Lone Defender (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Maybe it’s someone enjoying the desert,” she offered, but she didn’t believe it any more than she believed the person who’d drugged her and left her in the desert hadn’t meant her any harm.

  “That’s what I thought, until you told me what happened to you.”

  “How far away were the fires?”

  “A few miles the first night. Closer last night.”

  “So the people who built them could be right behind us.”

  “Could be.”

  “You’re a man of few words, Jonas, and I find that truly annoying,” she muttered, and he chuckled, the sound gritty and rough.

  “I’ve never felt a need to waste words, but if you want me to expound on the kind of trouble we might be in, I will. You said someone drove you out here and left you—”

  “I’m not just saying it. It happened.”

  “A person who goes to that kind of effort probably isn’t going to sit around hoping that you’re dead. Not when your face has been splashed on every local news station and not when every newspaper in the Phoenix area has been running stories on the search efforts.”

  “You think a killer is on our trail?”

  “I think there’s a possibility.”

  “In that case, walking three miles and getting to shelter isn’t going to do us much good.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “So we could wait here. Ambush whoever is following. There’s plenty of low vegetation. If we stay in the shadows—”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “I didn’t even finish outlining my plan.”

  “You don’t have any breath or energy left to outline a plan, let alone ambush a posse.”

  “You never said a posse was following us.”

  “And I’m not saying it now. I’m just suggesting that you conserve your energy. You may need it before the night is over.”

  He was right.

  Of course he was.

  But for the first time in almost a week, she wasn’t alone, and she was scared out of her mind that if she stopped talking, she’d be jerked back into reality and find herself lying on the desert floor. Alone again.

  “I still think—”

  “Shhhhhh.” He slid his palm up her arm, his fingers curving around her biceps, the warning in his touch, in the subtle tensing of his muscles, doing more than words to keep her silent. She waited, ears straining as she listened for some sign that they weren’t alone.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and moisture hung in the air, carrying the musty scent of desert rain and wet earth. Nothing moved. No scurrying animals. No hum of life. Nothing but dead quiet, and a stillness that filled Skylar with dread.

  A soft click broke the silence, and she didn’t need to wonder what it was. She’d heard the sound hundreds of times during her days working as a New York City police officer.

  She was on the ground before she could think, her body pressed against prickly plants and gravelly dirt, Jonas right beside her. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm.

  She turned her head, met his eyes.

  “Stay down,” he whispered, the sound barely moving the air.

  “That was a gun safety,” she responded, trying to keep the words as quiet as his had been. Fear made them ring out louder than she’d planned, and he pressed a finger to her lips, shook his head as he shifted, pulled something from beneath his jacket.

  A Glock. 9 mm. Nice handgun. Exactly what she liked to carry.

  They weren’t completely helpless, then.

  He wasn’t, at least.

  She felt a split second of relief, and then Jonas was gone, the darkness swallowing him so quickly, Skylar barely had time to realize he was moving before he’d disappeared, and she was alone again.

  Alone, cowering on the desert floor, just waiting to be picked off by an assassin’s bullet.

  No way. There was absolutely no way she was going to die without a fight. She needed a better position, more cover. She eased forward, her stomach scraping along the ground, cactus needles and desert pebbles digging into her skin. A minute passed as she struggled to move stealthily, her fatigue-clumsy efforts loud in the silence, her thundering heart masking any other sounds. Alone with her fear, wondering if Jonas had been nothing more than a hallucination.

  Alone like she’d been one too many times in her life.

  Alone, and it was okay, because she would fight, and she would win and she would get out of the desert alive.

  She would.

  A soft shuffle came from her left, and she stilled as a shadow crept toward her. Short. Paunchy. Not Jonas. That’s all she saw. All she needed to see. She launched herself up and toward him, her movements jerky and slower than she’d intended. She realized her mistake too late to correct it, realized her own weakness as she barreled into the man’s chest, bounced backward, landed hard. Breath heaving, she barely managed to dive to the left as the man aimed a pistol in her direction, pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the ground a foot from where she’d been, and she was up again.

  Fight or die.

  It was as simple as that.

  Or, maybe, it was as simple as fight and die.

  She didn’t know.

  Couldn’t know, but she’d fight, anyway. It’s what she’d done her entire life. No reason to give in now. Jonas was either real or he wasn’t. He was somewhere nearby or not. God would intervene and save Skylar or He wouldn’t.

  One way or another, she’d fight.

  She threw herself at the man’s legs, knocking him off balance. A bullet whizzed past her shoulder. Then they were on the ground, tumbling into scrub and thorns, Skylar’s overtaxed muscles trembling as she grappled for control of the pistol.

  TWO

  Shooting a moving target used to be easy.

  Not anymore.

  Now guns were the enemy; Jonas’s memories of the damage they could do were as ripe and real as the nebulous mass that rolled on the ground ten feet away. Skylar and the man who’d been stalking them through the darkness. Jonas needed to aim his pistol, fire and hit one without hitting the other. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Then he’d achieved sniper status with his band of Shadow Wolf brothers, his aim truer and more accurate than anyone on the team.

  That was a lifetime ago, before his loss and his regrets.

  He hadn’t been to a target range in four years, hadn’t fired a gun in just a little less than that.

  Yet he was standing in the desert, holding his pistol as if he could still do what he’d done during his years as a border patrol agent.

  Stop thinking about it, and do something.

  Now!

  He aimed, fired to the left of the struggling pair, the shot reverberating through the desert. One momentary explosion of sound, one small flash of light and then silence, the two heaving figures frozen in place. Skylar to the right. Her assailant to the left. An easy shot this time.

  “Don’t move, buddy. If you do, I guarantee it will be the last move you ever make. Where’s his gun, Grady?”

  “He dropped it while we were fighting.” She panted, crawling through spiky desert foliage, coming up with the gun in her hand. “Got it.”

  “Good. Come over here. Let’s give our friend a little space.”

  “I’d rather give him something else,” she muttered, but she did as Jonas asked.

  Surprising.

  According to Kane, Skylar often fought for the sake of fighting. Tough and strong is how he’d described her. Jonas had still doubted that he’d find her alive. He had, and there was no going back and saying no as he had a hundred times since his wife and son were murdered.

  No. I won’t be coming back to work.

  No. I won’t help find the missing hiker, biker, photographer.

  No, no, no.

  This time he’d said yes. He’d committed to finding Skylar, and now he had to get her out of the desert alive.

  “You got h
ere just in time. That guy’s pretty strong,” she huffed, and he frowned.

  “And you’re pretty weak. I thought you were going to stay where I left you.”

  “I’m not the kind of gal who waits around for the cavalry to arrive. I’m surprised Kane didn’t mention that while he was filling you in on my stubborn determination and charming nature.” She started toward the perp, and Jonas tugged her back.

  “He did. This time, though, the cavalry is here, and you are going to wait. I’ll handle our perp.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue, just approached the gunman the way he’d done countless others, adrenaline pumping, gun drawn, all his focus on the potential threat.

  “Face down. Keep your hands where I can see them.” He issued the order, and then patted the prone man, found no other weapons. “He’s clean.”

  “Let me go. You got no cause to do this to me.”

  “No cause? You tried to kill me.” Skylar moved closer, crouched down beside the man, pressed the gun to his temple. “How about you tell me why?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. If I’d tried to kill you, you’d be dead.” The man spat, his face pressed to the ground, his body still.

  Jonas moved in, yanked him up by the arm as much to get him away from Skylar’s gun as anything else. “How many people are with you?”

  “Who said there’s anyone with me?” His voice had a raspy smoker’s edge, his braided hair falling over narrow shoulders. Old. Frailer than Jonas expected.

  “How about we don’t play games, old man? I saw your fire last night and the night before. You’ve been following me for a couple of days, and you’re not alone. I want to know who is with you, and I want to know why you’re after Skylar.”

  “I’m not after anyone. I’m out mindin’ my own business, enjoyin’ the desert. Nothin’ wrong with that, is there?” He shifted, the subtle movement putting Jonas on edge. The desert had gone silent, the stillness more telling than any words the perp could have spoken.

  “I think we’d better get out of here.” He grabbed Skylar’s hand, pulled her away from the old man.

  “We can’t just let him go. He tried to kill me.” She pulled back, but he didn’t release his hold.

  “I want to survive the night. I want you to survive. If that means he escapes, so be it.”

  “But—”

  “He’s not alone, Grady. His friends could be anywhere, and I’m not willing to wait around for them to show up.” Not only did he not want to wait around for them to show up, but he wanted to put as much distance between them and the perp as he could as quickly as he could.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how fast Skylar could move, how long she could keep going.

  “I still think we should take him with us. I want answers. He’s the only way to get them.”

  “Getting them won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”

  “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

  “Most people aren’t.”

  Gabriella hadn’t been.

  And Jonas hadn’t been planning to lose her.

  He shoved the thought aside, shoved aside the grief that went with it. He needed to focus on the moment, on the danger that followed them, on doing what he’d told Kane he would.

  Find Skylar.

  Get her back to civilization.

  That was the mission. He’d fulfill it, then he’d go back to the life he’d built for himself. His woodworking shop, his job, the routine he’d forged in the months following Gabriella’s death.

  Nearly four years of routine.

  It hadn’t brought him peace, but it had brought him safety. No more heartache. No more sorrow. Nothing but restoring what had been left to decay. Old houses were easier to deal with than people.

  Easier.

  Safer.

  Emptier.

  “Do you think he’s following us?” Skylar panted, pulling him back to the moment, the mission.

  “He doesn’t have a gun. We have two. I think he’ll hang back and wait for his buddies to join him.”

  “I hope you’re right, because I’m telling my legs to move, but they don’t seem to be listening.”

  “You’re doing fine.” But he was nearly dragging her along, her stumbling steps keeping him from moving as fast as he would have liked. As fast as they needed to.

  Somewhere in the distance a bird called, the sound crawling up his spine, urging him to hurry. Another call answered the first, and he tensed. He knew the desert and her creatures, and he knew the sound of a posse moving in, a net tightening. Knew it…felt it. If they didn’t move fast, they’d be trapped, boxed in by the men who were hunting them.

  “Kane said you’re a marathon runner. Think you can turn on a little speed?”

  “I—?” Skylar began, but he pulled her into a dead run, not giving her time to think, to doubt her ability. She had to know. Had to sense what he did. Danger breathing down their necks, nipping at their heels. Whatever she’d gotten involved in, it wasn’t pretty, and if they weren’t careful, it would take them both down.

  “How much time do you think we have before they find us?” Skylar panted. A runner for sure, but a runner at the end of her reserves. How much farther could she go? How much more energy did she have to expend?

  “Not enough,” he answered her question and his own.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She coughed on the last word, the sound tight and hot. Her hand was hot, too, heat coming off her body in waves. He could feel it through his sleeve.

  The mesa was just ahead. A mile or less, but Skylar’s pace was slowing, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps.

  “We need to keep going, Grady. Another few minutes. You can give me that, right?” He tightened his grip on her hand, and she squeezed back, not bothering to waste breath responding.

  Lightning flashed to the north, the low rumble of thunder reminding Jonas of another night, another woman. Pouring rain. Lightning. The sound of a gunshot. Gabriella falling, blood pouring from her chest. His frantic, futile attempts to staunch the flow as the storm raged around him.

  He pulled his thoughts up short. The memories could still bring him to his knees if he let them. He wouldn’t. Not now. Not when there was another life hanging in the balance, another woman depending on him.

  Thunder rumbled again, and the first drop of rain fell on Jonas’s cheek. A downpour would wash away their footprints, make it more difficult for their hunters to track them. More difficult, but not impossible. There were plenty of men in the area like Jonas, trained in the old ways and capable of finding the smallest trace of their prey.

  “How much farther?” Skylar huffed, her words barely carrying above the sound of rain hitting the desert floor.

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  “The mesa.”

  “It’s a sheer cliff, Jonas, a rock wall. We’ll be trapped.” She bit out the words one at a time, every ounce of her fear and anger ringing with them.

  “It’s not a sheer cliff, and we won’t be trapped. Now, how about you save your energy for what lies ahead instead of wasting it on words?”

  “Call me crazy, but when my life is hanging by a thread, I like to know the plan.”

  “The plan is we keep quiet, we keep going and we escape.”

  “We’re about to run into a granite wall. Give me something more than that.”

  “You ever free-climb?”

  “Not at night. Not in the rain. Not…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “You’re right. I need to save my energy.” She clammed up; whatever she thought about climbing the mesa was her secret.

  Jonas understood that.

  He knew all about holding things close to the cuff, keeping them hidden, and he let silence take them both.

  Thunder cracked, the sound reverberating through the darkness, the sudden, heavy downpour soaking through Jonas’s shirt, dripping from his hair and into his eyes. There were pon
chos in his pack, but he didn’t waste time pulling them out. A dry corpse was just as dead as a wet one.

  The rain drowned out any sound of pursuit, but Jonas’s skin crawled, the hair on his nape standing on end. Danger was closing in.

  Skylar must have sensed it, too. She tensed, her grip on his hand tightening, then loosening as she tried to pull free. “You go…ahead. I’ll find a place to wait…and ambush our…followers.”

  “I didn’t take you for a quitter, Grady.”

  “I’m not quitting, I’m—”

  “Trying to make sure at least one of us survives? Because, if that’s your plan, you’d better change it. I told Kane that I’d get you out of the Sonoran. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “One of us living is a whole lot better than both of us dying.” She ground out every word deliberately as she yanked her hand away from his. She didn’t stop running, though, and he pulled her up short as they reached the mesa, turned her to the east.

  “This way.” He knew the area well, had climbed the mesa dozens of times when he was a reckless teen searching for the next challenge. Had climbed it again as an adult seeking solace after the murders. The ridges in the rock face were as familiar as an old friend, and he slid his palm along the cool stone as he sought the large crevice that would lead them up.

  There. Just under his fingertips. “This is it. There’s a cave a hundred feet up. Ready?”

  “I don’t think I can do it.” The words were barely a whisper, but Jonas heard the admission and the defeat.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “There are always choices. I can die with my feet planted on the ground, shooting it out and fighting. Or I can die trying to escape. I choose to fight.”

  “Who says trying to escape isn’t fighting?” He pulled a rope from his pack. He hadn’t bothered with full climbing gear, hadn’t imagined he would need it. That had been his mistake. Hopefully, he wouldn’t live to regret it. Wouldn’t die regretting it.