Page 101 of Ford

York had vanished into the shadows on the opposite side.

Ford gauged the distance between his position and the end of the alleyway. It opened beyond that into a dark plane of shadows, but in the far distance, he made out a statue, or maybe a sign.

If he could get there…

He scrabbled around at his feet and found a chunk of cement. Then aiming for the shooter, he let it fly and took off, hoping York saw his movements.

Maybe he’d hit the guy, because it gave him a few precious, fruitful seconds where he sprinted down the alleyway, heedless of the darkness, and right out into the square before the shots burned past him. One nicked the dirt at his feet. Another dinged into the cement behind his head.

He launched himself behind a towering pillar and clung to it as shots snicked off the plaster around him.

Then, abruptly, the shooting stopped.

He scrambled to his feet. Shouts, the sounds of a brawl, and in a second Ford found the figures in the darkness, grappling.

York knew how to fight. Ford didn’t know what kind of training the guy had, but he could still feel a few of the man’s punches in his gut. Ford sprinted over to the tussle and found York on his back, the man on top of him also on his back. York’s arm was locked in a sleeper hold around his neck.

Ford grabbed the shooter’s arms and held him down as he struggled.

A few more seconds and finally the man went limp. York shoved him away, breathing hard.

Ford got up, held out his hand.

York considered it, then grabbed it. “Thanks. It’s been awhile since I had backup.”

Ford had nothing for that because he’d possessed the same instinct to run for the shooter, alone.

Who do you depend on?

Scarlett’s voice crept over him, settled into his bones. Because he was exactly the lone wolf Ham had accused him of being.

Maybe he was trying to prove something.

“You got something to tie him up with?” Ford asked.

“And then what?” York said. “We drag him down to the local authorities? We’re on the run, if you haven’t noticed. We gotta get out of here, hunker down and figure out what to do next.” York picked up the man’s gun and pocketed it.

Only then did Ford hear the screaming from the alley. It lifted the gooseflesh on his skin, skittered down his spine.

RJ!

He sprinted for the alley and nearly plowed over Scarlett. He caught her arms. “What?”

“It’s your sister. She’s been shot!”

Oh…the words took him out at the throat, his breath gone.

In that moment, York swore and sprinted past him.

No…no…Please God, not like this…

Scarlett had him by the shirt, was pulling him back to himself, down the alleyway.

Then he was running.

It was too dark to see the wounds, but he made out York bending over RJ on the sidewalk. He was searching, running his hands over her body for the wound. She writhed on the sidewalk.

Ford couldn’t breathe, the sight of it a fist in his gut. He crashed to his knees, crawling over to them, a strange sound coming from his mouth as he reached them.