Valiant Defender

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Well, well,” he said. “Here we are. Finally face-to-face. After all these years, you probably thought you were going to get away with what you did to me.”

  “I don’t recall doing anything,” Justin responded, taking a step in Portia’s direction.

  “Don’t,” Boyd said, his voice cold with rage. “I would hate to kill your daughter before the party even got started.”

  “This isn’t the kind of party I like,” Portia said, and Boyd’s gaze cut to her.

  “No one asked you, Ms. Bigmouthed Blogger.”

  “If that’s the best insult you can come up with—”

  “That’s enough, Portia.” Justin cut in before she could say more. Goading Boyd would only anger him, and right now, Justin wanted things to stay calm.

  “Good call, Blackwood. Now, how about we all take a little walk?” He grabbed Portia’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

  To her credit, she didn’t resist, and she didn’t cry out.

  She looked terrified, though—her eyes wide and filled with fear.

  “It’s going to be okay, Portia,” Justin said.

  Boyd laughed. “That depends on what side of the gun you’re standing on. Speaking of which...” He lifted his gun and pressed it to Portia’s temple. “What’s it feel like to come face-to-face with the guy you called inept, blogger-girl? Do you still think I’m stupid?”

  Justin’s heart stopped.

  He stared into Portia’s eyes, trying to convey a sense of control and comfort that he didn’t feel. Trying to discourage her from giving a flip teenage response.

  Boyd could and would pull the trigger.

  He’d done it before.

  “Let her go, Boyd,” Justin said, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to escalate things.

  “You don’t call the shots anymore, Blackwood.” Boyd chuckled, the pistol easing away from Portia’s temple but still aimed at her. “Get it? Call the shots? You’re not laughing. I guess you’re as boring and uptight as ever. Man, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Not long enough.”

  “I disagree. I’d have been happy to take you out months ago. I should have thought about her before now.” He jabbed the gun closer to Portia. “Seems you’ll do anything to keep your kid alive.”

  “I will,” Justin agreed, and Portia shook her head.

  “Dad—”

  “This is a grown-up conversation, blogger-girl,” Boyd growled. “You keep your mouth shut. Where’s the dog, Blackwood? We’re leaving, and I don’t want him coming at me when we step outside.”

  “He won’t bother you.” Not until Justin called him. Once he did, Quinn would be on Boyd like a missile—quick and deadly accurate.

  “He’d better not. Your daughter’s life depends on it. She sure is a pretty little thing.” He flicked Portia’s hair with the muzzle of his pistol, chuckling when she flinched.

  “She’s a kid. A little girl,” Justin said, his voice gritty with banked anger.

  “A teenager who knows her way around a computer. Not a kid. I don’t kill kids,” Boyd spit. “But I do kill annoyances, and you’re both that.”

  “She wrote a few anonymous blog posts. What’s that matter to a guy like you?”

  “It matters. It all matters.” The gun swung toward Justin and then back in Portia’s direction. “You did this, Blackwood. You did all of it. I might have pulled the trigger and fired at those people, but you called the shots. Do you regret it? Do you have any remorse?”

  “Maybe if you tell me what I did—”

  “You know what you did! I would have done just fine in basic training. I would have excelled. I would have been top of the class. Except for you.”

  “I don’t like bullies, Boyd. I don’t let them prey on people weaker than they are. I don’t allow them to hurt defenseless animals.”

  “Everyone there was weaker. That wasn’t my fault. I was taking my rightful place as the leader of the pack. You work with dogs. You should understand how that goes. And as for that puppy, I didn’t do anything but save his life, and look at him now—one of the top dogs on your team.” The pistol was slipping again, the muzzle dropping.

  Portia noticed. She met Justin’s eyes, shaking her head slightly. He knew the message she was sending him silently. She didn’t want him to act, didn’t want him to try to disarm Boyd, but that was the only way to save her.

  “He was. Now he’s missing. Thanks to you.”

  “Right. Consequences stink, don’t they?” He grinned.

  “I guess you’d know about that more than I would. You were insubordinate in basic training, and you got a dishonorable discharge. You went home and killed five people, and then got sent to federal prison. You escaped and started killing again, and you’re going to be thrown in prison again,” Justin said, purposely riling him up, getting him angry, trying to keep him from thinking, from noticing that Justin was edging nearer.

  A few more steps, and he’d be close enough to lunge for the weapon.

  “I’m not going back to prison, Blackwood,” Boyd said coldly. “Men like me never do.”

  “Like you? You think you’re too smart to get caught?” he asked, taking another step forward. “You made a mistake tonight. You should have come after me and left Portia alone.”

  “I don’t make mistakes!” he screamed. The gun moved, and for a split second, Justin thought he’d won, that Boyd would release his hold on Portia and go after him.

  But as quickly as Boyd’s anger appeared, it was gone.

  “Good try, Blackwood,” he said. “But I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “Maybe you could explain it to me?”

  “Put your gun on the ground. Now. And do it slowly. You so much as make me think you’re taking aim, and I kill your daughter.”

  Justin played along, taking his handgun from its holster and setting it on the floor.

  Something moved in the window behind Boyd, a flurry of shadows that coalesced into a figure climbing silently through the opening. Slim. Tall. Graceful and quick.

  He had about two seconds to realize it was Gretchen.

  He wanted to tell her to stop, but it was too late.

  Boyd must have sensed her presence. He swung around, firing a shot almost blindly.

  Justin grabbed Portia, yanking her away and thrusting her through the doorway, shouting for Quinn.

  The dog was there, snarling and snapping, rushing toward Boyd, who still had his gun in hand.

  “Call him off or she dies,” he yelled shrilly, his firearm aimed at Gretchen.

  She lay still.

  Stunned or injured or afraid to move.

  “Quinn, off!” Justin shouted, and the dog backed off, still growling, still snarling. Unhappy to have been called off his prize.

  Justin moved toward Gretchen, freezing when Boyd dragged her to her feet and pressed the gun into her side. She was a rag doll, limp and helpless in his grip.

  “Don’t move,” Boyd commanded. “Don’t even breathe.”

  The world went silent.

  Not a breath of sound.

  And then chaos reigned again. Gretchen moved suddenly, thrusting her hand under Boyd’s chin, slamming her elbow into his gut. The firearm discharged, the bullet slamming into the dirt floor.

  Boyd backhanded Gretchen, propelling her toward Justin.

  He caught her, lowering her to the ground and grabbing his gun at his feet. He came up and fired a shot as Boyd jumped through the window. He wanted to follow, but Gretchen was injured and Portia was standing in the doorway, her soft sobs filling the cabin. Obviously, she’d been too terrified to make a run for it. He didn’t dare leave them alone. Not with Boyd on the loose.

  “It’s okay, Portia,” he said quietly, holstering his weapon. “He’s gone.”

  * * *

&nb
sp; She’d been shot. That was Gretchen’s first thought. Her second thought was that Boyd Sullivan was escaping. She pushed herself to her knees, surprised when someone took her arm, holding her steady as she got to her feet.

  Not someone.

  Justin.

  He’d shrugged out of his jacket and was pressing it to her shoulder. She brushed it away. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re bleeding a lot, Gretchen,” Portia said, hovering a few steps away, her eyes wide with fear, her face pale.

  “You call this bleeding?” She scoffed, offering the teen an encouraging smile. “You should have seen me when I fell out of the tree my brothers dared me to climb. I hit my head on the way down and bled so much they thought I was dead.”

  “You have brothers?” Justin asked, pulling the fabric of her jacket and shirt away so he could see the wound. The bullet had grazed her upper arm, and dark blood bubbled from the wound. She didn’t feel any pain. All she felt was anger. That Boyd had struck again. That a man was dead. That a teenager had been terrorized. That a man who killed indiscriminately was escaping again.

  “I have four brothers.” She brushed Justin’s hand away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. If fine is having a bullet take a chunk out of your upper arm,” he responded, pressing his jacket to the wound to try to stanch the bleeding.

  She felt that. The pressure on the open wound made her grimace, but she wasn’t going to admit that she was in pain. She brushed his hand away again. “The bleeding has almost stopped, and Boyd needs to be captured. Take Quinn and 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.

  FOUR

  He didn’t want to leave.

  That was a problem that Justin hadn’t anticipated.

  He’d spent his military career as a bachelor. He’d never worried about returning home, and he’d never thought about what would happen to Portia if something had happened to him.

  He’d known that she’d be okay. Melanie had been a wonderful, caring mother. He had never realized how much peace of mind that had given him. Until now.

  He followed Quinn across the clearing, nearly running to keep up. The Malinois was focused and intent. He didn’t seem to notice the men and women in military uniform who were swarming out of the trees. Every member of the base Security Forces wanted Boyd Sullivan caught, and they were desperate to cut off his escape.

  Justin wanted to believe that would be enough, but they’d been in this position before—so close to Sullivan that his capture had seemed inevitable. Every time, he slipped through their fingers.

  And now he’d gone after Portia.

  Justin had been anticipating that. He’d tried to keep her safe, but even an armed bodyguard hadn’t been enough.

  He frowned, pushing through thick undergrowth, his heart heavy with the knowl
edge that another person had died. Another life lost, and Sullivan was still free.

  “Captain!” a woman called.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ava Esposito jogging toward him, her yellow lab, Roscoe, on a leash beside her.

  “Airman Esposito, what are you doing out here?” he asked. Ava was a K-9 handler with Search and Rescue who’d had a personal run-in with Sullivan while she’d been searching for a missing child.

  “I heard about your daughter. I thought Roscoe might be able to help find her.”

  “She’s been located.”

  “I heard that, too. Since I’m here, I thought we’d lend a hand in the search for Sullivan.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gestured toward Quinn. “He’s got the scent?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much of a head start does Sullivan have?”

  “A few minutes.” He ducked under a low-hanging branch, his attention on Quinn again. Justin had worked with other dogs, but he’d never worked with one that had as much enthusiasm for the job. Quinn’s tail was wagging, his head down as he made a circuit around a large tree. This was a game to him. Boyd Sullivan was the prize. He was eager and anxious to find him.

  “A few minutes is a long time in Boyd Sullivan’s world,” Ava murmured.

  “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

  Quinn’s head popped up, his ears twitching.

  “Find!” Justin commanded, and Quinn took off, racing through the woods.

  Justin raced after him, sprinting across a dry creek bed and up a steep ravine. He knew Ava was behind him, her K-9 still on his leash. Roscoe was trained in search and rescue, and he had the sweet temperament of his breed.

  Quinn’s training was in apprehension.

  He knew how to take down the enemy, and he’d done it dozens of times. God willing, he’d do it tonight.

  Please, Lord, Justin prayed silently, help us stop him.

  He wanted a clear sign that God had heard, that He was ready and willing to step in and stop the carnage that Sullivan had been causing. He wanted to listen and hear some internal voice telling him that God was there, that He was working everything out for His good.