Lethal Protector

by Kaylea Cross

  “To where?”

  He spotted a group of boulders nearby. Not big enough to afford them total protection, but better than nothing. Looking up at the ridge, there was no sign of the shooter.

  He put a hand on Tala’s shoulder and pushed her away from him gently. “Get behind those rocks.”

  She lifted up onto her hip and looked behind her. Seeing them, she flipped over, put her rifle harness back on and started crawling for the rocks. Unable to walk without her right ski.

  Braxton rolled painfully to his hands and knees and followed. He’d lost his pistol in the initial avalanche. All they had now was Tala’s .22 and what little ammo she had left, against a shooter with a high-powered rifle. He was dizzy enough that he wasn’t sure he could even hit anything right now.

  Tala scooted behind the rocks and made as much room for him as she could. “I don’t see him,” she whispered, shrugging out of her harness and bringing her rifle into position again.

  He leaned to the side slightly to see around the rocks and followed her gaze, a sense of vertigo hitting him. Immediately he closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as a wave of nausea swirled in his stomach.

  When he opened his eyes a few moments later, the world spun for a few seconds. He shook it off, squinting at the ridge above them.

  For a few minutes there was nothing. Just the snow falling softly. Then he caught a flash of movement on the top of the ridge.

  His muscles tensed and he opened his mouth to warn Tala, reaching a hand out to flatten it against her back. Ready to throw himself on top of her.

  “I see him,” she murmured, the calm determination in her voice impressing him.

  Bastard still wasn’t giving up. Braxton lost sight of him for a few seconds. Then a slight shadow appeared in the snow near the edge of the ridge. “He’s moving to the right,” he whispered. “Eighty yards. Wind’s gusting between forty-five and fifty klicks from the northeast. Adjust right to counter.”

  Tala tracked the target without answering. Braxton bit back other corrections, not wanting to distract her, itching to take the shot himself in spite of the vertigo. And when the asshole suddenly rose onto his knee to take a shot at them, Tala honed her aim and pulled the trigger.

  Hit. Braxton heard the round strike. Saw the shooter disappear from view.

  Tala raised her head slightly, rifle still to her shoulder. “Did I hit him?” she whispered.

  “Damn right, you did. Low center mass, right.” He stayed low on his belly, watching, acting as her spotter as the tense seconds ticked past. Nothing happened. No more movement. No shadows. “He’s down.”

  “Dead?”

  “If he’s not, he will be soon.” At any rate, Braxton didn’t plan to wait here a minute longer to find out. “Let’s go.”

  She locked eyes with him, her forehead creased in a deep frown. “Go where? Neither of us can ski.”

  “We’ll move out on foot.”

  “But I can’t, I—”

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “No.” She shook her head, adamant.

  “Yes. We’re leaving, now.” He shoved to his feet and reached for her, seizing her wrist and pulling her upright. A wave of dizziness hit him. He swayed a second, then the world righted itself. “Hurry.”

  She hesitated another moment, then slipped her harness back on and grabbed hold of his shoulders when he pulled her toward his back. “Brax, are you sure…”

  “Get on,” he said gruffly, still woozy and nauseated and not wanting to waste energy on arguing.

  Tala gingerly wound her arms around the front of his neck. He leaned forward at the waist slightly and held his arms back a little, bracing himself for the coming pain.

  Tala jumped up. He caught her under the thighs and sucked in a breath as her weight landed against his bruised back, lighting up every sore spot. “Are you okay?” she demanded, holding on tight with her arms and squeezing his waist with her thighs.

  He didn’t answer, merely turned and began walking down the slope with her clinging to his back, concentrating on keeping them both upright. And with every step he hoped the building site was a lot closer than he thought it was.

  He would get her out of here safely if it was the last thing he did.

  ****

  He was hurting bad. Tala knew it by the way Braxton held himself, by the shallow breaths he took as he carried her, slogging through the thigh-deep snow.

  He could only go fifty meters or so each time before he had to stop and rest. She would slide off him and give him a minute to catch his breath, taking her rifle off her back and watching their six, just in case.

  There was still no sign of the shooter. If she’d hit him center mass, then he was probably dead by now. Tala couldn’t believe she might have killed a man today, but she wasn’t sorry. She’d done what she’d had to in order to protect her and Braxton.

  “Okay,” Braxton said, his lips pressed into a thin line as he slowly straightened and gave her his back again.

  She slung her rifle harness on and hopped up on his back, her thighs quivering with the effort of keeping her legs locked around his waist. Her stump was still driving her insane with that blend of deep bone pain and electric shocks that sizzled up the back of her thigh.

  She hated that she couldn’t walk on her own, that she was slowing their descent down and exhausting Braxton when he was clearly already in pain.

  But he didn’t complain. Didn’t swear or mutter, only the occasional low groan escaping him as he trudged downhill. All the while, she held on tight, trying to make it as easy on him as possible.

  At least the wind and snow had eased up finally, no longer slicing at them like an icy blade. She was still cold, but being plastered to Braxton’s broad back helped, and every step took them closer to the bottom of the mountain.

  Now that the storm was dying out she could at least see around them, but not far enough to orient herself. With the map and GPS spotter gone and no cell service, she had no clue where they were at this point. The avalanche had messed up her sense of direction, and nothing about their current surroundings was familiar because of all the new snow.

  All she knew was they needed to move downhill to reach the valley, and then hopefully they’d be able to call for help or at least be able to figure out where the building site was. Rylee and Tate must be going insane with worry right now.

  She jerked when her cell phone began buzzing against her chest. “My phone,” she said to Braxton, unwrapping one arm from his chest to tug at her jacket zipper. “It’s working.”

  Braxton stopped. She slid off him, holding onto his shoulder with one hand to steady herself as she reached into the front of her jacket and beneath the sweatshirt and Lycra suit to retrieve her phone from inside her sports bra. It was still buzzing when she pulled it out.

  Over a dozen messages showed up, most from Tate. Some from Rylee.

  Relief punched through her, so powerful she sagged a little. “The last message is from Tate, sent thirty-five minutes ago. He and Mason were leaving the building site on snowmobiles, heading up to look for us at the last position the GPS spotter marked us at.”

  She tried calling but he didn’t pick up. So she typed back a quick response saying they were okay but in need of a ride back to the building site. She couldn’t give them an exact location, but they were somewhere between the last known position and the building site.

  She looked at Braxton, hope a painful pressure rising inside her ribcage. She wanted off this damn mountain as soon as possible, to get Braxton checked out. “They have to be close.”

  He nodded once, opened his mouth to say something.

  A loud crack sliced through the air, and shards of bark exploded from the tree less than a foot from Tala’s left shoulder.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Down!” Braxton grabbed Tala around the ribs and dove to the ground.

  A throttled cry escaped him as they hit, his back taking the brunt of the impact on the compact snow they
’d been standing on. Tala scrambled up beside him on her hands and knees but he knocked her flat and covered her as more bullets ripped past them.

  Her rifle harness had come off when they’d first landed, now lying in the snow between them. Her face was pale, her movements uncoordinated as she reached for her weapon.

  Braxton pinned her flat against the ground, stilling her movement. “Stay put,” he growled, covering her head with his arms. He’d heard and seen Tala’s bullet hit the shooter. How the hell was he still coming after them?

  Another round pinged off a rock just behind them. He lifted his weight off her slightly, allowing her to move. As soon as she got to her hands and knees he put a hand on her ass and shoved her toward the trees. “Go, go,” he commanded.

  She scuttled behind one of the trunks and laid flat on her stomach, still holding her weapon as Braxton moved in behind another tree to her left. Keeping himself between her and the shooter he couldn’t see. Where was he? The bastard hadn’t fired in the past fifteen seconds. He could be on the move through the screen of trees separating them.

  Braxton peered around the trunk, looking in the direction the shots had come from. His vision wasn’t quite right, and he was still dizzy.

  A second later, he caught a flash of movement as a shadow detached from a tree in the distance. He ducked. An instant later, a bullet slammed into the trunk he was hiding behind, inches above his head.

  Way too close. The asshole had a bead on them.

  Braxton clenched his jaw, wishing he had his sniper rifle to hunt this bastard down.

  “Did you see him?” Tala asked anxiously, pinned down beside him.

  “For a second. Hundred-ten meters, moving to our right.” Hidden in shadow now. It made Braxton uneasy not to have a visual on him.

  “He’s too far away for me,” Tala said, her face tight as she pushed her rifle at him. “You have to take him out.”

  He took it, slipping into sniper mode the instant his hands closed around the weapon, fighting past the dizziness that kept coming in waves. “How many rounds do you have left?” He tugged off his gloves, the need for accuracy superseding the need to protect them from frostbite.

  “Two.”

  Damn. This range was the upper limit for a lethal shot with a .22. His hands were slightly unsteady as he settled into a prone shooting position, shivers ripping through him. He brought the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and pressed his cheek to the side of the stock.

  Beside him, Tala was still and silent, watchful. He had to block his awareness of her out. Had to block out everything except the threat in front of them.

  His focus shrank to his narrow field of fire as he stared through the sight, searching for his target. The small weapon felt foreign in his grip. Dainty. But it was all they had, so he’d have to make it work. Because he only had two shots left, and if he missed both, they were dead.

  He settled into the zone and locked in, pushing away all his physical discomfort. Watching. Waiting for his target to make a mistake. He was a master sniper. Patience was his domain.

  A couple minutes later, he thought he saw movement, a shadow slipping in between the trees out there in the distance. He kept his finger on the trigger guard and blinked to clear the haze in his vision, the cold seeping into his skin. If he and Tala were going to make it out of here, he had to get a clean hit.

  Through the sight, he spotted the barrel of a weapon as it appeared from behind a tree trunk. “Stay down,” he snapped at Tala.

  She flattened herself into the snow just as the shooter fired. She sucked in a breath when the round struck the trunk he was hiding behind, but otherwise didn’t make a sound.

  Braxton kept his gaze locked on his target, the cold and pain pushed to the back of his consciousness. He was battered and bruised, but still in the fight. And he would protect Tala with his last breath if necessary.

  The cold bit into him. Shortening his breath and making his lungs ache. Just as his muscles tensed, screaming at him to move to lessen the pain, his target finally grew impatient and made his first mistake.

  Asshole tried to move closer through the screen of trees to get a better angle on them, giving Braxton his first sighting in the past ten minutes. He tracked his prey with complete focus, patiently waiting for the next mistake.

  This time he didn’t have to wait long.

  The shooter must have been frustrated by his inability to line up a good shot, because he emerged partially from behind cover, crouching on one knee to bring his weapon up.

  Braxton adjusted his aim for dead center mass. The wind was gusting. Easily able to push a .22 round off course at this distance.

  The shooter fired, bark splintering mere inches from Braxton’s head. Braxton didn’t move. Remained totally motionless, his training and discipline giving him the advantage.

  That’s right. Come on. Little more.

  The shooter edged out more from behind cover and took aim straight at him. Braxton could practically feel the enemy’s crosshairs lining up on his head.

  You’re mine.

  He focused on his breathing, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. His finger curving around the trigger.

  The shooter fired again, the shot sizzling past Braxton’s ear, then emerged from the trees to fire another round.

  Braxton squeezed the trigger just as the bullet slammed into the tree above his right ear. The shooter jerked sideways.

  Hit. High and right.

  He quickly adjusted the sight to compensate. If the bastard had survived Tala’s shot, then he might be wearing a vest. Braxton would have to make a head shot to take him down.

  The shooter was struggling to his feet, his left arm dangling at his side. He whirled, struggled to bring the rifle to his shoulder, and Braxton finally had the opening he needed.

  Exhaling fully, he squeezed the trigger between heartbeats.

  The shooter’s head snapped back, blood spattering the pristine white of the snow. He dropped and lay on his back, unmoving.

  “He’s down,” Tala breathed.

  Braxton shoved up and reached for her arm, ready to haul her upright and get moving. But when she wrapped her gloved fingers around his forearm, their gazes locked, instantly snapping him out of operator mode. His heart shredded at the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

  “You got him,” she whispered.

  He crushed her to his chest, allowing himself a relieved exhale even as he hated that she’d had to go through all of this. “You okay?”

  She nodded, her body trembling from the cold and maybe shock. He couldn’t wait to get her off this fucking mountain and warmed up back at Tate’s place. Safe, where nothing and no one could ever hurt her. “Just…the shots c-coming at us. It brought it all b-back. The day I was h-hit,” she said in a rush as shivers racked her.

  Yeah. Yeah, of course it would bring it all back. Shit, he wished he could have spared her this additional trauma. All he could do was hold her tight, thankful she was alive and safe in his arms.

  He loved her so fucking much it hurt. And he was going to tell her as soon as this was over. Couldn’t wait another day, no matter what barriers still lay between them. She meant too much to him.

  “He’s gone,” he murmured. “And no one’s ever going to shoot at you again.”

  She drew a deep breath and lifted her head to peer up at him. The wobbly, brave smile she gave him damn near split his chest wide open. “I d-don’t know about you, but I’m fr-freezing. Let’s get the hell out of here, h-huh?”

  ****

  Tala’s trembling eased a few minutes after Braxton resumed carrying her down the trail once more, changing from a blend of cold and fear to merely from the cold. Her head spun with everything that had happened over the last day. At how close they’d both come to dying—several times.

  Before leaving a few minutes ago, she’d taken out her cell phone to call Tate, but the battery was now dead. Her brother and Mason were out here right now looking for them. They couldn’t be far
away.

  The faint sound of engines in the distance carried on the wind. Tala lifted her head, her pulse skipping. “Hear that?”

  Braxton stopped and slid her off his back with a low groan, wincing as he bent over to suck in air. She held onto his shoulder to keep her balance as she stood on her left foot, hope swelling inside her ribcage. “Has to be Tate and Mason.” Had to be. She refused to accept any other outcome. They were finally getting out of here.

  The sound of the engines grew louder, then, finally, two little dots appeared on a trail below them in the distance. Tala and Braxton both called out and waved their arms to get the drivers’ attention. “Did they see us?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Tala all but held her breath as the minutes dragged by with agonizing slowness as they waited to see whether the drivers came closer.

  Her heart sank when they disappeared from view around a curve in the trail below, but a minute later it swelled as they came around the bend up ahead. She hugged Braxton in relief and happiness, mindful that he was sore, and choked back tears.

  Tate and Mason roared up to them and stopped close by.

  “Shit, are you guys okay?” Tate demanded, raking his gaze over them as he jumped off his snowmobile.

  Tala swallowed a sob and opened her arms, balanced on her left leg. Tate caught her to him, crushed her to his chest and held her upright as she sagged in his hold.

  “Tal. Are you hurt?” His voice was taut, urgent.

  She shook her head, unable to get her voice to work, afraid she would lose it and burst into tears at any second. She held onto him, aware of Mason checking on Braxton beside her.

  Exhaustion hit her hard all of a sudden, as if her body and subconscious knew she was safe now and could let go. She could hear Braxton’s deep voice explaining what had happened. How they had been caught in the storm. The shooter. Overnighting in their makeshift shelter. Then everything that had happened over the past two hours.

  Tala shuddered, burying her face in her brother’s chest. She’d almost lost Braxton out here. A few times she’d wondered if they would both die out here.