She squinted, as if studying him, trying to make out what he was thinking.
“This way.” He led her down the riverbank away from Harry’s property and hopefully from danger. “The baby is awfully good.”
“Yes, she’s a very sweet girl.” The nanny kissed the top of Mia’s head.
The nanny. He realized he didn’t know her name.
“You can call me Whit, and your name is...?”
“Carly.” She hesitated before sharing her last name. “Winslow.”
“Good to meet you, Carly Winslow. Unfortunate circumstances.”
“You...you heard the gunfire coming from the Bremerton house?” she said.
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem all that upset about your brother.”
“I’m in cop mode.”
“Oh.”
She sounded disappointed.
He glanced over his shoulder; he saw no one following them on the riverbank.
“I’m still wondering why I’ve never heard of you,” Carly said.
She was cautious, a good trait for a nanny.
“Truth is—” he hesitated “—Harry and I have a conflicted relationship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.
So was Whit. Some mistakes you never shook off.
“Where are the rest of the police officers?” she said.
“Not here yet.”
“Then how did you find me?” She stopped suddenly.
He read concern in her eyes. “I’m not lying to you, Carly.”
“So where are the rest of the cops?”
“I’m not with local law enforcement. I’m on temporary leave from the Dallas PD.”
“On leave? For what?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Injured in the line of duty. Still recovering.”
He motioned for her to walk with him. She didn’t move.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to wait for local deputies when we’ve got a gunman trailing us, do you?”
She nodded, and they continued to the boat. He held it steady so she could climb in. Again, he was about to offer to hold the baby, when he realized she was securely strapped against Carly in a carrying device. Once Carly and the child were settled, Whit pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. He rowed, steering them parallel to the riverbank, not wanting to drift too far out and expose their location.
The baby stirred, and Carly managed to soothe her by humming a soft tune.
They floated south and Whit scanned the area for a decent spot to pull over and take cover. The piercing wail of sirens grew louder. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders.
The crack of a gunshot rang out.
“Get down!” he ordered Carly.
Whit rowed faster but could do only so much with the limited mobility of his right arm. Where was the gunfire coming from?
He leaned left and spotted a man racing down the shoreline in pursuit. Whit couldn’t row and shoot at the same time and didn’t have confidence that he’d hit his mark with his left hand anyway.
A second shot nicked the side of the boat. As Whit rowed faster, the usual dull ache up his right arm grew to a pulsating throb. Not an entirely bad thing since the pain would keep him sharp.
They passed a six-foot metal fence separating two properties. The assailant would have to scale the fence or dive into the river and swim after them. Whit kept rowing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to offload the woman and child so he could give them cover.
With every stroke of the oars, his head ached and his arm throbbed. The assailant ran up against the fence and started climbing.
The current carried the small boat downstream. Whit dug the oar into the left side and they swung to shore.
“Get out,” he said.
Carly didn’t move. Had she been hit?
He pulled the boat ashore. “Carly?”
She glanced up, her colorful eyes brimming with fear. The baby whimpered against her and instinct made Whit want to pull them both against his chest to protect them, calm them.
Yeah, who was he kidding?
“Take the baby up those stairs to safety.” He pointed to wooden steps. “Tell the police you’re about a mile south of the Bremerton property.” Not waiting for her response, he helped her out of the boat and tipped it on its side. He withdrew his gun and waited, balancing his left hand on his right palm to steady his shot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carly still standing there.
“Go!” he ordered, and her shoulders jerked. She turned and headed up the stairs.
Whit eyed the gunman. The perp climbed the fence and dropped down to the shoreline. Although a clumsy fall, he regained his balance and marched straight for Whit. Whit cast one last glance over his shoulder. Carly and the baby were out of sight. Good, he hadn’t failed them.
“Come on out of there!” the gunman shouted.
The rowboat served as decent cover but wouldn’t stop a bullet.
“I just want the kid!”
Whit leaned the barrel of his gun against the front end of the boat, inhaled a slow, deep breath and took his shot.
A gunshot cracked through the air. Carly gasped and jogged faster.
“Breathe,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t want to trip and fall because she was in a frantic state. She had to shove aside the fear pulsing through her body and get to safety.
What about the man who’d helped her? She hoped the bad guys hadn’t shot him.
Bad guys. They might have shot Mr. and Mrs. B. and now were after the baby. Well, they weren’t getting anywhere near sweet Mia as long as Carly was here to protect her. Carly might not be a martial arts expert or know how to handle a gun, but she was a fighter to her core.
Carly was the only thing standing between violent criminals and the innocent child strapped to her chest.
