Elizabeth Goddard - Running Target

Easing closer, he kept his voice low and said, “Keep quiet. They’re close.”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

She didn’t understand that he’d meant complete silence.

He gripped the thermal imaging monocular he’d used to find her, then sat up. He tucked his hand around her neck and pulled her close so that his cheek was against hers as he whispered in her ear. “They aren’t far. Don’t talk.” He hoped the noise of their scuffle hadn’t already alerted them, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d explain everything later. “Now hold my hand and stay with me. I’ll lead you to safety.”

He hoped.

Thankfully, the men after her didn’t have a thermal imaging device or else they would have already gutted her and thrown her body in the river. He knew these men. Knew their brutality. He’d bury his regret for leading them across Bree’s path for later.

He squeezed her hand, letting her know he was ready. He’d have to move slower with her. It might even be easier to carry her. With thermal imaging he could see the men’s heat signatures—much better than night vision, which wouldn’t give him the men’s locations behind trees or hiding in bushes.

Heat signatures of four men were closing in. Fifteen yards out. Wait. Make that five men. They’d tracked her this far and from his experience, Quinn knew they were like a mixed breed of bloodhound and bulldog—they would never give up until they found her. And once they did, they would never let go.

No way could Quinn leave her at their mercy. He had hoped he could sneak through their ever-tightening circle to get her out, but it would be close. It was a risk to him—but what did he care about the risk to him if Bree got hurt?

She had no idea what she had always meant to him. No idea that he’d carried her picture with him at all times, even when he’d served in a foreign country fighting against a terrorist-producing regime. So many lonely days and nights, he’d pull out the photograph of Bree and just take in her shiny red hair and her bright, compassionate smile. Those brilliant green eyes. That picture had kept him going, even though he’d had no intention of coming back to her. Or for her.

Of making a family with her.

He couldn’t afford to grow close to anyone or love them. He couldn’t risk the pain of losing someone he loved again.

He’d walked out on her already. Staying away from her was supposed to keep her safe. But still, at this moment, she was in danger of losing her life.

Because of him!

She collapsed behind him and he knelt beside her. Whispered in her ear. “Are you okay?”

“I sprained my ankle.”

Without speaking another word, he lifted her in his arms, tucked against his chest. Easier to carry her in a fireman’s carry, but this way was more comfortable for her. She might have protested except they were desperate to escape as soundlessly as possible. Quinn knew she understood the danger they faced. She had fought them and lost, though at least she’d held on to her life for a while longer.

Long enough for Quinn to find her and get her out of this.

Holding Bree in his arms under any circumstances wasn’t optimal for him. He didn’t want to stir up old longings or the buried emotions he had for her. He needed to stay focused on the mission only.

Working as an undercover agent for the DEA—Drug Enforcement Administration—he’d learned how to kill his emotions, and he tried to kill those feelings stirring for Bree right now.

The only thing that mattered was getting her out of this alive. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if this ended in her death. Especially since she wouldn’t be in this predicament if it weren’t for him.

If only he hadn’t come back to the Coldwater Bay area when he’d been forced to run and hide. But he’d made the mistake of leaving a piece of himself here at home, and that piece had called to him when he was in trouble.

He slowed to catch his breath and take in the scenery forming in front of him.

Not a hundred yards ahead, two human heat signatures closed in. Headed for each other. Confabbing? Of course they would regroup, but then which direction would they head? He lowered Bree to the ground next to a tree. His muscles were corded as tight as they’d ever been, and he hoped she sensed the urgency to keep absolutely quiet. No whispering in his ear.

He eased back into a position to fight and defend.

Prepared to take the men on if he and Bree were discovered.

The men separated. One walked away, but the other headed toward the spot where Quinn and Bree were hiding. The man was no doubt wearing night-vision goggles and had caught a glimpse of something he intended to investigate. He would find them in moments. He must have communicated to his buddies since they were forming a circle too tight for Quinn to go anywhere but straight through the man headed his way.

He backed behind a tree and waited. If necessary, he would take the man out, but it would have to be done in complete silence or he would draw the rest of them.

He couldn’t protect Bree against five armed murderous and brutal drug runners.

An eerie silence weighed down the forest, the tension prickling through the air and cutting off her breath. She waited in the darkness, understanding that any moment could be her last. She must remain perfectly still. Her lungs ached for oxygen.

Life required breathing, but in this circumstance, breathing where others might hear it could mean death.

She was being hunted.

But with her sprained ankle, she wasn’t going very far. She couldn’t outrun anyone who might pursue her.

More than that, her head was still spinning, struggling with all of it, but especially the part where her old flame—the man she never wanted to see again—had shown up and rescued her.

She couldn’t make out much, but she felt the taut muscle of his arm next to her as they pressed against the scratchy bark of the thick-trunked pine. Felt the heat coming off him. Sensed the tension rolling through him, and that scared her all the more. If Quinn—an ex-marine—was this on edge, then she had every reason to be terrified. With a bum ankle, she could do no rescuing for either of them. Their survival depended on his ability to get them to safety.

While she hoped he was able to succeed, when they were on the other side of danger, he’d better have a good explanation as to why he was here in the wilderness in the middle of her lethal predicament in the first place. She couldn’t wait to hear why he’d just shown up out of the blue.

With that thought, she listened good and long for a search helicopter. Even if, like her, Jayce hadn’t been able to contact anyone to explain what happened, she had hoped that by now someone in the department would have figured out things had gone very wrong and sent a search team. They should be looking for her and Jayce.

In that case, she and Quinn would get their ultimate rescue.

Except she didn’t hear a helicopter.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to imagine what could have happened to prevent search crews from combing the woods. Why she didn’t hear helicopter blades whooshing above her.

In her gut, she already knew.

She’d contacted Dispatch to let them know of her status and that she and Jayce would be returning with the three men who were transporting some big illegal guns. But that had only been a few hours ago. Maybe they hadn’t even organized a search team yet. Dispatch would want to check on her status and when she didn’t respond, they would know. Still, disappointment wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

Even when they finally scoured the area looking for their deputies, the sinking of her boat meant searchers wouldn’t know where to start unless Jayce had survived and was able to communicate with them.