Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (14 page)

Glory tensed, her scruff standing on end as she growled low in her throat. Other than that soft warning, the day was silent. No roaring engine. No squeal of tires. Nothing.

That should have been comforting.

It wasn't.

“Come on,” he whispered close to Cassie's ear.

For once, she didn't question him, just ran beside him as he rounded the house, making a beeline for the trees. They were out of sight of the road, out of range for a handgun, but Gavin's skin crawled, everything in him shouting that they were in the crosshairs of someone's firearm.

Glory growled again, swiveling on her lead and facing the way they'd come. He heeded the warning, tackling Cassie to the ground as the first bullet flew. It slammed into a tree an inch from his head, and he rolled onto his side, Glory crouched low as he took aim and fired.

Cassie jerked, mumbling something that he thought might have been a prayer.

There was no returning fire, and Gavin knew the gunman was probably moving into a better position, trying to get a kill-shot vantage point.

Wasn't going to happen.

Not on Gavin's watch.

He touched Cassie's cheek, then motioned toward the trees. “Stay low,” he said.

She nodded her understanding, belly-crawling forward and into the thick copse of trees. Gavin unhooked Glory's lead, keeping his hand on her collar as he followed. He'd make sure Cassie was well hidden, and then he was going after the shooter.

Let him think he was the hunter.

In reality, he was going to be the prey.

THIRTEEN

T
hey were being hunted.

Cassie could almost feel the eyes of the hunter, feel the hot breath of his pursuit as she slid through wet leaves, crawled over a fallen log and dropped onto the other side of it.

Rain poured down, soaking through her sweatshirt and her jeans as she army-crawled deeper into the trees.

Was Gavin behind her?

She couldn't hear him, couldn't hear much of anything over the slush of blood in her ears and the loud panting of her breath.

She needed to calm down. She wasn't going to do herself or Gavin any good if she went into full-out panic.

Something touched her ankle, and she jerked her leg away, just barely managing to bite back a scream.

She looked back, saw Gavin moving up behind her, Glory crouched low beside him. They were in sync, Glory's movements timed to match Gavin's.

Gavin reached her side and brushed strands of hair from her eyes. “You okay?” he mouthed, and she nodded, because she had no choice but to be fine. “They're on foot,” he whispered, the sound barely carrying above the pounding rain.

“They?” she whispered.

“I'm assuming there's more than one and hoping that I'm wrong. Come on. I'm going to find a place for you to lie low. Then Glory and I are going to take them down.”

He glanced around, motioned for her to follow as he crawled toward an upended oak. The root system had been exposed to the elements for years, the wood rotting and gnarled with weeds and dead leaves.

“This will work,” he said, pulling back a handful of roots to reveal the cavernous hole beneath.

She climbed down, wet earth raining down on her head as she crouched beneath the root system.

Gavin leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “Stay in here until I come back for you.”

“Maybe you should stay with me,” she suggested, because if there was more than one shooter, more than one maniac searching for them, she didn't want Gavin to be outnumbered and overpowered. “Let the police handle the shooter.”

“I am the police,” he said with a gentle smile.

That smile—it did something to her. It made her think about all the things she used to dream of. It made her imagine that she could have them.

“I know, but...”

“What?” He touched her cheek, his fingers warm against her chilled flesh.

“I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“And, I don't want anything to happen to you. So stay here. Be quiet and don't even poke your head up until you see my face again.” He let the roots fall over her hiding place, leaving her in darkness interspersed with hints of gray light. The root system provided enough cover to keep her hidden, but she could see glimpses of leaves and trees, of rain splashing onto the ground.

She shivered, the cold seeping so deep into her bones that she didn't think she'd ever be warm again. She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed. A few minutes? More?

The woods were silent but for the rain padding on ground.

That scared her more than noise would have.

Footfall sounded somewhere close by, feet padding through mud and puddles. She tensed, watching as a shadow moved past her hiding place.

The gunman?

She thought it might be.

She could see boots, the cuffs of jeans.

What if he looked down and saw her through the roots system?

She wanted to scoot back, but she was afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

In the distance, sirens were blaring, the sound filtering through the trees and the ground. Help was on the way, but she wondered if it would be too late. If maybe she'd be dead before the police ever arrived.

Whoever was standing near her shelter moved. Slowly. Deliberately. As if he had all the time in the world. She followed his booted feet as he moved to the left of the root system. Stopped there.

Did he know she was hiding there?

Had he sensed her presence?

She needed a weapon. Just in case.

She slid her hand across the dirt floor, fingers gliding over leaves and earth as she searched for something she could defend herself with. There were small rocks, dead leaves, a couple of miniscule twigs. Nothing that she thought could do much damage.

The sound of more footsteps made her freeze, and she looked up, surprised to see that the guy with the boots was standing in the same position. As she watched, a second set of ankles and feet appeared. No boots on this guy. He wore running shoes and dark jeans.

She could hear voices, but couldn't make out words. Whatever they were saying, the conversation was too muted for her to hear.

That was fine. If they were discussing the best way to drag her out from beneath the roots, she didn't want to know it.

Her fingers drifted over a larger rock, and she grasped it in her fist. Somehow the heavy weight of it was comforting. If she couldn't hit one of the gunmen with it, she could toss it as distraction.

Where was Gavin?

Somewhere close by?

And, Glory? Was she ready to attack?

She hoped so, praying the German shepherd could take both men down.

The police were getting closer, the sirens louder. Cassie's pulse jumped, and she caught her breath. Would the gunmen run? Or would they keep looking?

Please, let them run
, she prayed silently.

A dog growled, the sound vicious and brutal.

And, then the world went wild. Snarling, howling dog. Cursing men. Rain pouring. Something blocked Cassie's view, speeding past the cracks in the root system so quickly Cassie could barely track the movement.

Glory?

One of the men shouted, his cry for help ringing in Cassie's ears. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't stop watching. Glory had one of the guys by the arm, was pulling him down to the ground.

The other guy moved in. Cassie could see just enough to know he was holding a knife.

“Glory,” she yelled, and knew her mistake immediately.

The dog could take care of herself. She was trained to do it.

Cassie should have kept her mouth shut.

Too late. The root system was ripped back, leaves and debris falling into the hole. Hands reached in, a face she knew too well appearing. Just like in her nightmares, he had cold dead eyes and blond hair.

She screamed as he grabbed her arm and tried to haul her out of the pit. She went fighting and shouting for help, her frantic struggles doing nothing to stop him.

Glory snapped and growled, her focus on the second man. Cassie couldn't see his face; she caught only a glimpse of his dark hair as he tried to free his wrist from the dog's mouth.

Fingers curled around Cassie's neck and cold metal pressed to her temple. She thought she was going to die, that she was going to leave all the kids with Virginia, that Gavin was going to have to explain her death to them the same way Cassie had explained so many things.

“One down. One to go,” the guy growled, his eyes as cold and hard as they'd been the night she'd first seen him. “Tell you what. You tell me which kid was at Jeffries's house, and I'll give you a running start.”

She knocked the guy's hand away, stomped on his instep.

His grip loosened, and she yanked away, diving behind a tree that she hoped would provide cover. Something slammed into her upper arm seconds before she heard the gun report.

She didn't feel pain, didn't feel anything except the warm ooze of blood down her arm.

Someone shouted, but she didn't stop. She had to make it back to the kids, had to make it back to Virginia.

Another gunshot rang through the quiet copse of trees, and another. Either help had arrived or Gavin was shooting. Either way, she hoped the gunman was down. He'd done enough damage to Harland's family, to Cassie's. Maybe even to Rosa's.

She stumbled, her feet sticking to the wet earth as she tried to put more distance between herself and the gunfight. Men shouted. Feet pounded. A dog barked over and over again. All of it seemed muted, the gloomy light faded.

She stumbled again, fell to her knees, and realized that blood was dripping from her fingers onto the ground.

Get up, her brain screamed, but her body wasn't cooperating.

She swayed, telling herself that she wasn't going to pass out, that she wouldn't be lying on the ground unconscious when the gunman caught up with her.

If he caught up.

He could be dead.

“Cassie!”

She knew Gavin's voice, heard the panic in it.

She wanted to turn and tell him that she was okay, that everything was going to be fine, but darkness was edging in, the cool gray day turning to pitch-black night. She toppled over, her arms refusing to break her fall.

Someone's did. Hands wrapped around her waist, and she was lowered to the ground.

“Cassie!” Gavin growled. “Open your eyes.”

“I'd rather not,” she said, her words slurred, her brain moving sluggishly.

He laughed, the sound shaky and rough.

She forced her eyes open, looking into his face. “Don't worry, Gavin. I'm not planning to die on you.”

“No?” He pulled his shirt off and pressed it against the wound in her arm.

The pain she hadn't been feeling was suddenly there, searing up her arm and across her shoulder.

“Of course not,” she managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Good, because if you did, I wouldn't get a chance to say what I need to.” He wiped rain from her face with his free hand, his touch tender and light.

“What's that?” she asked, because she wanted to know, needed to know.

“That I told you to stay hidden until you saw me,” he muttered. “And that I hope that maybe one day you'll start to listen to me instead of going maverick all the time.”

“That's it?” She laughed, the sound ending on a quiet groan.

Yeah. The pain was there and getting worse.

“No.” He shook his head, his fingers skimming across her cheek and down to the pulse point in her neck. “I also want to tell you that if something had happened to you, I'd have spent the rest of my life wondering what I'd missed out on.”

“Gavin—”

“You're not like other woman I've known, Cassie. Your priorities are different, your focus is different. You're not thinking about a future with a husband and kids and a white picket fence, you're planning a lifetime with children who need you as much as you seem to need them.”

“I do need them,” she admitted. She felt woozy, light-headed, her thoughts scattering to the winds as fast as they could form, but there was something
she
needed to say. “And, you,” she admitted, and thought she saw him smile.

She wasn't sure, though, because her vision had faded, her thoughts gone, and she was carried on waves of pain into the darkness.

* * *

Cassie had nearly died.

The weight of that settled on his shoulders and stayed there as he paced the hospital waiting room. They'd taken her to surgery three hours ago. He hadn't heard anything since then. That worried him. The wound had been in the fleshy part of her upper arm, but it had bled a lot. Too much. He could still see it puddled on wet earth, seeping through slick leaves.

“Pacing isn't going to get her through surgery any sooner,” Brooke commented, not even bothering to look up from the magazine she was rifling through. She and Adam Donovan sat a few feet away. Brooke had come to offer support. Adam had come to help with protection detail. Ace lay on the floor beside him, relaxed as he waited for the command to guard.

“Maybe it won't, but it's helping me keep my sanity,” Gavin responded, grabbing a cup from a stack near a coffeemaker and pouring himself a cup of dark brew. It was lukewarm and bitter, but he drank it, anyway.

“You know it's not your fault that she was shot, right?” Adam commented.

“Then whose fault was it?” he bit out, because it felt like his fault.

“The guy who pulled the trigger. The fact that he paid the ultimate price doesn't change the fact that he was guilty.”

True, and the fact that he'd been shot dead by a state trooper didn't get them any closer to finding Michael's killer. Harland had said the shooter was around five foot eight. The dead-eyed guy and his partner in crime were both taller than that.

“I wish we could have taken him and his partner in alive,” Gavin muttered, taking another sip of the lukewarm coffee.

“They got what they deserved,” Brooke responded. “We'll get an ID on both of them, figure out who their associates are.” She shrugged. “It'll be more than we had yesterday.”

“And less than I wanted.” Gavin tossed the cup into a trash can.

“At least the guy who wanted Cassie dead is out of the picture.”

“He wasn't Michael's murderer, though. Neither was his accomplice.” The blue-eyed man had been five-eleven. His partner had been over six-foot.

“I know. I read the state police report. Neither man matched Harland's description,” Brooke agreed.

“Find anything of use in that report?” Adam asked.

“Nothing worth mentioning.” She stood and stretched. “The van they used was reported stolen this morning. The keys were in the ignition. No prints on them. Nothing useable on the van, either. They were careful.”

“Makes me think it wasn't their first walk around the block,” Adam responded.

“It also makes me think they're part of something bigger.” Gavin walked to the waiting room doorway. Cassie should be out of surgery. “They were too good at what they did. Too confident, and they made sure to leave nothing behind. Neither had IDs. No prints in the van. They wore gloves the entire time.”

“Professional hit men?” Brook suggested.

“That's what I was thinking,” Gavin said. “I'm thinking that the guy Cassie saw at All Our Kids was hired to take out whichever child was at Harland's house.”