"Bad dog."

Clint's eyes narrowed behind a pair of tinted goggles as he pulled back against the bow. He had so many questions, but first, he had to get her out of there. He took a fraction of a second to aim, half on instinct, and opened his fingers. The arrow shot forward with a rush of air on his cheek and...

Thwack!

It tore the gun from Rayner's hand and smacked into a tree with wood splintering force. The resulting discharge missed the dog by a fraction of an inch. Dammit. He'd just have to do this the old fashioned way.

Well, almost.

Clint pulled up the cloth he'd tied around his neck and coiled like a cat getting ready to pounce.

With a click, the arrowhead cracked open and thick purple gas hissed into the clearing. The other three stared at it in utter confusion for a half second before the dog twitched away with a loud hacking cough. The girl covered her mouth with her fist and scrambled back. Rayner threw his sleeve over his nose and turned from the smoke. His hand went down toward the holster at his hip.

Not today, pal.

Clint exploded from the jungle with his bow gripped tight in both hands. He swung up and then whipped forward, slamming it across the side of Rayner's skull. The taller man staggered two steps and dropped into a fit of choking gasps.

The bigger they are the harder they–oh shit!

The dog came flying through the wall of smoke, jaws snapping for his arm. He pivoted at the last second and its teeth grabbed hold of his bow instead. The Shepherd dropped like a hundred pound stone, yanking him forward and then pushed onto its hind legs. He staggered back, just managing to keep his feet.

"Time to go," he grunted.

But the girl was already gone.

"Oh come on!" Clint shoved the bow's grip into the back of the dog's throat and twisted.

There was yelp as the scope connected with its eye socket. It yanked away, one paw clawing at the side of its face. Clint seized the opportunity to pluck his now empty arrow out of the tree. The gun dropped into his other hand and he spun in place, firing a shot in time to catch the animal in the side of the chest.

Rayner roared onto his feet and threw himself into Clint's stomach. The two men slammed backwards into a tree and Barton grit his teeth against the explosion of stars in his eyes.

Enough of this!

With a snarl, he cracked the butt of the gun over the back of the bastard's head. Rayner went limp and slumped to the ground.

Clint stood over him, panting into the handkerchief. Deciding that the gas had dissipated enough, he ripped it off his face and wrapped it around his hand twice before shoving it into his back pocket. A quick pat down and he'd relieved Rayner of his gun, two knives, and the little car key looking button he'd used on the girl.

He turned the oblong cylinder over in his fingers. It was made of black matte steel with three buttons inlaid seamlessly into the front. The word, LEASH 034, was inlaid in the back of it. A logo? Maybe a serial number?

Now, where'd she go? He lifted the goggles to the top of his head and scanned his surroundings.

Fresh prints sunk deep into the path along the river. She was running. He collapsed his bow and took off after her.

Finding her was the easy part, because she sort of found him. Thirty feet in her tracks veered into the jungle and Clint threw his hands up in time to catch the branch she was slinging at his face.

He gripped it tight. "Not this time, Sweetheart."

She glared up at him, then dropped the stick and turned tail.

"Hold!" he shouted.

A guess. A good one.

Or maybe a bad one.

The girl skidded to a stop. Her fingers twitched apart. For a moment, she just stood there, shoulders heaving. She turned around slowly, such intense betrayal in her face that it made his throat tighten.

Clint frowned.

"Hey," he said, softer this time, but she still flinched when he reached inside his pocket.

He held up his free hand and shook his head.

"You want this?" Dangling from the tips of his fingers was the control he'd taken from Rayner.

Her eyes went wide, locking onto the button with a painful flash of hope.

He risked a step forward. She immediately stepped back, and he stopped short of a second one. His weight shifted, slow and deliberate, until he was facing her at an angle. One arm stretched to hold the switch out as far as he could without actually moving closer.

From this distance, he could see how pale she'd gotten. Sweat beaded her forehead and the skin pulsed hot above the fabric on her ankle. The bruise only looked darker against her clammy skin. Long tracks of red fringed an ugly slit on her forearm like scarlet lightning bolts.

Suspicion leaked into her eyes and Clint eased the switch just a little closer. Her gaze flicked up to his face and back down again, hands flexing with uncertainty.

"Go ahead," he said. "Take it."

He could tell she wanted to run. In fact, he was pretty sure she was going to the second she got ahold of the control. But he didn't know another way to convince her he was on her side. Forcing her to accept his help would only shatter the tiny glimmer of trust he was building.

The girl locked eyes on him for a long moment, then sucked in a breath that hissed back out through her nostrils.

Finally, "Why?"

Her voice was quiet and raspy, like she hadn't used it in a while, but he felt a surge of hope at that little bit of communication.

He played it off with a shrug. "Because I don't work for him."

A small sharp nod.

"Toss it."

"What?" That was not what Clint was expecting to hear.

Her eyes narrowed. "Throw it over."

Touché. Well, if he was going to get trust, he might as well give some. Besides, she looked like she was about to pass out, and they were on an island. How far could she even go? Anyway, it would give him time to beat some answers out of Rayner first, or at least pretend he was going to.

"Okay," he said.

He did a little pre-toss to get her ready and then underhanded the switch in her direction. She dipped a little, cupping both hands over the metal like she was catching an egg. Her fingers tightened reflexively over the object when her eyes found him again. There was still a heavy edge of suspicion in her expression, but now there was something else too. Curiosity. Surprise.

She nodded at him, swallowing, and then opened her fingers a crack. A genuine smile hissed out of her lips as she turned the switch in her hand and rubbed her thumb over the back. Her eyes were suddenly wet.

Clint cleared his throat.

She sniffed, gaze snapping back to him.

"We should get you cleaned up." He gestured in her general direction and her face immediately darkened.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, yeah," he groaned, "you look fine."

Boy, tough nut to crack, huh?

"Look," he said, holding his hands up. "I get it. You've got the whole lone wolf thing going on–" Did she just cringe? "But I can help. I promise. No tricks."

He might've imagined it, but for a second she looked like she actually wanted to give in. Then she shook her head. Trembling fingers pressed the top button of the switch and the collar dropped to the ground. She shuddered back from it like it might jump its own way back onto her neck.

"Thank you."

Aaand she was gone again.

Clint grumbled under his breath as he watched her disappear. "Some people just—Hey, if you change your mind you know where to find me."

He'd probably go check on her later anyway, but first: Rayner.

He found the rich bastard face down in the dirt exactly where he'd left him, but the dog was gone. The only thing left behind was a set of bloody paw prints and a thin metal band.

Clint blinked. What?

He picked it up, holding it next to the girl's. The one the dog had worn had more bite marks carved into the metal. It was a little darker, but otherwise, they were identical..

Right down to the number etched on the backs of them.

034.