Shirlee McCoy - Valiant Defender

But Justin was right.

Sullivan had no grudge against her, no game he wanted to play with her. He had no reason to want to watch her suffer. If she stepped out into the clearing, the first bullet he fired would be at her.

He’d save the next for Quinn. Then Portia.

Finally, after he took everything Justin cared about, he’d kill him.

She slipped back into the woods, skirting around the clearing, listening to the eerie silence and the wild beat of her heart. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was terrified for Justin and for Portia. Boyd Sullivan had come to Canyon Air Force Base to seek vengeance for perceived wrongs, and Justin was probably at the top of the list of people he wanted to destroy. The fact that Portia was in danger seemed to be clouding Justin’s judgment, and clouded judgment could easily get a law enforcement officer killed. Especially in a situation like this.

She stepped out of the woods near the back of the cabin and moved silently across the clearing. She could hear Justin moving on the other side of the building, his footsteps crunching on dead leaves and twigs. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. He probably figured there was no reason. Boyd knew he was coming but had no idea Gretchen was there, too.

She’d use that to her advantage.

She crept close to the light-colored log walls of the cabin. There’d been two windows cut into the facade, and she approached one, freezing as she saw the flashlight beam sweep across one of the openings and then the other.

“I know you’re out there,” a man called in a singsong voice that made her blood run cold.

For a moment, she thought she’d been seen, that somehow Boyd had realized Justin wasn’t alone.

She dropped to her stomach, her left side pressed close to the cabin, her right arm free to pull her service weapon.

“Blackwood!” the man continued. “Move a little faster, or your little girl is going to die.”

“Dad! No!” Portia called, her voice wobbly with tears. “He’s going to shoot you!”

“Shut up!” Boyd yelled in response, the quick hard crack of flesh against flesh ringing through the night.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then the soft pad of feet on the ground. Justin was moving again, and Gretchen wasn’t going to let him go into the situation alone. She crept toward the window, staying low to the ground as she moved toward the old cabin, the sound of Portia’s terror still ringing in her ears.

Justin had spent most of his adult life keeping his anger in check. His father had been a raging alcoholic with a mean and violent temper. The day Justin had left home for basic training, he’d vowed he’d be a better man. He liked to think he had been. He’d avoided the trap of alcohol and anger. He’d treated people with empathy and kindness. Even on the job, even with known criminals, he’d focused on justice rather than revenge.

Right now, though, he wanted to drag Boyd from the cabin and make him pay for putting his hands on Portia.

His muscles were tight with anger and tension, his movement stiff as he approached a gaping hole that had once been a door.

“Leave the dog outside, Blackwood,” Boyd commanded.

Boyd thought he had the upper hand, and he seemed happy to let the game play out for a while longer. That was fine by Justin. He could hear Security Forces officers moving through the woods. It wouldn’t be long before the cabin was surrounded.

“Down,” he commanded, and Quinn dropped to his belly, growling deep in his throat as he eyed the doorway.

“Good boy,” Boyd said, laughing coldly. “You. Not the dog, Blackwood.”

If he wanted to get a rise out of Justin, he was going to be disappointed. Having his judgment clouded by emotion wasn’t going to help him get Portia out of this situation alive. That was his goal, his mission and his focus. Boyd’s games were incidental.

“Nothing to say to that?” Boyd taunted. “I guess you’re not as big a man as you pretended to be when I was in basic training.”

“Let Portia go,” Justin responded, ignoring the taunt. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a teenager. One who likes to post junk on the internet she knows nothing about.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I shouldn’t have written any of those things about you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Do you think an apology is going to save your dad?” Boyd replied.

“I just—”

“It’s not!” Boyd snapped. “Me and your dad go way back, and there’s nothing good between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia repeated, and Justin wondered if she was trying to keep Boyd’s focus away from him.

“Shut up! Blackwood, get in here!”

Justin stepped across the threshold and into the cabin’s main room. Decades ago, the place may have been someone’s home. Now it was nothing more than a carcass made of old logs. In addition to the missing windows, the door and part of the roof were missing. Moonlight illuminated the interior, and he could see Portia sitting on the ground a few feet away. Her face was pale, her hair falling across her cheeks. She looked more like Melanie than she did Justin—her build delicate, her cheekbones high.

Boyd stood beside her, tall and lean, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He had a gun in his right hand and a flashlight jutting from his jacket pocket. If he were worried about being captured, he wasn’t showing it.

“Well, well,” he said. “Here we are. Finally face-to-face. After all these years, you probably thought you were going to get away with what you did to me.”

“I don’t recall doing anything,” Justin responded, taking a step in Portia’s direction.

“Don’t,” Boyd said, his voice cold with rage. “I would hate to kill your daughter before the party even got started.”

“This isn’t the kind of party I like,” Portia said, and Boyd’s gaze cut to her.

“No one asked you, Ms. Bigmouthed Blogger.”

“If that’s the best insult you can come up with—”

“That’s enough, Portia.” Justin cut in before she could say more. Goading Boyd would only anger him, and right now, Justin wanted things to stay calm.

“Good call, Blackwood. Now, how about we all take a little walk?” He grabbed Portia’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

To her credit, she didn’t resist, and she didn’t cry out.

She looked terrified, though—her eyes wide and filled with fear.

“It’s going to be okay, Portia,” Justin said.

Boyd laughed. “That depends on what side of the gun you’re standing on. Speaking of which...” He lifted his gun and pressed it to Portia’s temple. “What’s it feel like to come face-to-face with the guy you called inept, blogger-girl? Do you still think I’m stupid?”

Justin’s heart stopped.

He stared into Portia’s eyes, trying to convey a sense of control and comfort that he didn’t feel. Trying to discourage her from giving a flip teenage response.

Boyd could and would pull the trigger.

He’d done it before.

“Let her go, Boyd,” Justin said, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to escalate things.

“You don’t call the shots anymore, Blackwood.” Boyd chuckled, the pistol easing away from Portia’s temple but still aimed at her. “Get it? Call the shots? You’re not laughing. I guess you’re as boring and uptight as ever. Man, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough.”

“I disagree. I’d have been happy to take you out months ago. I should have thought about her before now.” He jabbed the gun closer to Portia. “Seems you’ll do anything to keep your kid alive.”

“I will,” Justin agreed, and Portia shook her head.

“Dad—”

“This is a grown-up conversation, blogger-girl,” Boyd growled. “You keep your mouth shut. Where’s the dog, Blackwood? We’re leaving, and I don’t want him coming at me when we step outside.”