had. He’d stopped talking and was staring into the woods. “Could have been an animal,” he said, but Boone doubted he believed it.
“Or a baby,” Boone replied, heading for the trees.
“You think it’s the missing child? How old did you say she was?”
“Two? Maybe three.” Cute as a button. That was what his mother would have said. Probably what his dad would have said. They loved kids. Would have loved to know their first granddaughter.
Boone would have loved to know his only child.
In God’s time...
He’d heard the words so many times, from so many well-meaning people, that he almost never talked about his marriage, about his daughter, about anything that had to do with his life before HEART.
“It’s possible she was thrown from the car. I didn’t see a car seat.”
“She was in one.”
Lamar raised a dark brow and scowled. “I’m not going to ask why you know so much about this lady and her child. You’re sure the kid was in the car seat?”
“Positive.”
“If the car seat was installed wrong, it still could have been thrown from the car. Wouldn’t have gone far, but a child that age could undo the harness and get out. She’s young to be out on a night like tonight, but I’d rather her be out in the woods than in a car with a monster.” Lamar sighed. “Wait here. I’ll go take a look around.”
Wasn’t going to happen.
Boone followed him into the thick copse of trees, his gaze on the beam of light that illuminated the leaf-strewn ground.
“Anyone out here?” Officer Lamar called.
No response. Just the quiet rustle of leaves and the muted sound of distant sirens.
“We should split up,” Boone suggested. “The more area we cover, the better.”
“I’ll call in our K-9 team. That will help. In the meantime, you need to go back to the car. There’s a ravine a couple of hundred feet from here. You fall into that and—”
“I’m a former army ranger, Officer Lamar. I think I can handle dark woods and a deep ravine.” He said it casually and walked away. They were wasting time arguing. Time he’d rather spend searching.
If the little girl had been thrown from the car on impact, the sooner they got her to the hospital, the better. But he didn’t think she’d been thrown. He’d seen Scout buckle her in. She’d been secure. Someone had taken her from the station wagon. That same person could have tossed her into the trees, thrown her down the embankment, disposed of her like so much trash.
He’d seen it before, in places where no child should ever be. He’d carried nearly dead little girls from hovels that had become their prisons.
Rage filled him, clawing at his gut and threatening to steal every bit of reason he had. He didn’t give in to it. He’d learned a lot from his father. Watching him deal with the foster kids his parents had taken in had taught Boone everything he needed to know about keeping cool, working with clear vision, not allowing his emotions to rule.
“Baby?!” he called, because he didn’t know the child’s name, and because a scared little girl might respond to a stranger’s voice.
Then again, she might not.
She might stay silent, waiting and hoping for her mother’s return.
Was that how it had been for Kendal? Had she been dropped off and left somewhere with strangers? Had she cried for her mother?
He shuddered.
That was another place he wouldn’t allow his mind to go. Ever.
“Hello?” he tried again, and this time he heard a faint response. Not a child’s cry. More like an adult’s groan.
He headed toward the sound, picking his way through narrow saplings and thick pine trees, the shadowy world swaying with the soft November wind.
He heard another groan. This one so close, he knew he could reach out and touch the injured person. He scanned the ground, saw what looked like a pile of cloth and leaves under a heavy-limbed oak and sprinted to it.
Scout lay on her stomach, pale braid dark with blood, her face pressed into leaves and dirt. For a moment, he thought she was dead, and his heart jerked with the thought and with the feeling that he was too late to make a difference. Again.
Then his training kicked in, and he knelt, brushing back the braid, feeling for a pulse. She shifted, moaning softly, jerking up as if she thought she could jump up and run.
“Don’t move,” he muttered, the amount of blood seeping into her hair, splattering the leaves, seeping into the earth alarming. He needed Stella. All her years of working as a navy nurse made her a crucial and important part of HEART. It wasn’t just that, though. She had a way of moving beyond emotion, filtering everything external and unnecessary and focusing on what needed to be done. He coveted that during their most difficult missions.
Scout either didn’t hear his demand or didn’t want to follow it. She twisted from his hand, the movement sluggish and slow, her face pale and streaked with so much blood, he thought they might lose her before an ambulance arrived.
He needed to find the source of the blood, but when he moved toward her, she jerked back, struggling to her knees and then her feet, swaying, her eyes wide and blank. “Lucy,” she said clearly, that one word, that name enunciated.
“Was she with you?” he asked, easing closer, afraid to move quickly and scare her again.
“She’s gone,” she whispered. “He took her.”
That was it. Just those words, and all the strength seemed to leave her body. She crumpled, and he just managed to catch her before she hit the ground.
Footsteps crashed behind him, sirens blaring loudly. An ambulance, but he was terrified that it was too late.
He ripped off his coat, pressed the sleeve to an oozing wound on her temple, the long furrowed gash so deep he could see bone. He knew a bullet wound when he saw one, knew exactly how close she’d come to dying.
His blood ran cold, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone had come very close to killing Scout, and that someone had Lucy.
“Is this the woman?” Officer Lamar panted up behind him, the beam of his flashlight splashing on leaves wet with blood.
He knelt beside Boone, touched Scout’s neck. “We need to get that ambulance in here. Now!” he shouted into his radio.
Voices carried on the night air, footsteps pounding on leaves and packed earth. Branches breaking, time ticking and a little girl was being carried farther and farther away from her mother, and if something didn’t change, a mother was being carried farther and farther away from her daughter.
He pressed harder, praying desperately that the flow
