Page 12 of Ranger’s Protection

Running won't work forever.

Fighting while protecting a civilian in an enclosed space is a tactical nightmare.

But letting them catch us is suicide.

I accelerate. The sedan responds smoothly, engine opening up as we hit sixty, then seventy. The bikes accelerate too, keeping pace. They're not trying to catch us yet, just keeping us in sight, probably waiting for reinforcements or a better location to force us off the road.

My phone buzzes again. This time I risk a glance.

**Phoenix:** *Brick reports activity on police scanner. Officers responding to incident at Sunset Inn. You clear?*

I can't text back while driving this fast with pursuit behind us, so I dictate to my phone's voice command: "Contact Phoenix."

It rings twice.

"Talk to me," Phoenix says immediately.

"We have pursuit," I say. "Two bikes, maybe more. They picked us up about five miles past Route 17. Demon's people."

"Can you lose them?"

"Not on these roads. Too open. They'll just follow until they get a better position."

I hear Phoenix swearing under his breath, then: "What do you need?"

"Time and distance. I'm going to push east, try to make it to the industrial park off Miller Road. Lots of warehouses, lots of cover. Better place to make a stand if it comes to that."

"That's ten to fifteen minutes from your current position."

"I know."

"Can the sedan handle it?"

"Diesel keeps them running clean. Yeah, it can handle it."

"What about the package?"

I glance down at Delilah, still curled in the footwell, her eyes wide and scared but focused on me. Listening. Trusting.

"She's holding together," I say. "Tougher than she looks."

"Good. I'm sending backup. Judge and Brick are already mounting up. Canvas and Saint right behind them. They'll intercept from the north, cut off pursuit before they can box you in."

"Copy. ETA?"

"Twelve minutes if they push it."

Twelve minutes. I need to stay ahead of these bikes for twelve minutes while keeping Delilah safe and Vale contained. The math is tight but doable.

"I'll make it work," I say.

"You better, brother. From ash, we rise!"

“From ash, we rise!” I repeat.

The call ends.

Behind us, the two bikes have been joined by a third. Three total now, riding in formation, keeping exactly three hundred yards back. Professional. Organized. Waiting for their moment. I push the sedan to eighty. The bikes match speed effortlessly.