“Get down,” he barked, fear making his tone harsher than he’d intended.
“I need to get these cuffs off, and I need to get back to my SUV. My cell phone is there. I want to call the FBI Boston Field Office and get some of my colleagues up here.”
“Wren, get down,” he repeated, crossing the distance between them.
“You don’t have any handcuff keys, do you?” she asked, dark strands of hair sliding across her cheek as she tried to get to her feet.
“I stopped carrying those when I quit the Boston Police Department,” he responded.
“I have some in my SUV.”
“I guess you have a good reason for that?”
“Yeah. You never know when you might need them.” She didn’t smile, but there was some life in her eyes again. “I want these guys. Sitting in cuffs while they escape isn’t helping me get them. You have a car?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go.” She strode toward the two-story garage as if she knew he would only ever park his Jeep there. Because, of course, he did. Jeep in the garage. Coats in the closet. Keys on the hook by the front door. Everything in its place. All of it in order and neat.
She knew that. She knew him. More than most people.
His hang-ups and his habits.
And she had loved him anyway. The way one friend loves another. That had meant the world to him.
It still did.
He followed, making another call to 911 as he unlocked the garage and flicked on the light. He had the keys and his cell phone in his pocket. He unlocked the Jeep, helped Wren into the passenger seat, his hand curved around her biceps.
She’d always been muscular and fit. Now she felt fragile, her tendons and ligaments drawn tight over small bones. He reached for the seat belt.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said.
He shook his head. “Safety first.”
She didn’t argue. He had known she wouldn’t.
He knew her. Just like she knew him.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling out of the garage and onto the dirt driveway that led to Mountain Road. They bounced over the deep ruts that he planned to fill when the weather warmed up and then turned onto the paved road that led to town.
She’d said Ryan was there.
Ambushed by the men who’d been trying to kill her.
He was thinking about that, watching the road in front of him more than he was the road behind. He expected to see emergency vehicles speeding toward his place. When he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a car coming up fast behind him, it took him by surprise. No headlights. Just white paint gleaming in the moonlight.
“What’s wrong?” Wren asked, shifting to look out the back window. “That’s them,” she murmured, her voice cold with anger or fear.
“Good. Let’s see if we can lead them to the police.”
“They’ll run us off the road before then.”
Probably, but the closer they were to help when it happened, the better off they’d be. He sped around a curve in the road, the white car closing the gap between them. It tapped his bumper, knocking the Jeep sideways. He straightened, steering the Jeep back onto the road, and tried to accelerate into the next curve as he was rear-ended again.
This time, the force of the impact sent him spinning out of control. The Jeep glanced off a guardrail, bounced back onto the road and then off it, tumbling down into a creek and landing nose down in the soft creek bed.
He didn’t have time to think about damage, to ask if Wren was okay or to make another call to 911. He knew the men in the car were going to come for them.
Come for Wren.
And he was going to make certain they didn’t get her.
He unsnapped his seat belt and jumped out of the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” Wren asked, her hands behind her, unable to do anything to free herself. He reached across the seat and unsnapped her belt.
“I’m going to discourage them from coming down here to find you,” he said, backing out of the Jeep.
“It will be easier and less dangerous to let them come to us,” she replied, scooting across the center console and climbing out.
“Only if you stay out of sight and let me handle it,” he replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, they’re after you. If you walk to them, they’re going to get exactly what they’re hoping for.”
“I’m not going to wait here while you fight my battles,” she argued.
“You have no idea whose battle this is. Neither do I. But right now? We’re both in danger. Since I’m currently the only one capable of fighting, I’ll do it for both of us. You can have your turn next time. Get back in the Jeep. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
She raised a dark brow, but did as he asked, sitting in the driver’s seat as he turned toward the road. He pulled his gun from the holster, keeping it ready as he began the steep ascent. He had quit law enforcement a few years after he had found out the truth about Meghan. It wasn’t something he had planned or, even, contemplated. Being a Boston cop had been his life goal. He had achieved it and had enjoyed moving up in ranks, becoming a homicide detective and following the path he had planned for himself.
But, when the opportunity to quit and change careers had presented itself, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d dived in headfirst and prayed it would work out. Four years after he’d returned to Hidden Cove and taken over his old carpentry teacher’s restoration business, he finally felt like he’d found his niche, but he hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a police officer. He knew how to pursue suspects and apprehend perpetrators. He wasn’t going to allow the men who had run him off the road to escape. There was too much riding on their being apprehended. Justice. The safety of the community.
And, most importantly, Wren’s safety.
It may have been years since they’d last spoken, but he still cared about her, and he wasn’t going to step back and allow her to be hurt by an unknown enemy.
A door slammed, and he stopped, crouching behind thick undergrowth as he waited for the perps to make their move.
Nine years was a long time to not speak to the best of friends, the staunchest supporter, the most enthusiastic encourager.
