by Misty Evans
His brother was dead because of him.
Clenching his jaw, Mitch looked away from Emma. His attention snagged on the cans, then flitted to the trees, back at the horses.
“Um,” she said, suddenly uncertain, “go ahead. I’ll get out of your way.”
The smile fell off her face and she moved several feet back, checking her gun and ignoring him.
Shit. Now he’d done it.
But what could he say? What could he do?
Certainly not kiss her.
Taking his Glock from its holster, he strode across the pine needles, took his stance, and aimed.
His neck and shoulders muscles knotted. Too tight to be shooting. He needed to relax.
Couldn’t.
Breathe, goddammit. Breathe.
He blanked his mind, imagining the bastard who’d dropped the bomb that killed his brother standing before him instead of the cans.
Bam, bam, bam, the shots echoed in the forest and the tin cans rose into the air, suspended for a brief instant before they toppled, one right after the other.
Release came then. His neck. His shoulders. His whole body.
Emma strode up next to him. “Impressive. I wish I could shoot like that.”
“Practice,” he said, his voice coming out stronger than he’d expected. “Lots of practice.”
“Do you mind if I shoot some more?”
He glanced at her face, found that calm, serene smile on it. His lungs filled and he found he could smile back. “I’ll set up the cans.”
He’d only gotten two of them back on the log when he heard the distant sound of a shotgun. Emma’s head swung around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the ranch. “Was that…?”
Mitch hauled ass across the distance, grabbing her by the elbow and together they ran for the horses.
Chapter Seven
Igor might be old, but the animal still had spunk. As Emma kicked Twinkie’s flanks and followed Mitch, she was impressed by the agent’s ability to maneuver the aging horse through the woods at a healthy gait and at Igor’s ability to meet Mitch’s demands.
The dogs ran ahead of all of them. Once Mitch and Emma broke free from the trees, Mitch gave Igor his head, turning the animal loose to run, and Emma prodded Twinkie to follow suit. The horses’ legs worked quickly to carry them both back to the ranch.
Will waited for them, Emma’s shotgun in hand.
“What happened?” Mitch demanded as they wheeled up to the corrals.
“Stranger,” Will said, eyes scanning the area east of the barn. “Saw him slinking behind the stables. Called him out and he took off for the rocky area out there.”
Mitch jumped down from his horse. “You hit him?”
“Nah. Scared him off, but the shot was more to get your attention.”
Emma guided Twinkie around so she could get a better look at the path leading to the pond and the direction the stranger had taken. “What did he look like?”
“Get down,” Mitch demanded, grabbing Twinkie’s reins and holding the horse steady. “We need to get you in the house.”
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” she asked, scanning the tree line and hills.
Will held the shotgun like a baby in his arms, but he was ready for another round. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but if it was someone we knew, they wouldn’t have been pussyfooting around the place. Figured it was better to shoot first and ask questions later.”
Mitch nodded, pulling out his weapon. “Good call.”
“We should go after him,” Emma insisted. “Find out who it is. It might not be Chris. It might be someone displaced by the fires who was looking for help.”
Mitch shook his head. “Get down, Dr. Collins, and get your butt in the house.”
Curiosity demanded she find out who it was. She hated living in fear and had made a vow never to do so again.
But truth was, she didn’t want to go running off into the woods in search of a stranger. She wanted to make a cup of tea and think about what nearly had happened with Mitch under that oak tree.
Sighing, she gave in. The saddle creaked as she ignored Mitch’s hands and used the horn to swing off the horse’s back.
The ground should have felt solid under her feet. Instead, her knees gave a little. Her vision seemed to close in on her.
Fear. God, she hated that damned emotion, making her weak and shaky.
Not all of her bravado was false—she’d trained her mind and her emotions for the past two years and she never intended to go back to being a victim.
But there was something unnerving about the seriousness in the look Mitch kept giving her. Something about hearing that gunshot that had made the unnerved sensation go straight to her stomach.
Vulnerability.
Her heart beat a high, rapid tempo against her ribs. There had been a strange man—possibly a man who wanted to kill her—roaming her property. The old flash of terror, embedded deep in her bones, came flooding back with sudden ferocity.
Realizing Mitch might be right—that Chris and Linda were actually coming after her—pissed her off as well.
Anger was a better emotion. She could work with that, not let it freeze her up.
Stay angry. “Will, can you take care of the horses?”
“Happy to,” he said. “Long as you do as the agent here asks and get yourself tucked safely into the house.”
Pulling her Smith & Wesson from the holster, she took off the safety and gave the property one more scan. Nothing but the leaves on the trees blowing in the wind. Birds sang and the dogs meandered around in the grass, unalarmed.
Mitch moved in front of her, and started to take her elbow. She jerked away. “I’m going, but I want to know who the hell that was.”
“Soon as I put up the horses,” Will said, “I’ll see if I can pick up his tracks.”
Mitch was torn, she could see it in his eyes. He wanted to do some tracking himself, but his mission was to stick close to her and make sure she was safe.
That was his issue to work out. She moved away, heading for the house, the dogs falling in beside her.
She heard Mitch mumble something to Will but couldn’t make out what he said. He caught up to her halfway across the yard. She tensed, waiting for the lecture about how they needed to leave.
It didn’t come.
On the porch, Mitch caught her hand before she could grab the doorknob. His big, strong hand held hers immobile.
The rest of her body went immobile too. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to pull away.
“Shh,” he said, drawing her close. “I go in first, make sure it’s safe. You follow.”
His eyes told her the reason why. The stranger behind the barn might have been a decoy. Chris or Linda might actually be inside.
She couldn’t stop the involuntary tremble that snaked down her spine.
His hand tightened on hers. “I’ll protect you, Emma.”
His voice was low and controlled. Totally confident.
Emma.
He’d used her first name instead of Dr. Collins or Doc.
Progress? Or a tool to make her feel safe?
His confidence was not simply a show of bravado. He truly believed in himself. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and she believed in him too.
“I’m okay,” she lied. She didn’t want to, but she found herself returning the hand squeeze. She liked the strength, the control that simple movement gave her. “Let’s get this over with.”
Which was another lie. A part of her didn’t want it to be over with because then he would let her go. Right now, his hand was the only thing keeping her grounded. Keeping her knees from giving out.
I am nuts.
She told the dogs to stay, gave him a nod.
He raised his gun and nodded back.
Her clinical mind came to the rescue. As he opened the door, she watched him, analyzed his movements. He flinched at the noisy squeak of the door and she made a mental note to oil the hing
es.
Mitch Holden was something to behold as he entered her house. His body was that of a panther stalking its prey, ready to strike. Ready to defend her. His lanky body glided with silent ease.
As he pulled her behind him, he went right, sweeping his gun in front of both of them, his gaze taking in every detail. At one point, he stopped and cocked his head to listen to something. She cocked her head too, but heard nothing except the hum of the fridge.
They moved on.
The tightness in her chest loosened. He’d kept her with him. That said something, didn’t it? He could have shoved her in a closet or the kitchen pantry and told her to stay put, but instead, he kept hold of her hand and allowed her to trail after him.
Mimicking his position, she kept her gun pointed at the ceiling and her senses attuned to the environment. Don’t screw this up.
After clearing the first floor, they climbed the stairs. Emma locked her gaze on Mitch’s back, trying to be as quiet as possible and amazed at his ability to avoid the weak points in the wooden stairs whereas she seemed to find every spot that groaned and creaked.
The price you paid for living in an old farmhouse.
The last room they cleared was her bedroom. Her bed was still unmade, a breeze coming in the open window and billowing the curtains.
“Did you leave that window open?” he growled.
Her pulse skittered under her skin. “I opened it this morning to let in some fresh air. The house smelled like bacon. I forgot to close it.”
Mitch released her hand, checked the closet and under the bed. “Luckily, we’re all clear. Did you notice anything out of place or missing while we were going through the place?”
She shook her head, already embarrassed at the fact she’d left that damn window open and that she’d clung to him like a scared little girl all through the house. “Everything looks exactly as I left it.”
He closed the window, locked it, and pulled the shade. “I’m going to check the attic.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Mitch pulled the attic stairs down from the ceiling at the end of the hall and Emma flipped the light switch. The bare bulb up above threw soft light down on them. As they climbed the narrow steps, dust swirled in the air, tickling Emma’s nose.
She hadn’t been up here in a few weeks. Mitch hit the landing and did a visual sweep of the scattered boxes, the old desk, and her telescope, pointed at the northern sky.
Hiding places were minimal, save perhaps if you were the size of a mouse. Mitch’s gaze took in the telescope for a brief moment before he looked back at her. “Do you use it?”
Her throat felt like she’d swallowed cotton balls, which was silly. It wasn’t like she was spying on her neighbors—she had none. She cleared her throat, focused on a box near her feet. Some old college texts books. Why was she hanging on to those? “On occasion.”
“You have a good sky view from here, I bet.”
“On clear nights, I can see a long way.”
They left the attic, clomping down the stairs. Mitch shoved the collapsible steps back up and turned off the lights. “Can you get that file for me? The one you have on Goodsman?”
“Sure.” Back to business, but she smelled like sweat. Like fear. “I need to change my clothes first.”
He looked at her funny, then nodded. “Stay away from the windows.”
He walked out and Emma plopped down on the bed and blew out a long breath.
On one hand, she felt slightly ridiculous. The stranger could have been anyone. Like she’d said in the yard, it could even be someone displaced by the fires. They might have had car trouble or been hiking in the park and got lost when the fires started. They could be exhausted, hungry, injured.
But a part of her knew Mitch was being smart to keep her secluded. It could be Chris. While the actor’s personality and normal MO didn’t point to him being a stalker, she knew better than to believe it was completely out of the range of possibility. Anything was possible. She’d learned that two years ago.
Putting the safety back on her gun, she set it on the nightstand and went to the closet. Pulling on fresh jeans, a tank, and a flannel shirt, she felt better. Will had sent the stranger running, his show of boldness scaring the person off. Mitch was in the house with her, and he wouldn’t let anyone get in and hurt her.
Fluffing her hair, she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with new-found confidence. She smiled at herself and started a mental to-do list.
Find the file on Chris.
Make tea.
Cancel appointments.
She hated that last one. Like Danika, the kids she was working with this week all needed extra attention, but she couldn’t endanger their lives by bringing them to the ranch. Maybe she could arrange to visit them instead. It wouldn’t be the same without the horses to aid her, but it was better than nothing.
Back at the nightstand, she opened the drawer to stick the gun inside and froze, her world tilting once more on its axis.
“Here,” Emma said, shoving a well-worn green file at Mitch. “This is everything I have on paper. I also have computer records I can copy to a USB if you want them.”
Seated at the kitchen table, he moved his cookie aside to make room for the massive file. He’d raided the Snoopy jar and was on his third oatmeal chocolate chip.
Salt and Pepper thumped their tails at Emma’s entrance, but she ignored them. Tenseness radiated from her body. Her face was as white as the refrigerator.
“You okay?” he asked.
She turned on her heel and headed out. “Yep, peachy.”
“Where are you going?”
He heard her footsteps pounding up the stairs. Her voice came back muffled. “To pack.”
Wait. What?
Pack, as in leave the ranch?
He knew she’d been rattled by the idea that someone had been on her property, but in the heat of the moment, she’d seemed normal. In denial mostly. Inside the house, she hadn’t flinched when he’d taken her room by room to make sure there were no intruders.
So why the sudden change of heart?
Leaving the cookie and the file on the table, he followed her up the stairs.
He found her in her bedroom stuffing a couple of T-shirts into a pale blue overnight bag.
Okay, kiddos, what’s wrong with this picture?
Fuck if he knew.
On one hand, he was relieved she was finally coming to her senses. On the other…the woman hastily throwing clothes into a bag wasn’t the same Emma Collins who’d been driving him nuts for the past day. The one with a telescope in her attic and a fondness for lost causes.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I was wrong,” she said with a shrug. She’d changed clothes and returned the gun holster to under her arm. “You were right. I should leave the ranch for now and go to a safe house.”
And yep. Mind blown.
This woman. He couldn’t get a handle on her. One moment, she was sitting in a rocking chair downstairs with a shotgun on her lap refusing to leave, and the next her butt was on fire to get away from the ranch as fast as she could.
Not only did no woman, ever, tell a man he was right, this woman definitely never admitted she was wrong.
Her change of heart, along with her absolute mechanical movements and lack of eye contact, was starting to freak him out.
“Emma, what’s going on? Why the sudden change of heart?”
She off-handedly pointed over at her nightstand. “Someone was in the house. They left me a message.”
On the nightstand, he saw a lamp, a stack of books, and a box of tissues. Nothing looked different from his last foray in the room only minutes ago.
He moved closer. The plastic green toy next to the base of the lamp was so small, he almost missed it.
Removing a tissue from the box, he snatched it up and took a closer look. An army man, like the kind he and
Mac had played with as kids.
On closer inspection, he realized what he was looking at. “Is this what I think it is?”
“One of the many Tom Monahan resistance fighters marketed to kids around the world. I hear they’re collector items among adults as well.”
Her voice was neutral; her jerky movements not so much.
The green army man was a replica of Tom Monahan in a famous scene at the end of Season Five. Mitch had seen it while researching—one of the most valuable of all of the collectors items. The Tom figurine held an Uzi in one hand and had a patch over his right eye. In his other hand, he held up the severed head of a cyborg.
Great for kids.
“Goddammit,” Mitch said under his breath. No wonder Emma was now ready to leave. “Did you touch this?”
Her sharp gaze snapped to his. “Yes, sorry.”
“I’ll bag it anyway and we’ll get it dusted for prints.”
“Does it matter whose prints are on it? I mean, it seems pretty obvious who put it there, doesn’t it?”
“It’s all evidence for when we catch this sick bastard and his accomplices.”
She nodded. “I have a few things I need from my office, and I’ll need to alert Will I’m leaving. Hopefully, he’ll stay and take care of the horses. Do you think he’s in danger?”
“He seems quite capable of handling things.”
“Can I bring the dogs? Not Lady, she won’t leave Will. Just Salt and Pepper.”
As always, the Labs had followed him and now lounged together in a patch of sun on the bedroom floor.
“The safe house is for people, not pets, but…”
“But you like them and you know I’m right. They’re a good security system on top of whatever the safe house might have.”
If it would get her out of this house and to a place where protecting her was easier, he’d stand on his head. “I’ll grab their food and throw it in my truck.”
“Thank you.”
“The sooner we leave the better.”
“Give me five.”
He nodded, took the toy, and headed downstairs. The plastic Tom Monahan went into an evidence bag he pulled from of his truck. He tossed a giant bag of dog food from the mudroom into the back.