Chapter Fifteen
A bullet slammed into the ground inches from Brody’s leg, dirt and rock spraying up against his vest.
“Move!” he shouted to Remi as they dived for the cover of the thick shrubs near the cottage.
They were only about six feet away from each other, but Brody didn’t try to get to her to pull her down with him.
There wasn’t time. More shots rang out from the trees, hammering the cruiser behind them.
The car windows and body were bullet resistant which meant it’d be a heck of a lot safer than being out in the open like this.
But it was too damn risky to try to make it back to the vehicle.
From the corner of his eye, Brody saw Remi drop down next to the bottom step of the porch. Good. It wasn’t ideal cover but it was better than nothing. He hit the ground hard, too, his breath punching out of his lungs as he scrambled to get behind some shrubs.
It wasn’t the best vantage point, but at least he could see Remi. Like him, she had her weapon drawn and was scanning the tree line for any sign of their shooter.
Or, rather, looking for any sign of Tarrant.
Because he had to be the one doing this.
Tarrant had given them the address with one objective in mind: to get them here so he could kill them.
But Brody refused to believe he wouldn’t find his son here.
The baby had to be somewhere, and this was just as good an option as any.
And it wouldn’t have mattered to Tarrant if the baby was inside or not.
It sure as hell mattered to Brody, though, and he prayed that whoever was caring for the infant had at least taken cover at the sound of that first shot.
The gunfire slowed, then stopped.
Brody’s heart pounded as he waited. He listened, his ears straining to pick up on any movement not just from their attacker but from anyone who might be inside the cottage.
Especially a baby.
But he heard no cries. No other sounds of anyone scrambling to safety, and that caused the sickening dread to wash over him. He couldn’t fail at this again. He just couldn’t.
“You see anything?” he whispered to Remi.
She shook her head, her breathing controlled but sharp. “Nothing yet.”
Another shot rang out, and it came so close past his ear that he felt the rush of air. Too close. But it helped Brody pinpoint the location of the shooter.
Directly across the road.
Not in plain sight, of course. But, rather, hidden behind a thick cluster of trees and underbrush.
His finger hovered over the trigger, but he couldn’t fire back. Not without knowing where his son was. All he could do was wait and pray he’d be able to neutralize the shooter and do what he’d come here to do. Find his baby.
Another round of gunfire exploded, but this time the bullets slammed into the side of the cottage.
The rage went through Brody like wildfire. Whoever was inside—his son, a caretaker, maybe even a hostage—was in the line of fire.
That dissolved any shred of patience he had left.
“Tarrant!” Brody shouted at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed through the air. “You don’t want to give me more reason to kill you.”
He didn’t expect an answer.
But he got one.
“Hey, I’m just trying to stay alive,” Tarrant shouted back.
Brody’s grip on his gun tightened. The SOB wasn’t even denying he was here.
“The way you stay alive,” Brody called out, voice steady, “is to quit shooting and leave.”
Tarrant didn’t fire again, but he didn’t move either. Brody’s gut tensed. He could deal with Tarrant another day. The priority was his son.
But what if that was a mistake?
If the cottage was empty, if this was nothing but a setup, then this was his chance. He could take Tarrant alive and use him as leverage to bargain with whoever had his little boy. The problem with doing that was there was no way to get behind Tarrant. No clean way to draw him out.
Unless…
Brody shifted slightly, angling his voice toward the trees. “You want to know who did this? Who set you up?” He let the words hang for a beat. “I’ll give you a name.”
Silence.
Then a low laugh. “You’re stalling, Sheriff.” Tarrant’s voice dripped with amusement. “Waiting for backup to show.”
Yeah, he was. But backup wasn’t necessarily going to fix this problem and, in fact, could make it worse. If Tarrant got away and the cottage was empty, then Brody would be leaving here empty-handed. That couldn’t happen.
“I think I heard something inside,” Remi said.
That grabbed his attention. Brody stilled, listening. Hoping. Praying. Wind rustled through the trees, and there was the sound of the water in the creek rushing over the rocks, but he heard nothing from the cottage.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice low.
Remi gave a small nod that didn’t look at all convincing. “It could be the baby,” she said, and she tipped her head to the porch behind her. “I can stay low and crawl under the railing and toward the door.”
Hell. Brody was shaking his head before she even got out the words to that awful plan. “No. There’s not enough cover. Tarrant will gun you down.”
As if Tarrant had heard that, he started shooting again.
And thankfully, he was no longer aiming at the cottage but rather at Brody.
One of the shots smacked right into the ground next to him and kicked up some dirt and small rocks that flew right in his face.
Tarrant was coming awfully close to taking him out.
“He’s focused on you,” Remi argued, and there was more conviction in her voice than had been in that nod. “I can make it.”
Brody gritted his teeth. Everything in him screamed to shut this plan down. But there was one thing that convinced him to at least consider it.
That look in Remi’s eyes.
It was pure determination.
“I’m wearing a vest,” she reminded him. “And I’ll stay low. Belly down the whole way.” Remi’s gaze locked onto his. “I have to try.”
Brody swallowed the profanity that was roaring through his head. He wasn’t going to win this argument.
“Just give me cover,” Remi added. “Fire a few rounds over Tarrant’s head. Keep him distracted long enough for me to get to the door.”
“And then what?” Brody snapped. “It’ll probably be locked. You can’t kick it down if you’re flat on the porch.”
“No, but I can call out to whoever’s inside and ask them to open it,” she replied quickly.
Brody hated it. Hated all of it. But it was obvious that Remi was going to do this no matter what he said.
She levered herself up just enough to reach the narrow opening between the bottom of the railing and the porch. And that was his cue to do something to try to make sure she survived this.
Brody took aim and fired the first shot into the sky.
It accomplished exactly what Brody had hoped. It made Tarrant stop firing. And Brody hoped the SOB had dived for cover.
Not wasting a second and not wanting to give Tarrant the chance to regroup and spot Remi, Brody fired again, this time aiming high, toward the thick branches of the tree. A second later, he squeezed off another round, this one hitting a limb near the top.
The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed through the trees. A branch snapped and tumbled down, and Brody heard the satisfying sound of Tarrant cursing a blue streak.
Good.
Brody hoped the limb had landed on the man’s head.
Heart pounding, he risked a glance over his shoulder. Remi had snaked her way through the railing, keeping low, and she was already on the porch.
And more vulnerable than ever.
There was zero cover now. Just Remi out in the open, crawling her way to the door.
Brody gritted his teeth and turned back toward the trees, his weapon still raised. He fired another round into the trees, but this time, no branch snapped loose, no startled curse followed.
Hell.
He hoped that didn’t give Tarrant enough courage to lift his head and see what the heck was going on. Just in case it did, Brody squeezed off two more shots, then quickly ejected his empty magazine and slapped in a fresh one that he took from his pocket.
Behind him, movement caught his eye—Remi, belly flat on the porch floor, crawling toward the door. She was low, but still too exposed. One well-aimed shot from Tarrant and—
He pushed the thought away. Had to. He couldn’t let his fear for her cloud his mind. But there was fear, all right. She was risking everything to save his son, and the baby might not even be inside.
While Brody continued to fire off more of those shots, Remi reached the door, lifted her hand and tried the knob. It didn’t budge, so she tapped lightly.
“Please,” she whispered, just loud enough to carry. “I’m here to help. If anyone’s in there, please let me in.”
Brody clenched his jaw. It was a long shot, but if someone was inside—if they had his son—maybe the plea would work. Maybe.
Or maybe they were already too late.
Brody squeezed off another round, then another, but he forced himself to slow down. He didn’t know how long this standoff would last, and he couldn’t risk burning through his remaining ammo. He had the backup weapon, but he might need all the firepower he could get.
Remi tapped again on the door, her voice softer now, more coaxing. “I’m here to help,” she said. “Please, just open the door.”
Silence.
Brody’s grip tightened around his gun. No movement, no answer. Hell. He was about to call out, to tell Remi to give up and scramble back down before Tarrant got another shot off—
Then a voice. Faint. Trembling. “Don’t shoot me.”
Brody went still.
Someone was in there. A woman. And unless she was putting on a good act, she was clearly terrified. Of course, anyone would be with the gunshots. Well, anyone who wasn’t involved in creating this nightmare.
Remi pressed her palm against the door, keeping her voice calm and steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help. I’m Remi. What’s your name?”
A pause, then the woman inside spoke, her voice shaky but clear. “Maria.”
“Okay, Maria,” Remi said. “Can you open the door for me?”
“No,” the woman blurted. “It’s not safe. The bullets might hit the baby.”
Brody felt the impact of her words like a gut punch. His grip on his gun tightened, emotions slamming into him hard and fast.
Remi kept her focus. “Is the baby safe?”
“Yes,” Maria whispered. “I moved him into the closet.”
Before Brody could process the relief that surged through him, another shot rang out.
Tarrant.
The bullet struck the side of the cottage, and Maria screamed. Brody’s heart dropped at the sound, and he heard a dull thud. Either she had fallen or dropped to the floor for cover.
She could be shot.
White-hot rage roared through him, and Brody didn’t hesitate. He fired fast, his aim lower this time, tearing through the branches of the trees. A fresh crack split the air as thick tree limbs came crashing down. Tarrant let out a sharp curse.
Good.
He hoped the snake was pinned down. Hoped, too, that he could continue to keep Tarrant from shooting.
Brody barely heard his own breath over the blood roaring in his ears. He kept his focus on the trees, searching for any sign of movement, finger tight on the trigger, ready to unload if Tarrant so much as twitched.
Behind him, Remi’s voice was more urgent. “Maria, are you hit?”
A long pause. Too long.
Brody risked a glance toward the cottage, every muscle in his body tensed.
Then finally Maria’s shaky voice. “No. I—I’m not hit.”
Brody blew out a slow breath, but there was no time for relief.
Remi pressed on. “Open the door. Let me help you.”
Another pause. Then the soft creak of hinges. The door inched open just enough for Remi to squeeze through, not far enough for Brody to see inside.
She didn’t hesitate. She scrambled in and shut the door behind her, sealing herself inside with Maria. And the baby.
Brody swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions roaring through him. Please, let him be all right. But he couldn’t dwell on that. Not now.
Tarrant was still out there.
He turned back to the trees, adjusting his grip on his weapon. He had one job: to keep Tarrant from taking another shot at that cottage. And Brody wasn’t about to fail.
His head whipped up when he heard another sound. Not gunfire this time but, rather, the distant wail of police sirens. Violet’s backup, no doubt.
Brody clenched his jaw, hoping like the devil the approaching cops didn’t push Tarrant into a panic. The SOB had already fired into the cottage, and if he thought he was about to be cornered, he might unload everything he had in retaliation.
But then…silence.
No more shots.
Brody’s gut knotted. Tarrant was running. His every instinct screamed to take off after him, to hunt him down and drag him into the dirt.
But he didn’t.
Because right now, his son could be inside that cottage.
Brody barreled out from cover, sprinting across the open space toward the porch. He took the steps in one stride, gripping his gun as he called out, “Remi, I’m coming in.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just pushed open the door.
The moment Brody stepped inside, his gaze locked on the scene in front of him. Remi was crouched on the floor beside a gray-haired woman, both of them in front of an open closet. But it wasn’t the woman who held his attention.
It was the tiny bundle in Remi’s arms.
His breath caught.
Remi had stripped off her bulletproof vest and draped it over the baby, shielding him, protecting him.
Brody somehow forced his feet to start moving, drawn to the baby. For the first time, he was looking at his missing son. He was certain of it.
Everything else—Tarrant, the gunfight, the rage still simmering in his blood—faded to the background. Brody’s whole focus was just on the newborn.
The baby stirred beneath the vest, his little face scrunching up, and Brody’s chest squeezed so tightly he could barely breathe.
Brody had him.
He finally had him.