And she’d paid with a personal check.
Vanderhoven must have known Ashley’s grandmother was shopping in St. Stephens. He must have figured out she would come to Maritime Lullaby to purchase baby things. He’d come to find Molly Bakerhof, not Echo. He’d missed the older woman by minutes.
Echo found the envelope dated yesterday. Bending the fastener open, she dumped the contents on the desk. She shoved the cash and credit slips to the side and picked up the stack of checks. She flipped through them. Her fingers couldn’t move fast enough. They slipped on the paper. But finally she found a check bearing ocean scenes and written in an older woman’s precise hand. Echo memorized the apartment address and raced for the door.
She had to save her little girl.
Chapter Seventeen
Rand held Zoe tight to his chest. His pulse thundered in his ears. His hands shook. He couldn’t let Vanderhoven take Echo’s baby. He would die first.
Zoe shrieked. Her breath caught, leaving her mouth open and arms flailing in a soundless scream.
Fear for the little girl swelled in him until he could hardly think, fueled nearly past reason by Vanderhoven’s power. She was so upset, so frightened. He had to get her out of here.
He moved his right hand to his holster. He unsnapped his weapon and lifted it free.
“No!” Ashley lunged at him, fingers bared like claws. She hit him, scratched at his face.
Pain sliced his cheek, but he hardly felt it. All he could think of was Zoe. Of the fear swamping him, pulling him down. He couldn’t let her go. He had to get her out of here. He couldn’t let Vanderhoven hurt her.
He turned his back to Ashley, using his shoulders to shield himself, to shield the baby.
She threw herself at him again, ripping at his arm, his gun hand.
He jabbed back at her with his elbow. He felt it connect.
She grunted and fell backward. Her angry screams turned to sobs.
“Put the gun down, McClellan.” Vanderhoven stared at him, those eyes burning and chilling at the same time. Those eyes…
He had to take the monster out. He had to stop him from all he was doing, all he would do. He raised the gun. Gritting his teeth, he lined up the sights on Vanderhoven’s smug face.
“I said put it down.” Vanderhoven’s stare sharpened, penetrating like a pale-blue laser.
Rand’s hand began to tremble. The Glock’s barrel dipped and bobbed. The sights swung wildly.
He couldn’t keep control. He couldn’t remain steady.
“You’ll hurt the baby with that gun, McClellan. You’ll kill her. And it will all be your fault.”
Rand’s palm were slick with sweat. The more he tried to hold it, the more the weapon’s grip slid. It bobbed one last time and fell from his hand, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
He’d lost all control of the situation, if he’d ever had it. He had to get the hell out.
He stumbled through the bedroom door. Zoe screamed, squirming against his shoulder, flailing her tiny fists in the air.
He had to get her to safety. Away from Vanderhoven and his damn power. He didn’t know what the hell had happened to the troopers below, but if he could find them, maybe the three of them could hold Vanderhoven. Maybe they had a chance.
Ashley’s keening cries followed him from the room. In the hall, he nearly ran into her grandmother.
The woman leaned on the wall, as if she couldn’t stand on her own. Sweat beaded her upper lip. Tears streamed down her lined cheeks. She gripped her chest with one hand, in pain. “Ashley!”
Rand forced his feet to move past her, to keep carrying him down the hall. She could be having a heart attack, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t help her. Not now. He had to focus on getting Zoe out before the roar of emotion in his ears overpowered everything. Before it dragged them both under.
He reached the apartment door. Grabbing the knob, he ripped the door open and stumbled onto the stair landing. He gripped the railing with his free hand. Legs shaking so badly it was all he could do to stand, he started descending the stairs.
Vanderhoven was behind him. He could feel it in the panic surging in his blood, taste it in the tinny dryness of his mouth.
Angry voices rose from the neighboring apartment. The door flew open and a woman stared down at him. A man spilled out of the apartment behind her, a shout still on his lips. “I saw the way you looked at him,” he yelled at her. Then his squinty green eyes focused on Rand. In his hand he held a gun.
Rand tried to speed up, tried to hurry down the stairs. He could hardly control his body. He could hardly control his thoughts.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” the gunman bellowed at the woman. “You have another one.”
Rand stumbled on the steps. He slid down on one hip, holding Zoe high on his shoulder, protecting her from the fall.
The man raised the gun, pointing it at Rand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the woman screamed. “Do you think you can kill every man who looks at me?”
Rand turned his back to the man, trying to protect the baby. He braced himself for the crack of gunfire, for the impact of the bullet.
The gun exploded, reverberating through the stairwell.
Zoe screamed. But the thud of the bullet never came.
Rand looked down into the baby’s face, checked her thrashing pink-clad limbs. She was all right. Frightened, but fine. The bullet must have gone wide.
He gasped in a breath, trying to tamp down his panic, trying to think. Grasping the railing, he pulled himself to his feet and looked over his shoulder.
The woman sprawled on the landing, red staining her chest. A sob broke from her shooter’s lips, and he let the gun drop from his hand.
“Call 911.” Rand spit the words from his parched throat.
“Do you really think the authorities can help, McClellan?” Vanderhoven’s skeletal frame loomed on the landing above. “You’re the authorities, and you don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”
The shooter collapsed in a fit of sobs. He threw himself over the woman, unable to function, unable to help.
Ignoring the couple, Vanderhoven thunked slowly down the steps toward Rand like doom closing in. He stared with those eyes, his gaze drilling into Rand, pummeling him until he couldn’t move, could hardly think.
Despair swamped him. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t save Zoe. He couldn’t keep her from getting hurt. He had failed again. Utterly failed.
Vanderhoven stepped over Rand and stopped on the step below. Bending down, he reached for Zoe and took her from Rand’s useless, trembling arms.
The apartment building entrance flew open. “You stay away from my baby.”
Her voice soared over the swirling rumble in Rand’s head. He focused on it, grasped hold of it like a lifeline.
He could hear Vanderhoven walk down the rest of the steps. He could hear Echo’s scream of fury. He could hear her fight. But he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t stop Vanderhoven. He couldn’t help Echo and Zoe. He couldn’t even push himself off these damn stairs.
The door slammed shut.
Quiet settled over him, broken only by the man’s sobs drifting down from the second-floor landing. Slowly the storm of emotion ebbed. Too slowly. He couldn’t wait.
Rand struggled to his feet. He forced his mind to function. The woman needed help. She was shot. She could be dying. But if he raced up to help her, Vanderhoven would get away. He’d take Echo and Zoe. He’d hurt them. Or worse. “Is she alive?”
The man looked up, his face streaked with tears. Choking on a sob, he nodded. “There’s so much blood.”
“Apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding.”
Ashley peeked out her apartment door. “My grandmother—”
“Call 911. Right now.”
She disappeared back into the apartment.
Rand forced his legs to stop shaking, to hold his weight. Negotiating the rest of the stairs,
he pushed his way outside.
Vanderhoven held Zoe in one arm, blocking a desperate Echo with the other. He pulled them toward one of the state trooper’s cars. Echo grabbed at him, thrashing, fighting all the way. Slowing him down despite the emotion that had to be ripping her apart.
Vanderhoven glanced back in his direction.
Another gush of emotion shook Rand, this time so strong he couldn’t sort one feeling from another. He bit down on his lip, using the pain to hold on to sanity for as long as he could. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
A groan came from the side of the apartment entrance. He looked down, spotting a brown shirt between the boxwood hedge and the beige brick. The trooper held his head in his hands, clearly distraught.
His gun.
Rand slipped behind the hedge. Reaching along the trooper’s side, he located his holster and pulled his weapon free. Fitting the gun into his hand, he started after Vanderhoven.
The lab tech had the car door open. Still holding Zoe, he was trying to push Echo inside, as if he’d given up breaking free of her and decided to take her along.
Echo held his arm. Lashing out, she nailed Vanderhoven’s shin with a sharp kick.
Rand pushed his feet to move faster across the rough front lawn. He held the gun in front of him. He had no idea if a weapon would do him any good this time. His sure hadn’t before. But at least it gave him a fighting chance.
A chance to save the woman he loved.
The woman he loved. He loved Echo Sloane.
Emotion slammed through him, but this time it was different. Not muddy and confused and debilitating, but clear as fresh air. He loved Echo. He hadn’t realized it until now, but it was true.
The swirl of feeling honed to a point, a point centering on Echo. His vision narrowed, blocking out the neighborhood. Blocking out the street. Even blocking out Vanderhoven. It sharpened and brightened like a star in a dark sky.
The roar in his ears lessened, then died. The writhing sensation in his chest slowly faded. Until all that was left was Echo. All that was left was her.
Wait.
Vanderhoven hadn’t stopped using his powers. Rand could hear the trooper still groaning from the bushes. Echo’s screams still pierced the air. Nothing had changed.
Except him. He had broken free.
How could that be true? Unless…
There was one other time…when Zoe was kidnapped. Vanderhoven’s powers hadn’t affected Echo then. They had worked on everyone, but not her. Not her because Echo had blocked them with the strength of her love. Her love for Zoe.
Just like he was blocking them now.
Vanderhoven turned to him as he reached the car. He glanced at the gun in Rand’s hand with as much concern as he would give a squirt gun. “This again, McClellan? Drop it. You don’t want to fire that thing and hit your girlfriend, do you? Or the baby.” He let go of Echo and grabbed Zoe from the car seat, holding her in front of him like a shield.
The baby thrashed in his hands, her face red, her voice hoarse from screaming.
A wave of doubt swept over Rand. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing. Maybe he was risking too much. Maybe Vanderhoven was right…
No.
He focused on Echo. His love for her was strong, but not strong enough to fight off Vanderhoven’s power. At least not alone. “Echo, you have to listen to me. You have to hear me.”
Echo clawed at Vanderhoven, trying to rip Zoe from his grasp. A growl of fury rose from her throat.
“Echo,” Rand said. He had to make her listen. He could feel Vanderhoven’s power battering against him, trying to sweep him away. “I love you, Echo. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
She glanced at him for a split second. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in an expression of pain.
“You were right,” Rand told her. “I was trying to protect myself. I knew you would sacrifice everything for Zoe. Everything. And I couldn’t face losing you.”
Tears blurred his vision and streamed down his face. He let them come. He let emotion sweep over him. His love for Echo. His need to make things right with her. To tell her how he felt. It was all that mattered. “It never occurred to me that is exactly what I love about you. Your devotion to Zoe. Your devotion to your brother. You never run. You never withdraw. You fight for what you want. You fight for those you love.”
He could feel her eyes focus on him more than see them. As if her love reached out and joined with his. And as their feelings twined together, they formed an unbreakable bond.
“I love you, Rand.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but to him it sounded like a shout.
Rand raised the Glock. Even with Vanderhoven holding the baby, he could get a clear shot. He lined up his sights on the bastard’s head, his hands steady. “Put the baby down, Vanderhoven. This is over.”
“Not so fast.” Vanderhoven pulled Rand’s gun from his waistband. He started bringing the barrel to the baby’s head.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Gunfire cracked through the neighborhood as Rand pumped three rounds into the lab tech.
Vanderhoven slumped against the car. The gun fell from his hand.
Echo grabbed Zoe and cradled the baby safely to her chest as Vanderhoven slid to the ground.
Chapter Eighteen
Rand watched Echo lower Zoe into her crib and pull the soft white blanket to the baby’s chest, leaving her hands free. Zoe plugged her thumb in her mouth and grasped her wispy brown curls in her other fist.
She’d been through an emotional hell, but she seemed to have recovered just fine. Much more quickly than Rand had. He still felt shaky, still unsure. At least about everything except his feelings for Echo and her child. “She looks content.”
Echo nodded. “She looks sleepy. Screaming like a banshee will take it out of you. Just ask me. I know.” She glanced up at him, her lips curving into a beautiful smile.
His chest ached at the thought of all they’d been through. And not just them. At least no one had been killed. Even Ashley’s grandmother and the woman whose husband had shot her were expected to recover.
Maxie Wallace wasn’t so lucky. And Officer Lance Woodard. Rand might not ever be able to prove Vanderhoven’s superpowers caused Woodard’s death, but he knew it was true. And although Vanderhoven’s death wouldn’t bring the two St. Stephens officers back, any more than Edmonston’s death brought back Richard, at least he knew that justice was served.
He pushed all that out of his mind and focused on Echo. She’d changed from her torn and dirty clothes into a soft silk skirt and blouse, and looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine not touching her.
He ran a hand down her arm and took her hand in his. “You were amazing today.”
“What? You liked my screams?”
“You might have been screaming, but you never gave up.”
She looked down at her daughter. “I had Zoe to keep me going.”
He nodded. Just like the day the baby had been kidnapped, Echo had kept herself together by focusing on her baby. By loving her child.
She looked up at him. “You didn’t do so badly, either.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true. I folded. At least until you got there. Then I had you to keep me going.” He felt so much for her, his chest ached with it. But unlike the artificially strong emotion Vanderhoven had caused, the ache was clear and clean and sure.
He loved Echo Sloane. More than he knew he could love anyone, especially in so short a time. He wanted to be with her, to forge a future together. A future that was strong and bright and full of love. A future he could focus on full-time in the doubtless weeks he’d be on administrative leave. His shrink would be proud.
But first… “We need to talk.”
She nodded. Slipping her hand into his, she led him out of the room, leaving Zoe to sleep. When they reached the living room, she turned to face him. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Your brother.”
She pursed her lips and waited for him to
continue.
“I don’t want him to come between us.”
“I’m not going to accept that he’s guilty of causing that explosion, Rand. I can’t.”
“I know.” Since the mess with Vanderhoven had ended, he’d been searching for a reason Sloane might have sabotaged Project Cypress, a reason Echo might accept. He might not know as much about Echo’s brother as she did, but he did know the former Special Ops soldier had likely witnessed the dark side of war in Afghanistan, and that type of experience never left a man unscathed. “What if your brother objected to Project Cypress on a moral level? I’m sure he saw things in Afghanistan. Horrible things. What if he didn’t want this new chemical weapon to be used? What if that was his reason?”
Echo shook her head. “Bray lived through some rough things in Afghanistan. Things that changed him. Things he would never talk about. But he loves his country. He might demonstrate against something he thought was morally wrong. He might try to bring it to people’s attention, try to get it changed. But he wouldn’t sabotage it, especially if it meant hurting other people. That’s just not Bray.”
Rand let out a long breath. Clearly she wouldn’t accept any kind of explanation. “I love you, Echo. More than I can say. When I told you I didn’t want to lose you, I meant it. Not to Vanderhoven. And not to a disagreement over your brother.”
“I can’t pretend to believe something I never will.”
He threaded his fingers with hers. Her skin was so soft, so tender. Yet underneath she was stronger than steel. “What if we agree to disagree about Bray?”
She tilted her head in an unspoken question.
“What if I promise to do whatever I can to clear his name?”
She nodded. “And what do you want from me?”
“If the evidence proves him guilty, you have to promise to understand when I have to do my job.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He gathered her in his arms and lowered his lips to hers. She was soft and sweet. Everything he could ever want. Everything he never dared dream he could have. Love swept over him, pervasive and insane. A different kind of insanity. One that brought strength instead of weakness. Peace instead of guilt. And while control wasn’t remotely part of the mix, it was an out-of-control feeling he could more than live with.
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