TWO

      A gunshot cracked through the air. Carly gasped and jogged faster.

      “Breathe,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t want to trip and fall because she was in a frantic state. She had to shove aside the fear pulsing through her body and get to safety.

      What about the man who’d helped her? She hoped the bad guys hadn’t shot him.

      Bad guys. They might have shot Mr. and Mrs. B. and now were after the baby. Well, they weren’t getting anywhere near sweet Mia as long as Carly was here to protect her. Carly might not be a martial arts expert or know how to handle a gun, but she was a fighter to her core.

      Carly was the only thing standing between violent criminals and the innocent child strapped to her chest. Not entirely true. She wasn’t the only thing standing in their way. There was Mr. B.’s half brother, Whit.

      Mr. and Mrs. Bremerton rarely mentioned extended family, nor had Mr. B. mentioned his handsome brother.

      Handsome? Where had that come from? Must be the trauma of the past twenty minutes that had her noticing things like his warm blue eyes, eyes that radiated truth when he said she could trust him.

      She knew better. He was a cop, and cops couldn’t be trusted.

      As she crossed the well-manicured back lawn, she realized how exposed she was out here in the open. Carly spotted a shed. It was closer than the multimillion-dollar home in the distance, so she opted for a quick duck-and-cover.

      When she approached the shed, she noted there was no lock on the door. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then she wondered if she was being watched by security cameras on the property. Couldn’t think about that now. Needed to hide long enough for police to rescue her.

      Darting into the shed, she found a spot on the floor beside a large riding lawn mower. There were quite a few tools stored in the shed—hoes, rakes and shovels—along with jugs of gasoline. Although not the safest place for a baby, it was better than being out in the open, exposed to a gunman.

      Kissing Mia’s head, she thanked God that the child was such a good sleeper. Even with all the jostling and juggling, Mia didn’t fuss much. Carly pulled out her phone and called Emergency again.

      “It’s Carly Winslow. I escaped the Bremerton house and I’m about a mile south of the property. The gunman is still after us. A man named Brody Whittaker helped me—”

      The shed door flung open.

      Carly gasped.

      “Get out of there,” said a large man looming in the doorway.

      Her heart pounded against her chest and fear kept her frozen in place.

      The gunman stepped inside the shed.

      “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She slipped her phone into her pocket and stood awkwardly, clutching Mia.

      The guy moved out of the shed and turned his back on Carly, assuming she wasn’t a threat.

      No matter how frightened she was, Carly Anna Winslow was not a quitter and she surely wasn’t going to let this man take or harm Mia. She snatched a shovel and just as he turned...

      She swung with all her strength.

      Unfortunately, she missed his head and nailed him in the shoulder, which seemed only to irritate him.

      Reaching out with huge hands, he grabbed the metal head of the shovel and yanked. She stumbled forward and let go so she wouldn’t be pulled against the creep’s body.

      He tossed the shovel aside, at least ten feet away, took a few steps back and withdrew his weapon. Mia was strapped to Carly’s chest, which meant if he fired he’d hit the baby. Carly instinctively spun around, turning her back to the attacker. She dropped to her knees and hugged Mia.

      “Give me the kid!”

      There was no way she’d willingly hand over this child.

      “Let’s go, now!”

      Carly rocked Mia and softly sang to her.

      “I’ll shoot!” he threatened.

      She heard grunting and a shot rang out.

      She gasped.

      Didn’t feel anything.

      The bullet hadn’t hit her.

      “Praise God,” Carly whispered.

      Mia burst into tears, the sound of the gunshot having frightened her.

      They were alive. Either that or Carly imagined heaven just like this, with a child in her arms.

      “Carly, are you okay?”

      She glanced up. Brody Whittaker stood above her wearing a concerned frown, blood seeping from a cut on his head.

      “I’m... Yes?” she said. It came out as a question because the definition of okay was muddled at this point.

      “The baby?” he asked.

      “She’s okay, too.”

      “Good.” He sighed.

      She noticed more blood staining his jacket.

      “Have you been shot?”

      “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.” He offered his hand.

      She took it and he helped her up. He blocked her view of the attacker, who lay sprawled on the ground.

      “Keep your eyes trained forward,” Whit said.

      With an absent nod, she followed his instructions and looked away. “Did you shoot him?”

      “No, he took my gun, so I nailed him pretty hard with the shovel.”

      In the distance, two sheriff’s deputies sprinted into the backyard. “Hands where I can see ’em!” one shouted.

      Fear skittered across her shoulders. She shoved it back. This was no time to let childhood trauma dictate her behavior.

      “Do as they ask and everything will be fine,” Whit said.

      She had a hard time believing him. In her experience things went very bad very quickly where police were concerned.

      Even