The Good Samaritan

by Price, Melynda

  Before she could devise a plan, something pinged against the window. Mark’s gaze briefly darted toward the sound and Emma took the opportunity to act. With her heart hammering inside her chest and adrenaline pumping through her veins, she shot to her feet and charged Mark. Grabbing his wrist to keep from getting stabbed, she slammed her knee into his groin and knocked him back. He stumbled into the wall and she ran into the main area of the cabin.

  She bolted for the door as a snarled curse and crash sounded behind her. Emma turned the knob and wrenched on the door, but it wouldn’t open. A sob broke from her throat as she tried again, turning it the other direction and frantically pulling on it with all her might.

  “You fucking bitch!” Mark roared, his footsteps pounding closer.

  Just before he reached her, the door opened and frigid air blasted through the room as she ran into the night. There was just enough moonlight to make out the tree line surrounding the cabin. As she ran for the woods, gunshots rang out. Searing pain ripped through her arm and she stumbled forward, tripping as she struggled to stay on her feet. Swallowing back a terrified scream, she pushed on.

  Blood coursed down her arm, dripping off her fingertips. Run, her mind commanded her legs when they wanted to give out. Emma clamped her hand over the wound to slow the bleeding and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as she raced for the woods.

  Another shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past her head. She darted right, changing direction. Gasping for breath, she forged on. The cold night air burned her lungs as she ran for her life.

  “Go ahead and run, Eve!” Mark’s voice sliced through the silence. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

  Chapter 43

  Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes. Hell, it could have been an hour for as interminably slow as time passed. But then everything shifted into fast-forward when gunshots fractured the air. Pop. Pop.

  Sawyer pulled his gun and broke from the woods at a dead run with Sam at his side. He rounded the cabin and his steps ground to a halt. Icy dread swept through him when he found the cabin door hanging open. Emma.

  “Go ahead and run, Eve. There’s nowhere to hide!” Then another Pop.

  The echoing acoustics made it nearly impossible to tell which direction Edwards’ voice or the shot was coming from. Rage seared through Sawyer’s veins like liquid fire. Clipping a lead line on Sam’s collar, he gave his partner one command. “Sam, find Emma!”

  Sam’s nose went to work, and he immediately picked up her scent. They headed east, the opposite direction he’d been waiting in the woods. If only she’d run toward him.

  They were halfway to the wood-line when Sam stopped. His nose was to the ground and he let out a high-pitched whine. Prickles of unease coursed up Sawyer’s spine as he knelt, fearing what he’d find as he laid his fingers to the ground. They were wet when he lifted them, the tacky moisture confirming what the darkness hid—blood.

  Emma’s scream ripped through the air and panic sliced Sawyer like a knife plunging into his heart. Sam lunged the line, answering her with a ferocious snarl. In the dark, and with his compromised leg, Sawyer knew he would never reach Emma in time and unleashed Sam with the final command, “Save Emma.”

  * * *

  Branches clawed at Emma’s arms and face, tearing at her flesh as she ran through the woods. It was like being caught in a dream where everything was happening in slow motion. Or maybe she was going into shock. She could barely hear the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs over the deafening pound of her heart.

  She pushed on, running faster. The faintest hint of dawn was breaking through the night sky and lighting her path. The fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled, her skin crawling with panic. She dared not slow her pace to check behind her. A wave of dizziness was beginning to sweep over her as the blood trickled off her fingers. Each step echoed with futility, driving home the hopelessness of her situation. She wasn’t going to make it. She was lost, freezing, and losing blood at an alarming rate.

  She stumbled, and before she could regain her balance, Mark slammed into her from behind. Emma hit the ground hard, air exploding from her lungs in a terrified scream.

  She was gasping for breath when he flipped her over. Straddling her waist, his hand locked on her neck and he pressed his gun against her temple. It was the most she could hope for, that he’d pull the trigger and end it quick, saving her unspeakable hours of torture. Either way she was dead.

  “Do it,” she spat, glaring up at him with a level of contempt she hadn’t thought herself capable of. It was ironic that, for her entire career, she’d fought to keep people from the clutches of death, but when it came to her own life, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to save herself. “You psychotic piece of shit! Pull the fucking trigger!”

  Surprise registered in his expression and she felt a brief moment of triumph. She closed her eyes and waited for the explosion. Seconds passed. He shifted above her and jerked Emma to her feet. “Oh, Eve…” She cringed as his lips bushed the outer shell of her ear, the heat of his breath blasting her neck. “If you think I’m going to make it that easy for you, you’re the one who’s crazy.” Before she could register what he was doing, Mark growled, “try running from me now, bitch,” as he pulled the trigger.

  Her leg buckled, Mark’s grip on her throat cutting off her scream. Deafened by the blast, tears blurred her vision. He shifted his hold, moving behind her and slipping an arm around her waist, keeping her upright as he began propelling her toward the cabin.

  With any luck, she’d bleed-out before he got her back to the cabin. A chill settled into her bones, her rapid pulse throwing off ectopic beats. She welcomed the shock as dizziness swamped her, slowly pulling her into unconsciousness.

  “Emma!”

  The sound of her name shouted in the distance jolted her mind into a moment of clarity. She knew that voice. Hope soared within her, renewing her vigor to fight. She wasn’t alone out here after all. There was a chance she could make it out of this, she just had to stay conscious. Now fighting instead of embracing the waves of darkness washing over her, Emma forced her heavy lids open. “Sawyer!” she tried to call out, but Mark muffled her cry with his large filthy hand.

  “Shut up,” he hissed into her ear, but it was no use. Something was crashing through the woods, getting closer with each passing second.

  Mark tensed behind her, his grip on her waist tightening as he squeezed the air from her lungs. Before she realized what he was doing, he raised his gun hand and fired a blind shot into the trees. “No!” she screamed, but the protest barely made it past her lips, no air left in her lungs to propel her cry. Between the blood loss and the band of his arm across her diaphragm preventing her from drawing in breath, she was fading fast, darkness slowing creeping in at the edges of her vision.

  A moment later, an animal broke into the clearing and charged toward them. It took a moment to register it was Sam. Using her as a shield, Mark pulled them a step back and readjusted his aim over her shoulder. As he squeezed the trigger, Emma used what remained of her flagging strength throw her shoulder against him, knocking his arm and sending the shot into the dirt. Sam skidded to a halt but stood his ground, growling and snarling at Mark.

  “Drop the gun, Edwards.”

  She heard Sawyer’s voice before she saw him—his tone hard as steel, cold as the air biting through her thin, torn shirt. Emma nearly wept with relief at the sight of him stepping out of the woods—until the muzzle of Mark’s gun returned to her temple, the hot barrel burning into her flesh.

  “That’s far enough, Detective. I’m glad you could join us.”

  Sawyer moved further into the clearing—arm raised, his gun trained on Mark. A whimper escaped Emma’s throat as the gun pressed to her temple momentarily shifted, followed by the click of the hammer being cocked. Sawyer froze, his eyes flickering to hers, and in that fleeting moment she saw something she’d never seen in them before—fear. By the time she blinked it was gone, replac
ed by an impassive glare trained on the man standing behind her, a look perfected by years of hunting down killers.

  “Let her go.”

  “You’re hardly in a position to be making demands,” Mark chuckled, his mocking laughter vibrating against her back. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re the one who’s got everything to lose here. You don’t honestly think I’m going to let you have her. Well, what’s left of her anyway. She’s losing a lot of blood.”

  Emma’s knees buckled. He was right. She was growing weaker by the second; her head growing light from lack of oxygen.

  “Drop your gun and kick it over here, or I’ll blow her fucking brains out.”

  Panic surged anew. She had to tell him not to do it. She was going to die whether he complied or not, and she could not stand the idea of Sawyer losing his life trying to save her. The minute he dropped his gun that bastard was going to shoot him. A fresh wave of adrenaline flooded her veins and she thrashed again, displacing Mark’s grip enough that she was able to draw a much-needed breath into her air-starved lungs. A fresh crop of tears blurred her vision, moisture spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head. “Sawyer, no! He’s going to kill you!”

  Mark grabbed her throat and squeezed, cutting off her plea. “Shut your mouth, bitch!”

  Sam let out a low warning growl, as did Sawyer, whose fury radiated off him in palpable waves. He stepped forward and the gun pressed harder against her temple, making her wince.

  “Don’t move,” Mark warned. “Not another fucking step or you’re going to watch her die.”

  “All right, all right. Just take it easy,” Sawyer conceded, easing his gun down. A sob broke from Emma’s throat. Please, don’t to this, she silently pleaded with him.

  “I warned you I’d make you pay for taking what belonged to me. You ruined her!”

  This man was insane. Emma couldn’t see any way they were going to make it out of this alive. She’d resigned herself to her own death but couldn’t stomach the idea of Sawyer’s. She suddenly wished he wouldn’t have found her. The joy she’d felt moments ago at seeing him was now replaced with gut-wrenching sorrow. She was about to watch the man she loved die and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  “You’re right. It was my fault. Not hers.” Something in Sawyer’s voice had changed. It was softer, placating. He refused to meet her gaze and it sent a bolt of fear through her. What was he doing? “I’m the one you want to hurt, not Emma.” No. No, no, no… “You love her, remember?” he coaxed. “You don’t want to lose her. When she’s gone, there’s no bringing her back, and you’ve been through enough women to know that there is no one like her.” Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks. The agony of her shattering heart muted the pain from her gunshot wounds. “Why don’t you take that gun off her and put it on me. She’s no threat to you. I, on the other hand, am going to kill you the first chance I get.”

  Emma’s heart plummeted into her stomach when she felt the gun leave her temple and saw the barrel pointing directly at Sawyer’s chest.

  “Playing the hero… How brave and noble. But I wonder, how will you save her when you’re dead?”

  “I don’t have to save her,” Sawyer replied. His calm response sent a sickening rush of dread flooding through her. “Sam will.” Then to Emma, Sawyer said the one thing that would get this sick son of a bitch to pull the trigger, setting her nightmare into motion.

  “I love you…”

  Chapter 44

  Everything happened at once. The gun went off in a deafening blast. Sawyer stumbled back, hitting the ground as Emma’s shrill scream rent the air.

  Sam attacked.

  The dog’s jaws clamped onto her captor’s arm as he crashed into Mark, knocking them both to the ground. The gun flew out of Mark’s hand, his agonizing bellow barely registering over the ringing in her ears. Finally free, Emma scrambled to get away as he struggled to fight the dog off.

  She was crawling toward where Sawyer lay on the ground when a hand grabbed her ankle, roughly yanking her back. She yelped as pain lanced up her leg. Somehow, Mark had gotten free of Sam. Glancing behind her, Emma’s gaze lit on the gun lying on the forest floor between them, and they both lunged for the weapon at the same time the dog attacked again.

  Sam sunk his teeth into Mark’s arm a second time, another howl of pain ringing out as he ripped her captor back, dragging him away from Emma just before he could reach the gun. Emma grabbed the weapon, her fingers wrapping tightly around the unfamiliar grip as she raised it and aimed at Mark’s chest.

  “Don’t move!” She stumbled to her feet, hands shaking as she stared down the sights of the pistol. Sam released his hold and stood down, and Mark froze, looking at her with an expression of disbelief—as if he couldn’t fathom this sudden turn of events. God help her, she wanted to pull the trigger and end this nightmare. Maybe this would give her the closure she needed.

  A few seconds passed and when she didn’t shoot, Mark’s shocked expression turned into a smug, mocking grin. “You can’t do it,” he taunted. “‘Do no harm,’ isn’t that your oath? You don’t have it in you.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t, but I do.”

  A shot went off behind her, the bullet slamming into Mark’s chest. Shock registered on his face a moment before vacancy filled his eyes and he exhaled one last rattling breath.

  Emma turned around to find Sawyer lowering his gun. Relief swept through her and she dropped the weapon in her hand, letting out a broken sob as she half-collapsed, half-threw herself into his arms. “I thought he’d killed you,” she sobbed.

  Sawyer held her so tight she could barely breathe. Tears ran down her cheeks, hitching breaths wracking her exhausted body. “Shh…” he soothed, his breath warming the top of her head as he pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’m okay. It’s over now.”

  “But how? Why did you bait him to shoot you?” When that gun had gone off, her heart had shattered into a million pieces.

  “It was a risk I had to take. He had a fucking gun to your head and I couldn’t get a clear shot. I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes enough times to know we were running out of time. He was going to pull the trigger.” Sawyer’s voice cracked with emotion as he crushed her harder against him. “Fuck, I was so scared I wouldn’t find you in time.” She could feel the barrier of his bullet proof vest between them and thanked God he’d had the foresight to put it on.

  “To be honest, I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t, either,” she confessed.

  “How badly are you hurt?” Sawyer reluctantly let her go and took a step back to examine her injuries.

  “I’m not sure, I haven’t been able to see well enough to assess the bleeding. By the way, getting shot hurts like hell.”

  His brow arched at her pathetic attempt to lighten the moment. “Does it really? I wasn’t aware.” Sawyer pulled a little mag flashlight from his back pocket and clicked it on. “Here, let me look.”

  He held the light between his teeth and helped her slip out of her shirt, gingerly sliding her injured arm from the sleeve. There was a deep gash on her bicep, but the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. The bullet had just grazed her arm. She’d been lucky.

  Sawyer ripped the sleeve of her discarded shirt and tied it around her bicep for a makeshift bandage, then pulled off his shirt and helped her slip into it. His scent enveloped her as his lingering body heat slowly warmed the chill in her bones.

  “There, now let’s look at this leg.” He knelt in front of her and she braced a trembling hand on his shoulder for balance, following his gaze to the blood-soaked leg of her pants. Emma was suddenly acutely aware that the adrenaline was leaving her system in a rush, and she was getting weaker by the second. Her grip on his shoulder tightened to keep from swaying and Sawyer glanced up at her, uncertainty in his sapphire stare. “You all right?”

  Her vision began to blur. “I don’t feel very well,” she confessed softly, her voice echoing inside her head.

  Sawyer’s curse sounded a
million miles away as he slipped his finger into the bullet hole of her pant leg and ripped her jeans to get a look at the wound. This time the profanity flying from his mouth held a notable edge of fear. “Emma, this is bleeding pretty bad.”

  Well, that would certainly explain the lightheadedness. Her vision was going spotty and if she got any colder, it was going to start messing with her ability to clot properly, increasing the likelihood of bleeding out. “You’ve got to stop the bleeding.” At least that’s what she thought she’d said, but it all sounded slurred in her head.

  “I need a tourniquet and I don’t have a belt. Fuck.”

  The dark waves she’d fought back earlier were coming back, wanting to drag her under. “I don’t want to alarm you, Sawyer, but you need to get me to a hospital soon.”

  “An ambulance is on the way. Just hang on, sweetheart. Sam, come here.”

  She could hear the metal clink of his dog tags and then Sawyer slipped his collar around her leg. She wanted to commend his resourcefulness, but it took all her effort to keep standing. The leather band tightened sharply, cutting off her circulation. A moment later, she was swept up in Sawyer’s arms and they were moving.

  Held tight against his warm body, Emma closed her eyes, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the blissful pull of unconsciousness. But before she did, she had to tell him—in case she didn’t wake up. “Sawyer?”

  “Yeah?” His steps were fast, the crunching of leaves and broken twigs marking his hurried pace.

  “I love you too.”

  * * *

  “Emma? Emma!”

  Sawyer glanced down at the unconscious woman in his arms and gave her an urgent shake. When her head lolled lifelessly against his shoulder, panic gripped his heart.

  “Emma, open your eyes dammit!” He readjusted her in his arms so he could feel for her pulse. God, if he lost her… The thought nearly brought him to his knees as he frantically searched her neck. He found the fast, thready beat and exhaled a sigh of relief. He still had time. Though by her pale skin and the gray pallor of her lips, he was running out of it.