He Can Fall: She Can Series (4 page)

Had Mia’s father somehow been paroled early? Why else would four gunmen take over the inn?

Sean dusted snow off his legs. “Do you like living with your grandpa?”

“Grandpa’s nice.” Mia took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her fingers were cold as Popsicles already. “No one turns the heat off. There’s lots of food too.”

“Where did you live before you came here?” Sean surveyed their surroundings. They were only a quarter mile from the inn. There was no way he could start a fire for her. The smoke would give away her location. If Mia was right, there were three more armed and dangerous men who would be looking for her.

He had to move fast, before exposure took the child as surely as the violent criminals back at the inn.

“I lived with my mommy and daddy until she died.” Mia kicked a pinecone. With a cloud of white powder, it tumbled across the snow and landed against a tree trunk. “It was just me and Daddy for a while, until he went away. Some lady took me to stay with some strangers. I didn’t like it. I was happy when Grandpa came and brought me here.”

Sean’s heart nearly stopped. So much trauma for such a young child to bear. Did she know her father was in prison?

Through their joined hands, he felt a shiver pass through her body. What was he going to do? He looked down at her pale, uncomplaining face. Leggings, a sweater, and Uggs weren’t going to keep hypothermia at bay for long. The boots looked warm, but they weren’t the waterproof variety. Sean pulled his fleece over his head and tugged it onto Mia’s tiny frame. The fabric fell past her knees. “Sorry about the smell. I was sweaty.”

She sniffed. Her nose wrinkled, and she shrugged. “It’s warm.”

But giving Mia his top layer left Sean in an Under Armour tee, sweatpants, and a thin synthetic crewneck. The fabric had allowed his sweat to evaporate, so at least he wasn’t wet. But he could feel the chill seeping through the two thin layers.

“We should keep moving.” He picked her up and brushed the snow off her boots to keep her feet as dry as possible.

“OK,” Mia said, wrapping her arms and legs around his body monkey-style.

“The nearest neighbor is fifteen miles by road. Do you have any idea how far it is through the woods?”

“We can’t go that way. There’s a big river.”

“Does it freeze like the lake?”

Mia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Shit.

Sean looked toward the inn, then out at the forest. He wanted to go to Amanda. To save her from the remaining men who threatened her. The need to protect his wife was burrowed into his bone marrow. But what would he do with the child? How could he keep her safe and warm while he engaged the enemy? What if he was shot or killed? Who would take Mia to safety? She wouldn’t survive long in the winter woods.

In his years as an army Ranger, he’d never faced a decision this difficult.

But there wasn’t really a decision. He couldn’t take any risks with the child. Amanda would want him to protect Mia at all costs.

“OK. Here’s the plan. I carry you to your neighbor’s house and call for help.”

“No.” Mia’s voice rose. Fear lit her eyes, and she leaned away from him. “No. No. No.”

“Shh,” Sean soothed. Sound traveled far and fast in the dry cold. “You have to be quiet. They could hear you.”

She lowered her voice to a sniffling whisper. “You can’t run away. Tanner is bleeding. You have to help him.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Tanner will die, and those men will hurt my grandpa.”

Sean wavered. Carrying Mia, he might be able to reach help in two hours. Then he’d have to call the authorities. By the time assistance arrived, it could be midday. The man with the gunshot would likely bleed out. All the hostages could be dead by then, including Amanda.

“All right,” he agreed. “Let’s get closer and check the situation out. Maybe I can think of something. Who’s Tanner?”

“He’s a chef. He makes the best spaghetti.” Mia rested her head on his shoulder. Her voice trembled.

They trudged through the woods, Sean keeping his eyes and ears open for sounds of pursuit. At the edge of the woods, he set Mia on the ground behind a fat oak trunk and peered around.

“I can’t see inside,” he said. The inn was too far away for a clear view of the kitchen. “We’ll go around. I want to try to get some stuff out of my truck.” Like his field glasses—and his Glock. He also had an emergency kit in the back. A couple of space blankets would help keep Mia warm. “Where were the men keeping the people?”

“In the kitchen,” Mia said.

Sean tried to conjure up an image of the inn’s floor plan from the installation of the security system. The kitchen was in the back and looked onto the parking lot. The criminals would see them get into the vehicle. Stealing the SUV was a possibility, but there was no way to sneak into it undetected. Once seen, he and Mia would have to bolt or risk getting shot. But running could mean the deaths of all the hostages. Once the gunmen knew Sean had gone for help, they’d eliminate loose ends and run. They might take hostages with them. He doubted they’d leave anyone behind alive.

No, Sean had to stop them here and now.

There was a sedan parked next to Sean’s SUV. “What does your grandpa drive?”

“A truck. It’s in the garage.”

Sean didn’t see another vehicle. He pointed toward the sedan. “Who owns that car?”

“Tanner.”

If Glenn’s vehicle was in the garage, where was the gunmen’s car? How did they get to the inn? Was there another man with a vehicle?

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Their car.”

“They were really wet and cold. Maybe they don’t have one.”

Or maybe their vehicle broke down. Would a cop spot it on the roadside? Probably not. There weren’t many random or routing patrols in this area. The inn was too remote.

Something moved in the kitchen window. They were definitely watching. He couldn’t get to his SUV without being seen. Somehow, he’d need to get inside the inn and overpower three armed men without getting the hostages killed in the process.

He needed a look inside the house. With no access to his binoculars and weapons, he was going to have to wing it with two bullets and no eyes.

The squeak of wet hinges floated on the air. Sean froze. Instinctively, he pushed Mia behind him.

Someone was coming out of the inn.

Amanda worked her hands back and forth. The thin skin over her wrists felt wet as if she was beginning to bleed. Maybe if the string was wet, it would be easier to stretch. So far, the twine hadn’t given even a millimeter.

The back door opened with enough force to send the knob crashing into the wall.

She startled, her heart jumping inside her chest.

“Hey, Carl.” Win stuck his head inside. “Come out here for a minute.”

Carl walked out onto the back porch. With one eye on the kitchen, he talked with Lincoln and Win. Amanda couldn’t hear their conversation, but it seemed as if they were arguing. Win was pointing toward the woods, and Carl’s frown deepened. Lincoln swept his hands over his bald head as he paced. Frigid air poured through the open door, and Amanda’s bones quaked in a violent, whole-body shiver.

“Tanner.” The redhead cupped her husband’s cheek, leaving streaks of blood on his ever-whitening face. “Oh my God,” she cried in a soft voice. “He’s so white. He’s barely breathing, and there’s so much blood.”

“Keep pressure on that towel,” Amanda whispered, but the redhead was right. Tanner’s condition had definitely deteriorated. How long could he survive without medical help?

“He’s going to die.” The redhead looked up at Amanda with lost, hopeless eyes, one hand automatically straying to her swollen belly. Her body trembled hard in her nightie, the chill and despair clearly sapping her strength. “We don’t have a chance. We’re all going to die.”

Amanda glanced toward the door. The men were still arguing outside. The girl needed hope. She needed to stay calm. Hysteria could spark anger from the gunmen. Win was especially cruel and volatile, but Amanda could sense equally dangerous cold disregard from the others. Whatever decisions they made would be based on their own chances for escape and survival.

“No, listen.” Amanda dropped her voice to barely more than a breath. “My husband is out there. He was an army Ranger. He can help us. I promise.”

Hope glimmered in the redhead’s watery blue eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

The redhead swiped the tears from her cheeks, leaving bloody smears where she would have applied blush. With a resolute breath, she plucked another towel from the pile and applied it to her husband’s shoulder.

Win and Carl came back into the room. Win stomped snow off his skateboard shoes. His eyes locked on Amanda with a predatory gleam. He started toward her. On the way past the prep table, he reached toward the cutting board and picked up a chef’s knife.

Amanda cringed, but there was nowhere to hide.

Sean’s momentary optimism faded as the men retreated into the kitchen. He’d hoped they would come looking for their buddy.

“They went back inside.”

“They did.” Sean rubbed Mia’s shoulder. Her body shook. Fear or cold? Probably both.

What were the men planning? They obviously missed their fourth man but were too smart to wander through the woods to find him.

Damn.

In the forest, Sean would be able to pick them off one by one. Now he was back to plan A, getting inside the inn. But first, he had to find a place to stash Mia. Somewhere warm and relatively safe. None of the outbuildings was heated. He couldn’t risk a fire. His gaze returned to the inn. It was a big building. There had to be somewhere inside to hide a very small child.

He squatted down to her level. “Do you ever play hide-and-seek, Mia?”

“Sure.” She nodded.

“Where are the best hiding places around here?”

She considered, her tiny brow puckering. “In the guest rooms, but I’m not allowed to play in them anymore ’cause we’re going to be open soon, and they’re all finished. The room over the garage is good too. It’s full of stuff we don’t use.”

If he were taking an inn hostage, the first thing he’d do was search the entire place. So, if the rooms were already searched, would Mia be safe hiding in one of them? Would the gunmen think to double-check? But how to get inside? Sean assumed the gunmen were all armed and would be watching the doors.

He glanced around the tree trunk and back at the inn. Another quick movement in the window. The men were still watching. How to get them both inside without using a door?

“If I can get us inside, do you think you can hide and not come out until I come for you?” Sean asked.

Her lips trembled, and the soft quiver in her voice broke his heart. “I’m good at hiding. It takes Grandpa forever to find me.”

He tucked her behind him, hoping his decision to save his wife wouldn’t cost Mia her life.

Amanda’s lungs locked as Win leaned over her with the knife. He slid the back side of the blade across her breasts. The metal chilled her skin. Her heart banged against her breastbone as if her ribs would crack like ice. When Win reached behind her to slice her binds, relief coursed through her bloodstream, and her body sagged as the tension ebbed.

Win’s sour breath wafted across her cheek, and his right eye twitched.

When had he had his last fix of whatever stimulant he was using? She’d been a model before she met and married Sean. She’d had a few friends who used cocaine to stay skinny. She knew the shooting-star trajectory of an amphetamine addict on a high. When this psycho crashed, the situation was going to get even uglier.

Win dragged her to the door. He yanked her back to his body and wrapped his forearm around her windpipe. His erection ground into her lower back, and the knife brushed the skin at the side of her neck. Using her as a shield, he stepped out onto the back porch.

Choking against the pressure on her throat, Amanda grabbed his forearm with both hands and pinned it to her collarbone, as Sean had taught her the many times they’d practiced basic self-defense. She let her body weight sag to keep his wrist bone off her windpipe and turned her chin toward the crook of his elbow. The scant inch of space she created allowed her to breathe.

“I know you’re out there,” Win yelled to the forest. “I saw your footprints. Give yourself up. I want you, the kid, and my uncle in the next ten minutes, or I’m going to rape your wife. And that isn’t the worst I’ll do. When I’m done with her, she’ll be worse than dead.” He ran the sharp edge of the blade across Amanda’s neck. Blood welled hot from the shallow cut and dripped down onto her chest. “Ten minutes.”

He dragged her back inside.

Amanda barely felt the warmth of the kitchen. Her brain and body floated in a chilly fog of surreal disconnect. Sean was out there. She could feel him. His fury radiated from the trees, filling the air.

Just as Win’s excitement filled the kitchen, his eagerness to hurt her was palpable and profane in the homey kitchen. Under the metallic, raw scent of blood, the smell of fresh scones lingered.

Win still held her by the neck. As he pulled her sideways, her body tilted at an awkward angle. She lost her grip on his forearm, and her feet kept tripping over each other.

He dropped her suddenly. She fell to her knees. Though her kneecaps hit the tile hard, she felt nothing. On the porch, numbness had spread through her body like a morphine drip. Was her fear separating her from her body in self-defense, preparing her for the horror to come?

No, she refused to consider that Win would get his chance. Sean would come. But what could he do? No matter how much she protested, he’d trade his life for hers in an instant. She knew that with complete certainty. It was the way he was wired. But there was no way he would give up a child for any reason. Nor would he sacrifice any of the other hostages.

She grabbed hope and held it tight. He had to be planning something. But he’d better implement it fast. Ten minutes wasn’t much time to move.

Win meant what he’d said. He couldn’t wait to hurt her.

Her gaze fell on the redhead. Her porcelain skin had whitened nearly as much as her wounded husband’s. Blood crusted in the hair around her face and rusty smears streaked her temples from pushing her hair behind her ears. Shivers racked her barely dressed body so hard Amanda could see her shaking from across the room. How long could her husband last? His chest rose and fell in a labored rhythm, but the pile of bloody towels on his shoulder had grown, and his face had faded to the gray of drying plaster.

Would she bleed out slowly from a wound? Or would Win be impatient? Despite her resolve to block them, thoughts of what Win was planning intruded in her mind. Her bruised breast throbbed, and the shallow slice stung. Her hand drifted to her neck, where blood dribbled from the thin cut. If Win sliced her carotid artery, she’d be dead in minutes.

Somehow she didn’t think her death would be that quick or painless.

Win would enjoy making her suffer.