by Dana Mentink
Quinn couldn’t take chances with the little girl’s life.
She’d have to walk through the woods until she reached August’s property. She hefted Jubilee onto her hip, pried the little girl’s fingers from her neck.
“Just a little looser, sweetheart,” she murmured. “If I pass out from lack of oxygen, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Jubilee didn’t respond, but her gaze darted from Quinn to the ridge.
Her silent watchfulness wasn’t normal five-year-old behavior. Quinn worked with kids every day, had been teaching for years, knew exactly how most children Jubilee’s age would act. Typical five-year-olds didn’t stay quiet during long road trips. They didn’t stay quiet when they were scared or hurt, either. Of course, this wasn’t a typical situation. Quinn couldn’t really expect Jubilee to act in a typical way. Maybe she would start talking once she was reunited with her father. Daniel Boone Anderson. The name was scrawled across the sealed manila envelope that Tabitha had thrust into Quinn’s hands. Beneath that, an address and phone number had been printed neatly next to the word HEART. Jubilee’s father. His work address and phone number.
That’s all Tabitha had said about the envelope.
The envelope that Quinn had promised not to open. The one she’d left tucked under the driver’s-side floor mat in the Jeep.
A soft sound drifted through the darkness. Not leaves crackling or twigs snapping. Just a whisper of something that shouldn’t be there. A shifting in the air, a soft sigh.
Quinn froze, her arms tightening around Jubilee as she scanned the darkness. Nothing but shadowy trees and bushes, but the night had gone quiet again.
Was someone moving along the ridge? A dark figure darting through the trees?
She turned and barreled into a hard chest.
She screamed, the sound ripping from her throat as she tried to run. Someone snagged her shirt, dragged her back. She screamed again, Jubilee’s terrified howls mixing with hers.
A hard hand slapped over her mouth.
“Shhhhh!” a man hissed, but there was no way she planned to go quietly. She slammed her head into his chest, tried to knock him off balance. If she could loosen his grip, she and Jubilee might have a chance to escape.
* * *
Having a head shoved into his solar plexus wasn’t exactly how Malone Henderson had planned to spend the first morning of his vacation. A couple of eggs, buttered toast, some canoeing on Deep Creek Lake—that had been the plan.
A wiggling, squirming, head-butting woman was not.
Neither was a screaming kid.
He pulled the woman up against his chest, tightening his grip just enough to keep her from slamming her head into his chest again.
“Enough,” he said. “You want whoever ran you off the road to find us?”
The woman mumbled something against his palm. The kid shrieked even louder.
This was definitely not what he’d had in mind when he’d left HEART headquarters the previous day, fought his way through Beltway traffic and headed to the tiny vacation rental that he’d planned to spend seven very quiet days and nights enjoying.
“With how loudly the kid is screaming,” he said, hoping that reason would win out over terror and that Quinn Robertson would calm down enough to calm down the kid, “your brother isn’t going to need me to call in our location. He’ll find his way here all on his own. So will whoever else happens to be hanging out in these woods.”
Quinn stilled, all the fight seeping out of her.
The kid was another story. She sounded like one of the baby hogs Malone’s grandfather had kept on their Tennessee farm, squealing frantically for her mother.
Only Quinn wasn’t this kid’s mother.
If Malone’s boss Chance Miller was right, August McConnell’s other sister, Tabitha, wasn’t the little girl’s mother, either. Her mother was Boone Anderson’s deceased wife. Boone was the kid’s father, and five years of searching, five years of hoping and praying that the infant Boone’s wife had stolen away from him would be returned, had finally ended. Boone would have what he’d been praying for. He’d have his child back. Everyone at HEART was focused on making sure that nothing went wrong, that the little girl who might be Boone’s would arrive in DC safely.
If Boone hadn’t been on the way home from a hostage rescue mission in Turkey, he’d have been the one hanging onto Quinn Robertson listening to the kid scream. Boone had been notified of his daughter’s supposed return. He’d be stateside in thirty hours. Until he returned, Malone and Chance were taking responsibility for the child. There’d be lots of questions, lots of police and FBI involvement.
And Malone was going to be in the middle of it all until Chance arrived from DC. Another two hours maybe. That’s what Chance had said when he’d called to ask Malone to drive to August McConnell’s place. It had seemed like an easy enough thing to do. Malone was taking his vacation in a cabin not too far from McConnell’s property. All he had to do was wait around until Chance arrived.
Of course, things were never as easy as they were supposed to be. At least not in Malone’s experience.
And, this?
It was proving to be pretty complicated.
He eased his hand from Quinn’s mouth, took a step away. He hadn’t meant to scare her or the child. He’d been working out of an abundance of caution, making sure that the person crawling out from the roots of an old tree wasn’t armed and dangerous. He and August had found Quinn’s abandoned Jeep, they’d heard men moving through the forest, they’d assumed trouble. Doing that was a whole lot better than winding up dead.
“No more screaming, kid,” he said quietly.
“Telling her that isn’t going to make her stop,” Quinn muttered, taking a step back and then another. If she kept going, she’d fall into the hole he’d watched her climb out of.
“And running from me isn’t going to keep you safe,” he responded, snagging her elbow as her foot slipped between thick roots. The tree throw had been a good hiding place. He’d give her that, but she should have stayed put until her brother arrived, and she knew she was safe.
“Watch it,” he cautioned, pulling her away from the roots. “We don’t want to end our first meeting on a bad note.”
“We sure began it on a bad note. Where’s August?” she asked, shrugging away, her arms still tight around the little girl.
“Probably hiding until the kid stops shrieking.”
“She wouldn’t be screaming, if you hadn’t terrified her.” There was no heat in her words, no fear. For someone who’d been run off the road and chased through the woods, she seemed calm.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure who was coming up out of that hole, and I didn’t want to be shot before I figured it out.”
She nodded, her attention on the girl. “It’s okay, Jubilee. Everything is going to be fine.”
She smoothed thick braids that fell over the kid’s shoulders.
Red braids?
It was too dark to see, but Boone’s little girl had red hair. At least, she had when she was a baby. Malone had seen the photo in Boone’s office, sitting right next to the one of his new wife and their children.
“Hush,” Quinn murmured against the girl’s hair, and to Malone’s surprise, the kid pressed her lips together and stopped screaming, the abrupt silence thick and heavy.
He glanced around, eyeing the shadowy trees and the heavy undergrowth. Anyone could be hiding there, and all it would take was one bullet to take Quinn or the little girl out. If that was the perp’s goal. If not, Malone would be the target. Take him out. Grab the kid. Get out before August arrived.
“Let’s go.” He took Quinn’s arm, leading her toward the ridge and the Jeep that was parked at the top of it.
“August—”
“Is smart enough to figu
re out that we’re not going to wait out in the open for him to show,” he cut her off, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out the little pack of chocolate candies he always kept there. Years ago, he’d used them to bribe his siblings and cousins. Now, he used them to comfort scared kids. A necessity, because he wasn’t like Boone or Chance or Chance’s brother Jackson. He didn’t have the ability to look kind or easygoing or harmless. Most kids took one look at Malone’s face and were terrified. According to his coworker Stella Silverstone, that wasn’t because of his scar. It was because of his scowl. One he apparently wore all the time. The candy might not make that any easier on the eyes, but it sure helped get cooperation from kids. That went a long way when he was trying to get them out of dangerous situations.
“You hungry, Kendal?” he asked, holding the little packet out to her.
“Her name is Jubilee,” Quinn said.
“Not if she’s Boone Anderson’s daughter, it isn’t,” he responded, smiling as the kid took the candy from his hand.
“Even if she’s his daughter, her name is Jubilee. That’s what she goes by. It’s what she knows. Forcing her to respond to something else would just be cruel.”
“Okay. Jubilee it is.” It wasn’t his battle to fight, and he wasn’t concerned one way or another with the kid’s name. What he was concerned about was getting her to Boone alive.
That shouldn’t have been a problem.
Chance had assured him that the job would be easy. Meet August McConnell at his house, wait with Quinn Robertson and the little girl she was traveling with until Chance arrived. Go back to his vacation.
Piece of cake.
Only, of course, it wasn’t.
That was a lot worse for Jubilee than it was for Malone. He could vacation anytime. He had plenty of leave saved and plenty of freedom to go when and where he wanted. Jubilee deserved better than this, though. He planned to make sure she got it. He’d spent too many years helping raise his four siblings and six cousins to want to spend much time with kids now, but he wasn’t going to let a child be hurt or scared without doing something about it.
Maybe that’s why he loved his job so much. He got to effect change in the lives of kids like Jubilee all the time. As a matter of fact, half the cases he’d worked for HEART involved kids who were being used, abused or held hostage. It seemed as though that was the way of the world—the innocent were often the most ill-used.
God was still in control, that’s what Granddad Cooper had always said. Granddad had been a preacher. He’d also been caregiver to a houseful of kids. All of them left orphaned when their parents died in a multivehicle car wreck outside of Reedville, Tennessee. That wreck had cost Granddad Cooper his two oldest sons and their wives, but it hadn’t cost him his faith. He’d held fast to that through the next twenty-some years of trying to raise eleven kids.
Malone probably could have learned a thing or two from that. If he’d ever slowed down enough to think about it.
He frowned, eyeing the top of the ridge.
The silence was bothering him. A lot. So was the fact that August hadn’t shown up. With all the screaming Jubilee had done, Malone would have expected a guy like August to come running. He had ex-marine written all over him—quiet, gruff and not too keen on strangers showing up in the darkest hours of the morning. Not surprising. Chance had done a background check before he’d called Malone. According to him, August had served in the Marine Corps until three years ago. He’d taken a medical discharge, then, and had worked private security ever since.
Malone had spent forty minutes with the guy, and he could say for certain that August didn’t do patience, he didn’t believe in waiting and he’d never hold back when he could be taking action.
Unless something kept him from doing it.
Or someone.
Malone didn’t believe in leaving anyone behind, but he couldn’t risk Quinn and Jubilee’s lives. He’d bring them back to August’s place. Once he made sure they were secure there, he’d return for August.
What he wouldn’t do was the expected.
Quinn’s Jeep and August’s vehicle were at the top of the ridge. If someone wanted to stage an ambush, that would be the place to do it.
“Change of plans,” he said, taking Jubilee from Quinn’s arms. “We’re going to walk to your brother’s place.”
“I can carry her.” Quinn reached for Jubilee.
“That will slow us down.”
“I ran through the woods with her in my arms. I think I can manage a short hike.”
“You can, but is it the safest option?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Jubilee was screaming like a banshee, and your brother didn’t show up. That could be because he was a good distance away and wasn’t sure what direction the screams were coming from, or it could be because someone stopped him.” He didn’t hold back, didn’t have time to soften his answer.
“That’s not a pleasant thought.”
“No. It’s not. Neither is the thought of you carrying Jubilee if some guy comes charging after us. She’s little but so are you, and it will be a lot easier for me to run with her than for you to.”
“I prefer petite to little,” Quinn muttered, moving beside him as he followed the ridgeline. She took two strides for every one of his, her small frame drowning in an oversize sweatshirt.
“If you’re dead,” he responded bluntly, “I guess that won’t matter.”
She didn’t respond.
He guessed she’d gotten the point.
Stella would have had a field day reaming him out for his less-than-delicate approach. Fortunately, she wasn’t there. Something was going on, and until Malone knew what it was, he didn’t have time to waste playing nice.
He jogged through the trees, the kid’s long braids slapping his shoulders and face. She had a bruise on her cheek. He could see the dark smudge of it against her pale skin. He thought there were freckles on her nose, too.
Freckles and red hair?
He didn’t ask Quinn. No talking. As little noise as possible. Every cell in his body focused on getting them out of the woods and to safety.
Up ahead, a shadow moved through the trees. Silent, barely visible in the darkness. Malone reached for Quinn’s hand, yanked her behind a huge evergreen.
“What—?”
He pressed his finger to her lips, gestured for her to be quiet. For a moment, he heard nothing. Then, furtive steps. The hunter on the prowl. He handed Jubilee to Quinn, pressed them both deeper into the pine needles.
“Stay here until I come back for you,” he whispered in Quinn’s ear, the words more breath than sound.
She nodded her understanding, and then he slid back into the forest, heading for the shadowy figure that was stalking them.
Copyright © 2016 by Shirlee McCoy
ISBN-13: 9781488008467
Seek and Find
Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Dana Mentink for her contribution to the Rookie K-9 Unit miniseries.
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