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I jump out of the back before Bradyn has come to a stop and rush toward him.
“They took her!” he bellows. “They took my girl!”
“I know. I need to see where you’re hit.” I roll him over and rip his shirt open. Two bullet holes. One grazed his side, the other—I stop and flip his shirt closed again. In the pocket of his button-down, a small Bible caught the round meant for his heart.
It would have killed him.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him. “This saved your life.” I withdraw the Bible from his pocket and hand it to him—the bullet still embedded inside.
“Thank You, God. Thank You.” He clutches it to himself. “Please let them find my girl, Lord. Please keep her safe.” Tears stream down his cheeks.
“Did you see who took her?”
“No. It was an older sedan, though,” he replies. “Brown, I think? I was so focused on Lani—” His voice breaks.
“He’ll need stitches on that side.” I push to my feet and start toward Bradyn’s truck. “They have a head start, but we might be able to catch them.”
“I’ll get Dad to the hospital,” Tucker says. “You guys go get our sister back and make whoever took her pay,” he snarls.
Bradyn lets Bravo into the backseat, then gets into the driver’s side while I climb into the passenger seat.
“I’m grabbing my truck and Elliot,” Dylan says. “We’ll be right behind you guys.”
* * *
We lost them.
Or, more likely, we never had them. Whoever did this meticulously thought out every step of their plan, aside from Tommy Hunt showing up when he did. My guess is that he was a wild card our attacker wasn’t counting on. Question is, how did they know Ruth was going to leave? Were they just sitting there waiting for an opportunity?
Whatever the plan was, one thing’s for sure. Whoever was driving that car made sure they weren’t on the road by the time we got there. Dylan picked up Elliot from his house, then took a right while we went left, ensuring every inch of that highway leaving the Hunt property was checked.
We even went back roads, and nothing. Not even tire tracks in the mud.
Frustration and fear ebb away at what’s left of my sanity.
I called Deputy Brown and had her put out an APB on the car, but without a license plate, I’m not sure how far we’ll get. It’s not as though dark sedans are unusual in this area.
Ruth has been an absolute mess ever since Bradyn’s wife, Kennedy, went over to the Yates’ place and picked her up. She’s barely keeping it together, and Tommy—well—he’s blaming himself for the abduction.
Saying he should have moved faster.
Took the first shot with the rifle he keeps in his truck.
But here I am, standing on the porch, losing my mind because I can’t find the single most important person in the world to me. Again.
She never even got my last message.
Elliot’s truck pulls up in the drive and parks in front of the house. Both he and his cousin, Silas Williamson, climb out, alongside family friend Lance Knight. Silas, a former Navy SEAL, now lives in Maine and works for Lance’s company, Knight Security.
“Any word?” Elliot asks, even knowing we would have called if there was. We’re all clinging to what little hope we have. And right now, it’s not much.
“No. Nothing.”
Silas, Lance, and Elliot all climb the porch steps.
“It’s good to see you, Gibson. Though I wish it was under better circumstances,” Lance greets, shaking my hand. I’ve met the former Army Ranger twice over the past couple of years.
“Thanks for coming out,” I tell them.