Stolen Child

by Jane M. Choate

  EIGHT

  Grey wanted to reach for her once more, to tell her that he believed in her, but he sensed that she’d reject his comfort again.

  “My superiors didn’t try to stop me from leaving.” Rachel paused in the telling. Her voice had grown husky, and he guessed that she was trying to keep the feelings from spilling out.

  “The media was all over it. They ran stories that I’d been fired for incompetence, even interviewed the child’s nanny, who said that she’d had her doubts about me from the start. It was a nightmare that wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t even leave the house because reporters were following me everywhere I went.

  “I was engaged at the time. My fiancé said I’d done the right thing by resigning. He didn’t kick me loose right away. He waited for a couple of weeks, then said that we were going in different directions. I got the message—I was an embarrassment, to him as well as to the Bureau. I knew it, and so did he. He ended our engagement, even offered to let me keep the ring. I told him goodbye, sold the ring and donated the money to a shelter for runaway teens.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “He wasn’t expecting that.”

  Grey knew that, for Rachel, losing a child and her career was a far worse punishment than losing her fiancé.

  “Your fiancé was a fool. You’re smart enough to know that.”

  “Thanks. I figured it out. If he’d truly loved me, he would have stood by me. But he knew how the Bureau worked same as I did. An agent with a blemish on her record wasn’t going anywhere, and Jeremy had plans. Big plans. Before everything fell apart, I made him look good because I looked good. After what happened, I was a handicap. I’d drag him down, and he couldn’t have that.”

  Grey digested what Rachel had told him. She hadn’t deserved what had happened to her. He searched for the right thing to say. “You’re one of the strongest women I know.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to be kind. Not about this. Not now.”

  “I wasn’t being kind. Just truthful.”

  “Nobody knows about what really happened with my resignation except Shelley and Jake, though there were plenty of rumors at the time.”

  “Rumors don’t count. Not with me.”

  With his attention on Rachel, he hadn’t noticed the SUV following them until now. “Look.” Grey gave a short nod at the rearview mirror. At that moment another SUV drove toward them in the opposite direction and suddenly turned around so that it was directly in front of them.

  “They’re trying to box us in.” Rachel’s voice was calm as she pulled her weapon and laid it on her lap.

  The drivers of the two SUVs, one in the front and another in the rear, weren’t subtle in what they planned.

  Grey maneuvered the truck so that the SUV in front had to drop back or be run off the road. He steered up the bank of a second hill and prayed the truck would make the steep climb. He didn’t need to check his mirror to know that the muscular SUVs were following.

  If he could coax the truck to crest the hill, he might have the power he needed to outrun the SUVs.

  “Made it.”

  Rachel had kept quiet, letting him give his full attention to his driving. There were no foolish questions about whether or not they’d make it. He appreciated the silence as well as the vote of confidence.

  The SUVs followed them down the hill. The more powerful vehicles were gaining on them once they reached flat land again.

  “How’s your shooting?” he asked.

  “First-rate.”

  He liked that she didn’t exhibit any false modesty about her skill. “See what you can do to take out one of those SUVs. Better yet, take out both of them.”

  “You got it.” Rachel undid her seat belt and turned in her seat. After rolling down her window, she took aim and fired.

  Grey noted that she didn’t try to take out a tire, a much more difficult task than it appeared on cop shows. It made for good drama but wasn’t at all realistic. Instead, she aimed at the engine. The smoke ballooning from the front of the SUV told him she’d hit her mark. The vehicle sputtered to a stop with a mighty belch.

  “Good going.”

  One down and one to go.

  Rachel fired again, but the second SUV managed to dodge the bullets and kept on coming.

  He did his best to keep a healthy distance between it and the truck, but it finally reached them and rammed into the truck. Again. And again.

  The hits by the larger vehicle jarred him and Rachel, but they held on. When his teeth came down on his tongue, he tasted blood.

  Grey tried to hold the truck steady but lost control when the larger vehicle slammed it into a guardrail. With the truck crumpled against the metal railing, he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

  They both climbed out of the passenger side since the driver’s door was wedged shut.

  Grey took her hand. “We can’t afford to stick around. They’re playing for keeps.”

  * * *

  When two men exited their SUV, fire in their eyes, Rachel knew she and Grey were in for a fight. The .357 Magnum the first one carried said he didn’t plan to sit and chat about the latest fashions. Weapons like that weren’t designed for self-defense. They were designed to maim, to kill.

  She couldn’t get a glimpse of the other man’s weapon, but she guessed it to be equally as deadly. She had no doubt that that she and Grey weren’t meant to walk away from this encounter.

  These guys were professionals. The way they moved, the way they held their weapons, said that they were probably ex-military or ex-law enforcement. Most men and women who enlisted or served as cops were good people, but there were always the few who besmirched the reputation of the others.

  Neither her weapon nor Grey’s were a match to the heavy-duty firepower their attackers carried. The hostiles’ weapons spit fire, bullets slamming into the truck and tires. She and Grey took cover in the V the truck’s open door made, but she didn’t move fast enough.

  One of the men took a knee and fired. A shot snapped by her temple, close enough to singe the skin.

  Grey pushed her out of the way and took a bullet to his right side, a bullet meant for her. Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet. She grabbed him and pulled him farther behind the truck, then undid the bandanna she’d tied around her neck and pressed it against the wound, staunching the blood as best she could.

  He swatted her hand away. “That can wait. Right now we have to get out of here. Those ain’t peashooters they’re carrying.”

  Shots followed them as they made their way through the underbrush and plunged deeper into the heavy woods. Birds wheeled in the air as the crash-bang of the shots shattered the silence of the forest. For the first hundred or so yards, she and Grey kept up a good pace, but he was slowing with each step, his breathing growing heavier with every moment.

  She took in the grayness of his face, the white lines fanning from his eyes. “Lean on me.”

  “I’m too heavy.”

  She shot him a fierce look. “I pulled you off that roof ledge, didn’t I? Now shut up about being too heavy and do what you’re told.”

  The astonishment in his eyes told her that he wasn’t used to taking orders from someone who wasn’t a superior officer. At any other time, she’d have tried for a little of that tact that she and Grey had discussed earlier, but she didn’t have time for that.

  She didn’t give him a chance to argue further as she slipped her shoulder under his arm, taking as much of his weight as she could. For his sake and her own, she slowed the pace. When she paused to give him a break, they heard the beating of bushes behind them. Forest animals chirped and cheeped, warning of danger, then scurried into hiding places.

  Rachel faced a quandary. She and Grey couldn’t afford to rest any longer, yet they couldn’t go on much longer with him in the shape he was in. The sound of tramping feet grew closer with every second. So arrog
ant were the men chasing them that they didn’t bother to disguise how near they were.

  Murky water stood in stagnant puddles. Her foot slipped, and she nearly fell, dropping her weapon in the process. She picked it up, saw that mud had stuck in the barrel. Her clumsiness had cost them not only time but also a weapon.

  “We can’t outrun them,” Grey said, the strain in his voice evidencing his pain. “I should have said, I can’t outrun them. I’ll hold them off while you go for help.”

  She knew what he was doing and wasn’t having it. “No way, soldier. We go together or we don’t go at all. So deal.”

  “Stubborn woman,” Grey muttered.

  Rachel wasn’t backing down and simply stared at him.

  “If you’re not smart enough to hightail it out of here while you can, let’s see what we can do to slow them down.” He unsheathed the knife he wore at his waist, and, though he had to be in agony with the wound in his side, he set about constructing a booby trap by lashing a vine, thick as her wrist, to a large branch. When the vine was tripped, the branch would come swinging down and knock whoever tripped it flat.

  Concerned when Grey’s breathing grew more and more labored, she did her best to help.

  Once he had everything in place, they buried the vine under a layer of rotting leaves. “That should do it.”

  “Pretty neat trick.”

  “I picked up a few things in the rangers.” The wry humor in his tone gave her hope that his injury wasn’t too serious.

  “What now?”

  “Now we hide and hope one of them gets knocked flat. Then we take the other out.”

  They took refuge in a hollowed-out tree. When she was certain that Grey was as comfortable as she could make him, she pulled branches over them. As a hiding place, it was far from perfect, but it provided Grey a place to rest and gave him some breathing room.

  Truth to tell, she could use a break herself. Her own breath was coming in short, hard pants, the result of nearly carrying Grey the last leg of running through the forest.

  She took his knife and cut away the part of his shirt caked with blood in order to address the wound. It was spurting blood, but fortunately, it looked like the bullet had entered soft tissue. The kerchief she’d used earlier was soaked with blood, so she ripped a sleeve from her shirt and made a crude bandage.

  “Hold that in place,” she said. “And rest.”

  His eyes closed. “Just for a minute.”

  “I’m going to take your gun.”

  When she felt the pulse of footsteps on the ground, she didn’t wait for Grey’s nod. Any moment and the men would be upon them.

  After a couple of deep breaths to get her adrenaline under control, she stepped out from the tree and prepared to do battle.

  NINE

  In the hiding place, Grey pulled the makeshift bandage from the wound and wasn’t surprised to find it saturated with blood.

  Rachel had been magnificent. Taking out one SUV. Practically carrying him through the forest after he’d been shot, bearing his weight when it must have been crushing her. Stashing him in a hiding place. And then going out to face two heavily armed men alone.

  Letting Rachel protect him didn’t sit well. He was the protector, the soldier, the warrior. And now he was practically helpless.

  She’d done it all without complaint, without pointless questions, without wasted motion. Her quiet efficiency impressed him almost as much as her unswerving courage, a courage borne in belief.

  Though she’d said that she was no longer a believer, he knew differently. She couldn’t do what she did without God’s strength, but she’d have to come to that on her own.

  He owed her big-time. If they lived through this, he’d find a way to tell her, to thank her. Right now he had to see to his wound before he lost any more blood. He was on the verge of passing out.

  Grateful for his SEREs training in rangers—survival, evasion, resistance, escape—he assessed the situation. Not good. He’d have laughed at the understatement if he could have spared the energy. He needed to work on the first part. Evasion, resistance and escape might come later, but they wouldn’t matter if he didn’t make it through the next few minutes.

  Most soldiers who’d served on the battlefield had witnessed or sustained their share of wounds. He wasn’t a medic, but he’d tended enough injured buddies to know that this one wasn’t life-threatening. That could change, however, if he didn’t stop the bleeding. Blood and oxygen were critical. Without both, the body could not survive.

  His thoughts were running in circles, a sure sign that his brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders. He needed to find a solution. When the answer came, he gritted his teeth. He was battle-tested, had seen more than his share of action and still he flinched at what he had to do.

  It wouldn’t be pretty, but he had no choice.

  Not if he wanted to live.

  A scripture from Matthew 28 ran through his mind. And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. He held on to that; he was going to need the reminder that the Lord was with him.

  He searched his pockets and came away with a book of matches. Though he didn’t smoke, he routinely carried matches; you never knew when they’d prove useful.

  He lit one, then held his knife to it. After the match burned out, he repeated the process. Each time, the steel glowed brighter.

  Lacking sufficient strength to pray aloud, he silently voiced the words in his heart, knowing that the Lord heard them. Please help me hold on long enough to do what has to be done.

  When he judged the knife hot enough, he held it to the wound. The heated metal against his skin shot waves of shocking pain throughout his body. He kept the knife on the wound until he was certain it was cauterized, then felt the knife slip from his hand.

  And passed out.

  * * *

  Rachel kept watch and her heartbeat hitched as she saw the two pursuers move into her line of vision. A few more steps and they’d trigger Grey’s contraption.

  Keep coming, boys. Keep on coming. That’s it. Only a little bit farther.

  Three, two, one...

  The first man stepped on the vine. The branch slammed into him, whacking him on the side of the head and knocking him to the ground. He didn’t get up.

  His partner narrowly avoided it and swung his weapon around. Thick-chested and at least six feet four inches tall, he would make a formidable opponent. In addition to his size, he had the bearing of a man accustomed to besting any and all who dared challenge him. He wore black tactical gloves with the fingers cut off, the detail adding to the menacing aura that surrounded him like a dark cloud.

  She’d come across men like that before, so certain of their superiority that they grew careless. She could only hope that he was among those.

  From her vantage point, Rachel could have shot him with Grey’s gun, but she wanted him in good enough condition to answer questions. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of using deadly force when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. She’d had to draw her weapon in the line of duty while she worked for the FBI and had fired it on two occasions, but she’d wished there had been a better alternative.

  She tucked the gun in the waistband of her pants. As the man moved closer, she got a better look at the weapon he carried and hissed out a breath. An Israeli-made Desert Eagle. With its fourteen-inch barrel, it was easily one of the most deadly weapons ever made. She couldn’t give the guy the opportunity to use it.

  Still, she wanted to take him down without killing him. She rammed into him with every bit of force she could muster, using her shoulder as a battering ram.

  He made a wheezing sound, bent at the waist, and braced his hands on his knees. She used the distraction to kick the weapon from his hand.

  When he raised his head, she took an involuntary step back. Glaring at her with enough rage to cause her
to shiver, he stood there like a wounded giant roaring his fury. The image reminded her of the Bible story of David and Goliath. David had won that battle. Could she do the same with this one?

  “You know what that baby cost me?” he asked. “Do you? No one does that to my baby.”

  With more than a hundred pounds on her, he came at her with fury in his eyes, bellowing that she’d regret tangling with him. Before she could guess his intention, he grabbed her by the waist and threw her several yards. She landed with a thump that smacked the wind right out of her.

  Dirt and rotting leaves filled her mouth. With more than a little disgust, she spat them out. She had to get to her feet and reach the Desert Eagle before he did. Aside from that, she was at a distinct disadvantage on the ground. One kick to the head and she’d be out for the count.

  A smirk turned his mouth into an ugly stretch of lips. She knew if he got his hands on her again, she was done for. Whatever skills she possessed in hand-to-hand combat, she couldn’t fend him off indefinitely. He was too big, too well trained, too accustomed to victory.

  Eventually, her energy would wane, leaving her and Grey at his mercy. What was more, there was no telling when his partner would come around.

  They both made a grab for the weapon. She nearly had her hand on it when the man slammed her to the side. She stumbled but remained on her feet.

  She got in a fighting crouch, going in low this time. Opponents normally went for head blows first, so she’d do her best to not provide a target. The man snarled and snapped out with a hard uppercut. Rachel ducked, jabbed him in his gut and danced away.

  Only she didn’t go far enough.

  He gave a wheezy huff of air, but he wasn’t down. He kicked out, catching her in the chest with what she guessed to be a size fourteen foot.

  The pain was vicious, but she windmilled her arms for balance and didn’t go down. She couldn’t retaliate with brute strength, so she settled for speed, darting in and out of his reach. With every failed attempt on his part to grab her, he grew more enraged. Anger tended to make people sloppy, and she’d use that to her favor.