Taking Aim. Elle James

me?”

      Again static.

      They were on their own and responsible for the two horses and clients headed down into the canyon.

      “You feeling weird about this?” Tracie asked.

      “You bet.”

      “Why don’t you head back and let Giddings know the clients have left the property? I’ll follow along and make sure they don’t get lost.”

      “Not a good idea. You aren’t as familiar with the land as I am.” Jacie glanced down the trail at the two men on Big Elk Ranch horses. “If they want to get themselves lost or shot, I don’t care, but those are Big Elk Ranch horses.”

      Tracie nodded. “Ginger and Rocky. And you know they like being part of a group, not off on their own.” She shook her head. “What are those guys thinking?”

      “I don’t know, but I don’t want to abandon the horses.” Jacie sighed. “I guess there’s nothing to it but for us to follow and see if we can talk some sense into those dirtbags.”

      “I’m not liking it,” Tracie said. “You should head back and notify Giddings.”

      “I don’t feel right abandoning the horses and I sure as hell won’t let you go after them by yourself. We don’t know what kind of kooks these guys are.” Jacie nodded toward the saddlebags they carried on their horses, filled with first aid supplies, emergency rations and a can of mace. “Look, we’re prepared for anything on two or four legs. As long as we keep our heads, we should be okay.”

      Each woman carried a rifle in her scabbard, for hunting or warding off dangerous animals. They also carried enough ammo for a decent round of target practice in case they didn’t actually see any game on the trail, which they hadn’t up to this point. Tracie had the added protection of a nine-millimeter Glock she’d carried with her since she left training at Quantico.

      “Whatever you say.” Tracie grimaced at her. “My rifle’s loaded and on safe.” She patted the Glock in the holster she’d worn on her hip. “Ready?”

      “I don’t like it, but let’s follow. Maybe we can talk them into returning with us.” Jacie squeezed her horse’s sides. That’s all it took for D’Artagnan to leap forward and start down the winding trail to the base of the canyon.

      “Hey, guys! To make it back to camp for supper, we need to head back in the next hour,” Jacie called out to the men ahead.

      Either they didn’t hear her or they chose to ignore her words. The men didn’t even look back, just kept going.

      D’Artagnan set his own pace on the slippery slope. Jacie didn’t urge him to go faster. He wanted to catch up, but he knew his own limits on the descent.

      The two men riding ahead worked their way downward at a pace a little faster than Jacie’s and Tracie’s mounts. At the rate they were moving, they’d have a substantial lead.

      Jacie wasn’t worried so much about catching up. She knew D’Artagnan and Tracie’s gelding, Aramis, were faster than the mare and gelding ahead. But there were many twists and turns in the canyon below. If they didn’t catch them soon, they stood a chance of falling even farther behind. It would take them longer to track the two men, and dusk would settle in. Not to mention, it would get dark sooner at the base of the canyon where sunlight disappeared thirty minutes earlier than up top.

      As Jacie neared the bottom of the canyon, the two men disappeared past a large outcropping of rock.

      D’Artagnan stepped up the pace, stretching into a gallop, eager to catch the two horses ahead. The pounding of hooves reverberated off the walls of the canyons. Tracie and Aramis kept pace behind her. If the two clients had continued at a sedate rate, they would have caught them by now.

      The deeper the women traveled into the canyon, the angrier Jacie became at the men. They’d disregarded her warning about drug traffickers and about entering the national park with firearms, and they’d disrespected the fact that the horses didn’t belong to them. They were Big Elk Ranch property and belonged on the ranch.

      At the first junction, the ground was rocky and disturbed in both directions as if the men had started up one route, turned back and taken the other. In order to determine which route they ended up on, Jacie, the better tracker of the twins, had to dismount and follow their tracks up the dead end and back before she realized it was the other corridor they’d taken.

      Tracie stood guard at the fork in case the men returned.

      Jacie climbed into the saddle muttering, “We really need to perform a more thorough background check on our clients before we let them onto the ranch.”

      Her sister smiled. “Not all of them are as disagreeable as these two.”

      “Yeah, but not only are they putting themselves and the horses in danger, they’re putting the two of us at risk, as well.” Jacie hesitated. “Come to think of it, maybe we should head back while there’s still enough light to climb the trail out of the canyon.”

      Tracie sighed. “I was hoping you’d say that. I don’t want you to get hurt out here.”

      “Me? I was more concerned about you. You haven’t been in the saddle much since you joined the FBI.”

      “You’re right, of course.” She smiled at Jacie. “Let’s get out of here.”

      “Agreed. Let them be stupid. We don’t have to be.” Jacie turned her horse back the way they’d come and had taken the lead when the sharp report of gunfire echoed off the canyon walls.

      “What the hell?” Jacie’s horse spun beneath her and it was all she could do to keep her balance.

      Aramis reared. Tracie planted her feet hard in the stirrups and leaned forward, holding on until the gelding dropped to all four hooves.

      More gunfire ensued, followed by the pounding of hooves, the sound growing louder as it neared them.

      Tracie yelled, “Go, Jacie. Get out of the canyon!”

      Jacie didn’t hesitate, nor did her horse. She dug her heals into D’Artagnan’s flanks, sending him flying along the trail. She headed back the way they’d come, her horse skimming over the rocky ground, his head stretched forward, nostrils flared.

      Before they’d gone a hundred yards, Rocky, the gelding Mr. Jones had been riding, raced past them, eyes wide, sweat lathered on both sides, sporting an empty saddle, no Mr. Jones. Rocky hit the trailhead leading out of the canyon, scrambling up the slope.

      Jacie dared to glance over her shoulder.

      Mr. Smith emerged from the fork in the canyon trail, yelling at Ginger, kicking her hard. Both leaned forward, racing for their lives.

      The distinct sound of revving motors chased the horse and rider through the narrow passage. An ATV roared into the open, followed by another, then another until four ATVs spread out, chasing Mr. Smith, Tracie and Jacie.

      Jacie reached the trail climbing out of the canyon first, urging D’Artagnan faster. He stumbled, regained his footing and charged on.

      Tracie wasn’t far behind, her horse equally determined to make it out of the canyon alive and ahead of the ATVs.

      Mr. Smith brought up the rear on Ginger.

      As Jacie reached the top of the slope, she turned back, praying for Tracie to hurry.

      Her sister had dropped behind, Aramis slipping in the loose rocks and gravel, distressed by the noise behind him. Just when Jacie thought the two were going to make it, shots rang out from the base of the canyon.

      One of the ATVs had stopped, its rider aiming what appeared to be a high-powered rifle with a scope up at the riders on the trail.

      Another shot rang out and Mr. Smith jerked in his saddle and fell off backward, sliding down the hill on his back.

      His mount