"Where's Turner now?" I bend down and tie his ankles together.
"I don't know! He doesn't tell us shit. We just get a call, a location, and cash."
I key my comms. "Warden, third shooter's secured. South ridge, two hundred yards from the house. He's bleeding but stable."
"Copy. Harper's on her way up with Mason."
“No,” I say instantly.
Jake sighs. “Short of tying her up, I couldn’t stop her. I figured you’d want to be the one to tie her up.”
I look in my vest. Fortunately, I still have a few zip ties. “I’m going to have to have a talk with her.”
“Or accept that she’s the type of woman who’s going to run into the fire with you and have your back.”
Fuck. I like the sound of that, actually.
I take a deep breath and refocus on what I’m doing. I shove the man on the ground with my boot, watching his face twist in pain and fear.
Smiling, I crouch down to his side, out of range for him to try anything. "Well, buddy, you’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, haven’t you?”
He mutters something.
“What was that?” I lean in, a hand to my ear. “I can’t hear you.”
He turns his head away.
“That’s what I thought,” I say cheerily. “I have something for you to do. Think you can manage not to fuck it up?”
When he doesn’t respond, I prod his shoulder with the rifle.
He hisses. “What?”
“If you make it to jail, you're going to tell everyone who asks that Cole Turner hired you to shoot at Emma Hayes."
“If?” he asks hesitantly.
“You never know where the day can take you, right?” I grin wide, lifting my rifle. “So. You understand?”
He nods frantically.
"Good." I stand, keeping my rifle trained on him. "Because if you don't, I'll find you. And next time, I won't aim for your shoulder."
I hear footsteps behind me—Harper and Mason emerging from the trees.
Harper's face is pale, her hand on a sidearm, probably given to her by Jake. Her eyes scan the scene with cop precision. There’s a cut on her forehead, bleeding down the side of her face.
"He's secure," I say, standing down. "Confirmed Turner hired all three of them."
Mason moves forward, checking the shooter's restraints and wound. Harper stays where she is, staring at me.
"You shot him," she says.
“He was about to shoot me." I don’t point out that I shot the other guy too.
She heaves a breath. "Luke, self-defense may have worked in the Old West, but there are laws to uphold here."
"He shot at you and Emma, Harper. At apregnant woman." My voice is hard, unyielding. "I'm not apologizing for stopping him."