Page 73 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

“Jess, this isn’t a debate.”

“Too damn bad. I’m not letting you get yourself killed.” She checked her weapon, her voice barely a breath. “You need backup.”

He muttered something that sounded a lot like a curse, but he didn’t argue again. That told her more than anything how bad this was.

Deacon leaned toward the others. “Roman. We’re flanking the shooter. I’ll take the left. Jessa’s covering me.”

Roman gave a quick nod and shouted over the gunfire, “I’ll take the right side and try to box him in.”

Sheriff Martelli leaned out just far enough to warn them, “Watch your angles. This shooter doesn’t care who he hits.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Jessa whispered.

Deacon touched her elbow, grounding her for one brief second. His eyes met hers, dark and deadly serious. “Stay close. No hero moves.”

“Right back at you.”

Jessa and Deacon started moving, slipping around the back of the cruisers while staying low. The cold damp ground soaked through her jeans, but she forced herself not to think about it. The cruisers gave them enough cover to reach the first row of headstones, and once they were behind them, she risked a glance toward the mausoleum.

The gunman must have spotted their movement because he immediately opened fire at them. Rounds cracked into the cruisers, the metal pinging and groaning as bullets tore into the doors and fenders.

“Keep moving,” Deacon whispered, his hand brushing her arm to guide her.

Another burst of shots lit up the dark. The sheriff and his deputies fired back, loud and steady, doing exactly what Deacon had predicted. They were keeping the gunman pinned behind the mausoleum, giving her and Deacon a chance to push forward.

Bits of stone chipped off a nearby headstone when a bullet hit it, spraying dust across her sleeve.

“Too close,” she muttered, ducking lower.

Deacon shot her a sharp look. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, even though her pulse thudded wildly in her throat.

Another burst came, and she felt the vibrations of it in her teeth.

Jessa and Deacon pushed toward the next section of graves, using the rising ground to shield their approach. Every muscle in her body was tight. The mausoleum loomed thirty yards ahead, gray stone catching faint light. The shooter’s muzzle flashed again from the far corner.

Jessa and Deacon kept moving, staying low as they slipped from the cover of the cruisers to the nearest row of headstones. Gunfire spat chips of granite into the air, and she felt Deacon tense beside her. The sheriff and his deputies returned fire, keeping the shooter pinned behind the mausoleum’s stone wall.

Through the chaos, Wynn’s voice ripped across the cemetery. “The bastard drugged me,” he shouted. “I’m not going to let Lauren’s killer walk free.”

Jessa’s stomach lurched. Drugged. More lucid now. And still focused on revenge. She shot a quick look at Deacon. They both knew exactly what Wynn meant. He wasn’t just gunning for the shooter. He wanted to take out anyone he believed had failed Lauren.

Which meant her. Roman. Deacon.

“Wynn, stop,” she yelled, pushing more power into her voice than she felt. “You’re in the line of fire.”

He ignored her.

Instead, he staggered to his feet, hands clawing at the vest strapped to his chest. For one breath Jessa thought he was going to blow himself up right there. But Wynn ripped the explosive rig free and lifted it over his head.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

Jessa’s heart hammered as Wynn hurled the vest.

For a split second it tumbled through the air, catching what little light existed in the cemetery.

And then it exploded.