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Cannon jumped out and braced his legs against the force of the swirling storm. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he searched for signs of the ambulance. He didn’t breathe until he spotted blinking lights about fifty feet ahead, the glow barely bright enough to pierce the snow.
On a ragged breath, he took off. His shoes slipped on the frosty ground as coughs grated from his throat. The distance to the ambulance felt like fifty miles, but he pushed through the storm with his gun drawn.
Rosalie and Julia are in there, warm, and safe and sound,he told himself over and over again.
They had to be.
The dark silhouette of another vehicle came into view behind the ambulance. He squinted as he ran and made out a van and two figures pushing something toward it.
Not something. Someone on a gurney.
“Julia.” Her name wheezed through his frozen lips as the wind punched him back. He lost his footing. Landing hard on his ass, he slid toward the shoulder. Fighting to catch his breath, he choked on his sister’s name as he wasted precious seconds getting up.
As he took off toward the gurney, now five feet from the van, the men pushing it paused. Before they could spot him, Cannon dove for the shoulder and somersaulted to his feet. Darting into the trees, he tore off his white coat and hoped his dark-green scrubs would camouflage him among the pines.
He barely felt the razor-sharp needles prick his face and arms as he tore through the forested shoulder, praying a bullet didn’t stop him from getting to his sister in time.
The front end of the ambulance appeared nose down in a ditch, smoke billowing from under the crumpled hood.
“Fuck,” he bellowed along with the storm. Through the cracked passenger window, he barely made out Ken slumped over the deployed airbag. With another curse and a silent promise to come back for Ken—and Dean wherever he was—he crept up the shoulder and toward the back of the ambulance.
Halting, he held his breath while two men lifted the gurney into the van. At least Julia was alive. Why would they take her if she wasn’t?
Rosalie had fucking better be alive too.
“Hang in there,” he silently pleaded as he lined up his shot with the back of the closest one’s shoulder. As he took a breath to steady his near-frozen hands, something struck the back of his head. Pain crackled down his spine and splintered into his arms. The weapon fell from his fingers. With a curse, he rammed his elbow back into a solid gut. The hold on him loosened as another man charged him from the front.
Cannon snarled at the incoming threat as he bent sharply at the waist and hoisted the guy over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Fire ripped up his hip as he drove through his legs on a spin and heaved the fucker into his charging accomplice. As the two landed in a pile, Cannon caught sight of petite feet covered in hospital socks inside the van.
“Julia!”
A glint of metal flashed in his periphery as the one who’d grabbed him from behind rose to his knees. Cannon pivoted and landed a roundhouse kick to his arm. The gun flew from the guy’s hands as the wind hurled a sheet of snow between them. Cannon barreled like a blind madman through Mother Nature’s barrier until he met a fist.
Bone cracked on bone along his chin. Another punch landed next to his eye. Blinking away white spots, he slammed his fistinto the fucker’s nose. As the guy toppled back, the van doors slammed shut.
“No.” Cannon jumped over the guy he’d taken down and ran toward the retreating van carrying Julia to God knew where.
He fired at the back tire. The van skidded and slowed. The tires spun on the blacktop and spit ice slivers. Cannon didn’t falter as he caught up to the swerving vehicle. His fingers grazed the back door. Before he could grasp the handle, the van caught traction and disappeared into the snowy veil.
“Fuck.” He spun back to the man he’d punched in the nose and found him a few feet away, crawling toward the shoulder. With strength born from desperation, Cannon wrapped both hands around his neck and pressed his thumbs into his jugular. “Where are you taking my sister? Where’s Rosalie?”
“Fuck you,” the man spit out.
Cannon pushed harder on his airway. “Tell me, or I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t know.” He struggled for air as blood ran from his nose. “I’m just here to snatch.”
Squeezing harder, Cannon absorbed kicks and blows until the man lost consciousness, then raced through the dumping snow to the ambulance. He stumbled on the ice and dove for the bumper. He grasped the cold metal and pulled himself upright.
Please be in here. Please.
He wrenched open the doors. Stagnant smoke filled his lungs and masked his vision. Bracing his hand on the frame, he fought the dizzying effects of whatever toxins laced the fumes as he called to Rosalie above the snowy squall. A few moments later, he raised his eyes to clearer air and a motionless heap on the floor.
“Rosalie!”
He crawled the few feet to her and lifted his snow angel into his arms. Carrying her out of the hazy cabin, he sat on theblacktop and cradled her in his lap. The air stayed trapped in his chest as he felt for a pulse. He didn’t breathe again until her lifeblood beat under his fingertips. As gently as he could, he wiped away the fresh blood on her hairline. His fingers met a huge knot at her temple.
“Come on, Snow Angel, wake up.” Cold flakes melted on his skin as he pressed his hand over her heart, the steady beat assuring him she lived and breathed, but he needed more than that.
