than give away his approach, give the foster family time to hide Eve or arm themselves, he cut the engine of the old SUV and climbed out to walk the last quarter mile or so to the driveway. The wind and pelting ice were as cold as a witch’s soul, but Kent wouldn’t take any excuses for not doing the job right. Precaution, planning...he wouldn’t let his big brother down.
As he neared the driveway, the rumble of tires on the slick mountain highway warned him of a car’s approach. He left the road, sneaking into the line of trees in time to see a local police squad car ease past. The cop craned his neck, eyeing the woods where Wayne stood behind a tree, then stopped and opened his driver’s side door. “Hey, you there! Come out with your hands up then lie face down on the ground!”
Wayne’s heartbeat increased three-fold. He would not—could not—be caught now and sent away. The cop could shoot him in the back for all he cared—he’d rather rot in a grave than in a cell—but not before he finished the mission Kent had sent him on.
He put a hand on the gun tucked in the waist of his pants, the Glock .40 he’d lifted from the injured US marshal. Then, stepping from the trees as directed, he raised the gun and fired.
The cop quickly ducked back into the protection of his squad car and drew his sidearm. Wayne hurried forward, trying to get off the fatal shot before the cop could return fire. But a powerful blow and a sharp, burning sting in his thigh knocked him down before he could make it ten steps.
With The Sword I will fight for my right to live free, seek The Truth and defend myself from The Enemy. The mantra Kent had drilled into him over the past thirteen years gave him the courage and the energy to block out the pain and fight on. The cop was an obstacle to completing his mission, and he knew how to deal with an obstacle. Eliminate it.
* * *
Dean reached around Lila, his body pressing against her back, and he laid his hand on the infant’s forehead. “Yeah, she is warm. You have a thermometer?”
Lila nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the bathroom and pulled out of the cabinet a basket of supplies she kept on hand for her foster babies. She checked the expiration date on the bottle of liquid acetaminophen and dug out the baby thermometer. Returning to the nursery, she handed the medicine to Dean and uncapped the protective cover on the thermometer.
“What the hell is that?” Dean asked.
“What do you think?” She bumped him out of the way with her hip and gently placed the tip in Eve’s ear. A second later, the device beeped and she checked the reading. “One hundred point one.”
Dean took the thermometer from her and gave it a once-over. “What happened to the old-fashioned glass stick put under your tongue?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, you try to get a baby to hold a glass stick under her tongue.” She took the acetaminophen back from him and uncapped the dropper. “You don’t want to know where they put thermometers in babies before this doohickey came along.”
He sent her a wry look. “I’m well aware of where parents used to take a baby’s temperature.”
“Hmm.” She eased the medicine dropper between Eve’s lips and squirted the sugary medicine onto the baby’s tongue. “The family in Iraq did things the old-fashioned way, I take it.”
He gave her a quick one-shoulder shrug. “Something like that.”
She flashed Eve a lopsided smile as the baby smacked her lips and swallowed her medicine. “I love this age. Teething crankiness aside.”
He grunted an acknowledgment. “Why is that?”
“Pardon?”
“Why is this age—six months, you said—so special?”
“Oh. Well...because they start interacting more with you. Babies begin babbling and trying to talk, and they will laugh at silly things like funny noises or games. They can sit up, and they start eating solid foods, which is always an adventure.”
“Always a mess, you mean.”
She bumped him with her shoulder. “Grump. I think a baby face smeared with strained fruit is the cutest thing on earth.”
He sent her a dubious side-glance. “To each his own.”
Outside, a loud crack reverberated through the woods. Dean jerked up his head, his attention darting to the window. His body seemed tense, his muscles rigid as he stared out into her yard.
His reaction puzzled Lila. “Another branch breaking from the ice?”
He flicked a quick glance at her, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” She recapped the bottle of medicine and set it on the dresser next to the crib.
His expression modulated as if weighing his words. “Probably.”
She tipped her head, studying him. “Dean?”
He fingered aside the curtain and stared out at the icy lawn with a dark scowl.
“What time did they say that cop was supposed to arrive?” He let the curtain drop and fisted his hands at his sides as he crossed the room to her.
Lila flipped her wrist to check her watch. Well over two hours had passed since she’d received the phone call from Special Agent Dunn. “I was under the impression they were sending someone out right away.” She furrowed her brow, and a nervous flutter gathered in her stomach. “They should be here by now.”
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