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What else did he know? Was Cal and the entire task force wrong in their intelligence assessment that Slim’s daughter had wanted to “surprise” Slim with Veronica’s, and possibly Dylan’s, death? Had Paloma talked to her father, after all?

It doesn’t matter.

Fear threatened to paralyze her as she watched the conflict play out between Slim and Dylan. After what seemed an eon, Slim turned off his e-cigarette, stowed it in a breast pocket of his leather vest. He took a step toward Dylan, and that was when she saw what he’d pulled out of the same pocket.

“Switchblade!” she shouted and jumped up, aimed herself at Slim, leaped to tackle him——

Slam. A hard object hit her nose, sent stars spraying across her vision. Hot liquid ran from her nose as she fought to stay upright and conscious. The blow had knocked her back up against the outside wall of the cabin, which she leaned against as she sucked in deep, ragged breaths through her mouth.

She heard a single footstep—Dylan—in the haze of her pain, but before she figured out how to help him neutralize Slim, Slim grabbed her arm and yanked her in front of him. A cold, hard edge bit into her neck.

“I’ll slice her.” His threat didn’t have to be repeated. She grasped at the kingpin’s forearm, kicked backward at his shin, had a moment’s gratification when Slim grunted.

Her vision cleared and she saw Dylan standing where she’d left him, hands at his sides as he watched the one person he was determined to bring to justice hold her hostage.

Her gaze locked with Dylan’s for a split second. His wary concern was all as Hawk, for Slim’s benefit. But she was certain she saw something meant only for her in his appraisal of the situation.

Confidence. Dylan had a plan. She could have one, too.

She stopped struggling against Slim, allowed her body to go limp, as if she’d lost consciousness. With Slim’s posse in the cabin behind them, she knew that playing dead—or unconscious—for the time being was preferable to facing down trained henchmen, whom she feared Slim would turn her over to if she kept fighting.

“Let her go, Slim. This is between you and me.”

With no warning, Slim threw her to the floor of the porch, and having to continue the ruse of being knocked out, Veronica had no choice but to allow her head to take another hard knock. At least she didn’t see stars this time. She kept her eyes closed, her back toward Dylan. Her remaining hope was that Dylan kept Slim talking, and their task force came in to round up the henchmen in the cabin, including Rex. Frustration seethed through her being, but sometimes being part of a successful LE operation meant doing the least. She forced her body to still, to allow the cold to creep from the porch floor into her bones.

“Let’s go for a walk, Slim. Your boys will keep looking out for you, and Monique’s not going anywhere. We can make this work.” Dylan played Hawk Masters to perfection.

“She’ll be my men’s reward for having my back.” Why was Slim spitting out those last words? She’d have to wait until after the takedown, because Slim’s steps off the porch indicated he’d agreed to talk to Hawk.

Come on, team.

As she lay on the porch, the wind picked up and began to howl. Her body fought to shiver but she tried to stop it, not wanting to give away that she was conscious. Although, if she were very careful about it, she could try for a peek through the godforsaken false lashes. Unless one of the lackeys was inches from her face, they wouldn’t be able to tell she’d raised her lid a sliver.

Very slowly she raised the lid closest to the porch floor. A bright coppery strand of hair lay on the floor next to her. Her wig had been removed during her struggle with Rex. With icy certainty, she knew Slim hadn’t missed this detail, couldn’t have. He’d left her for either dead, or as he’d said, a plaything for his men.

She had to warn Dylan.

The moment he heard the words leave Slim’s mouth, processed with slow and menacing enunciation, Dylan knew. He’d mistakenly used the LEO and military phrase while taking to Scar and Slash. Two of his three stooges had betrayed him. Whether to Hank and in turn Rex, or directly to Slim, he’d never know, didn’t need to know.

The image of Veronica on the floor of the porch with strands of her real hair strewn over the dark wood had nearly brought him to his knees. The reddish blond beacons screamed “undercover cop” and he thought that was the end. That Slim would execute them both on the spot.

Instead, he’d allowed Dylan to point the way to the edge of the clearing, the cabin still close but away from any listening ears.

Bastards, all of them.

They took long strides toward the forest, to the exact spot he and Veronica had waited only minutes earlier. The wind was howling and the snowstorm in full force, but Slim didn’t seem to notice, though he wore only a leather vest atop a flannel shirt, the knife he’d held to Veronica’s throat still in his right hand. The blade was invisible through the veil of snow but Dylan knew it was there. His body armor would be no match for the steel blade; he’d have to wrestle it from Slim.

“We can stop here.” Slim didn’t ever call him “Hawk,” and if Dylan didn’t already know his cover had been blown, Slim’s impersonal manner would have tipped him off.

Dylan kept six feet between them and was ready to fight to the death of one or both of them. It would provide a distraction for Slim’s security team, still inside but not for long. The minute they saw him go after Slim, they’d pour out of the cabin. That didn’t bother him, as long as they were distracted from Veronica.

Did she lie dying on the porch from that second blow to her head? Images of the evils Slim and his men would do to her crowded his thoughts and with a strength he never knew he had, Dylan shoved them away to face down Slim.

He couldn’t wait for the task force’s or his Bureau’s tactical teams any longer. It was now or never if he was to have any chance at saving Veronica’s life.

She had no idea how long she’d lain there, but from how quiet it had grown inside the cabin—there was no murmuring coming from the other side of the log walls, no pounding or slamming as the gangsters moved about, she knew Dylan was still out there, somewhere, with Slim. And she couldn’t let Slim kill him, which she had no doubt the kingpin was about to do.

Slowly rising, she looked first at the window in front of her. No one stared at her. The storm was full-on, and visibility beyond the porch minimal. But she heard the voices of Dylan and Slim, and knew they had to be close. And still alone.