Cut and Run 2 - Sticks and Stones

more space between them. Ty frowned and looked back at Earl.
    Earl met his eyes briefly before nodding. “We go,” he said more definitively.
    Ty started to shift, to get them moving again, but Earl placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “You were right, Ty,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
    Ty blinked at him in shock for a moment before nodding curtly. “Yes, sir,” he responded almost soundlessly. It took him a moment to compose himself, and when he finally did, he realized Deuce and Zane were even farther away.
    He was about to give a low whistle to get their attention when three men with shotguns broke through the undergrowth just feet from where Zane and Deuce hunched. Ty jerked to rise to his feet, but Earl’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. They watched together helplessly as the other two men were surrounded.

Chapter 10

    T HE leader of the three men was middle-aged and average in appearance, a man Zane wouldn’t have looked at twice in passing. He wore glasses, a heavy red jacket, and a plain black ball cap to hide his receding hairline. He stood at the foot of a trail that led down the mountainside away from the camp they’d been led to. Zane took note that the path was well-traveled and marked with two ruts made by a vehicle of some sort. Probably the four-wheeler they’d seen sign of.
    Swizzlestick jabbed Zane in the back with the barrel of the shotgun, forcing him forward. Zane took a stutter-step to keep from falling and kept his hands up in front of him as they were marched into the center of a clearing near the messy little campsite. He glanced at Deuce, who was also edging forward.
    In front of them was a small clearing in the midst of the thick, overgrown forest and what looked like a satellite work site. There was the ATV, sitting off to the side. There were shovels and picks, a few sticks of dynamite, tarps, metal detectors, a single tent, and other equipment Zane didn’t recognize. It did sort of look like they were hunting for buried treasure, though.
    “Who the hell are they?” Redjacket demanded of his two lackeys, and he anxiously rubbed at his beard.
    “They had to be the ones that set off the can,” Swizzlestick offered.
    Redjacket shook his head, walked over, and rifled through Zane’s pockets none too gently. Zane gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge to first, knock him on his ass, and second, lean away—because the asshole smelled terrible. He knew what the man would find in the inside pocket of his jacket. Hopefully he wouldn’t check the back of his waistband underneath the jacket.
    Redjacket pulled out the badge when he found it and flipped it over. “Fucking FBI?” he asked in renewed outrage. Zane felt the muzzle of the shotgun dig harder into his back as Swizzlestick tensed with the news.
    “What do you wanna do?” Earflaps asked as he gestured toward Deuce in distaste.
    “They’re Feds. We kill ’em and we got all kinds of trouble,” Redjacket muttered, shaking his head indecisively.
    “We can’t just let ’em waltz off the mountain, neither,” Swizzlestick argued, his narrow, pointy nose twitching, making him look like a fuzzy shrew.
    Redjacket scowled mightily, and then he advanced on Deuce, grabbing him by the coat and yanking him forward. Deuce had no choice but to grab hold of the man to keep his balance. “What’s a gimp like you doing up on this mountain? You’re no FBI man,” he snarled.
    “You’re right,” Deuce said evenly.
    Zane admired how calm Deuce was in the face of such obvious danger, but when Redjacket went to shake him again, Zane barked, “Leave him alone!”
    The man pushed Deuce away roughly, causing him to stumble and fall onto the hard-packed dirt. Redjacket turned on Zane and threw a punch that snapped Zane’s jaw to the side and caused him to stagger back into the shotgun. Zane regained his balance and turned on the man with a snarl, only to have Swizzlestick jab the shotgun in his back warningly. Zane glared at them both mutinously, but he kept his hands laced behind his head as the man with the swizzle stick hanging out of the corner of his mouth sidestepped around him and moved to stand next to Redjacket.
    “Keep your damn mouth shut,” Redjacket ordered as he poked Zane in the chest. “You’re in our mountains now.”
    “We’re not here looking for you,” Zane grated out. “We’re on a fucking vacation.”
    “I wanted to go to Cabo,” Deuce muttered from his place on the