by Hope White
“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.
TWO
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. Not entirely true. She wasn’t the only thing standing in their way. There was Mr. B.’s half brother, Whit.
Mr. and Mrs. Bremerton rarely mentioned extended family, nor had Mr. B. mentioned his handsome brother.
Handsome? Where had that come from? Must be the trauma of the past twenty minutes that had her noticing things like his warm blue eyes, eyes that radiated truth when he said she could trust him.
She knew better. He was a cop, and cops couldn’t be trusted.
As she crossed the well-manicured back lawn, she realized how exposed she was out here in the open. Carly spotted a shed. It was closer than the multimillion-dollar home in the distance, so she opted for a quick duck-and-cover.
When she approached the shed, she noted there was no lock on the door. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then she wondered if she was being watched by security cameras on the property. Couldn’t think about that now. Needed to hide long enough for police to rescue her.
Darting into the shed, she found a spot on the floor beside a large riding lawn mower. There were quite a few tools stored in the shed—hoes, rakes and shovels—along with jugs of gasoline. Although not the safest place for a baby, it was better than being out in the open, exposed to a gunman.
Kissing Mia’s head, she thanked God that the child was such a good sleeper. Even with all the jostling and juggling, Mia didn’t fuss much. Carly pulled out her phone and called Emergency again.
“It’s Carly Winslow. I escaped the Bremerton house and I’m about a mile south of the property. The gunman is still after us. A man named Brody Whittaker helped me—”
The shed door flung open.
Carly gasped.
“Get out of there,” said a large man looming in the doorway.
Her heart pounded against her chest and fear kept her frozen in place.
The gunman stepped inside the shed.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She slipped her phone into her pocket and stood awkwardly, clutching Mia.
The guy moved out of the shed and turned his back on Carly, assuming she wasn’t a threat.
No matter how frightened she was, Carly Anna Winslow was not a quitter and she surely wasn’t going to let this man take or harm Mia. She snatched a shovel and just as he turned...
She swung with all her strength.
Unfortunately, she missed his head and nailed him in the shoulder, which seemed only to irritate him.
Reaching out with huge hands, he grabbed
the metal head of the shovel and yanked. She stumbled forward and let go so she wouldn’t be pulled against the creep’s body.
He tossed the shovel aside, at least ten feet away, took a few steps back and withdrew his weapon. Mia was strapped to Carly’s chest, which meant if he fired he’d hit the baby. Carly instinctively spun around, turning her back to the attacker. She dropped to her knees and hugged Mia.
“Give me the kid!”
There was no way she’d willingly hand over this child.
“Let’s go, now!”
Carly rocked Mia and softly sang to her.
“I’ll shoot!” he threatened.
She heard grunting and a shot rang out.
She gasped.
Didn’t feel anything.
The bullet hadn’t hit her.
“Praise God,” Carly whispered.
Mia burst into tears, the sound of the gunshot having frightened her.
They were alive. Either that or Carly imagined heaven just like this, with a child in her arms.
“Carly, are you okay?”
She glanced up. Brody Whittaker stood above her wearing a concerned frown, blood seeping from a cut on his head.
“I’m... Yes?” she said. It came out as a question because the definition of okay was muddled at this point.
“The baby?” he asked.
“She’s okay, too.”
“Good.” He sighed.
She noticed more blood staining his jacket.
“Have you been shot?”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.” He offered his hand.
She took it and he helped her up. He blocked her view of the attacker, who lay sprawled on the ground.
“Keep your eyes trained forward,” Whit said.
With an absent nod, she followed his instructions and looked away. “Did you shoot him?”
“No, he took my gun, so I nailed him pretty hard with the shovel.”
In the distance, two sheriff’s deputies sprinted into the backyard. “Hands where I can see ’em!” one shouted.
Fear skittered across her shoulders. She shoved it back. This was no time to let childhood trauma dictate her behavior.
“Do as they ask and everything will be fine,” Whit said.
She had a hard time believing him. In her experience things went very bad very quickly where police were concerned.
Even if you were innocent.
“I’m a police officer,” Whit identified himself, raising his hands.
“On your knees! Hands up!” the second deputy said.
Carly hesitated.
“Hands!” the deputy repeated.
Her heart rate sped up.
“They don’t know what they just walked into,” Whit said. “It’ll be fine.” With a nod, he lowered himself to his knees, encouraging her to do the same. “Keep your hands where they can see them.”
She did as ordered, although every instinct cried out that she should cradle the baby. Lowering her gaze to the green lawn, Carly wondered how long she’d have to remain in this subservient position.
You’ll sit here until you tell us the truth.
Carly shoved the memory aside. This was different. She wasn’t being punished...well, not exactly.
“I...I’m sorry you got pulled into all this,” Whit said.
She glanced at him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I just...wanted...” He blinked his bloodshot eyes a few times and collapsed.
* * *
Harry Bremerton struggled to breathe through the pain of a throbbing head injury. The tight blindfold didn’t help. He reached for it.
“If you take off your blindfold, you’re dead.”
As if Harry and Susan weren’t already dead.
Harry couldn’t think that way, wouldn’t give up so easily. He needed to negotiate with their kidnappers, or at least buy some time.
“If this is about—”
“I didn’t give you permission to talk!” the kidnapper shouted.
Susan whimpered, and Harry pulled her close.
Was this a kidnapping for ransom? Who’d pay it? His mother and stepdad did okay but they weren’t nearly as wealthy as Harry, and Harry’s brother, Whit, was just a cop.
“Okay, you may speak,” the kidnapper said.
“Please, my daughter is sick,” Susan said. “She needs us.”
Their kidnapper didn’t respond.
“I have money,” Harry said.
Maniacal laughter echoed off the walls, sending a chill down Harry’s spine.
“Where is the child?” the kidnapper said.
Stunned, Harry didn’t answer. Why did they care about Mia? Were they going to use her to manipulate him? Control him?
Suddenly Susan was being pulled away. Harry held on to her.
“Stop, please, wait!” Harry shouted.
“Who has the child?”
“I assume Carly, our nanny.”
The kidnapper released Susan and she curled up against Harry’s chest, sobbing.
“What’s Carly’s last name?”
“Winslow.”
“Where does she live?”
Buy time.
“At our house.”
“Where would she go if she couldn’t be at your house?”
Harry had no idea. Between her nanny responsibilities and studying for her nursing exam, she didn’t have much of a social life.
Something jabbed his ribs, sending a sharp pain through his body.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” he croaked.
Harry feared that was the wrong answer. It was the only one he had.
Was this it? The last moments of his life? Regret tore through him for many things, especially for the resentment he’d carried around for years.
Regret for not making peace with his brother.
The next few, torturous minutes seemed to stretch like hours. Harry held his wife tight.
Please, God, he prayed, because during the course of their marriage he’d grown to accept the concept of a higher power. He’d opened his heart to God.
A door clicked shut. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally felt bold enough to peek out from beneath the blindfold.
He and Susan were alone.
* * *
Whit struggled to remain conscious. Pain seared down his arm as if someone held a branding iron against his skin.
Suddenly he was back in the dark alley lying in a pool of his own blood. Was this it? Was this how it was going to end, with Whit alone and bleeding out in a foul-smelling alley having done nothing substantial with his life? The thought made him fight back, fight harder than he thought possible.
“Brody, open your eyes,” a woman said.
A woman, not his partner, Tina. She’d never call him by his given name.
“He’s stable,” another female said.
Stable? More like unstable and disabled. For life.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to release the child,” a man said.
“I’d rather not.”
Whit recognized her voice. He fought the urge to drift off to sleep.
“The child isn’t yours, and it’s not his,” the man said. “Which is why you need to relinquish her to the state.”
“Absolutely not.”
The edge to her voice sounded more than determined. It sounded threatening.
“If I have to arrest you, I will,” the man said.
Whit groaned and willed his eyes to open. Talk about a crowd. One guy, obviously a cop, stood at the foot of his bed, a woman Whit guessed was a doctor stood next to him, and on Whit’s left was a nurse in colorful scrubs. Then Whit slowly turned to his right.
There stood the woman he’d rescued from his brot
her’s house and she still clung to Whit’s niece. What was the woman’s name again? Carly, that’s right. The nanny.
Carly was glaring at the cop. “Brody Whittaker is the child’s uncle and he should decide what happens next with the baby. I’m not surrendering Mia to the foster care system when her uncle is right here and perfectly capable of taking custody.”
All eyes focused on Whit. He wanted to puff out his chest, sit up in bed, something. His arm still burned. He clenched his jaw against the pain, not wanting to wince and expose his weakness. Carly was right. The child shouldn’t be sent into temporary foster care, especially with a potential threat still out there.
The threat. Someone was after Whit’s niece and Whit had bashed the guy’s head with the shovel before he could shoot Carly. Whit would’ve shot him if the guy hadn’t taken his piece.
“Brody, I’m Dr. Monroe,” the woman with short red hair said. “You have a bullet wound, a head injury and a concussion. How is the pain on a scale from one to ten?”
“About a three,” he fudged. “What about the assailant?” he asked.
“He’s in custody. I’m Detective Harper with the Summit County Sheriff’s Office,” the cop, midforties, introduced himself.
“My weapon?”
“The hospital has secured it until you’re released.” Harper glanced at the others. “Can I get a few minutes alone with Detective Whittaker?”
Okay, so Harper must have checked with the Dallas PD to confirm Whit’s identity.
The nurse in colorful scrubs placed the call button beside Whit’s hand. “Use this if you need anything.”
She and the doctor left. Carly, the nanny, did not.
“Would you...?” Harper motioned for Carly to leave.
“I’d rather she stays,” Whit said.
Harper eyed him. Whit could tell he wanted to say something cop-to-cop but held back.
“Could you help us piece together what happened today?” Harper said.
“Someone broke into the house and shot Mr. and Mrs. Bremerton, that’s what happened,” Carly said in a defiant tone.
“Ma’am, I’m speaking to Detective Whittaker.”
Whit looked at Carly, who wore a protective expression on her face.
“It’s okay,” Whit said to her. “Let’s talk this through.”
