go after him. I’ll watch Portia until backup arrives.”
He hesitated, and she knew he was torn. He didn’t want to leave his daughter, but he knew how important it was to apprehend Boyd.
“I’ll make sure Portia is okay, Justin. I promise,” she assured him.
“It’s not just her I’m worried about,” he replied, but he’d moved to the window Boyd had escaped through. “You’re pale and still bleeding. You probably need stitches.”
“I can get stitches with or without you nearby.”
“Dad, please don’t go,” Portia cut in, grabbing Justin’s arm as he leaned out the window opening.
“Portia, he needs to be stopped. Tonight. Before he hurts anyone else. Gretchen will make sure you’re okay—”
“I’m not worried about me,” the teen protested. “I’m worried about you.”
“Your dad is going to be okay, too,” Gretchen said, putting a hand on Portia’s shoulder and wishing she were better at this part of the job. She’d gone into military police work because she’d believed in justice, and because it had seemed like the thing to do. Her father had worked as an MP until he’d retired. All four of her brothers were military police officers, and from the time she was old enough to remember, she’d wanted to follow in their footsteps. She’d been the youngest by nine years. A surprise that had pleased her parents and her brothers. She’d been encouraged to pursue her dreams, and military life had been the only one she’d had.
Until Henry.
He’d made her want the things she’d written about in her adolescent diary—love and romance and forever. By the time she and Henry met at an on-base church, she’d already established herself as a tough no-nonsense military police officer. Tough was a necessity when you were a woman in a man’s world. Showing empathy, sympathy and sorrow were not. Henry had appreciated that. He’d been Airman Second Class, back from Afghanistan and training new recruits. They’d hit it off immediately.
If things had worked out, Henry would have finished out his final year in the military and then applied to the FBI. Gretchen would have spent another four years working and then left the air force to start a family with him.
But things hadn’t worked out.
And now she was in an old cabin in the middle of the woods with a teenager who needed the kind of nurturing support Gretchen hadn’t had any practice with.
Portia still had Justin’s arm, her eyes dark in her pale face. “Dad! Really! You can’t go after him. He wants to kill you.”
“Gretchen is right. I’m going to be fine. Quinn is smart and quick, and he always has my back.”
“He’s a dog, and he can’t stop a bullet. You know Boyd Sullivan will shoot you as soon as he gets a chance.”
“I’m not going to give him a chance,” Justin assured her.
“That’s what you think is going to happen, but you can’t know for sure that you can stop him. Look what happened to Mom. She was going to work. Just like she did every Wednesday night. She should have made it home, and she didn’t.” Portia swiped at a tear that was sliding down her cheek, and Gretchen wanted to pull her close, tell her again that everything was going to be okay. That her father would return. That Boyd would be caught. That life would go on, and that she’d continue on with it. That, one day, she’d think of her mother, and she’d be happier for the times they’d had than sad for the times they’d missed.
But those were big concepts. Difficult ones.
Gretchen was nearly thirty, and she struggled to accept her loss. Even four years after his death, she missed Henry and what they’d planned together.
Portia was a kid.
One who’d lost her mother. It wasn’t surprising that she was terrified of losing her father.
“I wish I could stay here with you,” Justin said, pulling Portia in for a hug.
She went stiff, her arms down at her sides.
“If you really wished it, you’d stay,” she muttered.
“I have a job to do, Portia. And if I don’t do it, you’ll never be safe.” He stepped back, his voice as stiff as Portia’s hug had been.
“If you die it’s going to be my fault. Just like—” She stopped and stepped back, her expression tight and guarded.
“Just like what?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She was lying. Gretchen didn’t know much about teenagers, but she knew a lie when she heard one.
Justin hesitated, staring into his daughter’s eyes as if he could find the secret she was keeping.
Outside, a dog barked and dry leaves crackled. Lights bounced across the clearing. Help had arrived. Finally.
“I need to go,” Justin said. “We’ll discuss how none of this is your fault later. Stay with Gretchen. Do whatever she tells you without arguing.”
“But—”
“It really is going to be okay, Portia,” he said, and then he issued a command to Quinn, waited for the Malinois to bound through the window and follow him. He had to find Boyd. He had to stop him.
Tonight.
Before he had the chance to hurt anyone else.
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