Page 5 of Hollow Trace

Barrett sighed. “In a box in the flatbed, but we don’t have time to stop.”

“Then, I suggest we lose them. Fast.” He pointed up the road. “Turn left at the next bend. It’s not obvious, but there’s an old spur that’ll join up with more options. It won’t be pretty, though.”

Barrett frowned, nearly missing the fork as they entered the turn, sliding onto the overgrown two track in a cloud of dirt. The vehicle roared over a series of bumps, everything inside catching air before crashing back down.

Barrett swore under his breath. “This isn’t even a goat trail.”

“That’s because you took the turn too late.” Quinn locked his fingers around the handle. “We should really change places.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna work.”

“I know these old mining roads better than anyone.” He glanced at Scout. “Well, almost anyone.”

Scout looked back. Only for a second, but Quinn swore time froze, her blue gaze locked on his before she nodded. “Quinn’s right. I can navigate these roads blindfolded, but having to call it out will slow us down.” She unclipped her seatbelt, grabbed the steering wheel, her hands positioned next to Barrett’s. “I’ll slip between your legs, then once I’m seated, you scoot out.”

“I don’t think… shit.”

Scout moved, all but jumping in front of Barrett, her chest hugging the wheel as she took control, motioned for him to shift. Barrett levered the seat back, then squeezed out, smashing against the other window when the trail veered hard to the left, the tires skidding through a recent scree slide.

Scout mumbled an apology, taking the next hard right as the trail wove back up the hillside in a series of hairpin switchbacks.

Quinn slid over, pushed the seat back into position then reached across her, snagged the seatbelt and clipped it in, meeting her gaze in the rearview. “Safety, first. Wouldn’t want you to die… Again.” He glanced at Barrett when the man huffed. “You, either. It’s Barrett, right? Captain Coulter Barrett. JTF2 until a couple months back. I have to say, you’re looking pretty spry for a guy who was KIA on a mission overseas.”

Coulter clenched his jaw, staring at Scout for a moment before exhaling. “I thought I recognized you from the funeral. Didn’t realize you were Quinton Taylor.” He clipped in. “How did you know about the KIA?”

“Seriously? I was part of the damn procession.” Quinn looked at Scout’s reflection in the rearview. “Second funeral in three months. You tend to remember who was supposedly in the casket.”

“I didn’t…” Coulter sighed. “I know you want answers, and we’ll talk once it’s safe, but don’t get any romantic ideas that they’ll make anything better. The truth’s a bit hard to swallow.”

Quinn snorted. “Seeing as I’ve spent the past few months choking on the lies, I’ll take my chances.” He pointed to another branch. “You might want to take the old C-spur unless you think you can shimmy this thing across a partially collapsed bridge.”

Scout’s brow shot up. “How collapsed?”

“Flew over it a few months ago on a SAR call. It was sitting at a thirty-degree angle, with only a handful of the supports still holding it up. We might make it across before it finally fails, assuming we don’t roll or slide off the side. Rails were the first to go.”

Scout grunted when more rounds ticked off the tailgate, each shot jerking the truck forward, those two SUVs still trailing them. “Sounds right up our alley.”

Scout hit the gas, took the main track off to the left, those SUVs eating up the space behind them. A stream of brass following them down a rutted slope, Quinn answering with decisive controlled pulls, each one hitting its mark, but with the armor plating, all it did was spark off the chassis, chip away at the windshield.

Quinn glanced at her over his shoulder, mouth pursed tight, gaze raking the length of her. Either checking to see he wasn’t hallucinating her resurrection or to see if she’d somehow gotten hit. He obviously found the answer because he refocused on the SUVs, kept landing shots.

She swallowed. When Gideon had radioed — sent them on what he claimed was likely a benign recon mission to investigate a simple signal anomaly — she’d never expected they’d encounter more of Finch’s soldiers, let alone an attack with Quinn at the center.

Her chest squeezed tight, her next breath barely making it past the lump in her throat. The man was as sexy as ever, with his brown hair teasing his eyes. He looked larger than she remembered, as if he’d spent the past few months in the gym, moving as much iron as he could get his hands on. Watching him — how his cargo pants hugged his ass, his wool sweater pulling taut across his massive arms — had stolen her breath, and she doubted she’d be getting it back any time soon.

Not with the way he’d looked at her when she’d slid in beside him — more than just surprise. Anger. Pain. Betrayal. All mixed with something that had looked dangerously like love. The way she suspected she looked whenever a cop car passed by or she heard rotors overhead.

That maybe he hadn’t gotten over her, either.

She buried the thought. As much as she wanted to hold him, beg for forgiveness — explain that she hadn’t wanted him to have to choose, to give up everything — now wasn’t the time. Not with several enhanced assholes on their tail and a compromised bridge standing between them and their only hope at salvation.

The bridge, appearing up ahead, snapped her attention back to the present. Quinn hadn’t been exaggerating. The wooden structure tilted to the right, sitting at what had to be at least thirty degrees. The ground in front had sloughed away, exposing the two wooden beams that ran the length of it, the right one noticeably lower. Several planks had fallen into the river below, and Scout bet her ass the rest were a strong gust away from joining them.

Coulter inhaled. “Scout… that’s got to be at least a hundred and fifty feet of crumbling wood.”

Quinn leaned forward between the two seats. “All those recent storms have undercut the anchors. If you’re determined to go through with this, you’d better fly across there because if you milk it, we’re all going for a swim.”

Scout met his gaze. Not an ounce of fear shining in the hazel depths, just cool resolve mixed with pride. She looked back at Coulter, then picked up speed, keeping the truck lined up with the bridge.