boys hung their heads as Grace tossed two over.
“I’m going to ride with them. Pull us in,” Hollis said.
Grace nodded and slid into the captain’s seat, revved the engine and carefully turned the boat, so she didn’t tip the little one behind her. She towed them to the ramp. The older teen hopped out and ran and got his truck, then backed the trailer into the water as the other boy and Hollis secured their boat on the trailer.
“Don’t run off just yet,” Hollis called. “Park up there and wait on me.”
After securing their own boat, they pulled up beside the boys, hopped out and reclaimed the vests.
“They are sorely regretting this decision,” Hollis whispered, amusement lining his words. He gave them a stern warning about boating in the river—especially when it was this high and without life vests—and said that their parents would be receiving a phone call from him. The boys nodded and gave yes sirs, then Hollis and Grace strolled toward Hollis’s truck.
“Well, that was fun,” Grace deadpanned and turned toward the Big Muddy, Hollis leaning on the side of the truck. “River is really high, Hollis. That concerns me.”
“Me too.”
The boys peeled through the gravel lot, fishtailing and whooping and hollering. Hollis shook his head. “And they learned nothing. They’re just going to take their recklessness to the roads.”
Grace frowned. “Recklessness. I can’t make that definition come.” Stuff like this happened all the time, and it was frustrating to no end.
“It means behavior with no thought that it could endanger themselves or others. Or both.” He sighed. “Make sense?”
Hollis had been her saving grace these past two years, but now that her life was in danger, was she being reckless by letting him stay involved? He watched her carefully, waiting for her answer. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Makes sense.”
“Grace, are you okay? Since the memory flash you’ve been kinda off. You know you can share anything with me, right? I’m here for you. We’re...we’re friends.” That last sentence seemed hard for him to say. They were friends, though. She couldn’t remember ever having any but surely friends cared enough to look out for one another. Hollis was protecting her, but who was protecting him? Not Grace. But down deep came an intense desire...so incredible—to protect him. To guard him. She wasn’t even sure she had the ability, but the emotion was so wildly strong that surely she must have the power to back it up.
“I need you to know, Hollis—”
Pop!
A bullet whizzed past and Grace winced as a sudden sting seared her skin. Her jacket ripped open near the shoulder. She’d been shot.
Hollis threw her to the ground. “Get under the truck,” he hollered and they slid their way underneath. “How bad are you hit?”
“A graze. I think.” If it was the same shooter from earlier this morning, he had excellent aim. Either he missed this time or was sending a deadly warning that if she didn’t cough up the doctor, next time he wouldn’t miss. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know how to make these people understand that the information they want is sealed up tight in my brain!”
“We’ll worry about that later. Right now, shimmy out the other side. Stay down, but get inside the cab. I’ll wait until you’re in before heading for the driver’s side.”
“No! Hollis, they may shoot you on sight. They have no reason to keep you alive, and they may believe that killing you might make me talk.” It wouldn’t. The very thought of them hurting Hollis sent a rage she didn’t remember ever feeling through her system. It was cold. Dark. And frightening—because for a split second it crossed her mind to make them pay if they hurt him. Deep in her marrow, a whisper said she could do exactly that.
“Don’t worry about me, Grace. I’m a big boy and this ain’t my first rodeo.”
“I know, but—”
“Get in the truck. We can argue later.” His voice had the same scolding tone he’d laid on the boys, but she caught a measure of fear behind it—not for him but for her. She scooted until she was free from under the truck, then rolled over and carefully ducked while opening the door.
A bullet slammed into the hitch. Were the shooters toying with them? “Hollis, you need to come out this side and slide in. I’ll drive.”
Hollis paused then followed suit. Grace stayed low but scooted over.
Another shot fired. Her arm burned like crazy, and blood had seeped through her shirt and jacket.
Hollis jumped in, and Grace hit the gas, the truck throwing up gravel and fishtailing through the parking lot. She kept the pedal to the metal until they neared the SAR facility. Hollis had remained quiet, his jaw clenched. Once they jumped out, he rounded on her with fire in his eyes. “Grace! I can’t believe you!”
Grace stepped back stunned. “Me? You’re angry with me?”
“You don’t change orders in the middle of a mission. It gets your team killed.” His voice had risen an octave or two.
“Yet I’m the only one wounded.” She shoved her shoulder around so he’d get a good look. Why was she so angry? “I was trying to save your sorry tail from getting your head blown off. That was a Barrett M82A1, thank you very much! And you’re mad because you could have—”
“What did you say?” he asked, eyes wide. The anger dissipated.
“I said, I saved your sorry tail?” What had she said? She was fired up and for no good reason—Hollis was right. She hadn’t experienced this kind of fury before, and it terrified her that it could be buried deep within her.
“No. You said I could have had my head blown off by a Barrett M82A1. That’s a sniper rifle, Grace. A very specific rifle. How do you know that?”
Grace gasped. She had said that. How did she know? “I recognized the sound. It makes a high-pitched pop.” Was she an arms dealer or something? She nearly fainted.
“Grace, could you have been in the military?”
It was a nicer thought than where she was going. “Maybe? Are there female snipers in the military?”
Hollis stared blankly, then blinked. “Only a handful, but yes.”
Grace Thackery. Quilter, bed sheet changer, dining server and possibly a US military sniper. “Now what?” she whispered, unsure she wanted her memories back. If she’d been a sniper, maybe she’d been on a mission to rescue the doctor. In Mississippi?
Hollis touched her shoulder. “First we mend this graze. And then, Grace Thackery, Mad Max...we put a rifle in your hands and see if your brain remembers if it loves the feel of it in your hands or not.”
“Well, Grace...ready or not,” Hollis
