Page 35 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Gage studied him, his stance, his tone, his eyes. The words sounded good. Too good. Smooth, practiced.

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the stillness.

With instinct kicking in, Gage dove for cover. Dirt sprayed across his face as rounds chewed into the ground beside him.

“Contact, north tree line!” Cal shouted.

Gage caught sight of the shooter. A man in full camo, face streaked with paint, an AK-47 braced tight against his shoulder. He moved fast, firing in controlled bursts as he advanced from the trees.

“Son of a bitch,” Gage hissed. “He must’ve been out of range when Cal scanned.”

They scrambled behind a low pile of limestone boulders, Rena sliding in beside him, Brady a step behind. Cal and Garrett ducked behind another formation, already returning fire. The shooter went prone, muzzle flashes strobing through the haze of dust and heat.

Brady swore under his breath and yanked a handgun from his waistband. Gage’s pulse spiked. He didn’t have to tell Rena, she was already watching him with her eyes narrowed, reading the same possibility he was.

Without hesitation, Rena lunged sideways, grabbing Brady’s wrist and twisting. The gun came free before he even knew what was happening.

“Hey!” Brady snapped, fury flashing across his face. “What the hell? Give that back.”

“Not a chance,” Rena shot back, voice cold and steady. “Later, I might owe you an apology. But right now, I’m not risking a bullet in the back.”

Brady glared, chest heaving. “I’m not your damn enemy.”

“Prove it,” Gage said, peering over the rock just long enough to send a burst of suppressing fire toward the shooter. “Stay alive and stay put.”

The next volley hit close enough to rattle the stones above their heads, showering them in grit. The air cracked with another burst. Closer this time. Shards of limestone splintered off the boulder and stung Gage’s cheek. He ducked lower, teeth clenched.

“Damn it,” he muttered, sliding his gun up just enough to glance over the edge. The shooter was dug in behind a fallen tree about forty yards out, methodical, controlled. Every few seconds another burst hit the rocks like a jackhammer.

Pinned. Hard.

He tried to lean out, sight down the barrel, but another line of fire forced him back. The rounds chewed through the dirt where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.

“Guy’s keeping us caged,” he growled.

Rena stayed crouched beside him, eyes flicking between the tree line and Brady. The man was practically vibrating with anger, fists flexing like he might try to take his gun back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rena warned, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Brady glared but stayed still, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

Across the way, Cal leaned out from behind his own cover and fired three controlled shots. The retort echoed through the clearing, then a fresh volley of bullets ripped back, forcing him to duck again.

“Can’t get a clean line,” Cal shouted.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Gage called back, sweat dripping down his temple.

The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the hot air. Chips of stone peppered his arm, the sting barely registering through the adrenaline.

Cal shifted, signaling he was about to lean out again. Gage caught the movement and knew what it meant. It was time to draw the bastard’s attention.

“On your go,” Gage murmured.

Cal gave a sharp nod, swung out from behind his cover, and opened fire. The shooter immediately pivoted, answering with a blistering volley. The sound rattled through the clearing, deafening.

Gage seized the moment. He rose halfway from behind the boulder, sighted down his weapon, and squeezed off two rounds.

Both hit. The shooter jerked back, the AK slipping from his grip as he stumbled. For a split second, Gage thought it was over. Until he saw the man’s hand move. Not toward his gun.