“You’re still beautiful,” he whispered, lightly brushing his fingertips against an unbruised area at her temple. “I love you.”
She fell forward, letting him take her weight. Still on his knees he wrapped his arms around her and eased her to the floor. Her hand, her poor abused hand, reached up and clasped his neck, pulling him down so that his ear touched her mouth.
“Tom?”
“He’s fine. David’s got him.”
Relief shuddered through her body. She pulled him down again. “No phones here. We can’t call for help.”
Max shook his head. “Don’t worry. I brought a police detective with me.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.” She tried to smile, then winced in pain.
Winters was a dead man. Max wasn’t sure how, but he was sure. He drew a breath, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer to his next question.
“Did he … Did he …?” He stopped.
Caroline shook her head, only a few inches each direction. “He tried. He couldn’t.”
The wave of relief nearly knocked him over. “Can you walk?” he whispered.
She drew a breath and worked her fingers to get the circulation moving. “My feet,” she whispered. “They’ve been tied since yesterday.”
Max took one foot and began to massage it vigorously. “We need to hurry.”
“Max?”
He looked up, still working her foot. “What, sweetheart?”
“The little boy, Nicky. Is he okay?”
Max shook his head and took her other foot. “I don’t know, Caroline. Detective Lambert thought he was still in here.”
“I can’t leave him here, Max,” she whispered. When he looked up her eyes were clear and resolute. “He’s just a baby. He’s not more than six.”
Max sighed and continued working her circulation. “Let’s get you out of here and then I’ll worry about Nicky.”
She grabbed his hand, stilling him from his task. “Do you promise? I have to know he’s safe.”
Max met her eyes. No longer did he see shame, but the strength of purpose Dana had described. Here was the woman that ran for her very life to save her own child. She couldn’t leave another. She wouldn’t be Caroline if she could. “I promise, sweetheart. Now we need to hurry.”
“Dammit, get down!”
Toni’s warning came a split second after splintered bark came showering down on Steven’s head. He hunkered down, a skinny tree his only shield.
“He’s escalated this thing, Steven,” Toni muttered, hunkered down beside him. She eased herself to her stomach and pulled her gun from her shoulder holster. “Thanks for telling him we’re here,” she added sarcastically.
Steven followed her lead, laying himself prostrate on the ground. She was right. She was absolutely one hundred percent right. He’d fucked up and his son and an innocent woman might suffer. “I’m sorry, Toni,” he said, his humility sincere. “You’re right. What should we do next?”
Toni lifted her head a fraction of an inch and glared at him. “We—as in you and me—do nothing. I’ll attempt to talk him out. God help me if he knows about the riots downtown. If he does, we could be talking about dealing with his demands of safe passage out of the country.” Toni sighed quietly. “And you know we won’t do that, don’t you, Steven?”
Steven nodded dully, his head like lead on the end of his neck. “I know.” He laid his head down and felt a rock piercing his cheek, but he didn’t care. “What was I thinking, Toni?”
She patted his back. “You weren’t. You were a desperate father reacting. This is my fault. I should have left you behind.”
“I thought I could handle it.” My God, what would his failure cost him? What if Nicky never came out of there? A wave of fear washed over him, so strong his whole body shook.
“We all think we can handle it until it hits too close to home.” Toni glanced over her shoulder. “Jim?”
Steven shifted to find Crowley crouched behind a nearby tree, his hands holding his rifle steadily. Without a tremble. His face was hard, but his eyes were filled with understanding. “I’ll cover you, Toni.”
“You got your jacket on, Jim?”
“Yes’m. You?”
“Yes.” Toni shifted her weight to her knees, careful to stay behind the tree. “Winters! Can you hear me?”
Another shot rang out and more bark showered down. Toni wrenched her body back down to lie flat on the ground. “He can hear me. Jim, get me the bullhorn. I’m not standing up again.”
Jim tossed it over and Toni resettled her body on the muddy ground, the bullhorn in one hand. “Rob, listen to me.” The booming sound filled the air and Steven tensed, waiting for the next bullet to strike the tree. The last one had hit less than two feet off the ground. Winters wasn’t warning them. He was shooting to kill. He’d already killed a cop this morning—Gary Jacobs—the officer guarding his home, his family. Winters would kill the rest of them without a second thought.
“I know you have the Thatcher boy,” Toni continued, her voice as soothing as possible coming out of the bullhorn. “You know as well as I do that you’ll gain nothing by holding the boy. Let him go, Rob, and your wife. You know I can make this easier for you if you cooperate with us.”
“Go to hell, Ross!” The answer was accompanied by another sharp crack, still closer this time, and another shower of bark. “Next time I won’t aim for the damn tree. I want all of you gone in the next five minutes or the boy gets the next one.”
Fear and anger swirled together in Steven’s mind and all he could see was his baby, huddling in a corner of that cabin, afraid. “Nicky,” he heard himself whisper, his voice harsh and hoarse. Toni’s hand pushed down on his back, but he was caught once again in a wave of sheer terror. He was grabbed by a fear and a love so intense it pushed him up, up to his feet and Toni’s hand pulling at his jacket was surreal, a peripheral reality.
“I’m the one you want, Winters,” he said loudly, his voice clear now. “I’ll come with you willingly if you let my son go.”
The answering laugh was little more than a manic cackle. “Come into the light,” Winters called out. “Unarmed.”
Without hesitation Steven pulled his weapon from its holster and tossed it forward, far enough ahead for Winters to see him comply, but close enough for Toni to grab it if the need arose. He was back in control, he thought, of his own actions if nothing else. He took a step forward. “I want to see my son, Winters. Show him to me.”
He saw a shadow move behind the broken window, a glint of sunlight off metal just a second before—The crack filled his ears as the weight hit his chest, throwing him backward, sending a burning tingle from his heart to under his arm. It robbed him of breath, of balance. He heard Toni scramble on her belly towards him but he motioned her back. “Vest,” he managed. Kevlar. State issued, thank God. He’d have one hell of bruise, but—
“Daddy! My daddy!”
The shrill cry burst out of the woods to the right of the cabin.
“Nicky.” Steven struggled to roll to his stomach and raise himself on his elbows, only to see his baby running from the woods, tears streaming down his dirty face, Jonathan Lambert on his heels.
Lambert’s shout seemed to echo across the little glen. “Nicky, no!” Nicky was halfway across the glen when the sound of breaking glass filled the air. A body launched itself from behind Steven out past the cover of the trees, covering Nicky’s body with his own as another shot shattered the air.
An eerie quiet followed, every bird mute. Even the whisper of the wind seemed to fade.
Toni’s was the first voice to cut through the silence, shaken, panicked. “Oh, God. Ben’s down. Everybody move.”
Caroline could move, but just barely. At the first gunshot, Max pulled her to her feet and urged her forward, pulling her on swollen, tender feet. By the fourth, he’d pulled her to the window.
He’d gathered his strength to lift her over the windowsill when the sound of the gun co
cking stopped them both in their tracks. Max turned slowly and put his body in front of Caroline’s. A big hulking man stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand, his eyes cold. A muscle twitched in one cheek.
So this was Rob Winters.
So this was the face of a monster.
For a moment no one spoke, then Max said in a low voice, “Caroline, go.”
Winters’s revolver was held straight at his heart. Steady and straight. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Caroline, sweetheart, go.”
“I won’t leave you with him.”
Max gritted his teeth. “Caroline, don’t argue with me now of all times. Go find Ross or Thatcher. Get help from the police.”
Rob chuckled, the sound sending shivers up and down Max’s spine. “Thatcher’s dead and Ross seems to be busy cleaning up the mess I’ve made out there, so I guess I’m the only police available.” He took a few steps closer and Caroline struggled to get in front of Max. Max held her firmly in place, surprised by the amount of strength she still possessed.
“You are the fucking devil,” Max said coldly. “You can go to hell.”
“And you’re man enough to send me there?”
“Max, don’t let him push you,” Caroline pleaded from behind him, her voice louder now but still harsh and broken. “He’ll kill you.”
Rob tilted his head, putting on a sad face. “Aw, Gracie, you spoiled my surprise.” He straightened and sobered. “Get in the corner. Dr. Gimp and I have some business to discuss.”
“Get out, Caroline,” Max gritted through his teeth. “While I can still protect you.”
Rob laughed. “Because he knows he won’t go a full round with me.”
Max abruptly changed his strategy, staring at the bastard impassively, hoping the lack of response would enrage him enough to make a foolish mistake. Max tried for bored, but knew with the fury burning within him that the best he could hope for was disdain.
It worked. In the blink of an eye Winters charged and Max pushed Caroline out of the way, twisting from Winters’s path just enough. Winters hit the open window and for a brief moment hung, his upper body out the window, his lower body off balance, his feet not squarely on the floor. Max raised both hands and brought them down together against the small of his back. Winters’s breath rushed out in a whoosh, and Max grabbed his beefy wrist with both hands. Years of clutching the wheels of wheelchairs and the handles of canes had given him above average strength in his hands. His grip punishing, Winters’s hand loosened its hold on the gun and the gun fell to the muddy ground below the window.
Max felt an electric current arc through his body. But his exhilaration was short-lived as Winters recovered, pushing himself from the window frame. In the next second, Max’s head hit the wall as Winters’s fist connected in a jolting uppercut.
“You sonofabitch,” Rob snarled, hurling his body into Max’s, sending both men to the floor.
Max rolled to one side, escaping a kick to his ribs by inches. He glanced to the right to find Caroline crouched in the corner, her eyes wide, her body frozen. “Caroline, run! Get out of—” Winters’s next blow hit him square in the ribs.
Sucking in the pain, Max rolled to his knees. He managed to land a series of punches to Winters’s jaw that sent the big man sprawling backwards. Max was taller, but Winters had two good legs and was bigger, built like a damn Mack truck. And like a truck he picked himself up and rushed forward. Max had only a second to prepare for the assault before the full weight of Rob Winters hit him square in the gut. With a groan, Max felt his body crumple to the floor.
Winters scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. One booted foot caught Max in the small of the back. “That’s for sleeping with my goddamn wife.” Instinctively Max rolled to his side to protect his back, leaving his torso vulnerable. The next kick hit him in the shoulder and he felt the pain explode and vibrate down his arm. “That’s for stealing my son!” Rob straightened, panting. He propped his fists on his hips, arms akimbo.
Max lay still, trying to block the pain, to plan his next move. He wasn’t sure he could move. He watched Winters bend at the waist, his big hands fisted on his knees. The same hands that had put those bruises on Caroline’s face, the same hands that had made her afraid again. Anger flared to life and for the first time in his life Max clearly understood the meaning of pure animal hate. Hate fueled his next move and without thinking he flung his body against Winters’s knees, knocking the bigger man to his back. With a roar Winters responded, rolling to straddle Max’s body, his hands gripping Max’s throat, his thumbs positioned to cut off Max’s air supply.
With a strangled gasp Max struggled, but Winters had him pinned to the filthy floor. The room began to sway and swim. A hoarse voice rattled just behind him.
“You bastard!”
Caroline.
Max forced his eyes open to find Caroline finally roused from her shocked paralysis and, to his horror, wrapping herself around Winters’s back, trying to pull the big man off Max’s body. Like she was no more than a bothersome insect, Winters swatted at her with one hand and she flew four feet through the air to land against the wall directly below the window.
Caroline staggered to her feet, her eyes drawn to the sight of Rob’s hands around Max’s throat. He’s going to kill him, she thought. He’s killing him. He’s killing Max.
“No!” The cry burst from her throat and she looked around the room, desperately searching for a weapon. Her eyes spotted Max’s cane, just under the bed and a moment later it was in her hands.
“No!” She brought the cane down against Rob’s head. Crack. She felt the jarring impact all the way up her arms. She heard his angry curse through the rush of blood to her head.
“No!” Breathing like there was no tomorrow she lifted the cane and brought it down again. Crack. “You bastard—!” Again. Crack. And again. Crack. “You will not ruin my life!” Again. Crack. “You will not touch my son.” She was sobbing now, each blow straight from her heart. “You will not touch me.” Crack. Crack. Crack.
“Caroline! Caroline, stop. For God’s sake, you’re going to kill him!”
Max’s hand caught the cane mid-swing and their eyes caught and held. “It’s over, Caroline,” he said in the gentlest voice he could muster. “It’s over.”
It was over. Winters lay at their feet. He still breathed, but had ceased struggling with Max after the third blow. She’d hit him at least four more times after that. It took that much time for Max to suck in enough air to refill his lungs and to struggle to his feet. In a flash of cognition, he suddenly knew he didn’t want her to kill him, bastard though Winters truly was, down to the dark core of his being. Max didn’t want Caroline to have to live with that for the rest of her life. Self-defense was one thing. The continued beating of an unconscious man was another. But she didn’t look down. She didn’t see Winters’s bloodied head on the carpet; she didn’t yet know what she had done. Her eyes were dazed and reality had not yet intruded.
“You won’t touch me,” she whispered. “You won’t touch me.” She dropped the cane and wrapped her arms around her battered body, softly rocking herself. “You won’t touch me.”
Her rhythmic whispers broke his heart. Max gathered her close, gently forcing her head to his uninjured shoulder. “No, sweetheart. He’ll never touch you again.”
She stood in the circle of his arms, trembling, rocking, still hugging herself. He stroked her hair, dirty, matted, blood encrusted. He stroked it as if it were the finest mink. “I love you.”
Still she stood, shell-shocked and withdrawn.
“Caroline, honey, look at me.” He tipped her chin up, looking for any sign of recognition in her eyes. He knew it when he saw it and breathed a sigh of relief. She blinked, slowly. And looked down.
“Oh, my God.” She looked back up at Max, her eyes wild now with fear. “I’ve killed him.”
“No, no,” he soothed. “He’s not dead. He’s breathing, see?”
Caroline lifte
d a weary hand to her forehead. “My head hurts.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I guess so.”
“You came.”
“You knew I would,” he said softly, running his hands over her arms, trying not to hurt her, but desperately needing to touch her skin, reassure himself that she was alive. That he had her back.
Caroline leaned into his strength. He was here. He was here, holding her. It was the thought that had kept her going. She breathed, taking in the scent of him, woodsy and warm. Max. Let the scent calm her galloping heart. She nodded, ignoring the little frissions of pain burning her cheek at the simple contact with his shirt. “I knew you would if you could. I didn’t think you knew where I was or that I was even gone.” Her voice trembled. “I thought I had to get away on my own.”
Max spread his hands, so gently, across her back, trapping her against him. It hurt, her back, but to deny herself the comfort of his touch would have hurt even more, so she said nothing, just absorbed him. “You weren’t alone,” he murmured against her hair. “You never have to be alone again. I promise.”
“Mom!”
Caroline jerked her head to one side, appalled to find Tom standing in the doorway, his face pale and drawn. She raised her chin to frown at Max. “You said he was safe with David!”
“He was safe. Safe outside in the car with David.” Max lowered Caroline to sit on the bed and limped to where Tom still stood, shock rendering him immobile. He took the boy’s jaw between two fingers of his uninjured hand. “Tom! Tom, listen to me. She’s all right.” He gave Tom’s jaw a hard shake and watched the boy’s eyes clear.
“He’s dead,” Tom whispered.
“No, he’s not. Your mother didn’t kill him,” Max replied firmly, then stumbled as Tom pushed him backwards to drop to his knees beside the broken figure on the floor.
“Tom!” Caroline pulled herself from the bed to the floor, dragged herself to Tom’s side just as her son grabbed handfuls of Winters’s shirt and hauled the unconscious man off the floor.
“Wake up,” Tom snarled, shaking Winters’s motionless body. “Wake up so I can kill you myself.” He dropped one handful of shirt to deliver a grinding blow to Winters’s jaw, hard enough to knock a conscious man to the floor. Winters fell backwards, a feeble groan coming from his swollen lips. Tom fell across Winters’s body, punching his torso relentlessly while Caroline tried to pull him back. She might as well have been pulling a mountain.