Dakota sucked in a breath. “Cold.” Enough to jog her out of her deep descent. She grinned. “Yikes.”

  Josh rubbed his hands together, then blew on them. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Even though it had felt like an ice cube down the back of her shirt. But the problems she had weren’t going away. Terrence still lay there.

  Tears threatened again. Josh tugged on the elbows of her jacket and pulled her in for another warm hug. Dakota sighed against his chest. Her breath broke in the middle a couple of times, but she managed to get the air out and back in without dissolving into a puddle of emotion.

  His hand rubbed up and down her back. Probably warming his skin.

  “Where are your gloves?”

  He smiled down at her. “Lost them somewhere, I guess. Thanks for warming me up.”

  Dakota shook her head. “You’re like a kid who got caught with one hand in the cookie jar.”

  “I make pretty good cookies. Eden gave me her recipe.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe next time I make them, you could come over and be my official taste tester?”

  She felt the corners of her mouth curl up. “Depends. What do you put in your cookies?”

  “Not a raisin fan?”

  “Actually I love raisins. But they do not belong in anything except cereal.”

  “Good to know.”

  He leaned closer, and his lips touched hers. Thankfully warmer than his fingers were. Dakota tilted her head to the side and the kiss continued. Tentative, like a gentle exploration. And then his forehead was touching hers. She pressed her lips together, eyes closed. Still feeling the ghost of his touch against her mouth.

  “Hmm.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You sound very satisfied with yourself.”

  “Maybe I should double check. Just to make sure—”

  “Really guys?” Niall’s voice rang out. Twenty feet away he stopped, cheeks red from exertion or the cold. Or both.

  Dakota shifted back, like that kid with the hand in the cookie jar she’d just mentioned to Josh. Oops. His hand snagged her gloved one. She wound her fingers with his, just to warm them. Not because she liked the feeling of his hand around hers. That was hardly professional.

  Niall dumped a bag on the far side of where Terrence had died. “Guess I’m on evidence collection duty. You want the camera?”

  She shook her head. “You have the scene. Josh and I need to follow a lead.”

  His eyebrow crept up. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “Niall!”

  “Dude.” Josh shook his head. “Not cool.”

  Dakota said, “What is it?” Something had happened, and it had nothing to do with her handing him this scene. She knew. She could see it in him. There was something wrong with Niall.

  Her teammate sighed. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a camera. “Did you move anything?”

  As if she didn’t know not to do that? “I only touched him to check for a pulse.”

  “So you’re off again? Leaving a trail of bodies behind you.” Niall’s jaw shifted. “Must be a Tuesday.”

  “It’s Sunday.” Josh wandered to where Neema had laid down on one of the few patches of grass not crusted with snow, resting in the afternoon sun.

  “Need me to do the paperwork so you can save the world?”

  “Yes,” was Dakota’s reply to his ridiculous question. “Actually, I do. Austin gave me the name of a group of bikers who could be Clare Norton’s next target. Apparently there’s history there. A grudge.”

  “And your father?”

  It was getting harder to ignore his tone. “He ceased being my father when he shot a woman in front of me. You don’t get to do that and still call yourself a parent.”

  Something crossed his face and she knew she’d hit a mark. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Sore subject, apparently.

  He crouched by the body and began taking pictures.

  “Josh and I are going to head out.”

  “You need to stay for a bit. Help me.”

  That wasn’t it. “You’ve done this yourself before. What’s different today?”

  He stood, and out the corner of her eye she saw Josh move. Covering her. A reflex as he read Niall’s body language?

  The subtle twitch of Niall’s hand toward his gun gave her enough information. Dakota’s heart sank. “Who got to you, and what did they say?” Clearly he’d bought it.

  His face twisted.

  “Your sister?”

  “And my niece.” His voice broke on the last word.

  Josh stilled his approach. Beside him Neema leaned forward, her whole body alert.

  “I can’t let you guys leave. Not yet.”

  “And if we try?” she asked.

  “They’ll kill them.”

  Dakota said, “Are you going to shoot us?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Goodbye, Niall.” She knew he wouldn’t shoot her, or Josh. Dakota was willing to bet their lives that Niall wouldn’t go against everything he believed and hurt a fellow agent. Not even to save his sister and niece. “I’ll have Victoria take care of Patricia and Siobhan.”

  He shifted.

  She lifted one finger, fully aware that Josh was about to give the command. Then there would be nothing to stop Neema from launching herself at Niall and taking him down to the ground.

  As satisfying as that might be to watch.

  “Don’t.” Dakota lowered her finger. “This is already bad enough. But if you want to do the right thing, then give Talia all the information on how they contacted you, so she can expose them.”

  “And if they kill my family before then?”

  “You’re the one putting their lives at risk.” He was an agent. He knew the threat, even to extended family. Measures could be taken to protect loved ones. Surely he’d put those things in place already.

  Not everything could be prevented. Still, he should have at least done what he could to minimize the risk.

  Niall twisted to look at Josh. “Can I move, or is that dog going to take me down?”

  “You can stay right there until we’re gone.” Josh clicked his fingers and the two of them circled toward Dakota. “Then I suggest you get on your phone, call Victoria and figure this out.” His tone was one she’d never heard before.

  Protective. Angry.

  As he neared her, Josh put his hand out. She led the way. His palm touched the small of her back. The kind of cover she’d never experienced before.

  Despite the circumstances, Dakota realized she’d like to have more of it. Uncertainty filled her. Was that what Josh wanted?

  . . .

  They still wore their vests, and when he pulled up outside the gated compound where Rough Riders lived, Josh decided it had been a good idea. These were bikers. Rough Riders was enough of a clue as to the kind of people they were.

  He went around to the back of the SUV and opened the door. “Platz.”

  Neema, about to jump out, laid down instead. Chin up, ears perked.

  “Stay.”

  He pulled his vest off, then removed his sweater. Rolled up both sleeves.

  “What are you—” Dakota touched his bicep and the tattoo there. “Ah. You’re going to appeal to their sense of duty?”

  “I’d rather they shoot me because I’m a Marine and not because they saw two cops walk in their front gate.”

  “We are cops,” she said. “And I thought you were a Marine, not that you are a Marine.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It is?”

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  She smiled at him, like she thought that was cute and not supremely masculine. “You’re going to freeze.”

  “I’ll live. They need to see my tattoo, because if they’re going to make a split second decision about who we are and why we’re there, then I’m going to give them as much information as possible.” He reached into his bag and pulled out two patches. He slapped the one that said explosives detection on the side of Neema’s vest, but stowed the narcotics one back in his pack.

  “Good idea.”

  He grinned. “How about you?”

  “I’m a cop. There’s no way to spin that.” She gave him a wry smile. “Unless I wear a sign that says, ‘grew up in a compound exactly like this.’ Oh, and ‘my dad’s an escaped murderer.’ That should go down well.”

  That was incredibly sad. But considering her tone, he said, “Might be too wordy.”

  Dakota laughed. “Shame.”

  He leaned in and kissed her, because he wanted to make her feel better. The smile she shot him when he moved back told him he’d achieved his goal.

  “Neema, hier.”

  She hopped out of the SUV and came to his side. Josh said, “Ready?”

  Dakota nodded and headed for the gate. A faded “No Trespassing” sign hung there. A camera had been mounted to a pole and was angled down, pointed at them. “You really think they’ll just shoot us?”

  He shrugged. “They’ve got to assume someone knows we’re here. It isn’t like we can simply disappear and no one will show up to ask questions.”

  She flipped the latch. Josh closed the gate behind them, and they headed down the lane. There was no way to tell what kind of bikers these were without meeting them. The deputy sheriff on duty hadn’t returned their call asking for intel.

  Josh said, “I’m praying they’ll take the fact we’re here to warn them about a possible threat as a good thing, and then we can get in and out peaceably. And without too much fuss.”

  “Amen to that.” Dakota said, “I might not get to church as often as I’d like, but anytime I can pray I don’t bleed any more than I already have in the course of an investigation, I do it.”

  “You seem better.”

  “Maybe you being here helps.” She shot him a smile. “Or I’m so tired that I’ve gone crazy.”

  “Eden calls it, ‘punch drunk tired.’ Don’t ask me what that means. Other than you’re dizzy and falling down.”

  “I get it.”

  He wanted to kiss her again. Or hold her hand. Josh shoved away those urges—plenty of experience doing that this weekend—and surveyed what amounted to the front lawn. Minus any actual grass.

  Tire tracks rutted the dirt that had frozen from the chill in the air. A big building stood to the left, one of those metal constructions that was shop underneath and rooms above. Some kind of meeting place. The house was huge, two stories and seemed to have been added onto several times over.

  Two motorcycles were parked under a pop-up awning beside the house. A fire had been built about fifteen feet to the right at some point. Now it was a pile of charred wood and ashes.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Josh had been thinking the same thing. Before he could reply, a single man wandered out of the house. Baggy jeans secured with a belt, a chain hanging against his leg. T-shirt. Leather vest. His gray hair was pulled back, secured behind his head. Amid the sleeves of tattoos, Josh could make out the letters USMC in red on his arm.

  Josh thought he saw movement at a window in the house. Everyone present had hunkered down. They’d seen Josh and Dakota, and they’d answered in kind. Sending out a Marine as their emissary.

  “Can I help you folks?” Like they’d wandered up to his grocery stand on a Sunday afternoon.

  Josh shifted, his body slightly in front of Dakota’s. Not enough to cover her but enough to make a statement. She was here under his protection. It might be sexist, but bikers had a code. Women weren’t subservient but they definitely didn’t hold the same authority a man could exercise.

  “You know Clare Norton?”

  His head jerked back. Not what he’d been expecting.

  “Heard word she might be on her way here. And not for a friendly visit like this.” He gave the guy a pointed look.

  He bit off a swear word. “That woman.”

  “What about Harlem Roberts? You know him?”

  The man’s gaze flicked to Dakota. Surprised she’d spoken. “This an interrogation?”

  Josh said, “Do you know him?”

  “Did.” He didn’t elaborate though. Just said, “Got a brother in lockup with him now.”

  “You’re gonna want to check on your friend,” Josh said. “There was an incident at Inland this morning. Several people, inmates and guards, were killed by a deadly substance that Norton managed to get her hands on.”

  He frowned. “Like a virus?”

  “Not airborne as far as we’ve seen, but it’s a gas in its usual state. It’ll kill you. And she’s using it. She started a fire at the prison. In the confusion, she broke two of her friends out and took Roberts with her as well.”

  Clare had also killed Terrence at the spot where Austin was supposed to have been taken. Or had him killed. But why? Perhaps there’d been a fight. Terrence fell and hit his head. Or he was hit over the head. Or he’d tripped.

  Only time—and the medical examiner’s assessment—was going to give them an idea of what had happened. Part of him was frustrated the group had been gone before Josh and Dakota got there. Then again, neither of them were one hundred percent. It was probably the grace of God they’d missed the group.

  The man yelled, “Bunny.” Over his shoulder.

  A younger man, six-four at least, bounded out of the house. His leather jacket looked brand new. The old Marine whispered in his ear. Josh saw the moment the kid understood the gravity of what was happening.

  He raced back inside.

  “If you see a posse roll in that includes Harlem, Clare, or either of two men in a jumpsuit, I expect you’ll want to call the US Marshals. Let them know where to find her.”

  “Um…sure.” The man nodded.

  Josh didn’t buy it. “Good. We’d appreciate your input, and the chance to make sure everyone here is safe and remains so.”

  That got him a sincere nod. “Noted.”

  Josh handed over his card. Clicked his fingers for Neema to come.

  The sound of gunfire erupted across the compound.

  Chapter 22

  Dakota’s whole body flinched. Her knee hit the dirt, weapon already drawn. But she couldn’t stay out in the open. She raced for the metal building, keeping her head as low as she could.

  Praying she didn’t get shot.

  Praying Josh and Neema didn’t either.

  Men sprinted from both the house and the other building. A rush of heavy boots and jingling keys. More chains attached to belts. Angry shouts rang out, as frequent as the gunshots.

  Rifles. Not automatic. More than one person. The source was concentrated to the west, behind the cover of trees.

  She moved to go after the men. A shot hit the side of the building and embedded itself in the metal. She backed up, rounding the corner of the building. A man stood there, his gun aimed at the trees where his friends had gone. Brothers. That’s what the old Marine had called them.

  These people were a family.

  She pressed her back against the wall beside the guy. Rough looking but that was to be expected. His eyebrows crawled together like fuzzy caterpillars. “Help you?”

  She shook her head and tried to see Josh. “Is there a German Shepherd out there?”

  Had either of them been hurt? Were they taking cover by the house?

  “The dog ran with the other cop.” He pointed east. “That way.”

  “I’m not going to arrest you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Who says I’m worried?” He disappeared around the corner, and she heard a slew of gunshots.

  Dakota moved to the corner of the building and peered around. They didn’t need to get in the middle of this war. She and Josh had been here to warn the Rough Riders. Now their job was to detain Clare and her friends.

  It bothered Dakota that they’d been too late. The old Marine lay on the dirt, blood pooled out from underneath his chest. Dead.

  The Rough Riders would be out for blood now. Clare was going to regret coming here and starting something.

  If she lived through it.

  Dakota moved to the back of the building. She could skirt the perimeter and come up on the gun fight from the flank, hopefully staying out of sight and the line of fire long enough to see what was happening.

  The shots continued as she made her way around the back. Behind the buildings was essentially a parking lot. Motorcycles. Trucks. Even an RV had been parked back there.

  A woman lay between the closest vehicle—a beat up car—and the back door of the building. Dakota sank to her knees beside the woman and pressed a hand to her stomach.

  The woman’s glassy eyes widened, and she gasped through the pain.

  “Easy.” Blood seeped between her fingers. “I’m Dakota.”

  She pulled out her phone with the other hand and touched her thumb to the home button. With voice commands, she called Victoria, then put the phone between her ear and shoulder to explain what was happening.

  “I’m on my way with emergency services. Hang tight.” Victoria hung up.

  Dakota looked toward the trees. Where she should be going.

  “I got towels!” Another woman, barely more than a girl really, ran out of the house wearing what appeared to be the uniform for female bikers—tiny denim skirt and halter top, with teased hair and heavy makeup. She saw Dakota and froze, nearly tripping over her feet.

  “Give me those. Now.”

  The girl stumbled but came close enough to throw the towels at her. “Is Misty gonna be okay?”

  “She will if you help her.” Dakota snagged the girl’s hand and pulled her the rest of the way over. She planted her hand on the towel, above where Misty had been shot. “What’s your name?”

  “Sunny.”

  “Press right here, Sunny. Harder than you want to,” she told her. “And don’t let up. Not until the paramedics get here. That is the only way she’s going to make it.”

  Sunny let out a sob. Dakota didn’t blame her. It was plain to see the woman on the ground was in a bad way. God, will she make it? He didn’t answer back but sometimes she needed to ask the question anyway.

  Dakota set her hand on Sunny’s shoulder. “Got it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Dakota clambered to her feet and headed for the woods.