Sophia (Vampires in America #4)

Sophia (Vampires in America #4) Page 34

While Leighton and Robbie were right in the middle of a firefight, Colin was taking no fire and had no targets from his current position. He crouched over, maneuvering down the narrow space between the trucks and the trees on the left side of the parking lot. He kept glancing over his shoulder. The parking lot was wider than the bar, which meant he was exposed if someone realized where he was and came around behind him. He stayed as close to the trucks as he could, taking advantage of their bulk. He was hoping to get an angle on the shooters and provide cover for Leighton and Robbie to withdraw back to the Tahoe. He’d then have to cross the open parking lot to join them, but that was for later.

He cast a fleeting look as he ran along the tree line and saw Robbie go down. His stomach twisted and he paused, slipping alongside a beat-up F-150, but he quickly realized the big Ranger hadn’t been shot. He had dropped into a combat crawl and was using the vehicles and ground for protection as he maneuvered closer to Leighton who was no longer sheltering behind the two-ton rig. While Colin had been positioning himself to join the fight, she’d managed to get away from the two-ton and was now crouched alongside a big Century wrecker, which was probably the heaviest thing in the lot and only two trucks away from Colin’s Tahoe. If she could hold there until Colin got into position, he could provide covering fire while she retreated safely to—

He swore softly as Leighton pulled herself up onto the back of the wrecker and started firing, using the body of the tow arm for protection.

He heard Robbie cursing, heard the splintering crack of safety glass and the sharp ricochet of bullets as they struck the heavy metal of the wrecker’s body. But Leighton stuck to her position like a tick on a hound, her slender frame tucked in behind the thick tow arm as she kept up a steady hail of fire.

Robbie caught Colin’s attention, holding up a hand with five fingers. Colin nodded, watching as the fingers dropped one by one. When the countdown ended, Robbie stood up and started shooting, joining his fire power with Leighton’s, pinning their attackers beneath a wave of death.

Colin dashed across the lot and dove beneath the dually which was snugged up against his Tahoe, belly crawling under the dually first and then his own truck. His back scraped on the Tahoe’s skid plate, but he blew out a breath and came out on the other side, right next to the highway. He stepped up onto his truck’s running board.

“Leighton,” he yelled. “Fall back.”

He thought she shouted an acknowledgment, but couldn’t be sure as she ducked down and the back window of the wrecker blew out when someone cut a line of fire right across where her head used to be. Colin held his breath as she seemed to fall off the big wrecker, swearing in relief as she appeared next to Robbie who dragged her to the ground and shoved her under the next truck in line.

Colin pulled the Benelli up and fired a couple of rounds into the trees. He couldn’t see anyone, but someone gave a cry of pain, far enough away that he knew it wasn’t from the Benelli’s fire. Shotgun in hand, he crouched down, back-stepped along the side of his truck and opened the rear passenger door.

“Robbie,” he shouted. “Let’s go!” Moving back to the hood, using the engine block for cover, he swung the Benelli away and took up his .9 mm, firing steadily. The sound of a second .9 mm joined in and he glanced over to see Leighton had rolled out from under the Tahoe and taken up a position near the rear end of the Tahoe. As he looked over, she ejected the magazine from her Glock 17, slapped in a replacement and resumed a steady, methodical rate of fire with a speed that spoke of a hell of a lot more than just target practice.

Robbie dropped to the ground on the far side of the dually, but he was too big and the truck was too close to the ground for him to crawl under, even if he blew out every ounce of air in his lungs. The front end of the dually was snug up against the trees and fully in the line of fire from that side. He duck walked his way to the back end instead, pausing long enough to slap the spare magazine into his Uzi.

Colin saw what the big man had planned and yanked his Benelli up again, stepping up on the Tahoe’s running board and firing over the roof. It wouldn’t hit anyone at this distance, but it would keep their heads down. Robbie took the advantage offered, rushing out of cover and backing toward the road, his Uzi spitting fire all the way. He reached the relative safety of the Tahoe, ducked beneath the windows and ran toward Leighton who was still shooting her Glock in a steady double tap rhythm—bang bang, bang bang.

“Leighton!” Colin shouted. He glanced worriedly at the open highway behind them. It was time to leave. Leighton nodded and kept firing.

The Tahoe tilted as Robbie jumped onto the running board behind the passenger compartment, putting Leighton between the two of them. Firing his Uzi on semi-auto in the general direction of their assailants, he roared at Leighton, “In the truck, Cyn. Now!”

Fresh gunfire erupted suddenly from a new direction, coming from the other side of the parking lot, where Colin had been hiding earlier. Colin dropped to the ground as Leighton stepped out and began firing, covering his back while he yanked the front door of his truck open, and began to return fire. He felt more than saw Robbie drop off the running board and glanced over to see him reaching for Leighton, trying to pull her out of her exposed position and into the protection of the truck.

Colin heard a soft grunt and a gasp of breath, heard Robbie’s horrified shout of denial.

He spun around, a wordless protest choking him as ice water filled his veins. “Goddammit!” he swore. Leighton was slumped on the ground, blood already drenching the front of her combats and soaking into the dirt.

“Get her in the truck, Robbie. Get her in the fucking truck!”

“Last magazine,” Robbie shouted and threw his Uzi at Colin who caught it one-handed. He tucked the .9 mm into its holster and started firing the Uzi on full auto, not even trying to hit anything. His only thought was to force their enemies to take cover long enough for Robbie to get Leighton in the truck so they could get the hell out of here.

He shot another glance over his shoulder and saw Robbie scoop Leighton up like she weighed nothing. Bullets were whizzing through the air, carving into the dirt parking lot and gouging chunks out of the trees. Someone got lucky and shot out all the windows on the Tahoe, spidering the safety glass. Robbie curved his body around Leighton and kept moving, crawling into the backseat and staying low.

Colin reached over and slammed the back door. Lying almost flat on the front seat, he shoved the keys into the ignition and jammed the truck into gear. He started to sit up, his foot reaching for the gas, when he heard a voice shouting orders, a voice almost as familiar to him as his own. His stomach clenched in denial. That was impossible. The gunfire died abruptly and he heard his name called. He closed his eyes against a wave of sick betrayal.

He slammed his truck door and hit the gas, his tires spitting dirt before catching on the asphalt with a scream of burning rubber.

Colin didn’t think about anything for the first few miles. The windshield was cracked, but he could still see, so he concentrated on driving, on getting Leighton some help, on putting distance between them and goddamn Babe’s. The Benelli sat on the passenger seat, along with Robbie’s Uzi, the .9 mm was in his hand. His attention veered from the road in front to his rear view mirror and back again, over and over until he was convinced no one was following.

“How bad is it?” he asked Robbie, risking a quick look over his shoulder.

“You got a first aid kit or something in this truck?” Robbie asked tightly.

“Yeah, it’s in the back, but it might be better if we—”

“Pull over, goddammit,” Robbie demanded. “I need something besides my hands to stop this bleeding,” he added more quietly, his voice rough with emotion.

“Fuck.” Colin checked the mirror quickly and turned down an old logging road, not stopping until the highway had disappeared into the trees behind him. He threw himself out of the truck, raced around back, lifted the cargo hatch and grabbed the first aid kid, slamming the hatch down.

Hurrying back, he yanked the back door open and swore viciously at what he found there.

Blood. Too much blood for one person to lose. Her pants were black with it, the gray carpet splotched with bright red. Robbie was cradling Leighton in his arms, one big hand stroking her hair back off her face over and over again. “Cyn, baby,” he begged softly. “Hang on for me, sweetheart. Hang on.”

“How bad is it?” Colin asked grimly.

Robbie looked up and met Colin’s gaze. He didn’t need to say anything. The grief was written all over his face.

“We’re not giving up,” Colin said in a hard voice. “The hospital’s a good sixty miles, but I can make it in—”

“No.” Leighton’s voice was unexpected, terrifying in its frailty. Her eyes opened, fogged with pain as she searched Robbie’s face. She fumbled for his hand with bloodless fingers. “Raphael. Robbie, you’ve got to get me to—” She groaned, vomited to one side, and then screamed with pain.

Colin automatically grabbed a wet wipe from the first aid kit, staring at it in his hand before throwing it onto the floor. What the fuck did it matter if her face was dirty?

Leighton’s cries subsided into soft moans, and she sobbed suddenly, her hand falling away where she’d been clinging to Robbie’s arm. “It hurts so bad, Robbie.” Tears were flowing down her cheeks, choking her words. “Promise me, Rob,” she said in a barely there whisper.

“I promise, sweetheart. I will. You know I will. Just take it easy now.”

Colin was grabbing packages almost at random from the first aid kit, tearing them open, shoving the contents into Robbie’s hand and ripping open some more. Bandages, wraps, gauze, anything he thought might help. The floor was littered with paper wrappings on top of the blood and vomit. Robbie was holding the makeshift compress over Leighton’s bloody gut, keeping it in place even when she cried out, whispering apologies to her over and over again.

He looked up, suddenly intent. “Let’s go,” he said tersely. “She’s right. We’ve got to get her to the compound before sunset.”