Savior in the Saddle (19 page)

“Let’s go,” he told Willa.

Brandon kept watch all around them. Or at least that’s what he tried to do. Hard to cover all the shadows and places a killer could hide and launch a new attack. So, he focused on hurrying to get them to the side of the barn. They reached it.

Just as a bullet came their way.

Hell. The shooter had moved to the backyard and had a visual on them.

Brandon pulled Willa to the ground. The dirt was rock-hard frozen, so he tried to break her fall with his arm.

It wasn’t a second too soon because the bullets slammed into the side of the barn. Not one shot but four before the gunman stopped.

Was he moving to a new position?

Brandon glanced out but couldn’t see anyone. Worse, the wind was even louder outside so he wasn’t even sure he could hear approaching footsteps. All he could do was wait and pray for a safe opening to get Willa into the woods.

“There,” Willa whispered. Her voice was frantic enough that Brandon glanced at her to see where her attention and index finger were aimed.

She was pointing at the kitchen door, specifically at the small sidelight window.

He saw the movement. Inside the house.

Brandon shook his head. How the hell had the person gotten inside so quickly? Just seconds earlier, the shots had come from the right exterior side of the house.

Maybe this was an accomplice?

There was no way the county sheriff could have already made it out here.

Brandon’s gaze fired all around, in case this was some kind of ploy to distract him. He damn sure didn’t want the shooter sneaking up on them.

There was more movement from the sidelight window, and from the corner of his eye, Brandon saw the back door ease open.

With his heart in his throat, he levered himself up a little and took aim.

He didn’t fire, just in case this was indeed the county sheriff. Instead, he waited.

Behind him Willa waited, too, and he thought he heard her mumble a prayer. Good. Because they might need divine intervention to get through this.

The door opened all the way, and Brandon saw the hand then. Whoever was in his kitchen was holding a gun.

Brandon watched as the figure stepped onto the porch.

It was a man, and like Brandon, he had his gun ready to fire.

“Brandon?” the man called out.

Hell.

And Willa obviously recognized him, too, because she cursed.

Sergeant Cash Newsome was on the porch.

That barely had time to register in Brandon’s mind when the next shot rang out.

WILLA CAUGHT JUST A glimpse of Cash a split second before Brandon dropped back down in front of her. But a glimpse was all she needed to know that Cash was close enough to them to deliver a fatal shot.

If
that was his intention.

Brandon fired in the direction of the shooter—still on the right rear of the house. The blast echoed in her ears. Because of her own pounding heartbeat, she was already having trouble hearing, and that certainly didn’t help. However, Willa didn’t need to hear to know that Brandon and she had to get out of there fast. With the shooter—and now perhaps Cash—they were out-gunned. Sure, she had a gun, but she didn’t trust her shooting skills against a cop.

“Brandon, Willa, I’m here to help you!” Cash called out.

Thank God Brandon didn’t buy that because he began to scoot her toward the back side of the barn.

Away from Cash.

Hopefully, away from the other shooter, too.

There was another shot, but because Brandon was in the way, she couldn’t see where this one landed. However, she heard Cash curse. He said something, too, something drowned out by the next shot.

Was this some kind of ploy by Cash to make them think he was innocent, or was he under fire just like them?

Brandon didn’t wait to find out.

He got them to the back of the barn, keeping them right at the corner, probably so they could duck around the side if the shooter came at them from either direction. The problem with that was ducking to the side could put them in Cash’s sight again.

“We’re going to the woods,” Brandon whispered. “Stay behind me.”

The woods. Well, at least there were plenty of huge trees that could hopefully absorb the bullets—she had no doubts that shooter would continue to fire at them.

Maybe Cash, too.

She got behind Brandon as he asked, and they started to walk backward toward the woods. Willa kept her gun ready and prayed she could do some good with it if it came down to the shooter or them.

The wind howled and slapped at them, and it robbed her of what little breath she had left. Still, she tried to keep walking, hurrying, while she kept watch all around them. Brandon kept watch, too, and he kept volleying his gun between the porch where Cash was and the general area where the shooter had fired the last shot.

Willa felt something soft but solid bump against the lower back part of her leg, and she nearly let out a yelp. She also tried not to trip, especially when Brandon walked right into her.

She risked glancing at what was on the ground and spotted one of the dogs.

Oh, God.

At first, she thought he was dead, but then she saw his chest pumping. The Doberman was taking in quick, shallow breaths.

“Someone drugged him,” Brandon mumbled. He turned, caught Willa’s arm and practically ran with her to the nearest tree.

They ducked behind it.

“Will your dog be all right?” she asked.

“Maybe.” But he didn’t sound very hopeful.

Neither was she. Anyone who would try to murder a pregnant woman probably didn’t have much value for life in general.

“We’ll help him later,” Brandon said.

Willa latched on to that thought. There would be a later. They would get out of this safely.

Brandon peered out from behind the tree but immediately popped back into cover. Someone fired a shot, slamming right into the tree where his head had been just seconds earlier. She didn’t think it was her imagination that the shooter had moved closer.

“Watch out, Brandon!” Cash shouted.

That sent Willa’s heart pumping even more, and she turned, looking all around them, but she didn’t see anyone.

There was another shot, but it didn’t hit the tree. In fact, she didn’t think it had even been fired in their direction.

A moment later, she heard Cash moan.

The man sounded as if he were in pain. And maybe he was. Maybe he had been shot. Of course, it could all be an act to draw them out into the open so he could kill them.

All around them were the sounds of the wind assaulting the trees, and she couldn’t pick through that noise and determine what the heck was going on, but she had a horrible gut feeling that things were about to get worse than they already were.

“Should we stay put?” she whispered.

Her voice was beyond shaky, and that must have been the reason he glanced back at her. “For now.” Unlike her, his voice was calm.

Reassuring.

She thought of their short time together. It came like images flying through her mind. She’d only known Brandon for two days. That was it. Under normal circumstances, she would have considered him practically a stranger. But he wasn’t. He was the father of her child and the only person she completely trusted.

And she was in love with him.

It was the worst possible time for that to pop into her head. She couldn’t tell him, of course. That wasn’t such a bad thing. Willa wasn’t sure
I love you
was something Brandon would ever want to hear from her.

Maybe it was that particular heartbreaking thought that distracted her. Or maybe she truly didn’t hear the sound of the footsteps.

But there had been footsteps. Unheard ones.

Willa had no doubt about that when she felt someone knock the weapon from her hand. She also felt herself being jerked backward.

Into someone’s arms.

And before she could even call out, that someone put a gun to her head.

Chapter Seventeen

Brandon sensed the movement behind him and whirled in that direction.

But it was too late.

Someone had Willa.

His breath vanished. His stomach knotted. Hell, his heart nearly stopped. Because this was his worst-case scenario come true. The SOB who had been trying to kill them, now had control of the situation.

Brandon couldn’t see the person’s face, only the sleeve of a thick coat and the gloved hand that held a gun pressed up against Willa’s right temple. The person’s body and face were hidden behind the tree.

He made a split-second glance at the porch, the last place he’d seen Cash.

The man was no longer there.

Brandon cursed again. He hadn’t seen Cash get up and leave, but then he hadn’t exactly had all his attention focused on the porch, either. He’d known there might be two possible attackers, and he hadn’t wanted to watch only Cash and give the second person a chance to sneak up on them.

But that’s what had happened.

Or else maybe it was Cash who now had Willa.

Brandon didn’t care who it was. He only wanted to get Willa away from that gun.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Brandon asked the gunman.

The person didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Neither did Willa. Her entire body seemed frozen in place, and the only movement was from the wind whipping at her hair. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. She was obviously terrified, and while Brandon wanted to assure her that everything was going to be okay, he knew she wouldn’t believe him. He didn’t believe it, either.

There were no guarantees that either of them would make it out of this alive.

“Let Willa go,” he tried again.

And he would keep on trying because there was no alternative. Somehow, he had to talk the person into dropping that gun, or else he had to use force to take it away. The longer this went on, the higher the chances that Willa would be hurt.

Or worse.

“Willa doesn’t remember everything that happened in the hospital lab,” Brandon continued. “She has no idea who hired the men who held her hostage.”

There was only about eight feet of space between them, but Brandon inched closer. He had to get within reach of the gun, and lunging for it wouldn’t work.

“Think of Willa’s baby. My
baby,
” he added. Saying those words cut deep into his heart because for the first time, he saw the baby. Not Willa’s pregnant stomach. Not the vague images he’d tried to keep pushing away.

Brandon saw what it would be like to hold his child.

His daughter.

And if this gunman took Willa’s life, then his baby wouldn’t have a chance. Brandon wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell Willa just how much she and this baby meant to him.

“Don’t do this,” Brandon pleaded. “Please, just let Willa go.”

At first he thought his words were useless, that they were having no effect on the person. But then, he saw the slight movement of the trigger finger. The gunman’s index finger tensed as if there were some hesitation. Maybe because the gunman hadn’t considered just how difficult it was to threaten a woman and her unborn child.

“Let Willa go,” Brandon repeated. “And if you need a hostage, take me. Better yet, just leave. Just get back in your car and put an end to this now.”

Of course, Brandon couldn’t let the person just drive away as if none of this had happened. He would have to stop this once and for all, otherwise the danger would continue. But for now he would say or do whatever it took to get Willa out of the line of fire.

Because Willa was staring at him, he had no trouble seeing when she lifted her left eyebrow. She seemed to be questioning him about what she should do. Maybe she was thinking about trying to drop to the ground so that Brandon could get a clean shot.

But he only shook his head.

If the gunman fired, there wouldn’t be time for Willa to move out of the way. It was too big of a risk to take, especially since he seemed to be making progress.

“I can help you,” Brandon told the gunman. “I have money inside so you can get away. You can leave now, and no one else will get hurt.”

If it was Cash behind that gun, he probably knew that wouldn’t happen. But the other three—Wes, Dean and Dr. Farris—they might believe it.

And even Cash might
want
to believe it if he was trying to rationalize a way out of this.

Martin Shore had been a cold-blooded killer, an assassin, but none of the four suspects had likely done a close-kill attempt like this before. Brandon had. During his time in the military, he’d been forced into violent situations. And he knew it wasn’t something that most people could stomach.

“Here’s what we can do,” Brandon continued. It was almost impossible to keep his voice level and calm, especially while looking in Willa’s eyes, so he focused on the gunman’s trigger finger. “We both put our guns down. We just drop them. Willa and I will get on the ground while you walk away.”

The seconds crawled by.

The gunman still didn’t utter a sound, but the gloved trigger finger lifted just a fraction. That certainly didn’t mean Willa was out of danger, not by a long shot, but he was making progress.

“I want to name our daughter Hannah,” Brandon said. It wasn’t exactly the first name that came to mind, but it was a name he liked. “She’ll be born in February.”

The movement on Willa’s face caused him to glance at her. She was blinking back tears.

But the gunman didn’t have a tearful reaction. The finger went right back on the trigger, and Brandon thought the person was shaking his or her head.

Damn.

He had to say the right thing or do something, and it had to happen now. But what? How could he get through to this would-be killer?

Brandon didn’t have a chance to figure that out.

He heard the sound and then saw the movement cut through the darkness. Something came flying through the air.

A small tree branch.

And it smacked right into the back of the gunman’s head.

Everything happened fast. Too fast for Brandon to do anything but rely on his instincts to react.