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The past year had taught her she could survive almost anything. But she knew without question, she wouldn’t survive seeing Daniel die.
* * *
Daniel stared down at the dead body at his feet.
The paddle dangled from the rope, deactivated. The dead man’s unblinking stare made checking for a pulse unnecessary. Problem was, the paddle hadn’t killed him. A bullet through the temple from someone else’s gun had, someone with a silencer, since he hadn’t heard a shot.
All of which meant another armed party lurked out there. Searching for Mary Elise. And the dead man couldn’t help with any information, most likely the reason he’d been silenced once injured.
Daniel shifted the weight of the .45 in his hand. He didn’t need to check the man for identification, either. The frozen face below was a direct mirror of one of the mug shots he’d pulled up from intelligence files.
The assassin who’d been hired to kill Mary Elise a year ago.
The dead man lying on the ground had been used the way sacrificial troops were run through land mines to clear the field for the next line to march through. Scanning the trees, the path, Daniel found disturbed pine straw continuing down the path. Toward the cabin.
Mary Elise.
A shot split the air.
He flattened to the ground, rolled to the side and steadied his gun in a fluid move. Nothing. Nobody in sight. Crouching, he darted through the trees, dried leaves crunching beneath his feet.
His heart pounded in time with his feet. How could things have fallen apart so fast? What could he have done differently? He searched his mind—and came up with zip. Other than the fact he’d been lured out, separated from Mary Elise.
He’d expected McRae to be devious. He hadn’t expected tactical savvy. Of course he should have, if he’d listened to Mary Elise. The commander’s warning from only days prior thundered through his head.
Every flyer faced the possibility of meeting a missile someday. His death he could face. Mary Elise’s was unacceptable.
Daniel drew closer to the cabin. Voices carried on the wind. Mary Elise’s. Relief hammered him until he almost forgot to make his feet keep moving.
Another voice drifted. Male. The cabin showed through the cover of trees.
Mary Elise eased down the porch steps, gun drawn and steady on the man standing with his back to Daniel.
Good girl. She had McRae cornered, withstanding whatever garbage he was pouring her way in his relentless talking, and holding her own.
Daniel strode closer, sight line clearing. A tie flapped over the man’s shoulder, jacket long gone but white shirt a crisp beacon—with the harsh slash of a gun tucked in the waistband out of sight to Mary Elise.
Daniel stopped cold.
He couldn’t let her see him now. If Mary Elise called a greeting, thinking she had McRae safely pinned, the monster would have time to draw. To shoot.Her.Daniel blinked as if he could change the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He’d been so sure he could protect her. Of course he’d been concerned about injuries, but never, never had he allowed himself to consider that Mary Elise could die.
The past and present merged in a blaze of reds—her hair, strawberries, blood. In the middle of the roaring fury, it hit him, why he’d run so hard from her eleven years ago. He hadn’t run from commitment, or even from admitting how much she meant to him. He’d already realized now how very much he loved her then. How much he loved her now.
He’d run because he was afraid of losing her. And he had fallen right back into old patterns by picking a fight with her in the cabin. They’d almost replayed the past all over again— the mistakes forgivable in their youth but totally asinine now, given they should know better. Be stronger. Wiser.
Except love wasn’t wise, either.
However love did make a person stronger. He just prayed it would make Mary Elise strong enough to stand down a madman until he could come forward with reinforcements.
Training overrode emotions. Crouching low, Daniel made his way around the perimeter of trees, dodging through whatever cover he could to work his way closer. He would have to take out McRae, but it would have to be fast.
Daniel assessed the terrain. Counted steps. Organized the plan of attack in his head. He inched forward, eyes trained so firmly on McRae he almost missed the flash of movement to his left.
Pivoting, he brought his arm up to defend his face just as a knife came slashing down. Burned. Knocked the gun from his hand. “What the—”
“Where are they?” Ammar asked in heavily accented English, eyes wild with fanaticism. “Where are the boys?”
* * *
