Out of Her League

by Kaylea Cross

  Silly question. Fate—it was crossing their paths one final time, as he’d always known it would. Anticipation hummed in his belly. This was his chance to get it right. She would finally be his. At last.

  ****

  As the driver headed along Marine Drive, Christa pulled out her phone to text Rayne. She glanced up when they stopped at a light, then went back to typing in the message. She was just finishing up the last word when she heard the roar of an engine behind them. The sound was too loud, too close. She started to turn to check and yelped when a vehicle smashed into the back of the cab. Her head snapped back, her phone flying from her hand with the force of the impact. The driver was swearing, already unbuckling his seatbelt to climb out of the cab.

  She unbuckled hers and turned to look behind her, catching sight of someone rushing past the opposite window. The driver cried out. Next thing she knew a hand reached into the cab, unlocked the back door and pulled it open. Her breath snagged.

  Seth.

  Her blood turned to ice, her fingers frozen.

  She scrambled to open her door but he reached in, grabbed her hands and wrenched her around, pressing something hard and metallic against her ribs. Instantly she stilled. Her gaze slid down to see the black barrel of a pistol.

  “Fight me and I’ll pull the trigger.” Glacial gray eyes pinned her from beneath black brows, his mouth twisting below a goatee as he wrenched her out of the cab.

  She screamed and twisted away. He slammed his elbow into the side of her head, thudding it against the window. No. Not again. I’d rather die.

  The driver stood off to the side, wide-eyed, both hands held up in surrender as Seth dragged her into another vehicle and shoved her into the front passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel still holding the gun on her, and there was no way he could miss at this range. He took off with a squeal of rubber and blew through the red light.

  “Now we’re going to finish this properly.” His eyes burned with a cruel light. “You already had two strikes against you. First, screwing that cop, and second, getting away from me. You know what that means?” He smiled to himself. “Strike three, Christa.”

  Her heart pounded against her ribs.

  He settled back with the gun jammed into her side, flicked a chilling glance at her. “You’re out.”

  She sat frozen in the passenger seat, cringing from the muzzle shoved under her galloping heart. Would a shot there kill her outright, or only tear through her flesh and bone and organs and make her bleed to death?

  Even if he has a weapon, chances are he won’t use it because it would draw attention to him, and if he did, the odds are he would only wound you. Nate’s words flooded through her terrified brain.

  Better than being raped and tortured.

  They merged onto the freeway toward Vancouver, him glancing at her every so often to taunt her with a victorious grin. Her phone was back in the cab. She pressed herself as far away from him as possible.

  As she stared at him, fear began to bubble up inside her. Fury and hatred coalesced into a molten ball of rage in her gut. If he was going to take her out, she damn well wasn’t going to sit here and let him—she’d see to it he suffered first. She had both hands free and he was driving, so his attention was diverted, so she could maybe get a good punch in. But then what? She couldn’t jump out at this speed or she’d kill herself. She couldn’t even flag down help because he kept the gun trained on her. Her mind screamed in panicked denial. She had to do something.

  Nate’s words kept coming back to her. Once you were in a car with a kidnapper, your chances of survival were slim. So what did you do?

  You crashed the car.

  Her heart rate stabilized as her plan crystallized in her mind. All she had to do was disable him long enough to wrench the steering wheel from him. She would only get one shot at this, so she had to get it right first time. She felt detached, almost calm as she planned her move, the speedometer reading one hundred twenty kilometers per hour. It was going to be one hell of an accident, but she’d rather die in a car wreck than at his hands, and if she lived through the wreck she might be able to get away. Her breath hitched.

  She subtly buckled her seatbelt and waited until he had to slow behind another vehicle, going just over ninety now. Another car was boxing them in, and when he made a shoulder check she shot out a hand to jab at his eye.

  His foot came off the gas pedal as he jerked his head away at the last instant, her stiffened fingers glancing off his nose. He yelped, lashing out with his gun hand at her face. The force of it sent her slamming into the door but she recovered fast, adrenaline surging, and when he lifted his hand to his nose in reflex, she lunged over and yanked the steering wheel toward her with all her might.

  He shouted and pulled the trigger.

  The car careened sideways and hit the shoulder, its speed and momentum hurling it onto its side. It flipped in mid air. Her scream echoed in her head. The roof smacked the ground with a deafening crunch, and then she was only aware of the shattering of glass and the screeching of metal before everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An emergency call interrupted the briefing. Female victim abducted by white male at gunpoint after a rear-ender. In White Rock.

  A bottomless hole yawned beneath his feet. Christa hadn’t texted back yet and there was no way this was a coincidence. Rayne’s heart stopped beating, the words coming at him from the end of a long tunnel, paralyzing him. Sweet Jesus, he got her. Without realizing it he was on his feet.

  “...the car rolled off the freeway...emergency personnel dispatched...”

  Holy Christ, they’d gone off the freeway? Grief clawed its way up his throat, came out as a strangled cry.

  His commanding officer stopped speaking and looked at him sharply. “Hutch? What’s wrong, man?”

  “Christa...” He could barely get her name out of his dry throat.

  His brows drew together. “It’s her? You’re sure?”

  This sick gut feeling couldn’t mean anything else. Everyone stared at him, increasing the churning in his stomach. Why weren’t they heading to the gun locker? They had to move. Now. Christa was out there, her life was in danger. If she was still alive.

  The room spun and he almost checked out.

  Breathe, you have to breathe. Get the team organized and into the trucks. Focus...

  He sucked in a breath as everyone scrambled for equipment. Somehow he forced his legs to work, only to run into his commander’s hand. The man planted his palm square against Rayne’s chest, looked him in the eye. “You know how this goes, Hutch.”

  They weren’t going to let him go.

  Fuck. That. He shoved the restraining hand away.

  “Take a minute. You’re in shock.”

  “I’m not in shock,” he growled. But his body sure thought he was.

  His commander studied him, lips thinned. “Truck leaves in four minutes.”

  ****

  Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance as Christa fought to open her eyes. She was alive, caught in her seatbelt, hanging upside down in the wreck, an awful pain in her belly. One image after another, it all came back to her. The car hitting the shoulder, the world turning upside down as they spun through the air. Before that, the crack of a gunshot.

  She lifted her hand...something warm and sticky trickled down her face and neck, coating her fingers. Her blood. Had he shot her? Beside her, Seth struggled to escape the twisted mass of metal and the airbag trapping him, bleeding from his nose and forehead. The gun lay within inches of his groping hand.

  Groaning, she fumbled with the buckle of her seatbelt, released it and thudded against the roof. Pain burst inside her. Nauseated and lightheaded, she dragged herself over shards of glass lining the crumpled window frame and started to crawl out onto the wet grass. She had to escape him.

  She inched out, pain stabbing her skull, her shoulder aching. Her abdomen hurt so bad she almost blacked out again. Hideous, searing agony. She couldn�
��t breathe. Hurry. Hurry, you’re almost there.

  A strong hand snared her ankle and she screamed, kicking at it. He shoved his way out beside her and yanked her to the ground, his bloody face a mask of blinding rage.

  “You fucking crazy bitch!” He slammed her shoulders onto the ground.

  Stars exploded in her head, the fight draining out of her.

  He was panting, grabbing her arm as he tried to haul her to her feet, but she collapsed in a heap. Police cars skidded to a stop behind them, and she was now the only thing between him and a bullet to the head. If they took a shot at him, it would be to kill.

  “Move!” He grabbed her under the armpits, shoved the gun under her chin and hefted her in front of him. She cried out in agony. “Get up and move.” The icy muzzle of the pistol dug into her tender skin as she dug down for the strength to keep fighting.

  ****

  Rayne ran up to the police barricade, flashing his badge at the officer posted there. “Hutchinson, ERT.” He hurried over to the cruisers blocking the accident site.

  “Is she all right?” he demanded, craning his neck to see beyond the crush of emergency vehicles, the breath whooshing out of him when he spotted the mangled wreckage of the car lying on its roof in a field next to the freeway, a tangle of metal and broken glass.

  And there she was, the woman he loved with all his heart, sagging in front of the bastard who’d wrecked her life, a human shield as he pressed his gun to her.

  Christ, no. Pleading brown eyes flashed in his memory, a little boy silently begging him to save his life. He couldn’t get his heartbeat to slow down. He was so fucking terrified for her he could barely breathe.

  His lieutenant approached. “The HT won’t talk to the negotiator, and we’re running out of time. This guy’s way too unstable. We need a sniper in position to the east of them.” He pointed across the field flanking the freeway.

  His commander and teammates all looked at him—former U.S. Marine, son of a Navy SEAL. The weight of their stares bore down on him and he fought the gnawing fear in his gut.

  The older man’s eyes delved into Rayne’s. “Tell me straight, Hutch. Can you handle this?”

  He nodded mechanically. The others were good with a long gun, but not as good as him. “Yeah.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, I know it and you know it. Your objectivity is compromised, but we don’t have time to piss around with protocol. I’d volunteer if I thought I could make that shot, but even with one decent arm you’re a helluva lot better with a rifle than I am. Right now, there’s no other viable option to protect the hostage.”

  “I’ve got this.” He ran toward the flashing blue and red strobes of the ERT van, his feet like lead, panic spurting with each step. Could he take a shot while Sutherland was using Christa as a shield? Yeah. He’d do whatever it took to save her.

  He grabbed his sniper rifle and trained his binoculars at the grassy field, took a deep breath. The bastard was dragging Christa farther from the road, his head turning to assess the police positions. Her face was ashen, her body limp. How badly had she been hurt in the crash?

  Rayne quickly studied the topography, noted the gusty wind and drizzle steadily soaking his shirt. He would have to aim a little higher to make up for the impact of the moisture on the bullet.

  His teammate gave a nod. “We’ve got you covered from up here. Good luck.”

  Rayne dug deep for courage and set out with his game face on, his spotter close on his six. He circled to the left, advancing in a crouch. Just like deer hunting, he told himself, trying to distract his brain.

  He kept his breathing steady, using every trick he knew to slow his racing heart as he drew nearer to his position. Once in place, he got on his belly, his spotter falling into position beside him. Fuck , no way he could use the Winchester 70 at this range, he was too close.

  “Give me your MP5,” he said to his spotter. The A3 with its Red-Dot scope was his only option. Green light or not, if the bastard so much as flinched, he’d put a bullet through his skull.

  ****

  “Sutherland, drop your weapon! Let the hostage go.”

  Seth froze at the warning, his mind churning. He could not be trapped. There had to be a way to lose them. He glanced behind him, found nothing but the open field, no cover in sight. Pain sliced through his skull, blinding him. His right leg wouldn’t cooperate, blood staining his pants and seeping over his boot, each step a separate agony. He couldn’t drag her much further while keeping hold of his gun.

  Christa was bleeding, her beautiful eyes glazed with pain. If only she had been his. That’s all he’d wanted, for her to give him everything, including her life at his hands. And now look at the price he was paying. If she died, he had no chance. Without her life to use as a bargaining chip, he would wind up dying in jail as an old man.

  Screw that. He’d rather die here and now than rot in prison for the rest of his life.

  He stumbled back another few steps, shaking with fatigue and adrenaline. “I’ll kill her,” he yelled, keeping the cops in front where he could see them. “Stay right there or I’ll kill her, I swear to God.” Tears stung his eyes.

  “D-don’t,” Christa mumbled, squirming in his hold. Still trying to escape him. His soul howled in protest. He’d been so close to having her...

  He tightened his grip around her, his hand twitching on his gun. His heart drummed in his ears. His pulse pumped heavy and thick. Thump-thump...thump- thump...thump...thump...

  “Drop your weapon.”

  The hard command came from his left. A fucking cop, less than a hundred feet from them, sighting him down the barrel of a tactical rifle.

  His gaze moved from the black hole at the end of the muzzle to the officer’s face. Deadly hazel eyes. The eyes of Christa’s lover.

  His bowels churned.

  Christa gasped, tried to support her weight on her trembling legs, but he held her immobile. Panic suffocated him. Would her boyfriend risk taking a shot while she was in front of him?

  He backed away but the man’s gaze never wavered from the rifle’s scope, his hands steady on the weapon. Fear freezing him in place, he met the unflinching hazel stare.

  Seth knew he was staring into the eyes of his executioner. Swallowing, he released the pistol’s safety, the click as loud as a gunshot. It echoed through his hollow brain.

  “Drop it,” came the next warning. The growl was low. Lethal.

  If Seth raised the gun he would be killed. But it was too late now. No choice. No going back.

  His trembling hand inched upward. He closed his eyes, imprinting on his lids the image of Christa smiling as she tended the flowers on the old lady’s balcony. She wore a lacy white blouse and a ball cap, her long ponytail falling down her back as she tipped the watering can. Crystal rivulets of water spilled out of the spout. The breeze tugged at her blouse, a tendril of hair swept across her face. Her head tipped back as she pushed it away, laughing, cheeks flushed pink, exposing the delicate line of ivory throat. She looked so happy. So beautiful...

  “Sutherland!”

  The voice was right behind him, too close. Seth reacted on instinct, whirled around, placing Christa between him and the new threat. Only then did he realize he’d made a fatal mistake.

  ****

  The pain was unbearable. Like someone had stabbed her in the gut, poured gasoline in the wound and tossed in a lit match. Pinned in Seth’s sweaty, panicked embrace, she fought to clear her head. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, her uneven breaths sounding like a hacksaw cutting through a metal pipe.

  Blackness closed in.

  No. She couldn’t close her eyes. Had to keep looking at Rayne. If she let go and closed her eyes, she knew she would never open them again.

  She forced her heavy lids open and focused on Rayne, wanting to break free and run to him. But that was impossible. Seth wasn’t going to let her go. Ever.

  Grief welling in her chest, she stared at the man she loved. Kneeling in the long, tangled w
eeds, he held his rifle steady, his eye to the scope. He had to be worried as hell about her, but he looked so calm, every inch the trained soldier he was. She tried not to show how terrified she was, but she was mindless with it. The pain blew through her belly like a blowtorch, and she nearly doubled over, tears leaking over her lashes.

  Rayne, she thought, sending out a prayer for him. She didn’t want this for him. Didn’t want him to have to take a life after what he’d been through with Daniel. But she didn’t want to die, so if shooting Seth was the only way to save her, then...

  Please God, don’t let him miss.

  Behind her, Seth’s breath quivered in and out like a cornered animal’s, his forearm digging convulsively into her diaphragm. His gun hand twitched, and she choked back a sob.

  The sharp click of the safety releasing slid a fresh wave of terror down her spine. She tried to shake her head, couldn’t.

  I don’t want to die...I don’t want to die...

  “Drop it.”

  Rayne’s clipped command made her eyes snap open. She stared at him across the abyss as Seth’s gun hand inched upward.

  So, this was it. This was how she was going to die.

  A spurt of adrenaline lashed through her body, a desperate will to live beating at her with panicked wings, but she was powerless to do anything. The gun continued to move upward. She let her body sag, hoping to give Rayne a clear shot.

  One last time she drank in the sight of Rayne poised just across the field, hoping to take it with her, wherever she was going. There had to be something more after this life. Something good and peaceful to make up for the suffering here on earth.

  I love you, she mouthed, hoping he saw it, and shut her eyes. Panic and despair swamped her, and her eyes flew open. She couldn’t let go, didn’t know how.

  “Sutherland!”

  She gasped at the sound of a commanding voice so close behind them. Seth spun them around to face...Nate.

  A sharp crack rent the air.

  The bullet hit with a hollow thud. Something wet sprayed across her. She fell, body weightless. Numb. Then blackness. Peace.