The voices faded, as Dorian’s heart rate grew louder. Pounding through her head.

  They popped a coyote?

  Did that mean Scott was okay?

  And nearby?

  What would he want her to do?

  How could she help?

  By not distracting him.

  He’d needed to know she was safely up in the culvert so that he could do his job.

  He’d want her to just stay put. To wait until the killer’s truck headed out so she’d be safe.

  And just let the baby be taken to plan B?

  If Scott wasn’t close enough to hear what she’d just heard, he’d have no way of knowing what was going down.

  An engine fired up in the distance, the sound growing dimmer.

  The three heading out first?

  Or had they left on foot? Hiking back to transportation hidden farther up the road, too far for her to have heard?

  How in the hell did she know?

  Wait...was that...?

  Yes, the newborn’s whimper was unmistakable. Most particularly as it grew more strident.

  Suddenly, it didn’t matter what she knew, or didn’t know.

  Scrambling out from the sharp branches covering her, Dorian saw a shrouded figure holding a bundle.

  Then, filled with horror, she noticed the killer standing beside his truck, gun pointing straight at Scott Michaels.

  * * *

  “Who are you?” The killer, gun aimed at Scott’s head, bit out the question, loud enough to be heard over the baby’s wail. The hunched, shrouded figure at his side didn’t move. Doing nothing to attempt to quiet the clearly distressed newborn.

  Scott was at death’s door. He understood that.

  But the killer needed something from him.

  Needed to know who he was.

  Was he someone who’d just stumbled onto the murder of a kidnapper, and interrupted the killing of his victim?

  How had he come to be where he was when that had gone down?

  Had he talked to anyone?

  Killing Scott was not about one baby. One deal.

  It was about saving an organization that was lining pockets far and wide.

  Scott had to find a way of taking down two criminals at once—one whose shroud, denied Scott the chance to see what he was up against—and save that newborn’s life.

  On a leg weakened by pain and blood loss.

  Knife ready, and with a silent, “Now,” he lunged.

  The gun went off, sending a bullet whizzing closely by Scott’s right ear as his knife slid into flesh.

  A shriek sounded right next to the killer...the shrouded man...was a woman.

  Scott’s arm withdrew in a flash as the bigger body fell too close for comfort, and in the next instant, he dove for the waist of the shrouded body, hoping to protect the bundle as he flew flesh into flesh.

  He had the second shrouded body on the ground, saw the bundle roll from an arm to the ground, and, too late, saw the second gun pointed at his head.

  And realized that he was lying on top of a man, not a woman. One who was going to kill him.

  “No!” He recognized the female voice that came out of the darkness. Didn’t compute it. But wasn’t as surprised as he might have been when a soft-soled shoe landed on the throat directly in line with Scott’s vision.

  The gun at his head fell to the ground, as the hand holding it went limp.

  By the time Scott was on his feet, Dorian had the baby in hand, was unwrapping the blanket enough to survey the tiny body.

  She’d barely met his gaze, with a tense nod, when he heard the sound of an engine. Dorian’s gaze shot to the road in tandem with his, and then, her eyes wide, filled with too much emotion, she said, “Someone’s coming.”

  Headlights in the distance obscured the one lane road from view.

  Scott grabbed a key ring from the killer’s pocket and took Dorian’s elbow. “Come on,” he said, leading her toward the building. After unlocking the door, he ran the key ring back out, snatched his knife out of the killer’s left side and followed Dorian inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

  She came out of a doorway as soon as he entered, her finger in the quiet baby’s mouth. “Find an attic, a cellar, anyplace we can hide,” he told her.

  She nodded toward her knuckle. “This isn’t going to keep the little one quiet for long.” She’d given Scott a long look, first. Had gone pale at the sight of the piece of shirt tied around his leg.

  He glanced out a front window. The vehicle was getting closer. Only one, so far.

  They didn’t have long.

  And she was right. Hiding wasn’t a viable option.

  He couldn’t get back up to that culvert as quickly as Dorian could. He’d have to get her out of the vicinity and headed back up to safety.

  While he deflected.

  “There’s a back door,” he told her. “I’m right behind you. Head straight for the culvert.”

  For a split second, Dorian looked as though she might argue, but when a whimper sounded from the baby, she gave Scott one last emotional look and ran down the hall.

  Chapter 12

  With the baby in both arms, held to her chest, Dorian ran as fast and far as she could, keeping a watch on the approaching headlights.

  And when they drew close enough for someone to get even a glimpse of her, she dropped to the ground. She unwrapped the baby long enough to fashion a sling out of the blanket, secure the baby inside and tie it around her, talking softy, lovingly, to the newborn as she did so.

  It wasn’t a mother’s voice he might recognize after nine months hearing it through the womb. But it was better than no voice at all.

  Scott wasn’t right behind.

  She’d known when she’d left that he wouldn’t be.

  But she prayed that he’d make it back to them.

  There’d been a lot of blood around the swatch of material around his thigh.

  She couldn’t think about that at the moment.

  With the baby tied to her chest, Dorian dropped to all fours and began her climb, staying hidden in the brush. Watching all around her for signs of wildlife that might think she was breakfast. The best defense from them was to make noise. To call out in a mean voice.

  Neither of which she could do.

  Pausing to fill both pockets of her scrub pants with handfuls of rocks—a spray she could throw if need be—she continued upward.

  Not looking back.

  She couldn’t.

  If she saw Scott in trouble, or anything that led her to believe he was...she’d slow her own progress.

  And worsen the baby’s chances of escaping further horror.

  But she couldn’t help listening.

  For any approaching danger, yes. But without that distraction, she was left with a silence that could, at any moment, be filled with gunfire.

  “We’ll be there soon,” she told the little one in her care. Whether by the grace of God, or the swaddling against her chest and swaying motion of movement, the baby was quiet. Breathing evenly.

  She assumed, asleep.

  Forty-five minutes after she’d last seen Scott, she was crawling into the culvert. Her hands and knees were bloody. She suspected her elbows were, too.

  She was thirsty. And knew the baby would need sustenance.

  They were safe for the moment.

  Not facing madmen with guns.

  But they had a long way to go before they made it out of danger alive.

  She took off her shoes, used them as the base of a cradle, set side by side, more than a baby’s length apart. And as she gathered twigs and branches long enough to fit over them, and then brush to top them with, she felt the prick of tears in her eyes.

  Blinked them away.

  Several times.

  And finally, was able to untie the sling from around her, lay the still-sleeping baby in the makeshift bed and cover the newborn with the blanket.

  From there, she allowed herself one glance, through the phone camera, down to the compound below.

  And saw nothing but stillness.

  Darkness.

  The sun wouldn’t be rising for another couple of hours yet.

  Desperation rose up, pushing at her from the inside out, and Dorian stomped her stockinged foot. Self-pity weakened her.

  Made her less effective.

  She ventured a little farther down a ridge to find a prickly pear cactus and slammed a rock onto the lowest pad, breaking it off. Back at the culvert, she used another, sharper stone to cut through the skin.

  She sucked the first piece of fruit that filled her fingers and she grabbed and pulled.

  Ate the second one.

  By that time, she was watching, almost constantly, the mountainside leading up from the buildings below.

  Made herself focus on useful activity.

  She could feed the baby from the water bottle—had long ago learned how to feed a baby without a teat or nipple available. On more than one occasion, she’d referred new mothers to a national website that gave step-by-step instructions with pictures.

  Not all babies were able to suck.

  And while she squeezed juice to fill the bottle, she thought about the rest of the digestion process. The juice could likely cause more stool. Looser stool.

  She needed diapers.

  Figured she could rip off the bottoms of her scrubs and fashion something that she could tie around the baby’s bottom.

  Children had been born and raised long before disposable diapers were invented.

  Before stores were around to provide cloth ones.

  And...one step at a time...she was doing it.

  Doing—not giving in to the fright and despair hovering at her edges.

  But her hands were less steady. Her head starting to hurt.

  As she grew more and more desperate to know that Scott Michaels was okay.

  And that he was coming for them.

  * * *

  Scott’s head was spinning—with information, a need to reach his colleagues, and, he suspected, a need for rest and sustenance after his loss of blood—as he made the last turn in his climb up the mountain.

  The short, ten-minute walk took him half an hour. That included a five-minute stop to cut food and drink for himself and then consume it.

  As the adrenaline seeped out of him, he was finding himself only capable of doing one thing at time.

  Half dragging his leg, as well as the bag he’d filled to bring up with him, he came over the crest that made him visible to the occupants of the culvert. And they to him.

  Dawn would be breaking soon.

  Another day during which he needed to accomplish so much.

  Miracles.

  A day for which he currently had no plan.

  Get to the cave.

  Period.

  His thoughts ended there.

  “Scott!” He heard Dorian’s voice before he saw her burst from the culvert, no baby in hand.

  His thoughts cleared. As did his vision.

  “What happened?” he asked, as energy started slowly to surge through him. “Where’s the baby?”

  “He’s asleep,” she said.

  “He?”

  “I changed his diaper. And fed him.”

  She sounded...different. Surreal. And...different.

  A note to her voice he didn’t recognize.

  “Come on—let’s get you in here and let me get a look at that leg,” she said then, as though she’d woken from a twelve-hour power nap. As far as he could calculate, she hadn’t had more than an hour in the culvert.

  She stood there, seeming to almost burst with a need to move, but didn’t move away from the opening of the space to let him in.

  Instead, she smiled at him. Touched his face.

  If he wasn’t so out of it, he wouldn’t have thought there were tears in her eyes. But he was. So he did.

  “You made it back.”

  He didn’t miss the whispered words, sounding to his haywired brain as more of a prayer than a statement.

  And then, “What’s that?” as he dropped the strap of the satchel he’d confiscated, among many other things he’d taken that he knew were important, but didn’t care much about at the moment.

  He swayed.

  Knew he had to lie down.

  And was pretty sure that when he did, the good doctor kneeled down beside him and kissed his lips...

  * * *

  Dreams of Dorian...a younger Dorian...kissing him faded as Scott drifted into consciousness. He had no idea of how much time had passed. Where he was.

  He started cataloging sensations even before he opened his eyes.

  Hard ground.

  Weight against him.

  Leg throbbing.

  He was alive.

  Dorian!

  He lay frozen, not wanting to alert anyone that he was awake. Not wanting to move in case the enemy didn’t know he was there.

  Had he made it to the culvert?

  He’d been on his way.

  Had stopped to eat.

  Had been hurting. Badly. And feeling light-headed...

  His lids shot open. Rock faced him from above. To the left, more rock.

  And to the right...

  Dorian?

  Her eyes closed as her head rested on his shoulder, facing him.

  So, he was still asleep then.

  Still dreaming.

  Except that...his leg was throbbing.

  As was the arm on which the doctor lay.

  And...there it was again...a whimper.

  The sound that had awoken him.

  The baby!

  He’d made it back to Dorian!

  He drew in air. Deeply. Held it there. Savoring.

  He’d made it back to the culvert.

  And Dorian and the baby were there.

  The whimper came again and the weight against the right side of his body disappeared in a flash. Scott closed his eyes, needing a moment.

  Dorian had lain with him?

  Slept with her head on his shoulder?

  Had anything else happened that he needed to know about?

  Anything he’d done?

  Didn’t seem possible.

  Not with the struggle he’d been having just to put one foot in front of the other before he’d lost consciousness.

  He’d made it back.

  The last thing he’d asked of himself.

  And there was so much more to do.

  Sitting up slowly, he expected dizziness. Had none.

  Saw that his head had been lying on a pillow of leaves.

  And that his body had been so cushioned as well.

  Had he fallen on them?

  Shaking his head, he turned around, looking farther into the culvert, and saw Dorian, with the baby in her arms, holding the water bottle to his lips.

  His.

  Had he dreamed she’d told him the baby was a boy?

  Dorian wasn’t looking at the baby.

  She was staring at him.

  Getting his bearings seemed pertinent. “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  Light flooded the culvert.

  Eleven in the morning?

  He’d slept for five or six hours?

  And she’d slept with him.

  At least for part of the time.

  Pulling his legs up, he meant to stand—to head outside and take care of necessary business. Felt the pull on his lower thigh and saw the bare skin down to his ankle.

  The bandage.

  Glanced back at Dorian.

  “I figured, since I had no anesthetic, the best time to take care of it was when you were passed out.”

  He shook his head. Felt a smile coming on for no good reason and held it back.

  “You took care of it.” Statement. Not question.

  His mind calculated that it could only have been a little more than twelve hours since he’d told her he saw a vehicle in the compound.

  It had turned out to be the killer’s black truck.

  Chuck McKellips, he now knew.

  Right.

  He knew a lot.

  Details from the night before flooded down on him, and Scott stood up. Feeling ridiculously naked in his pants with one leg cut off.

  “Where’s the bag I brought?”

  She nodded toward the leaves his head had been lying on. The satchel had been used as the base for the pillow.

  As he glanced down, his eye caught an image off to the left, behind where he’d been lying. Back by a makeshift cradle.

  Spread out, like medical tools on a tray ready for surgery, were all the items he’d retrieved from the mission before he’d headed back up the hill.

  Grabbing the jeans and shirt that were going to be too large for him, he headed outside without another word.

  Chapter 13

  Scott was dressed in jeans that had to be rolled up at the cuffs and belted at the waist when he returned. Dorian, who’d finished feeding the baby and was waiting for her own turn outside, couldn’t seem to stop looking at the man.

  They were on the edge of a danger she’d never dreamed of—not even with all the tough spots her partners had been in over the years, with her own kidnapping the year before. She was facing down an organization that had power and money far beyond what she had expected.

  Ripping apart untold lives as they walked in shadows, stealing newborns from their families.

  She and Scott were two normal human beings without special powers against the evilest of powers.

  A trapped duo.

  One of them was injured.

  And the other was caring for a baby.

  “You found the clothes I brought you,” he said, nodding toward the dark beige elastic-waisted pants and pullover top she’d donned after feeding the baby from the ready-made and still sealed formula bottles he’d had in that satchel. Along with a stash of tiny disposable diapers.