Page 2 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

The sedan’s back windshield exploded.

Pop! Pop!

Percy’s car swerved, fishtailing, like a tire had been blown out, and he lost control. The sedan went into a spin, crashing into the guardrail. Metal screamed. Brakes whined in the night. Sparks flew. With an agonizing shriek, steel sheared.

Rocco’s gut clenched.

Lay off the brakes, Percy. Straighten out the wheel. Come on.

The groan of metal rending filled the air as the car broke through the guardrail. The sedan flipped over the side, bounced, and rolled toward the vast, deep maw of the ravine.

No.His stomach tightened even harder, his heart hammering in shock.

The truck slowed a moment, passing the gaping hole in the guardrail and then raced off down the road.

Rocco jammed his foot on the gas until he reached the site of the crash. He noted the mile marker and threw the SUV in Park. Slapped the button for the hazard lights. Snatched his flashlight. Tossed his cowboy hat on the seat. Dashed from the vehicle.

Adrenaline surged through him. He ran to the torn guardrail and shone the flashlight over the side. The wrecked car was upside down. Nothing more than a hunk of battered, twisted metal. A tree had stopped its descent toward the river.

Be alive, Percival.

Rocco jumped, catapulting down the hill. He landed hard and unevenly, turning his left ankle. A stabbing pain shot up his leg as he teetered off balance. He righted himself and hurried onward over the steep, rocky terrain. Stumbled. Fell. Gasping, he was up on his feet. He was running at an angle down the slope now, trying not to slip again. His heart pumped furiously. Sweat dripped from his brow.

One thought drove him.Get to Percival.

The man was a fifty-year-old veterinarian. Had a wife. A son. Had done nothing wrong besides having the right type of access at a time when Rocco’s task force was in dire need of answers.

He slid down to the car. Shattered glass glittered in the moonlight. A bloody arm hung out the window.

Kneeling, he shone the flashlight up inside the car. The airbag had deflated. Blood covered Percival’s face. Rocco pressed his fingers to the man’s carotid artery, checking for a pulse. He found one. Thready. Barely there. But his informant was still breathing.

Rocco unsheathed his tactical blade from the holster clipped on his hip. He sliced the seat belt—the one thing that had saved Percival’s life—and hauled him free of the wreckage over to a somewhat level spot.

Percival coughed. His head rocked side to side.

Rocco cradled the man’s head in his lap, whipped out his phone from his pocket and dialed the sheriff’s department once more. “Agent Sharp again. I need an ambulance.” He relayed the mile marker. “The shooter got away in the black pickup truck still headed east on 130.” Percival reached for him, mumbling something, but he couldn’t hear what it was over the dispatcher’s response. He glanced down. The injured man was clutching his abdomen. His shirt was soaked with blood. But he hadn’t been impaled by anything in the car. Had he been shot? “There are at least two individuals in the truck. Hurry with that ambulance.”

He dropped the phone, not bothering with hanging up, and pressed a palm to Percival’s abdominal wound to slow the bleeding.

“He kn-kn-knew...” Percival coughed up blood. “I was a CI...” Another cough. More blood.

“Shush, don’t talk. The ambulance is on the way.” But at the rate he was bleeding out it wouldn’t reach him in time.

“No time,” Percival said on a pained groan, echoing Rocco’s thought.“Wrong.”With a trembling hand, he dug in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out something. “We had it wrong.”

Rocco took the balled-up wad and lowered it into the light. The bloodstained paper had a date written on it.

September 19.

Six days from now. “What happens on the nineteenth?”

Percy shook his head. “Something big.” His voice was faint. “S-s-something horrible.” His eyelids fluttered, his breath growing shallow. He mumbled more words, too low for Rocco to make out. “...planned it all.”

“Who?” Rocco patted his cheek. Worry clawed at him as he watched the life draining from this poor man. “What’s going to happen? Who planned it?”

Percy’s lips moved, but the whisper was lost in the wind.

“Say it again.” Rocco brought his ear closer to his face.

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