Running Target. Elizabeth Goddard
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he pressed a weapon into her palm. He gathered her into his arms again, careful not to hurt her ankle. Then she held on to his muscular form. Buried her face in his shoulder to breathe in his strength.
She hated being so weak. She was a deputy.
So was Jayce. Was he still alive, or had he died out here? She’d given him a fighting chance by drawing the men away from him and after her, but had it been enough?
She thought of his wife, Cindy, and baby, Taylor.
Lord, please, help him. Help us!
And poor Stevie, if Bree didn’t make it out alive. She didn’t want to even think about her father, who had already lost a son. Tears burned her throat, but she held them at bay. Couldn’t cry in front of Quinn—though at this moment it wasn’t likely he’d notice. But she couldn’t risk making a sound. It amazed her that Quinn could tread so quietly while moving quickly and stealthily through that “window” he spoke of.
She tightened her grip on the weapon, a gift, and hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, though she was grateful he hadn’t left her unarmed.
His breathing increased with his movements through the woods, as she would expect. It felt like the worst sort of ride at an amusement park. Then he suddenly ducked with her. She contained a yelp. What was he seeing? If only she could see, too.
He grunted and fell, dropping her completely. She rolled to sit and scoot out of the way of danger though she didn’t know where it would come from. She could only think of one reason he’d fallen as she held the weapon out ready to fire. But she didn’t want to accidentally shoot Quinn.
In the darkness, she could barely make out his form struggling with another man.
Between them, a long knife.
Quinn held his arm against the man’s throat, choking off his ability to cry for help. But the thug...he got the better of Quinn. How had that happened? He lifted the knife and in a flash would stab Quinn if she didn’t stop him.
If she fired the gun, she would alert the others. But Bree had no choice. She had to save Quinn’s life. Before she lost her chance, she fingered the trigger and pulled. Gunfire shattered the quiet forest.
The man dropped onto the pine needles.
Shouts ignited the air.
Quinn leaned over the man. “He’s dead.”
Then he huffed as he marched over to her. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have taken him.”
“It didn’t look that way to me. I’m sorry.”
He picked her up, positioned her on his back to ride piggyback and ran for it. She should have thought of this position sooner. It would have been easier for him, though she had to admit, she hadn’t exactly hated being in his arms.
“I hope you still have the advantage of seeing them,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond. He’d have to speak too loudly. But his footfalls were no longer quiet. No longer stealthy.
And that couldn’t be good.
God, please help us get to safety. Please help the sheriff, the searchers, find us.
Although...she had the strange feeling that Quinn didn’t want to be found.
* * *
He ran with everything in him. Pushed harder than he’d ever done before—even on foreign soil. This was Bree. He had to save her.
And just how could Quinn have found himself in this situation with Bree? He pushed the thought away, knowing that the question would only distract him. Time enough for that later.
He forced his thoughts to the mission at hand and concentrated on making it through that window. That hole that had opened up for them—two men on the left side marching toward them. One on the right side. Those men would be jogging if it weren’t for the tangle of vines and slick mossy roots and boulders in their path. Quinn was surprised they didn’t simply mow everything down with the machine guns.
But he knew why—they might have tried to kill her on the river, but now they wanted to torture her for information and then kill her. Add to that, she’d taken out one of their men tonight, too. Unfortunately, she had also given their position away.
The men probably weren’t aware that it was Quinn—the man they were after and the reason they had initially come up the river—helping Bree escape them. At least not yet.
A twig snapped. Much too close.
They were quickly moving in, and Quinn and Bree’s opportunity for escape was closing up like some portal from a science fiction movie.
Bree held on tightly. If her arms were wrapped around him any tighter, squeezed any harder—her fingers jamming through his shirt and into his skin—he might struggle to breathe. He wouldn’t cry out in pain, though. He’d endured much worse than fingernail stab wounds from a slight and beautiful red-haired, green-eyed deputy.
His heart beat even faster with the thought.
Concentrate, man!
He needed tunnel vision. He forced his thoughts into a laser focus. Thought about nothing but the mission. Nothing but pushing through that space between the glowing bad guys. Quinn let his military training take over, this escape reminiscent of what he’d already experienced.
Except—wait. Too close. Their pursuers were too close. There was no way he could slip past them unheard. Stopping, he waited behind a huge boulder. Held his breath. He suspected that Bree instinctively understood. He thought she was holding her breath, too.
The ring of three men grew tighter, their determination to capture Bree apparent, and like a specter, the fear of that outcome reached out to grab him and choke him. But as they continued to search, they closed their circle in the wrong direction, leaving Quinn and Bree outside. Free to move. Free to escape.
At least for the moment.
He would take advantage and press on, keep moving quickly to put as much distance between them as he could.
Unfortunately, he’d have to go far and wide to lead the men in the wrong direction for when they tried to track him. He had to lead them away from his hidden camp in the thickest part of the woods. Then backtrack. Just the thought of it made him want to groan.
One thing had become painfully clear—despite his best efforts, six months here and he had let himself get out of shape.
“Quinn.” Bree’s soft voice whispered against his ear unexpectedly, wrapped around him in a way that made his heart skip a beat.
He shook it off.
Man, he’d missed her. He’d missed her every time he left.
“Quinn.” Louder now. “You have to stop.”
Not yet. He’d keep pushing forward until he dropped. He could keep going forever to save her.
His muscles screamed. His lungs burned.
The past was chasing him down. He couldn’t run far enough or fast enough.
And now Bree was caught in the middle.
She struggled against his back, trying to scramble down. Maybe she’d been hurt and he was being a brute not listening to her pleas to stop. He slowed, sucked in air like he couldn’t get enough. Eased her off his back.
“Bree—” gasp, gasp “—are you—” gasp “—okay?”
He bent over his thighs. Just. Couldn’t. Get enough air...
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” she asked softly.
“No.” He peered through the monocular again for heat signatures. He saw none he’d attribute to humans. Only wildlife.
But