by Terry Odell
Anger billowed into fury. With a shriek that seemed to come from outside of her, she wrenched herself from Mr. Smith's grip and slammed her knee at his crotch.
He dodged, but not quite enough. He grunted and staggered backward, falling to his knees. Ryan lurched forward. Dalton followed, pistol raised, and she watched, transfixed.
"Like in Afghanistan, pardner," Dalton said. "You remember that mission, don't you?"
Ryan jerked his head around. "Oh, yeah. Like it was yesterday, you scum." He yanked away.
She watched, horrified, as Ryan and Dalton clashed.
Dalton grabbed him by the wrist. "No you don't, Harper!"
"Like hell, traitor!" Ryan spun and hit Dalton in the jaw. Dalton spit blood.
"We don't need you, Harper," Dalton said. His voice rang through the clearing. "I found your little key."
"You're bluffing." Ryan punched him in the stomach. Dalton doubled over. Ryan grabbed him in a headlock. "How dare you betray your country for money, you motherfucker."
Dalton wrested free. Ryan kicked the pistol from his hand, sending it flying across the clearing. Dalton raced after it. Ryan caught him in a flying tackle. Both men rolled on the ground, moving farther away from the cabin.
When it dawned on her that everyone's attention was on the fight, she inched away from Mr. Smith. Maybe she could sneak inside. Right. Even if she got in without being noticed, how would she get Molly out? She had to slow down and think ahead for a change.
Curses exploded through the air, and she watched Ryan and Dalton exchange blows. First Ryan was on top, then Dalton. Neither maintained an advantage. For someone with a bad knee and shoulder, Ryan was holding his own. She sidestepped another few inches from Smith. His breathing had evened out, and he was on his feet, but he clutched his privates with one hand, the rifle with the other. She should have kicked him harder.
In a blur of motion and a cacophony of shouts, Ryan and Dalton were on their feet.
Somehow, Ryan had Dalton's pistol pointed at Mr. Smith. "Get over here, Frankie. Now. Dalt, you go join your colleagues." He shoved him toward the others. Dalton took a position between Smith and Jones, glowering at Ryan.
She rushed to Ryan's side, glad to let him take command.
"Toss your weapons over here," he ordered. The strength in his tone raised her hopes.
"I don't think so," Smith said. "One of you, three of us."
"Well, gentlemen, the way I see it, by the time you get those rifles into position, I've fired three shots. One for each of you."
"I told you, you don't need him," Dalton said to Smith and Jones. "I've got what you want."
"And I told you what I think of traitors," Ryan said.
She heard the gunshot and covered her eyes. Seconds later, when she braved a peek through her fingers, Dalton lay on the ground, blood spreading over his chest.
"My God, Ryan!"
"The man sold out."
This couldn't be happening. In a minute, she would wake up in her own bed. Ryan's touch to the small of her back said otherwise. She was wide awake in his world. With his rules.
Ryan whistled again. "Wolf! Come!"
Ears lowered, teeth bared, Wolf raced to Ryan's side. Barks and growls reverberated through the clearing.
"One word from me, and you're history." The cold edge in Ryan's voice made her shiver. "Do as I say, or you'll meet Wolf up close and personal." Ryan waved his gun again. "I said drop them, gentlemen." Smith and Jones eased their rifles to the ground.
"Kick them toward me. Easy."
Wolf growled. They complied.
"Hands on your heads, gentlemen. Oh, and I suggest you stand very still." Ryan gestured toward Jones. "Wolf. Guard."
Ryan gathered the rifles, slung one over his shoulder and handed the other to Frankie.
"Point this at Mr. Smith. If he blinks, shoot him."
Despite her quaking knees, she tried to duplicate Mr. Smith's sneer. The gun weighed heavy in her hands as her finger sought the trigger. She dug her elbows into her ribs to keep from shaking. God, she couldn't do this. She couldn't kill people. Her stomach roiled. She swallowed. No, she could do this. If this was the way to save Molly, she would handle it. A strange calm washed over her, masking her fear.
Wolf stood within leaping range of Mr. Jones, teeth bared, growling. At least Wolf's charge looked scared. Hers looked almost amused. She licked her lips and prayed her voice wouldn't crack. "You heard him. Don't move."
Jones spoke, his voice pleading. "Please. Tell the dog no. I—" He bent over, retching. Wolf took a step forward. Ryan repeated his command to guard, and Wolf stood his ground. Jones stood, wiped his mouth.
"To show you what a nice guy I am, you can sit," Ryan said. "Legs out in front of you. Get those hands back on your head." Jones lowered himself to a sitting position, eyeing Wolf warily.
Ryan approached the cabin door, ran his fingers around its perimeter, stopping from time to time to examine the surface beneath his hand.
Oh, God, maybe it was booby-trapped. She'd almost pulled the door open. She could have triggered something inside. Blown them up. And if Molly was in there.… The rifle nearly slipped from her hand. How did Ryan stay so cool? If there was a bomb, he was right there.
The door creaked open. Ryan disappeared into the darkness.
She moved enough to see the cabin door and still keep the rifle pointed at Smith.
Moments later, Ryan emerged, carrying a hank of rope. Her heart sank.
"She's in there, honey. Hang on another minute, okay? Let me get these two secured, and we'll all get out of here." He knelt beside Jones, yanked the man's hands from his head and tied them behind his back.
"She's all right?"
"I think so."
"You think so? Ryan—"
He cut her off. "Frankie, hang tough. You can do it. One more minute."
Hang tough? Her daughter was in there. And she was supposed to stand here and hang tough? Thirty seconds. She'd give him thirty seconds. "Yes, sir. Hanging tough, sir. But can you move faster?"
An eternity later, Ryan secured Smith's hands behind his back and took over guard duty. She raced into the cabin. What little daylight remained barely penetrated the dark confines of the single room. She crouched by a pile of blankets heaped in the corner. Blood rushed in her ears as she lifted a corner of the topmost cover. Tears sprang to her eyes and her throat thickened when she saw the frail form of her daughter. She ran her hand down Molly's cheek. Her skin was cool and dry.
"Molly? Peanut? Mommy's here. You're safe. Wake up."
Molly didn't stir.
Ryan came alongside and scooped Molly up. "We need to get somewhere safer. It's almost dark."
She nodded and squeezed Molly's hand under the blankets, alarmed when she got nothing in return. "She's going to be all right, isn't she? She has to be all right."
Chapter 25
Ryan studied the child in his arms. Her slow, shallow breathing worried him. He forced himself to regroup. Reacting without thinking got people killed. The need to keep Frankie and Molly safe had him disregarding the big picture.
He took another quick survey of the room, ran the options through his head. From outside, Wolf's low growls told him things were still under control. Gently, he set Molly down.
He blew out a long breath. "All right. There's a pack against the wall. Get it. I'm sure there's stuff in there we can use—or keep anyone else from using."
Frankie hefted the pack. "What's inside? It weighs a ton, and if I'm carrying it, I'd rather not worry about it blowing me up."
"Okay, let's have a peek." He tugged open the pack and peered inside, berating himself for not having done this sooner. He clicked on a flashlight. "Good news. We've got light, and it looks like they stuffed everything from my saddlebag in here, too."
When he got no response, he looked over his shoulder. Frankie crouched at Molly's side again, stroking her cheek, murmuring soothing words. A fist clutched his heart. He tabled the sensation to
deal with later.
He rummaged through the pack, found his hiking boots. Yes! He sat down, yanked off his riding boots and laced on the more suitable footwear. His jacket was in there, too, and he pulled it out.
A quick check of the pack's outer compartments yielded some trail mix, a few chocolate bars and bottled water. And one more pleasant surprise.
He settled the jacket over Frankie's shoulders. "Put this on. It's getting colder. And look what else I found." He extended the tongueless Mr. Snuggles.
Frankie yanked the toy from his hand. "Look, Molly. Mr. Snuggles is here. Don't you want to say hello?" Her voice quavered.
He rested a hand on Frankie's shoulder. "We need to go." He pried the stuffed dog from her grasp and tucked it into Molly's arms. While the child's arm was exposed, he pinched a fold of skin on the back of her hand. Watching it flatten, relief displaced some of his worry. Not severe dehydration. That bought them some more time. He adjusted the blankets around her.
"We need to get Smith and Jones away from here. I think they're afraid enough of Wolf, but one of us is going to have to keep a weapon pointed at them. I can't do that and carry Molly."
"I can carry her."
"Better if I do."
"She's my daughter. She'll want to know I'm here when she wakes up."
"Trust me on this, Frankie."
"But—" She paused. "I get it. You think it'll slow us down if I carry her."
"She's dead weight, and I want to get at least a mile or two away." Her eyes widened, and the impact of his word choice registered. "Oh, God, honey, I didn't mean it like that. It just popped out."
"I know. Why can't we leave them here? They're tied up, aren't they?"
"I'm not convinced there aren't more of them on the way. They'd probably come here to rendezvous."
"Then give me the gun, and let's get going." The quavers had left her voice. She was a lioness now, defending her cub.
"Frankie—"
She tugged at a rifle, and he maneuvered it off his shoulder. She snatched it, holding it one hand on the stock, the other on the barrel, like a quarterstaff.
"Have you ever fired one of these?" he asked, gently pointing the barrel toward the floor.
"As a matter of fact, I have. I wanted to go deer hunting with my uncle. I was twelve, I think. Anyway, he made me shoot at targets nailed to a fence before he'd let me tag along."
"What happened?"
"I hit the fence every time."
Despite himself, he smiled. "This isn't quite the same."
"They took my daughter. They drugged her, and who knows what else. Are you afraid I won't pull the trigger if I have to?"
No, he had no doubt she'd defend her daughter to the death. He was afraid of what it would do to her if she did. Taking another life came with a price tag he wouldn’t let her pay. All the years on the job, and he still threw up after he killed someone.
He helped her into the pack, adjusted the straps and leaned over to pick up Molly. "One second." He straightened and cradled Frankie's face in his hands. "We're going to be fine. All of us. Trust me."
Her eyes softened, said she did. As quickly, they flashed steely determination. "Let's do it."
Frankie preceded him out the door. Unlike Smith and Jones, she held the weapon in both hands, ready to fire. "All right. You. Jones. On your feet. Smith. Up you go. Start walking."
*****
Frankie stared at the men shuffling along the dirt road in front of her. Wolf trotted between them, never more than a leap away from either captive. Ryan kept the flashlight trained on the path, sweeping it back and forth. Only the limit of its beam kept her from pushing to a run.
The sooner they got to wherever Ryan had planned, the sooner they could get help for Molly. The road forked and Wolf bounded to the right, barking. She slowed, waiting. Ryan stopped beside her.
"Halt," he commanded. Smith and Jones kept moving.
She pressed her finger against the trigger. "You heard the man. Don't move."
Smith and Jones halted. Warily, they turned back toward their captors.
Ryan tapped her shoulder and gestured with the flashlight toward a fallen tree beside the dirt road. "Wait here," he said to her, his voice calm and confident. She lowered herself to the log, aware of her pounding heart. He took her rifle, set it beside her and placed Molly in her lap. "This won't take long. I'll be right back."
She nodded, hugging Molly to her. Ryan's eyes never left Smith and Jones.
"Wolf. Stay," he commanded. Wolf sat at her feet.
"Let's march," Ryan barked at Smith and Jones. "This way. Double time."
The men disappeared ahead of the flashlight's beam. Soon there was nothing but flickering shadow. It didn't matter. Ryan would be back. Molly was alive, breathing steadily, and warm in her arms. She stroked her daughter's matted hair and sang Hush Little Baby, Molly's favorite lullaby. Between verses, she peeked in the direction Ryan had gone, trying not to think about what he might be doing to Smith and Jones. Visions of Dalton lying on the ground swirled before her eyes. She shuddered and tried to lock the sight away. Wolf inserted his muzzle between her hand and Molly.
"You want some nice, too?" She scratched behind his ears. "You're a good boy. Guess Ryan didn't want us to know what he was doing, hey?" Wolf settled his head on her thigh, and she went on with her song.
She had reached the verse about the cart and bull when car headlights blazed through the darkness. She clutched Molly to her chest. Ryan had said Smith and Jones might have reinforcements on the way. The car approached from the direction he'd taken Smith and Jones.
She crouched low, bundling Molly beside her, and grabbed the rifle. Where was Ryan?
Had those reinforcements shown up and captured him? No way the driver hadn't seen her. She'd been caught in those headlights like a deer. She braved a peek over the log.
The headlights flashed. The horn gave three quick beeps. "Frankie. It's me. Don't shoot."
Seconds later, Ryan was at her side, Molly in his arms. They sped to the car, Wolf at their heels. She scrambled into the passenger seat and Ryan set Molly in her lap. Ryan opened the back door and Wolf leaped in.
"How's she doing?" Ryan asked once he'd slid behind the wheel. He flicked on the dome light and put his fingers to Molly's neck. "Pulse is good. Breathing normal?"
"Yes, but she's still asleep. She doesn't move. Can we hurry to a hospital? I want a doctor to check her out." She wasn't going to ask about Smith and Jones.
"No doctor," rose from Frankie's lap. The words were slurred, but to Frankie, they were a Shakespearean sonnet.
"Molly. Peanut, you're awake." Tears of relief burned behind her eyes. "We're here. Everything's fine." She rested her hand on Molly's cheek.
Molly's eyelids twitched, then popped open. She squirmed in Frankie's lap.
Ryan's calloused hand covered Frankie's. "Hey, Angel. Good to see you again. You had a little nap, didn't you?"
She heard the huskiness in Ryan's voice and pulled her eyes from Molly's long enough to see tears glistening in his. She squeezed his hand, afraid she'd burst into tears if she tried to voice her gratitude.
Some of the confusion faded from Molly's expression, and she blinked. "Mommy? Mr. Ryan?"
"We're here, Peanut," she said. "How do you feel?"
Molly seemed to consider the question for a moment. Beads of sweat on her upper lip glimmered in the car's light. "I feel urpity."
"Does that mean what I think it does?" Ryan asked. He was already running around the car.
"One minute, Peanut. Hang on." She yanked the car door handle, Ryan swung it open and helped get Molly outside.
She pressed her hand against Molly's forehead as she retched. "It's okay, Peanut."
When Molly's spasms stopped, Ryan handed Frankie a bottle of water and an unwrapped disposable moist cloth. She wiped Molly's face.
"I'm better now, Mommy. But my mouth tastes yucky." She reached for the water
"Give her a couple of sip
s. Not too much," he said.
Frankie climbed into the backseat with Molly, who snuggled into her with one hand stroking Wolf. Mr. Snuggles lay forgotten on the front seat.
"We're going home now," Frankie said. "You tell me if you feel urpity again, okay?"
"I feel fine. I don't want a doctor. I'm hungry. Can we go to Slappy's?"
A suppressed cough came from the front seat. Ryan started the car and drove off in the direction they'd come from.
"Hey. Where are we going?" Frankie asked. "We need to get back to—you know." Despite Molly's insistence that she felt fine, Frankie wanted a doctor to check her out.
"Five minute detour, max. Then we're on our way. There's something I left at the cabin."
Chapter 26
"What could you have forgotten? We brought everything with us, didn't we?"
Frankie's voice was low, but Ryan heard the threat behind it. He pushed the accelerator a little harder and half-skidded into the curve to the cabin, sending a cloud of dust swirling through the headlight beams.
He'd barely stopped the car when the passenger door flew open.
"Haul ass, pard." Dalton lowered himself into the seat—gingerly, as if his ribs were broken. Which they might well be, considering how close he'd been when Ryan pulled the trigger.
"I'm not talking to you," Ryan said.
"Dalton?" Frankie's voice squeaked. "But—you—Ryan—he—"
"Kevlar vest, little lady. And a little stage blood."
"Hi, Mr. Dalton," Molly said. "I went urpity but I'm fine now."
"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Frankie asked. There was no hiding her irritation this time.
"I'll second that," Ryan said.
"First things first," Dalton said. "You have the intel? The key?"
Ryan maneuvered the car back onto the road. "Maybe. I thought you had it." Then again, Dalton did have the best poker face on the team. He could bluff his way out of anything.