Lone Star Standoff

by Margaret Daley

  Oh, God, help me!

  From her hiding spot, she saw the men transferring to the bigger boat and carrying over the man she’d shot but hadn’t killed. She watched to see what they would do next. Oh, God, please just let them leave.

  Two men hopped onto her boat, then back to the larger boat. They laughed and shouted. An explosion resounded. They’d blown a hole in the hull. Bree watched in horror as the boat she and Jayce had brought upriver sank. The evidence they’d even been here was now hidden away.

  Then across the river, she spotted Jayce climbing up onto the riverbank. Her heart surged with hope. You’re alive.

  He rolled over onto his back. Pressed his hand against his chest and to the side. It came away with—was that blood? He was injured, but the Kevlar had still likely saved his life, just like it had saved hers. Only she wasn’t bleeding from a bullet. They’d spot him if he didn’t move, and he wouldn’t live long if they saw him. They thought he was dead. She had to draw their attention away so they wouldn’t find him.

  Bree drew in a couple of breaths. You can do this.

  She rolled over and slowly crawled out of the mud. The boat was a mere twenty-five yards from her. Then she made a show of standing up, hoping they would spot her before she ran into the woods.

  A shout resounded on the river.

  It worked. She ran for cover as bullets pelted the trees. Her only chance was to put as much distance as she could between them, but more importantly, she would give Jayce a chance to survive. Since he was injured, his odds of survival were already slim, so Bree would draw the men away from him.

  She ran until she was out of breath, then she dropped to her knees and crawled over rambling mossy roots, well-hidden for the moment within a copse of Sitka spruce and western hemlock. She leaned against a thick trunk and wiped the mud from her face with her arm.

  Bree knew the rivers like she knew the lines on the palms of her hands. But the woods? The wilderness area? Not so much. Would her fellow deputies be able to find her? Would they even know the danger they faced in searching if Jayce wasn’t able to get to safety and warn them? Other deputies could get shot. Or worse. Die.

  Either way, if he didn’t stop the bleeding, Jayce might die before he could get to safety or someone found him.

  She tried her radio. The shot to her chest had somehow damaged it. Or was that the mud or water? Whatever the case, it wasn’t working. Her cell was on the sinking boat along with her Glock. It was more likely one of the men took it as their own. She had no weapon, no means of communication, a bleeding partner and no way out without putting more people in danger. As a deputy, she was a complete and utter failure.

  Worst of all, this situation was completely her fault. Jayce was injured and they were both in mortal danger because of her decision to press on. Jayce had wanted to turn back as the day waned. Why hadn’t she listened?

  Shouts drew her attention. Her heart rate jacked even higher.

  They had left the boats and were hunting her.

  Be safe, Jayce...

  The tree canopy was thick, making the woods dark and eerie. Fury and a lot of fear pushed her from the trunk and she ran deeper into the thick temperate rain forest. The scent of pine and mossy earth enveloped her. She pushed off tree trunks as she trekked, propelling herself onward, and climbed over boulders, making her way up the mountain.

  Daylight waned, and she’d soon run out of light.

  Bree paused to catch her breath. Had she lost the men yet? She couldn’t take a chance and had to keep pushing to make her way to safety.

  If she kept close to the river and followed it west, she would eventually find a town. But the way it twisted and turned through the mountains, that would take her twice as long as a straighter path toward Coldwater Bay.

  What did she know? She knew the river, that’s what. Not the woods.

  If only she could wait here for rescuers, but men were hunting her. That was out of the question.

  She stumbled on a root and fell. Pain ignited, spreading through her ankle.

  “Well, that’s just great,” she whispered. She wished she could shout, but she knew better than to give herself away.

  She pushed to stand on it. Once again, pain knifed through her. She collapsed. Really?

  Could things get any worse?

  Bree let the tears come. The fear and the tears.

  Either the men would locate and kill her, or she would die before she could make it out. No one would find her before it was too late. All that determination she thought she had crumbled as if detonated.

  If those men knew how to track, then it wouldn’t be long before they found her. But she didn’t have to make it easy for them.

  She pushed herself into a tree hollow. Brought her knees to her chest. Temporarily safe, she let the tears flow again and thought about her small family. Dad would be worried. He knew her job often kept her late, but she would never miss Stevie’s birthday party. At the very least, she would let him know what was going on if she was going to be late.

  Oh, God, please let me make it out of this alive, for Stevie’s sake! He can’t lose someone else. Please help Jayce make it back to his family.

  Bree’s sister-in-law, Stevie’s mom Narelle, had died in a car accident before he’d even turned a year old. That had nearly crushed them all, and she and Dad had rallied around the child and her brother, Steve.

  But she would always carry a measure of guilt for the way Steve had died three years ago. She had been on duty that day. Her first week in the marine division. She’d been the one to encourage Steve to enjoy a day on the lake. She was the first one to come upon the accident and find that her brother had drowned.

  She let that image run through her now, play-by-play. Quinn Strand—her brother’s best friend—holding Steve in his arms.

  She didn’t blame Quinn but she would always associate him with her brother’s death. So even if she still had some unresolved feelings for him, nothing could come of them now. It would all have to stay in the past, where it belonged.

  She’d dated the guy in high school—secretly, because Steve had always warned away all her boyfriends. She’d had a serious crush on him then. She’d hoped he had feelings for her, too, that they were working toward something, but then after graduation, Quinn had just disappeared. She’d heard he’d joined the service. Then he’d come back to Coldwater Bay one summer after he’d discharged. Things between them had picked up where they’d left off. He’d been gone far too long, and she’d missed him. He was someone she thought she could fall for.

  He’d been driving the boat when the tragedy occurred. Though it had been considered an accident and he hadn’t been held negligent, every time she thought of Quinn it reminded her of Steve’s death.

  Afterward, he left again.

  Even if she could forget that he was part of the accident that killed Steve, he was the guy who left her twice without so much as a goodbye. Without so much as an “It’s me, not you, Bree.”

  If only he wasn’t the only guy who made her heart pound. Even if someone else could, she wasn’t willing to subject herself to the risk of being left again. She’d put that idea, the dream of raising Stevie with a husband, having more children, far from her.

  There had to be something truly wrong with her for Quinn to leave her like that. She wasn’t worth fighting for. Not worth loving.

  So she’d put everything into loving Stevie and making the best family she could for him.

  But if Stevie lost Bree tonight, then what?

  God, do You hear me? Stevie needs me.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she let herself doze off. Might as well rest while she could. Maybe she would have enough fortitude to push through the pain of her ankle after she rested.

  Bree woke up to complete darkness.

  Darkness and voices that echoed off the trees.
/>   Quiet footfalls closed in.

  They’d found her. Terror threatened to take her survival instincts away, but she steeled her resolve. She would fight them if they found her. If she could just outlast them...

  Whoever approached was close. Too close.

  She gripped a rock.

  Someone reached in and took her arm, his hands strong. Without effort, he pulled her from her hiding place and pressed her back against the tree. Bree smashed the rock into his head. He groaned and fell, dragging her down with him. She had to crawl over him to get away. He grabbed her arm and refused to let go.

  “Wait. Bree...”

  He knew her name? Something about the voice. She hesitated, then turned back. Moonlight dappled the forest enough for her to see his face.

  “Quinn?”

  * * *

  Quinn Strand grabbed his throbbing head. She’d hit him hard. Good for her. She’d thought he was one of the men after her, and if he had been, she wouldn’t have succeeded in incapacitating him with the rock. Not so good for her. He composed himself and forced his legs to work.

  Easing closer, he kept his voice low and said, “Keep quiet. They’re close.”

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  She didn’t understand that he’d meant complete silence.

  He gripped the thermal imaging monocular he’d used to find her, then sat up. He tucked his hand around her neck and pulled her close so that his cheek was against hers as he whispered in her ear. “They aren’t far. Don’t talk.” He hoped the noise of their scuffle hadn’t already alerted them, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d explain everything later. “Now hold my hand and stay with me. I’ll lead you to safety.”

  He hoped.

  Thankfully, the men after her didn’t have a thermal imaging device or else they would have already gutted her and thrown her body in the river. He knew these men. Knew their brutality. He’d bury his regret for leading them across Bree’s path for later.

  He squeezed her hand, letting her know he was ready. He’d have to move slower with her. It might even be easier to carry her. With thermal imaging he could see the men’s heat signatures—much better than night vision, which wouldn’t give him the men’s locations behind trees or hiding in bushes.

  Heat signatures of four men were closing in. Fifteen yards out. Wait. Make that five men. They’d tracked her this far and from his experience, Quinn knew they were like a mixed breed of bloodhound and bulldog—they would never give up until they found her. And once they did, they would never let go.

  No way could Quinn leave her at their mercy. He had hoped he could sneak through their ever-tightening circle to get her out, but it would be close. It was a risk to him—but what did he care about the risk to him if Bree got hurt?

  She had no idea what she had always meant to him. No idea that he’d carried her picture with him at all times, even when he’d served in a foreign country fighting against a terrorist-producing regime. So many lonely days and nights, he’d pull out the photograph of Bree and just take in her shiny red hair and her bright, compassionate smile. Those brilliant green eyes. That picture had kept him going, even though he’d had no intention of coming back to her. Or for her.

  Of making a family with her.

  He couldn’t afford to grow close to anyone or love them. He couldn’t risk the pain of losing someone he loved again.

  He’d walked out on her already. Staying away from her was supposed to keep her safe. But still, at this moment, she was in danger of losing her life.

  Because of him!

  She collapsed behind him and he knelt beside her. Whispered in her ear. “Are you okay?”

  “I sprained my ankle.”

  Without speaking another word, he lifted her in his arms, tucked against his chest. Easier to carry her in a fireman’s carry, but this way was more comfortable for her. She might have protested except they were desperate to escape as soundlessly as possible. Quinn knew she understood the danger they faced. She had fought them and lost, though at least she’d held on to her life for a while longer.

  Long enough for Quinn to find her and get her out of this.

  Holding Bree in his arms under any circumstances wasn’t optimal for him. He didn’t want to stir up old longings or the buried emotions he had for her. He needed to stay focused on the mission only.

  Working as an undercover agent for the DEA—Drug Enforcement Administration—he’d learned how to kill his emotions, and he tried to kill those feelings stirring for Bree right now.

  The only thing that mattered was getting her out of this alive. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if this ended in her death. Especially since she wouldn’t be in this predicament if it weren’t for him.

  If only he hadn’t come back to the Coldwater Bay area when he’d been forced to run and hide. But he’d made the mistake of leaving a piece of himself here at home, and that piece had called to him when he was in trouble.

  He slowed to catch his breath and take in the scenery forming in front of him.

  Not a hundred yards ahead, two human heat signatures closed in. Headed for each other. Confabbing? Of course they would regroup, but then which direction would they head? He lowered Bree to the ground next to a tree. His muscles were corded as tight as they’d ever been, and he hoped she sensed the urgency to keep absolutely quiet. No whispering in his ear.

  He eased back into a position to fight and defend.

  Prepared to take the men on if he and Bree were discovered.

  The men separated. One walked away, but the other headed toward the spot where Quinn and Bree were hiding. The man was no doubt wearing night-vision goggles and had caught a glimpse of something he intended to investigate. He would find them in moments. He must have communicated to his buddies since they were forming a circle too tight for Quinn to go anywhere but straight through the man headed his way.

  He backed behind a tree and waited. If necessary, he would take the man out, but it would have to be done in complete silence or he would draw the rest of them.

  He couldn’t protect Bree against five armed murderous and brutal drug runners.

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Goddard

  ISBN-13: 9781488040405

  Lone Star Standoff

  Copyright © 2019 by Margaret Daley

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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