Coming to Colorado by Sara York Page B

had no idea he was being followed, or at least he gave no indication. As Mike drew nearer, he slowed, preparing for an assault. Two steps, then another two, and he was close enough to attack in ten quick steps. Now he was sure it was Craig.
    The guy turned a corner, and Mike halted, knowing that if he followed around the corner, Craig would be right there waiting for him. But it was Craig, and he had to get him. He pulled out his phone and dialed Roger, but shoved the device in his pocket before speaking. He was about to rush forward when Craig came back around the corner, pistol raised.
    Fear flashed but training took over. Mike ducked then moved forward. The blast from Craig’s weapon rang in his ears. Pain raced down his back and arm, but he ignored it. He was still moving, and he wouldn’t stop until Craig was lying in a pool of his own blood.
    Mike wrapped his arms around Craig’s legs and swept him off his feet, picking him up before dropping him to the ground. Mike slammed down on top of him, his elbow jamming into Craig’s sternum. He heard the whoosh of air from Craig’s lungs but didn’t stop. The man had to die.
    They both scrambled, his fingers searching for a place to grab onto to get the upper hand. It wasn’t a smooth fight, and there weren’t any clean hits or good punches. They were both flailing, neither one coming out on top. They rolled to the left then to the right. He heard sirens coming closer. He didn’t want the cops involved before Craig died. They’d only mess things up. Craig couldn’t get put back in jail. He’d find another way to escape, another way to come back and torture them. Mike’s friends at the ranch, and Duff, his mentor, meant too much to him. Even if he died on this mission, he had to take Craig out.
     

 
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
    Roger answered the phone, his gaze staying on the two men in front of him. “Mike...Mike.” No one spoke, but he could hear the sound of a scuffle mixed in with sirens.
    “Mike, fuck, answer me,” he hissed out, trying to stay quiet enough the men in front of him couldn’t hear him.
    Mike said nothing.
    Roger kept moving, following the man he thought was Davis, though all he wanted to do was turn around and find Mike. God, they shouldn’t have separated, but Davis was important to Duff, so the man was important to Roger.
    “Fuck, Mike, talk.” Roger sped up, trying to get closer to the man he believed to be Davis.
    A loud sound blasted through the phone. He pulled the device away from his ear as pain flashed from the loud noise. The shudder that ripped through him made his steps falter. He almost tripped, but righted himself quickly, forcing himself to focus on the pair of men in front of him. If Mike was shot, there wasn’t anything he could do now. Keeping Davis safe was his goal. Davis and his friend deserved to be free from the threat of Craig.
    The phone went dead, and Roger steeled himself for the worst. Mike was a good man. The guys would be pissed and they’d never stop hunting Craig until they knew he was dead.
    Roger picked up his pace, racing forward to catch up with Davis, at least he hoped the man was Davis. He needed the break, and Duff needed to make sure his son was safe. From what Duff said, Davis was an art dealer and wasn’t prepared for an attack like Craig would deliver. The man wasn’t used to the danger they all lived with.
    More cars drove down the street but it wasn’t busy by any respect. They were getting closer to the Back Bay area, and he didn’t want to lose the pair. At least they hadn’t gone into the subway. No way would he be able to track them if they slipped onto a train he couldn’t catch.
    He wondered who Davis’s friend was. Duff hadn’t said much about Davis’s personal life. Maybe the kid was gay. That would explain why Duff had so much tolerance for them. He didn’t know too many straight men who weren’t threatened by the gay thing.
    Roger drew closer to the pair but was held up at