm blood soaked his pants, both in the front and back of his thigh, but the adrenaline kept much of the pain at bay. The man took off again—and vanished just as quickly. Max kept going, keeping low.

  Where the hell was he? Between the quarter moon and the lights from Hank’s store, Max could detect shadows, but not much else. Nothing moved, not even the leaves. It was as if he’d stepped into a movie theater and someone had punched pause.

  Then snow crunched. The man was on the move again. Max changed directions, heading toward the sound. Shit. He’d so focused on locating the man that Max almost tripped over the person he’d shot.

  To make sure the criminal on the ground wouldn’t come to and starting firing, Max took a knee and felt for the man’s pulse. Dead. Jesus. Max had hoped to get some information out of him—like the name of the target. Now that wouldn’t happen.

  Max stayed on his knee to conserve his energy, his hand over his wound. He scanned the area in front of him. People didn’t disappear. The terrorist must be hiding. Waiting.

  But where?

  He needed to figure out his next move. Max’s leg burned, and it became harder to ignore the throbbing pain.

  Before he’d come up with a concrete plan, an engine roared to life, jacking Max’s senses into overdrive. The sound came from about a hundred feet away. Max jumped up, and charged toward him, trying to force the sharp ache out of his mind. With each step his limp became more severe, and he tripped. His knees smashed to the ground. The snow cushioned part of the fall.

  Get. Up.

  For Jamie, he had to stop him.

  Seconds later, the getaway vehicle bounced over the uneven ground toward the pavement. This was it. Max’s last chance. “I want you, motherfucker.”

  He rose to his feet. Putting his weight on his good leg, he kept his arm steady, inhaled, and pulled the trigger. Glass shattered. He shot again. And again. Until he had one bullet remaining.

  The horn sounded, and the car slowed. It was as if the movie had started up again, only this time in slow motion. The car veered to the left, hit the slippery slope, and skidded down the embankment, heading straight toward a tree. The impact sounded more like a thud than a crash.

  Steam sizzled out of the engine, and relief helped spur Max on. This vehicle wasn’t going anywhere, but Max had to make sure the driver wasn’t either.

  Moving as fast as his body would let him, he made his way to the vehicle, his hand on his bloodied thigh. Keeping his weapon aimed at the where the driver’s head should be, Max yanked open the door and swallowed a groan as pain rushed up his body.

  Stay awake.

  The driver’s head was on the wheel, the airbag deflated. Max’s aim had hit its mark. The man had two bullets in his body—one at his shoulder and the other a few inches closer to center. The man groaned. Good. Max needed him alive.

  Spotting a weapon on the passenger seat, Max quickly pulled the driver from the car, biting back the pain.

  “Watch it. I’m shot, you fucker.”

  “Too bad.” Max worked hard to sound gruff. He didn’t need this ass to know he’d been shot, too.

  Keeping his gun aimed at the possible terrorist, Max pushed him toward the store. When they reached the parking lot, Trent was gone. Max let go of his prisoner, and the man dropped to his knees. The shooter’s upper back was covered in blood. As much as Max wanted to beat the loc
ation of the intended target out of the man, he needed to call for help more.

  For the man. For himself.

  “Hank!” Max shouted using what little energy he had left. With the front door shattered, Hank should be able to hear him.

  His friend rushed outside, gun in hand. “Holy shit, man. What happened to you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Call Sheriff Duncan. Got one man dead ‘bout a hundred feet down the road.”

  Max waved his gun and faced the man. “You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer, stealing government property, and for the attempted murder of … me.” It didn’t matter the flash drive came from the terrorists in the first place.

  “Fuck you.”

  Max looked over at Hank. “Jamie okay?” His vision suddenly blurred, and his mind fogged.

  “She’s safe, but I imagine is scared to death.” Hank stepped toward Max. “You need to get inside. I’ll call the sheriff and wait for him.”

  “No. I can—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Max’s knees buckled, and he crashed to the graveled lot. His vision turned black.

  * * *

  At the sound of gunshots, Jamie had frozen. Before she could move to see if Max was okay, the glass on the front door came crashing down. Scared out of her mind, she’d dropped to her knees between the aisles and covered her head. Chills had raced up her body, and her heart banged against her ribs.

  After what seemed like ten more shots, silence filled the air, her mind jumping to every bad conclusion. She knew that if anything happened to Max, she’d crack. The man had claimed her heart—totally, completely. When she’d fallen in love with him, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that she had.

  Footsteps sounded a minute later, and Trent had staggered in. Hank raced up to him, grabbed a hold of the injured man and warned her to stay still. Not understanding what was happening outside, she followed his instruction. It was only when she’d heard Max call for Hank that she began to breathe again.

  Because she hadn’t been sure if it was safe to leave her spot, she’d remained huddled near the loaves of bread and waited. Hank ran past her, a gun in his hand.

  When she heard Max tell Hank to call the sheriff, she shot to her feet. Miraculously, she had the strength to make it to the end of the aisle and peek out. Oh, my God. Max was on the ground and Hank was standing over him, a phone against his ear.

  Trent appeared at the end of the aisle and looked over at her. His neck was caked in blood, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding. His eye was swollen shut and his lip cut, but he was alert.

  “Do you know what happened?” From where he stood, he would have been able to see the exchange outside.

  “No, but we better get the first aid kit. It’s on the counter.” Glass crunched. Trent was going out to help.

  Happy to be useful, she rushed toward the back of the store. She hoped they’d called 911, though she had no idea where the nearest hospital or fire station might be.

  With bandages in hand, she ran outside. Cold air blasted her, but she couldn’t worry about freezing to death right now.

  Trent drew his weapon and aimed at the other man on the ground.

  “I’ll get something to secure this fucker,” Hank said. He rushed back inside.

  Jamie’s gaze shot to Max. Oh, no. His thigh was spurting blood. The bullet must have nicked an artery. Her pulse pounded. If she couldn’t stop the bleeding soon, he’d die.

  Don’t fall apart on him now.

  She was trained for this. Then why were her fingers trembling?

  Jamie dropped down next to him. The rough gravel bit into her knees. “Max?” He didn’t respond. She pinched his shoulder, trying to rouse him. He was going into volume shock. “Max?”

  He groaned. Damn. Grabbing a handful of gauze pads, she opened the packages then placed them on top as well as underneath his thigh. The through and through was on the outer edge of his leg. She applied pressure and prayed.

  Hank returned and quickly used tie wraps to secure the downed man.

  “Watch it, fucker.” He glanced at her. “I’m shot, too. Hey chickie. When you’re done with him, come help me.”

  She didn’t answer. “Hank did you call for an ambulance. Max really needs help.”

  “Called for two. Sheriff should be here any minute to take this scum off our hands.”

  The captive let out a series of expletives, but it was nothing she hadn’t heard before.

  “How close is the nearest hospital?” Max was losing blood fast.

  “Less than ten minutes away.”

  Jamie nodded. She lifted the pad on Max’s thigh, but she didn’t seem able to slow the flow.

  “Jamie?” Max opened his eyes and tried to smile, but his lips wavered.

  “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Help is on the way.”

  He lifted up on his elbows and grunted. “I’m good.”

  “You are not good.” Stubborn man. “You’re bleeding badly.”

  With a herculean effort, Max sat up. He glanced down at her hand holding the pad on his upper thigh. He swatted her arm away and lifted the bloody bandage. “Hmm. Just a scratch.” He looked up at Hank, barely able to lift his eyelids. “Where’s the sheriff?”

  “He’s coming.”

  “Hold this and apply pressure,” she said to Max. With her free hand she grabbed the roll of tape, and wound it around his leg.

  Max looked at Jamie. “Where’s your coat? You’ll… get c…cold.” It was as if Max was having a hard time finding the right words. This wasn’t good.

  “I’m fine.”

  Flashing lights and a sudden siren made her jump. A Sheriff’s vehicle pulled to a stop in the lot, and a tall, thin man eased out of the driver’s side while a second man exited the passenger side.

  They both trotted over. Trent explained who the criminal was, but Max interrupted. “Need to… frisk him for the stolen property,” Max’s words came out slurred.

  “I didn’t steal nothing.”

  The sheriff searched the man, but came up empty handed.

  “Then his partner has it,” Trent said.

  The man still didn’t respond. More sirens sounded in the background. Thank God the ambulance was here.

  A minute later, two ambulances skidded into the lot. Paramedics jumped out, pulled out a stretcher, and rushed over. Jamie relayed what had happened, despite Max complaining the whole way.

  She stood back and let the emergency team do their job. She then joined Hank. “I want to follow Max to the hospital.”

  Hank withdrew the keys to Max’s SUV. “His car will get you there faster. Go north on the main road here. As soon as you cross US 2, take a right on Sunnyview road. Can’t miss it.”

  “You need the keys to Edith.” She ran up to ambulance. “Max. We need Hank’s keys.”

  Max pressed his lips together, dug into his pocket, and handed them to one of EMTs who gave them to her. “We need to take him, ma’am.”

  Her heart ached. Max was strong. He would make it.

  Once the second ambulance loaded the prisoner, the deputy hopped in back. Max’s ambulance drove off, followed by the second one.

  Jamie strode up to Max’s friend. “Trent you need someone to look at your injuries.”

  “I’m good.”

  What was up with all this macho shit? “Don’t be silly.”

  “Hey, Sheriff. We need to find that drive,” Trent said.

  They headed down the road in the direction of the headlights that were illuminating part of the forest.

  “Trent needs medical help, too,” she told Hank. “I’m not leaving without him.”

  “He’ll be back soon.”

  Jamie rushed inside to grab her coat and purse then waited by the broken door until they returned.

  The sheriff stepped over to his car, and Trent walked up to her. “I’m going to follow you to the hospital in Kalispell. I want to be there for Max,” he said.

  Trent was in no shape to be behi
nd the wheel. “How about I drive? I want the company.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Trent seemed as pigheaded as Max.

  “Give me a sec, then.”

  She bet he wouldn’t have given in so easily if he’d been able to see out of both eyes. He stepped next to his Jeep, squatted down in front, and ran his fingers under the front bumper. He moved to the back, and repeated the check.

  “Fuckers.” He stood, dropped something on the ground, and smashed it with the heel of his boot. Trent returned to her. “Those assholes must have been watching me. They put a tracking device on my car. That was how come I didn’t see them follow me.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Like hell it isn’t.”

  It was too late now to be doling out blame. “There’s nothing you can do. Come on. We need to get to the hospital.”

  Her stomach wouldn’t stop churning. If these two found them, how many more would learn of their location? The men’s superiors would surely expect a call saying the drive had been secured. Damn. When was this going to end?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It took Jamie twenty minutes to get to the hospital. After Trent showed the ward clerk his badge, the woman called someone to check on Max’s status. Sympathy filled her face. “He’s being prepped for surgery now.”

  Jamie hoped they could repair the damaged artery in time.

  A nurse came up to Trent and placed a hand on his arm. “Sir, how about I take a look at that neck and lip?” She ran her gaze around his face.

  “I’m good.”

  Men. “Trent. Please,” Jamie pleaded. “That cut on your neck could get infected, as could your lip. As long as we’re waiting, you might as well let her tend to you.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He slipped his hand in his pocket and faced Jamie. “When Agent Forbes gets here, give him this. Tell him about the other man who’s at the hospital.”

  She took the flash drive disguised as a yellow toy and deposited it in her pocket. She couldn’t wait to turn it over to the authorities. She wasn’t so naïve to think she’d suddenly be out of danger. Far from it. With one of their men dead, and another injured, the terrorist cell might come after her with renewed vengeance.