Her Christmas Guardian

by Shirlee McCoy

  “I’ll help,” Eleanor said. “I’m sure I can distract him for a few minutes. There’s a bathroom at the back of the cabin with a window in it. It’s tiny, but I’m sure you and Lucy can squeeze through. The only other window on that side of the house has shades that Gaige keeps closed. He won’t be able to see anyone approaching from the back unless he opens them. If you can get into the bathroom, maybe someone can be waiting under the window to grab Lucy.”

  “What about you?” Scout asked. The woman was a criminal, a kidnapper and a fool, but Scout didn’t want her left in the cabin alone with Gaige. Regardless of what Eleanor thought, the man was dangerous. He’d nearly killed Scout, and she doubted he’d hesitated to hurt anyone who got in his way.

  “Why do you care?” Eleanor asked.

  “Because you’re a human being, and I don’t want you hurt,” Boone said.

  “Whatever!” She turned, stalked back to her little shelter under the tree.

  Boone ignored her. His gaze was on Scout, his expression soft and unguarded. She could see the worry in his eyes, the anxiety on his face.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, as much to convince herself as him.

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Then why do you look worried?”

  “Because I care, and because I want to go in there for you, and I can’t. Gaige sees me coming and there’s no telling what he’ll do to Lucy.”

  “I know.”

  “Then I guess you know how dangerous this situation is, and I guess you know just how helpless I feel right now.” He ground the words out, his eyes flashing with frustration.

  He didn’t look angry, though. He looked like a man who knew how to love and who deserved to be loved, and in that moment, Scout wished she had been brave enough to do more than promise him cake. She wished that she’d been confident enough, strong enough, sure enough of herself to tell him that she wanted there to be an us once Lucy was home.

  “Boone,” she said, wanting to get the words out, because she was afraid there might not be another opportunity to say them.

  “Just focus on the mission, Scout,” he said quietly, brushing strands of hair from her cheeks, tucking them under her hood. “We’ll work everything else out afterward.”

  “But—”

  “Focus. Stay calm. Find a way to get Lucy into that bathroom, and find a way out the window. Okay?” he urged.

  She nodded, because her throat was tight with fear and hope and something she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. Not attraction. Not infatuation. Something deeper, more lasting.

  She touched his jaw, her hand sliding over several days’ worth of stubble. It felt soft beneath her fingers, and she levered up, her lips brushing his.

  He pulled her close, his hands sliding down her arms, his fingers linking with hers. Palm to palm, warmth to warmth, and she knew that if she had a thousand years to stand in Boone’s arms, it would never be enough.

  He broke away, his forehead pressed to hers.

  “That,” he rasped, “was the most fun I have ever had breaking a rule. Now go. The longer we put this off, the more antsy Gaige is going to be.” He nudged her toward the cabin, and she went, her lips still warm from their kiss.

  Eleanor stepped into place beside her. They didn’t speak as they approached the cabin. There was nothing to say. The plans had been set; everything had been worked out. In the forest surrounding them, a dozen men and women were watching. Scout should have felt comforted by that, but all she felt was terror.

  What if Lucy wasn’t in the cabin?

  What if Gaige had already left for the airport?

  Was it possible he’d got wind of Eleanor’s capture?

  Did he know he was about to be betrayed?

  The questions pounded through her head as they stepped from the canopy of the trees and into an overgrown clearing. The cabin sat in the center of it, a small porch at the front with an old hanging swing worn with age.

  Up close, the place had an abandoned feel, and she wondered if he really had left.

  The front door swung open, but no one appeared on the threshold.

  Did he know that the cabin was being watched?

  Eleanor grabbed her arm, long fingernails digging through the parka and her coat. “Remember,” she hissed. “The bathroom in the back of the cabin. Take Lucy there. It’s the only room with a lock on the door.”

  “Okay.”

  “One more thing.” She slowed her steps, looked straight into Scout’s eyes. “I’m sorry. For all of this. I was played a fool before, and I didn’t think I’d ever be played a fool again. Pride goeth before the fall.” She laughed, the sound sending chills up Scout’s spine.

  “What—?”

  “Shh.” Eleanor cut her off as they stepped onto the porch. Sure enough, a man was standing just beyond the doorway, the shadowy interior of the cabin hiding his face. It couldn’t hide the child he was holding, though. Not a dark-haired little girl. A blonde.

  For a moment, Scout’s heart stopped, every fear she’d had about Lucy not being at the cabin stealing her breath and making her feel dizzy and faint. Or maybe it was the scent of gasoline that was making her feel that way.

  Gasoline?

  It couldn’t be.

  Could it? She inhaled, nearly gagging on the fumes. They stung her nose, made her lungs hurt.

  She backed up, fear crawling along her nerves, settling like a hard knot in her chest.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She wanted to signal to Boone, let him know that things weren’t working out the way they’d planned.

  Then she heard something that she’d been afraid she’d never hear again, the sound as sweet as the first birdsong of spring.

  “Mommy! Mommy, let’s go home!” Lucy cried, her voice hoarse, her hand reaching out.

  Scout didn’t hesitate, didn’t think another thought about the acrid scent. She ran into the cabin and snatched Lucy from the man’s arms.

  * * *

  They were in, the cabin door closing behind Eleanor.

  That was Boone’s signal to move, and he did, winding his way along the edges of the trees, staying low and hidden by the overgrowth of vegetation until he was at the back of the cabin.

  He eyed the building, scanning the one-story log exterior. The window Eleanor had mentioned was there, a small rectangle cut into the wood, its glass wet from the storm. Higher than he’d anticipated, probably close to seven feet up, it barely looked big enough for a child to fit through.

  Would Scout be able to squeeze through the opening?

  She was small, but the opening looked tiny.

  The only other window on the back of the building was triple the size. Just as Eleanor had said, the shades were drawn.

  Leaves rustled behind him. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was. Cyrus had been assigned to the back quadrant of the cabin, and Boone had no doubt he was about to make an appearance.

  “You’re usually quieter than that.” He tossed the words over his shoulder, his attention completely focused on the cabin.

  “You usually don’t show up in my quadrant.” Cyrus slid from the shadow of an elm tree, his movements so smooth that it almost seemed that he wasn’t moving at all. “You’re supposed to be at the front of the house. Since you’re not, I’m assuming something has come up.”

  “You’re assuming right.” Boone filled him in quickly, his gaze riveted to the small window. Nothing yet. Not a hint of movement from beyond it.

  “Might have been a good idea to fill everyone else in,” Cyrus said when Boone finished speaking. There was no heat in his words and no judgment. They trusted each other implicitly, had worked together enough to know that every move was made deliberately, every decision thought through carefully.

  �
��It would have been a good idea,” Boone corrected. “But I wasn’t sure Eleanor was being honest about the window until I got here, and I didn’t want to waste time on a last-minute scramble to get back into position.”

  “The window’s there,” Cyrus pointed out. “Want me to make the call?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Tell the team that if Scout signals me, we’ll need a distraction at the front of the house. I don’t want Gaige looking out the window as I’m approaching. I’m not sure how he’ll react if he sees me.”

  “Does he have a weapon?” Cyrus asked, gathering all the facts the way he normally did. He’d spout them back when he radioed the team, and Boone had no doubt he’d get every last detail right.

  “Eleanor didn’t mention one, but Scout was nearly killed with a .45. I’d say there’s a good possibility that he does.”

  “Got it. So, she signals and we provide a distraction at the front of the building. What if she doesn’t signal?”

  “Then we move to plan B,” Boone responded.

  Cyrus didn’t ask what that plan was. He’d worked with Boone for too many years to think there was one.

  Instead, he slipped deeper into the trees, murmuring something into his radio. They tried to maintain radio silence on missions like these, but with so many entities working together on this rescue, it wasn’t possible. That suited Boone fine. He wanted quick communication. If the bathroom window opened, he needed a way to keep Gaige from figuring out that his prisoners were escaping.

  Cyrus returned a few seconds later, binoculars in hand, his attention on the back of the cabin. “Any movement at the window?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We’ve got some stuff going on off scene. FBI found a Gaige Thompson from San Jose. He’s a divorce lawyer. Wife says he’s on a business trip and won’t be home for a couple of weeks.”

  “She give any indication of where he went?”

  “Washington, D.C.” Cyrus lowered the binoculars. “Guy is licensed to practice law there and in California. He’s pretty well-known in political circles, has helped a lot of high-level people avoid messy divorce battles.”

  “Nice,” Boone said, his gaze still on the cabin. No movement there. Nothing to indicate that Scout had made it into the bathroom.

  “Not if he’s in that cabin with the kid.”

  Bam!

  Fire exploded from the front of the building, flames leaping into the sky.

  Boone sprinted forward, racing to the back of the cabin, praying that the bathroom window would open and Scout would appear. It stayed closed, the glass just above head level.

  Too late, his brain shouted. You’re too late. Again.

  His radio buzzed, people calling for ambulance crews and fire trucks. Others yelling for flanking to the left and right of the house. Someone called for a bomb unit, and someone else was calling his name over and over again. Fire blazed and crackled at the front of the cabin. Men and women streamed out of the woods, racing toward the burning building.

  He ignored it all.

  His focus was on the window and the chance that Scout and Lucy might have made it into the room beyond it.

  He dropped his pack onto the ground, stood on it, looking into a room filled with swirling smoke. Nothing. No sign of anyone or anything, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope, wasn’t ready to stop believing that God would bring Lucy and Scout out of this alive.

  No way could he fit through the bathroom window, so he used the pack as a battering ram, slamming it against the other window, glass shattering into a million pieces, smoke billowing out, everything moving in slow motion except for the fire. It crawled up the roof of the cabin with warp speed, consuming wood, melting metal and destroying everything in its path.

  SIXTEEN

  Lucy was crying.

  Scout heard it through a fog of pain.

  She opened her eyes, coughing as smoke filled her lungs. “It’s okay, Lucy,” she tried to say, but a fit of coughing stole the words.

  No sound from Lucy, and she almost closed her eyes again, let herself drift away from the pain. Above her, thick black smoke swirled near the ceiling, but she felt no sense of urgency, no need to get up and find a way out.

  Somewhere close by, a child coughed, the sound just enough to make Scout turn her head. Lucy lay beside her, limp as a rag doll. At least, she thought it was Lucy. The hair was blond, not brown.

  It didn’t matter. Whoever the little girl was, she was in trouble, and Scout had to help her.

  She managed to get to her knees, blood dripping from her head, memories flooding back. Short, stocky Gaige with his bright blue eyes and cocky smile. Eleanor. Their argument over whether or not Lucy was going to go to the airport with them. Eleanor meeting Scout’s eyes, something in her gaze warning her that she needed to find a way out.

  Lucy had already been in Scout’s arms, clinging to her and begging to go home. Scout had backed down a hall and found her way into a tiny bathroom, closing and locking the door. She set Lucy in the shower stall and climbed on the toilet seat.

  And... What?

  She couldn’t remember anything else, but somehow she’d ended up on the floor with smoke everywhere.

  She coughed again, lifting Lucy into her arms. She didn’t have time to grab a towel and soak it. The door was intact, but hot to the touch. There was no escape that way. She climbed onto the toilet, the window within reach. Her fingers were clumsy as she tried to unlock it one-handed. The latch moved, but the window wouldn’t open.

  She needed to put Lucy down, but she was afraid that if she did, she’d never find her again.

  Please, God, she prayed. Please help me save my daughter.

  She slammed her hand against the glass, but her movements were sluggish, the smoke stealing every bit of oxygen in the room. She tried again, her muscles so weak she could barely slap the glass.

  Something banged on the other side of her hand, and the glass shattered, falling like rain all around her, the smoke pouring up and out into gray daylight.

  Hands reached in, and a voice shouted for her to hand Lucy out. She struggled to do as she’d been asked, the fire lapping at the door, crawling toward her across the floor.

  And suddenly, Lucy was out, and Scout was alone in the room, the heat of the flames searing her skin, her head swimming with the need to give in, let go, allow herself to give up.

  “Don’t you dare give up now!” Boone shouted, reaching into the window, his hand brushing her face. “Come on, Scout! You’ve got to help me. This window is too narrow. My shoulders won’t fit through. I can’t come in. You’ve got to come to me,” he said, and there was so much desperation in his voice, she made herself grab the windowsill, broken glass slicing into her palms as she tried to lever into the opening.

  He grabbed her arms, yanked her through, icy rain falling on her heated skin, cold air filling her lungs as Boone carried her to the edge of the clearing. He stopped there, lowered her onto the ground, pulling off his coat and covering her with it.

  A few feet away, a man held Lucy, her body so limp and fragile Scout’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

  “Is she dead?” she wanted to say, but all she could do was cough, her lungs burning and heaving, her mind screaming as Cyrus laid Lucy on the ground, his palm pressing against her chest as he tried to force her heart to beat again.

  No! She wanted to shout, because they’d come so far, worked so hard to bring her baby home. She tried to sit up, tried to run to her little girl, but Boone pressed her back down, said something to someone she couldn’t see.

  Jackson edged in next to him, kneeling beside Scout, blocking her view of Cyrus. She saw Boone’s red hair and his shoulders behind Jackson, knew he had gone to help.

  “Move!” she rasped, shoving against Jackson without any force, because she had
no strength.

  “You’re injured. You can’t help your daughter if you don’t help yourself.” Jackson pressed something to her head, and she brushed it away and sat up, pushing at his hands with every bit of power she had left.

  She was on her knees, then her feet, ignoring his command to stay down, stumbling to her daughter’s side.

  “Lucy,” she croaked, dropping down beside Boone, darkness clouding the edges of her vision as she watched him breathe for her daughter.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Come on! Breathe!” Boone muttered, every bit of the desperation he felt seeping into the words.

  “Breathe!” he said again as Cyrus compressed her chest.

  “Thirty!” he called, and Boone breathed into her mouth.

  Once. Twice.

  Lucy coughed, her eyes fluttering open, deep brown and filled with confusion. She tried to cry, her mouth opening, nothing but gasping coughs escaping.

  He touched her head, smoothed her soot-stained hair, his heart beating frantically. They’d almost lost her.

  Had lost her.

  He’d felt the limpness of her body as he’d lifted her from Scout’s arms, and he’d known that she was gone, had prayed as he’d handed her to Cyrus, begged God to give her back to Scout. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re okay.”

  She wasn’t.

  Her respiration was shallow, her heartbeat thready. They needed to get her to a hospital. The sooner the better.

  “We need an oxygen mask,” Cyrus hollered, the relief on his face raw and real. He’d been through this before, years ago, and as far as Boone knew, he’d never got over it.

  Lucy coughed again and again, and Boone rubbed her chest and stomach, terrified she’d stop breathing.

  “Lucy!” Scout leaned in, trying to lift her daughter from the ground, tears streaming down her face. He wasn’t sure if they were tears of relief or fear, but they left streaks in the soot that covered her cheeks.