Chapter 44
Micah quickly looked Naomi over.
She was dirty and shaken but otherwise appeared okay.
However, as she straightened, she winced.
Concern flooded him. “Your ankle.”
“It’s fine. I just twisted it a little.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “Sit a minute.”
She didn’t argue. She sank onto a fallen log, and Micah knelt in front of her, carefully lifting the edge of her jeans.
Her ankle was swollen enough that walking on it had to hurt.
He frowned as the reality of the situation washed over him again.
“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” he muttered.
“I know.”
He looked up at her and kept his voice low and controlled as he asked, “What were you thinking? I told you to stay home. I told you I’d handle this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I just decided not to play it safe for once. I didn’t plan on being a hero.”
“So you walked into a situation you knew nothing about. Alone. Without backup. Without telling anyone where you were going.”
“I know it was risky. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if Good Boy was here. He is, Micah. They have him. He’s tied up in the backyard.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back.
Micah stared at her a long moment.
He wanted to be angry. Wanted to yell at her for being reckless, for putting herself in danger, for making him drive ninety miles an hour through mountain roads because he thought he might be too late.
But relief filled him instead.
Naomi was here. She was alive. She was okay.
He let out a slow breath and lowered himself beside her on the log.
They sat in silence a moment, the woods settling around them.
Then Micah turned to her. “You could have been hurt. Or worse.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked. “I just—I didn’t know how long you’d be on that call. I couldn’t stand the thought of Good Boy being in danger.”
Micah understood that. He really did.
But it didn’t make what she did okay.
He reached out and pulled her into a hug.
She melted against him, her face pressing into his shoulder and her hands gripping the front of his jacket.
He held her until he felt her breathing slow and her trembling ease.
“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”
She nodded but didn’t pull away.
Micah let himself have the moment. Let himself feel the solid weight of her in his arms. Let himself acknowledge—just for a second—how terrified he’d been that he wouldn’t get here in time.
Then he pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders, and he looked at her. “We can’t stay here long. I need to get you back to my SUV. Then I need to go talk to whoever’s in that house.”
Naomi nodded. “Good Boy—”
“I’ll get him. But first, I’m getting you out of here.”
She didn’t argue.
He stood and offered his hand again. She took it, wincing as she put weight on her ankle.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He stayed close, one hand hovering near her elbow, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
They started back toward the road, moving slowly through the trees.
Micah kept his senses sharp, his hand never far from his weapon.
The men who’d chased her were still out here somewhere.
He couldn’t chance being taken by surprise.
Naomi was thankful that Micah stayed close as they made their way back through the woods.
Her ankle was holding but barely. Every few steps, she winced, trying to hide her pain but failing. She didn’t deserve any sympathy right now.
When they finally broke through the tree line onto the road, dusk pressed in around Micah’s and Naomi’s SUVs.
Micah guided her toward the passenger door of his vehicle. “You’re riding back with me. We’ll figure out your SUV later. Right now, I need to know you’re safe.”
Naomi opened her mouth to protest then stopped. She’d save her arguments for after she got off her ankle. She knew the swelling was getting worse.
She limped toward his SUV, and Micah helped her settle into the seat.
She moaned slightly as she shifted her weight, pulling her leg in.
He closed the door, moved around to the driver’s side, and climbed in.
For a moment, the two of them sat there. The engine idled. The radio crackled softly with dispatch chatter.
Naomi stared straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. But a single thought in her head wouldn’t let go.
“Micah,” she murmured. “We have to get Good Boy.”
“Naomi—”
“Please. He’s right there. In that backyard. Tied up.” Her voice shook. “I saw him. We can’t just leave him.”
Micah’s jaw visibly tightened. “Those men are still out there somewhere. The ones who chased you. I don’t know if they’re armed. I don’t know how many of them there are. I don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“I know. But—”
“We need to do this the right way and wait for backup.”
“By the time backup gets here, they could be gone.” Desperation rose in her voice. “Please. I know I messed up. I know I shouldn’t have come here alone. But Good Boy is right there, Micah. We can get him. We can end this.”
Micah stared at her, and she waited to hear his thoughts.
She had to convince him.
Because if something happened to Good Boy she’d never forgive herself.
That dog had been helpless. And Naomi understood helplessness.
She’d been consumed by the feeling after her attack in New York. When she let herself, those feelings came right back.
The attack had taken her memory, her sense of safety, her footing in a life she’d worked hard to build.
She’d woken up in a hospital bed not knowing what had been done to her or why, unable to trust her own mind.
And even after she’d healed enough to function, she hadn’t been able to stay—hadn’t been able to walk those streets or sit at that desk or be the person she’d been before.
In the end, New York itself had become somewhere she couldn’t belong anymore.
Maybe there was a part of her that felt connected with Good Boy because they both knew what it meant to be left behind—not always by a person, but sometimes by a life that no longer had a place for you.
Whatever it was, she would do everything in her power to help the canine.