24. Chapter 24 - Cade
She should be back by now.
Nervous energy has me tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, shifting in my seat to look around, and knocking my knee against the door panel.
None of it helps her miraculously appear out of the darkening distance.
It would have taken her five minutes, ten max, to walk to the house. Maybe another few inside to grab her stuff.
How much is she carrying? Is that what’s taking so long?
At the two hour mark, the sun dips, and so does my hope for her to return.
No. Something’s fucking wrong. She should be back.
Damn it!
Slamming my fists against the dash, I kill the engine and get out.
Driving up to the front door will be asking for an attack. I’m gonna have to hike in.
Glad I prepared, just in case.
Tugging my coat up, I grab the rifle from the back seat and sling it over my shoulder, then check my holster to make sure I can get to my pistol quickly if I need it.
I don’t know what the hell to expect, but I need to make sure she’s safe.
Threading my way through the brush, I poke my head out far enough to see a set of tire tracks over her footprints.
Crap. My stomach sinks.
I missed a car leaving. Is she still here?
Fear borders on panic that hurries my steps. I don’t even bother trying to cover my own trail. I’m either going to get her out, or die trying.
It’s dark by the time I make it to the treeline, I’m nearly shaking with adrenaline. Pulling my rifle up, I aim towards the house.
The area that I’ve learned is the office is lit. Staring through the narrow circle, I rest the crosshairs on the pane of glass that lets me overlook the desk in the corner.
After forever, there’s still no movement.
Panning along the front, I catch a flicker.
Fingers trail along the bottom of the frame, then a figure shifts into view.
Rosalyn.
What the fuck is she doing?
One arm drops to wrap her belly and the other presses the glass as she drops her forehead against it.
Notching my magnification up, I zoom in on her face—
No.
Blood is smeared across her cheek and hugs her lip with pain etching her features.
I want to yell, cry out to her to run to me.
Instead, I pull my Sig and chamber a round. Those assholes are going to pay for this.
Avoiding the wash of light, I work my way around the side of the house to a dark window and test to see if it’s open.
Shit.
The next one is locked too.
My patience is wearing thin quickly by the time I make it to the rear door. At least that handle turns easily.
Burnt plastic makes my eyes water as I move quietly through the dark mudroom into the hall.
Clear.
Neon sights on the end of the barrel guide my eyes. By my estimate, I should be near her room.
A fucking padlock? On the outside of her door?
Anger clenches its furious claws into my gut. How do I get it off?
Backtracking, I find my way to the massive fireplace and snag the poker from the wrought iron holder.
This should work.
Now I have to choose, holstering my weapon or saving Ros?
Without hesitation, I slide it into the nylon sleeve under my jacket and wedge the pointed end of the bar behind the lock.
Stifling my groan, the wood splinters away from the deep screws holding the metal bracket. My shoulder finishes the job.
“Cade? You shouldn’t be here.” Rosalyn’s eyes are wide, well, one of them is. The other is so swollen I can barely see it.
“Come on, get your stuff, let’s go.” I rapidly gesture to her, pulling my gun out to have at the ready.
“They’re gone,” she whimpers as she picks up a small duffel and limps to me.
“Is that everything?” I try to fight the hatred that surges when I see her more clearly. Split lip, blood down the side of her face and on her throat, and her palm never leaves her waist.
“He burned my pictures.” Her chin trembles. “And my purse. All I have is a change of clothes.”
I pull her close, no longer resisting the urge to comfort her. “It’s okay, Ros,” I murmur against her temple. “We can fix all of that.”
Why does it feel so damn good to have her safely in my arms?
No, we aren’t out of danger yet.
“Can you walk?” I somehow manage to back away enough to see her bruised face.
“Yea, I’m just sore. I don’t think he broke anything, but he tossed me around pretty hard.” She raises her head, exposing her throat. “Is that bad enough for stitches?”
That mother fucker sliced her neck? I can barely see through the flush of red that tries to overtake my vision. “I don’t think so, but we’ll take you to the clinic and have you checked.”
“No,” she says too quickly. “If he comes back here and sees me gone, that’s the first place he’ll look. I’m okay, I swear.”
Is this her keeping herself small? Or a legitimate argument?
Either way, we have to get back to the car first.
I don’t want to let her go, so wrap her waist to keep her tucked along my side. Half carrying her, half leading her, I don’t bother with going through the trees.
It’s only after I catch sight of the car do I finally start to relax.
Buckling her in, I take my first real breath.
And as we hit a few miles away, my hands start to shake when the adrenaline dumps out of my body and the truth settles over me.
I promised to protect her and failed.