Page 15

And my gut is telling me this is a bad idea.

There are only fifteen feet between us, but as she steps outside without me, my brain shrieking in silent alarm, it feels more like fifteen miles.

I pick up my pace, not quite running, but not walking, either. “Rory.”

She’s at the bottom of the back steps, heading towards a little red doghouse designed to look like a replica of the barn. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she says, “It’s fine, Gage. I’m right here. You can see me.”

It’s not good enough. Not when my gut is so certain this is wrong.

I haven’t felt like this since that day.

“ Rory .” I repeat, this time with the same sharp, commanding tone I used to use in the Army. “Come back now .”

Almost to the doghouse, Rory startles. Then she turns, surprise written all over her face. “What’s wrong?”

I hop off the top step, fighting to keep my balance when my leg nearly buckles as I land. “Get back here right now .”

“Okay.” She jogs back towards me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

But a loud crack cuts her off.

A sound I’m terrifyingly familiar with.

A heartbeat later, a bullet slams into the ground, sending up a puff of grass and dirt where it lands.

Only feet from Rory.

She shrieks.

Fear explodes in my chest.

“Rory!” I launch myself towards her, praying my leg holds well enough.

Praying my weakness doesn’t end up getting her killed.

Though I hate the possibility of hurting her, I don’t have a choice. I fling myself over Rory’s body, taking her down hard to the ground.

Another bullet wings past us, close enough to feel the burn of it against my sleeve.

As we crash to the unforgiving concrete path, I try to cushion the blow, wrapping my arms protectively around her.

Despite my best efforts, Rory lets out a pained cry.

Guilt tears at me; more bleeding wounds stemming from my own failure.

“Stay down,” I tell her unnecessarily. Pinned underneath me like she is, I don’t think Rory could get up if she wanted.

In a trembling whisper, Rory asks, “What do we do?”

If it were just me, I’d grab the gun I have holstered under my shirt and I’d go on the hunt.

But it’s not just me. And my priority is getting Rory inside. Safe.

“I’m going to carry you inside. Just let me do it. Okay?”

There’s a tiny pause. I know Rory hates my idea. She doesn’t want me putting myself in danger for her.

But a beat later, she nods against my chest. “Okay.”

Decision made, I give myself just one moment to prepare.

Flat on the ground as we are, we’re more challenging targets. As soon as I get up, we’re exposed. But I can’t just lie here, waiting for this gunman to approach us.

So I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly.

I clear all the extraneous thoughts from my mind, focusing on one thing. Getting Rory to the house unharmed.

Then I move.

Turning so my back is facing the woods—likely where the gunman is hiding—I scoop up Rory and hold her koala-style, with her pressed flush against my chest. She understands immediately, wrapping her legs around my waist. She tucks her head under my chin, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

My muscles tense, anticipating the flare of pain from another bullet.

Then I run.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I push myself harder than I even thought possible.

Not just running, sprinting.

The kitchen door is a beacon calling to me.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

With every step, another silent prayer.

Please. Don’t let me fail her. Not again.

At the base of the stairs, my gut screams at me again.

Go!

Instead of climbing the three stairs, I leap up them in one go.

I hit the kitchen floor and a burst of pain explodes in my leg.

A third bullet smashes into the doorjamb, sending splinters of wood flying.

But we’re inside.

I shove Rory to the ground, then spin around to slam the door shut.

The sound of the deadbolt sliding home brings a flood of relief.

But we’re not fully safe. Not with all the windows giving a clear view into the kitchen.

“Come with me,” I take Rory’s hand and pull her back to her feet. With my free hand, I yank my Sig from its holster and cock the trigger. “We need to get away from the windows.”

“The pantry,” Rory says, her voice wobbling. “Or the basement.”

“Are the Bilco doors locked from inside?”

She nods. “Always.”

The basement it is.

As we rush from the kitchen and down the hallway, I tuck Rory against my side, trying to protect her as best I can with my body.

When we finally get to the basement stairs, Rory stops on the first one. “Wait. There’s a lock.” With shaking fingers, she twists the doorknob until it makes a little click. “The previous owners put it in. I thought it was silly, locking yourself in the basement—” Her voice cracks.

“It’s okay,” I croon, feeling anything but. “Locking the door is smart. Now let’s get down there, and I’ll call the team.”

And the police. But right now, I’d rather have my team.

Once we get to the bottom of the stairs, I hug Rory to me. I’m not sure if I can let her go. Not now. Not ever.

I keep holding her while I make my calls—to a shocked Ronan and an equally startled 911 dispatcher—while she shudders against me. I can tell she’s trying to stay quiet, but tiny, scared noises keep slipping out.

When I hang up the phone, I slide it into my pocket. Then I stroke my hand down Rory’s hair and press my lips to the top of her head. “Help is on the way. And we’re safe down here. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

If anyone tries, I’ll kill them. No hesitation.

She lifts her head from my shoulder to look at me with a tearful gaze. “I was scared you’d get shot. You protected me. You—” A sob bursts out.

My heart cracks in two. “Ror. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I should have?—”

“No.” Her chin goes up. “No. I went outside when you told me to stop. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

Then she buries her face in my shirt again, crying softly.

Shit .

This never should have happened.