Sawyer’s jaw locked. No one was getting his girl or his baby. He lowered into a crouch and cut through the shadows like a lion after its prey, determined to stop them, incapacitate them, hold them until the police arrived, whatever the cost.
A brilliant, silvery moon came and went behind a mass of fast-moving clouds overhead. Memories of his last night-strike forced their way into his head. His pace slowed as the earth shifted beneath him. The scene morphed and changed before his eyes. Suddenly he was in uniform, outside an enemy stronghold in dangerous territory with his team behind him. He felt the drip of sweat slip from beneath his helmet and ride over his temple to his jaw. Saw the guards up ahead. Militants. Two at the door. One on the roof. One on patrol. He hadn’t known about that one before. Sawyer stumbled to a stop. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, willing the images to clear, willing his heart rate to settle, his concentration to return. He sipped cool night air and cursed himself inwardly. He thought he’d put these episodes behind him. Thought his mind was on the mend.
One of the four trespassers came into view, keeping watch along the home’s edge. The others had gone ahead. This was their lookout, and Sawyer had the element of surprise on his side. He could drop the man with a single shot. Not a kill shot, but one that would put him down and keep him there. The sound would pull the others from the home, and if it went well, Sawyer could lie in wait, hidden in the shadows, plucking them off one by one until he had a pile of bleeding criminals awaiting the arrival of local law enforcement. If it went poorly and they split up before coming outside, Sawyer could find himself surrounded.
He sighted his handgun, choosing the least lethal, most effective shot. But the memories returned, and his weapon grew unsteady in his outstretched hands. His finger grazed the trigger, then pulled back. Touched, then relented. During his last mission, it had been the sound of his fire that had given away their approach. He had gotten them captured. Gotten his team killed.
Sawyer’s tongue seemed to swell, his throat tightened. He lowered the gun and shook his head hard, as if he might be able to clear his thoughts physically. He had to move. Had to do something. The others were surely inside by now, and Sawyer still hadn’t heard the SUV’s engine ignite. He had to act. He couldn’t afford not to. His breaths were quick and shallow as he crept through the night, closing in on the nearest target.
The distinct sound of the back door caused his heart to sprint. The normally soft metallic click was like an explosion in the night.
The man before him turned. His curious eyes went wide at the sight of Sawyer a mere foot away.
Sawyer’s gun was up on instinct, stopping the man from raising his, but Sawyer couldn’t force his finger back to the trigger. He couldn’t feel his fingers or toes. Fear had wrapped him like a wet, heavy blanket, and the knowledge he wasn’t in complete control was enough to make him want to run.
But soldiers don’t run.
He braced himself. Forced down the fear. Even as the dark world shimmied and brightened around him.
A sinister grin curled the man’s lips, and he lunged.
“Dammit,” Sawyer whispered, opening his stance and accepting the weight of the wild, untrained attack.
Three quick moves later, the thud of the man’s falling body brought Sawyer back to the moment, and images of that long-ago night were shoved away. One down and three to go.
* * *
EMMA HELD HENRY close and listened to the night. She had the SUV keys in one palm and her shoulder pressed against the back door of Sawyer’s home, preparing to run. All she had to do was find the courage.
The SUV was parked in the gravel drive twenty feet away. It would be simple, under normal conditions, to cross the small porch, hop down the short flight of stairs and be at the vehicle in seconds, even carrying Henry.
But these weren’t normal conditions, and Emma’s heart was seizing with panic at the thought of making a run for it now. She’d seen the silhouettes of the trespassers as they’d approached, and they were armed. She couldn’t dodge or outrun a bullet, and she couldn’t bring herself to risk Henry’s life by trying. Her mind urged her to hide, not run. Hiding had saved Henry on the night of Sara’s abduction and again on the night the intruder had broken into Sara’s room. Hiding worked for them.
Running was a dangerous unknown.
Behind her, the front door opened with a heavy creak. Soft footfalls spread through the house, forcing her onto the back porch.
Help is on the way, she reminded herself. The local police are coming.
She released the screen door behind her, eyes focused on her goal. The SUV. She dared a small step forward, but something held her back. The tail of Sawyer’s oversize shirt was caught in the door. Emma bit her lip and willed herself to remain calm. The moment she let panic take over, she’d make messy, potentially deadly decisions.
Henry squirmed in her arms, his small features bunching.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she cooed.
The footfalls inside drew closer, headed her way.
Emma jerked forward, freeing herself from the door with a quiet thwap! She flew down the back porch stairs on silent feet. The motion light flashed on as she reached the base of the steps. The short distance to the SUV warped and stretched before her like a dream where the hallway never ended and no matter how hard or fast she ran for the door, she wouldn’t arrive.
Move, she begged herself. Run.
The back door opened, and Emma scurried into the shadows against the house. It was too late to make a run for the SUV in the bath of security lighting. She’d missed her moment. Running now would only put a massive target on her back and Henry’s.
She crouched alongside the porch, careful to keep her head low, and she scanned her dark surroundings.
“Where are they?” a man growled.
“I don’t know,” another man answered. “The car’s here. They couldn’t have gone far.”
Emma listened to the footfalls as they paced the porch. She ducked deeper out of sight as the men approached the railing at her side.
“Check the house again,” the first man said. “Where are your brothers?”
There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” the second lower voice said.
“Well, find them!”
One set of footsteps headed back into the house and out of earshot. The other man lingered. Waiting. Maybe even sensing she was near.
Emma watched as he leaned over the railing’s edge and scanned the darkness. He was dressed in head-to-toe black riding gear, like the man who’d cut the brake lines on Sawyer’s truck and chased them through the national forest. This man didn’t have a helmet, but she still didn’t recognize his face.
A chilly autumn breeze whipped through the air, and Henry made a small discontented sound.
Emma jumped back, jamming her bare legs into the thorns and briars of bushes along Sawyer’s home. She bit her tongue against the stings of instant bruises and cuts and pressed a steadying kiss to Henry’s once again crumpled expression.
Her baby’s eyes fluttered shut and pinched tight as he tried to hold on to sleep.
The porch boards creaked.
The man was coming.
Emma broke into a sprint through the night, clutching Henry to her chest to absorb the impact of her flight. He squirmed but didn’t cry.
She paused at the front of the house. Where could she go? Not onto the deck, dock or lake. She peered at the dark forest across the field. The men had come from the forest on the opposite side of the home. Was this tree line safe? Or was it possible more bad men lurked there, as well? How many were there? Where were they? she wondered, nearly frozen with fear once more.
“Did you find them?” an angry voice asked. The sound echoed in the night, near the opposite end of the house now, but any one of the four men could be on her in a second.
“No,” another low male
voice answered. “No sign of the lady, the baby or the guy. I didn’t find my brothers either.”
“Come on,” the other voice said. “We’ll split up and circle the place. You go that way. I’ll go this way. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Emma sucked in a hard breath. She had to move. If she ran for the trees, they’d spot her crossing the field. The SUV was far away now, on the opposite end of the house. Behind her, near the voices.
A new fear breached her thoughts. Where was Sawyer? Where were the man’s brothers? Did Sawyer have them, or did they have Sawyer?
She pushed the thoughts aside. One problem at a time. Right now, she was on her own to save Henry, and that started by staying hidden and alive until the local police could arrive. She scanned her options once more, looked into Henry’s precious face, and made her decision.
“I love you,” she whispered against Henry’s soft hair. “You stay still, and I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”
As if in acceptance of their deal, Henry gave a soft snore.
Emma counted down from three, then she hurried across the short lawn toward the water. She slowed at the sandy bank, choosing her footing carefully so there wouldn’t be footprints to follow. She took easy steps into the cold water. Fall’s shorter days and colder nights had taken hold of the lake, despite unseasonably warm days. She sucked air as she waded deeper, to her thighs, her bottom. Then she carried Henry toward the dock and pulled a large red-and-white cooler from the weathered boards. She took it with her beneath the dock.
Carefully, she placed Henry and his mass of blankets into the cooler, onto the sand-and dirt-lined bottom.
Satisfied the makeshift boat would hold up, she ducked beneath the dock, sinking to her shoulders in the frigid water, and floated Henry along with her.
Ripples moved across the previously serene surface, a hundred neon signs pointing out their escape route.
Emma held as still as possible and anchored the cooler in place before her. She closed her eyes, hoping the ripples would stop before the men came to examine the lake.
A frog jumped nearby, making a little splash. Henry squirmed in the cooler.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she soothed, holding the little vessel as it rocked on the ripples ebbing around her.
His tiny lips formed an angry frown, though his eyes were determinedly closed.
“Did you hear that?” a man asked. The harsh whisper startled Emma with its nearness. “I think I heard something near the water.”
Emma gripped the cooler, hating herself for choosing the worst hiding place in the world. If they spotted her, she couldn’t even run. She hadn’t saved Henry and herself. She’d made them easy targets.
Two sets of feet pounded onto the deck above them.
Emma cringed. Her heart raced, and her stomach lurched. She lifted a desperate prayer as her fingertips nudged the soft rubber tip of Henry’s pacifier caught in the blanket folds. She plugged it into his twisted mouth and stiffened every muscle in her body, willing her baby to be silent and the ripples to stop announcing her presence.
“No boat,” one of the men said, taking a few steps closer.
The second man paced overhead. “I’m sure I heard something.”
“Fish,” his partner muttered, “ducks, bats, frogs. Who cares? We’ve got to keep looking.”
The weight of their combined retreat rattled the boards, shaking dirt onto Emma’s head. She stretched a palm over Henry’s slowly wrinkling expression.
“Achoo!” Henry sneezed in a tiny puff of air.
The men froze. “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
Emma could see their faces through the space between boards now. She could read their murderous expressions and see their hands on their guns. All they had to do was look down, and her life was over. Henry’s was over. His little boat couldn’t save him from a bullet.
Her limbs and lips began to tremble. Her teeth rattled hard in her head. Tears welled in her eyes.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A trio of gunshots erupted in the distance.
And Emma’s heart thunked hard and heavy.
She’d already lost her parents and possibly Sara. Had she just lost Sawyer, as well?
Chapter Fourteen
The men on the dock lurched into desperate sprints, arms and knees pumping, guns drawn as they raced toward the sound of gunfire.
Henry flailed in his little boat, then broke into tears. The violent cries were masked by a shoot-out. Emma inched through the water, away from the dock, away from the muzzle flashes and gunshots on the west side of Sawyer’s home, the same side where the intruders had left their ATVs. A rush of unexpected pleasure drove through her as she realized a gunfight meant Sawyer was still alive and conscious out there somewhere.
The jolt of happiness propelled her to action. She moved more quickly through the water, towing Henry carefully back to shore.
His temper quieted slightly as she pulled him into her arms and left the cooler in the water to sink. His little breaths came hard and fast, and his bottom lip trembled, puffing in and out with each raspy gasp, but for the moment, the wails had stopped.
Emma ran in sopping, squeaking sneakers toward the woods on the opposite side of Sawyer’s house, away from the national forest, the intruders and the gunshots. Hot tears stung her icy cheeks as she flew through the night, stumbling on frozen legs, her wet skin screaming from the chill of blowing wind. Could Sawyer hold off four armed men on his own? For how long? How much ammo did he have on him? How much had he already expelled?
Where were the local cops?
Her hand went to the phone tucked into her bra, intending to call 911 and check on the cavalry, but the icy feel of her shirt slid through her heart. Her phone was gone. Likely lost forever at the bottom of Lake Anna.
The night was suddenly still. Quiet. No more shots fired. No sounds of a struggle.
Nothing.
Emma sent up a prayer and kept moving.
Soon, the low and distant cries of emergency vehicles and first responders pricked her ears. A moment later a much nearer sound wound to life. The familiar growl of ATV engines fading quickly into the night.
She stopped. Turned back. What did the sounds mean? Had the shooting stopped because the intruders heard the sirens and fled?
Or had the shooting stopped because they’d killed Sawyer and would come for her again the moment the police left her unattended?
Her heart ached with the possibility he could be gone. “Sawyer,” she whispered. Surely it couldn’t be true. She stepped back toward the house, drawn by the need to know he was okay.
She didn’t want to know a world, or a life, without him in it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
A hot tear fell from her eye to Henry’s forehead. Startled, his arms jerked wide. His lips curved down in the perfect angry frown.
“Sorry, baby,” she whispered through a growing lump in her throat.
“Emma!”
Her name boomed through the night.
She lifted her gaze to the house, senses heightened. “Sawyer?” she asked the darkness.
“Emma!” he hollered again, this time closer, his voice intent and demanding. “Emma! Come out. It’s clear.” The silhouette of a man appeared beneath the cone of the security light as he passed the back porch.
“Sawyer!” Emma gasped. “Here! We’re here.” She started back across the field at a jog. He was okay.
Sawyer ran at her, arms wide. “Emma,” he croaked. “I thought I’d lost you.” He stroked her hair and kissed her face.
She bawled ugly tears of joy.
Henry screamed. He’d had enough of this night. He was outside after bedtime. He’d been floated in the water. Put inside a cooler. Had his little eardrums tested by a gunfight.
“The gunfight,” she said
, teeth beginning to chatter. “What h-happened?”
Sawyer pulled back with a questioning frown. “You thought I’d lose a gunfight?”
“There were four of them,” she said. “I h-heard dozens of sh-shots.”
“I only shot four times,” Sawyer said. “I missed twice. It’s tougher than you’d think to hit a man dressed in black who’s running through the night.” He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her frozen skin for friction. “I hit one in the leg before he got to his vehicle, and I hit the other’s ATV before he drove away. The rest of the shots you heard were all theirs missing me. I took down the first two men hand to hand. They’re out cold where I dropped them. The other pair fled.”
Emergency lights cut through the night as a line of first responders rolled along the gravel drive to Sawyer’s home.
Henry, Sawyer and Emma were safe again for now.
Sawyer pulled Henry into his arms and held him tight, then looked carefully at Emma for the first time. “Did you fall in the water?” He glanced back at Henry, who was completely dry.
“N-n-no.” She considered where to start the story, then told it as quickly as possible while trying not to bite her tongue or break her teeth from all the shivers and chattering.
* * *
SAWYER FELT HIS blood boil as he listened to Emma retell the events that had forced her into frigid waters with their infant son. He pulled her a little tighter, wishing that he’d been there for her instead of across the property, letting two trespassers get away.
The side yard teemed with activity when they rounded the corner. Two cruisers and two ambulances were parked behind an unmarked SUV, presumably the detective on duty. Sawyer led Emma toward the ambulance.
“Oh, sweetie.” An older heavyset woman rushed to meet them outside the open ambulance bay doors. Her sweet spirit and nurturing nature were evident in her kind eyes and audible in her gentle tone. Sawyer relaxed by a fraction. The woman reached for Emma, ushering her to the ambulance. “You look like you’re freezing. Come here. Let’s get you warm.” She caught a blanket by its corners and stretched it in Emma’s direction, opened wide to wrap around her patient’s trembling shoulders. “That’s a start,” she said, motioning Emma toward the vehicle. “Hop in so I can fix you up,” she said.
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