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A hand pressedover Gemma’s mouth, wrenching her from a deep sleep.
Terror was an instant punch to her system.
She flailed.Oh, God. They’d found her. What had they done to Boone?
“Shh, it’s me.” Boone’s low voice. “Sorry. You need to be quiet.”
Gemma sagged with relief. He was a dark shadow beside the bed.
“Someone tripped my exterior sensors.”
She pushed his hand down. “What?”
“We have company.”
Her heart rabbited.Oh, shit.
“Get dressed. We need to move.”
Her eyes adjusted enough to see that he was already dressed.
“Gemma, hurry.”
She nodded and shoved the sheets off.
“No lights,” he warned.
She scrambled around the room and pulled on her now clean and dry leggings, a T-shirt of Boone’s, and one of his sweaters. It swamped her, but it would have to do. She pulled her hair up in a quick messy bun. Next, she pulled on a pair of Boone’s socks.
“Here.” He reappeared. “I have some running shoes that were too small for me.”
“They’ll do.” She’d need a second pair of socks, but they’d do.
Boone moved toward a window.
“Can you see them?”
“I’ve flagged two bogeys coming up the driveway. They’re sticking to the shadows.”
Her chest locked. They were here for her.
“I assume the other two we clocked from the SUV are here as well.” She saw him open a cabinet. Atlas was silent, alert. The glow from the fireplace gave enough light to illuminate the huge rifle and handguns Boone pulled out.
Her stomach clenched. “Boone…”
He swiveled, crossed to her and cupped her jaw. “It’s going to be all right.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Here’s the plan. We’re leaving. You’re going to follow me to the barn, where I have another truck. We’ll be gone before they have a chance to follow.”
Her throat was impossibly tight. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
There was a flash of his white teeth in the darkness. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
But she would. He was a good man, putting himself in the line of fire for her.
“Ready?” he asked.
