Page 5 of Welker

The rutted road he turned onto, also led past her house, wrapping around a hill that the topographical maps called Mount Beinn, a Scottish word that actually meant “big hill”, before leading back out to a main road on the other end.

He wondered if Mason knew of the second way in.

Pulling over for a hot minute, Welker picked up his phone and punched Mase’s contact info.

“On our way, Welk. Where are you?” The boss didn’t miss a beat.

“Pulled over on the end of the dirt road leading to Moira’s house. I haven’t seen any motorcycles leave this way,” he replied. “I was thinking, in case you’re not aware of it, you should have a few of the team come at her property from the Outback Road side of things, to head the group off if they travel in that direction.”

“Already done,” Mason informed him. “Mike’s unit is entering from that side of things, while E squad, with me, will be following in the way you’ve gone. Which means we’ll have the bikers locked in, as long as they don’t get by you before we get there. And in that regard, tuck yourself away where they can’t see you and wait for us. I’m only eight minutes out.”

Welker knew he was going to get a ration of shit because he’d already decided to move in and not wait for Mase. While he searched for the words that would declare his insubordination in the nicest of ways, his phone indicated an incoming call. He looked at the screen.

“Moira’s calling,” he curtly told Mason. “I’ll call you back.”

Reprieve.

Without waiting for his boss’s approval, Welk cut the call and connected with Moira.

“What’s happening?” he barked.

“Your siren alerted the pricks that I’m here, and since even their pea-brains figured out I had to have been the one who called in the house-break, they’re outside now, looking for me.” Her voice emerged hushed, but her tone didn’t display a single tremor. Moira was one tough cookie. “The man in charge, Tormentor’s replacement and flavor-of-the-day, Mick, gave the bunch five minutes to find me before they have to take off.”

“You’re still on the roof?” Welker asked.

“Yeah, Welk. There’s no way for me to get down with them spread out across my yard. And unfortunately, without a lot of places to hide, I’m pretty much certain they’re going to look for me, here, eventually.”

“You have your firearm?” he questioned again, opening his car door before heading into the woods at a fast clip.

“Of course,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Okay. Here’s the plan. I’m at the end of your road. I’m leaving my siren on so hopefully it sounds to them like I’m waiting for more squad-cars, but in reality, I’m coming in on foot.” He was already bushwhacking.

“Not smart, Vestore.”

Great. They were back to last names again.

“Just listen,” he growled while using the skills he’d learned during his years with the SEALs to traverse the woods in complete silence. “You might not have time to wait for SWAT, so we’re doing this my way.”

“Fine,” she said, never losing her aplomb.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. Once I’m close, I’m going to start shooting, then I’m going to run to another spot, where I’ll lay down even more fire, repeating that again and again to confuse them into thinking?—”

“—that there are more of you out there than just one,” Moira finished for him. “And you want me to add to their confusion by doing the same, from the roof.”

“You’ve got it,” he praised, glad she was so fast on the uptake.

“It’s not a bad strategy,” she replied coolly, as if they were talking abstract logistics, not life or death. “You sure you don’t want to wait for the team?”

“And have those assholes find you in the meantime?” Welker growled, close enough now to see the lights on in her house. “Not going to risk it.”

“I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty on them locating my position,” she responded calmly.

Damn. She’d be betting her life if he waited.

He growled. “What do you figure the odds are for your survival if I come in shooting?”

“Seventy-thirty,” she countered without hesitation.

---