His knuckles turned white as she paused, and he silently swore every word he’d ever heard. And then made up one or two.

  She was really going to do it? Force him to hurt her in the middle of the race to find her daughters? To add insult to injury to a woman who was already at her brink?

  Could he pretend that there was a chance for them? Just until she got her girls back, when she’d be overjoyed and better able to handle the rejection?

  The idea took root, was the most logical, considering all aspects of the situation.

  “I just... I’m so thankful for what you’re doing, Ezra. And...having you by my side is about the only way I’m getting through this...”

  Yes. Definitely. Go the pretend route.

  She could find out later what a creep he was to lie to her. Women got over creeps all the time.

  “But I need you to know that...once the girls are home...” She took a deep breath. And he just knew that she was saying a prayer that the girls made it home safely. “What I’m trying to say is that I can’t get involved with a man whose career doesn’t allow him to have a real home. And most importantly, not a man who faces danger every day of his life. I can’t put my girls through it, either. We’ve already lost one man. We can’t lose another...”

  Talk about having the wind knocked out of you...

  “No worries,” Ezra told her. “I’m not a family guy, and most definitely will be leaving at the end of the month. I’ve never even dated a woman who’d ever had a kid.” All true.

  As was the huge wave of disappointment that hit him when she finally got out with what she’d been trying to say.

  She didn’t want him.

  It was good. All good.

  Right.

  What he needed. What he’d need to tell her.

  A huge relief.

  And still...wow.

  The light in his world had suddenly dimmed.

  Chapter 12

  Ezra gave her ten minutes in the store to get what she needed, change clothes and meet him by the exit. When he’d suggested that she grab clothes for a couple of days, just in case, her heart had dropped, but it didn’t slow her down. Every minute they were in the store meant more minutes before she could see her daughters again.

  In addition to clothes and toiletries, she managed to grab food supplies as she ran her basket past displays, and she snagged a big package of cleansing wipes as well. The mother in her couldn’t pass them up.

  In dark green jeans, a long-sleeved, lighter green cotton shirt and a pair of tie-up, waterproof, tan ankle boots, she met him, bags in hand, at exactly ten minutes.

  Tried not to take a second look at the way the jeans and long-sleeved light brown tee hugged his muscles, failed, and then noticed the thirty-six-pack of bottled water in the cart behind him.

  The fact that she hadn’t thought of getting the life-sustaining liquid herself told her how far off her mark she really was. Shaking, she followed him out to the Jeep, promising herself she’d do better.

  And kept her mind on that goal as Ezra handed her a new burner phone and then sent a text from a second burner phone. “We have no idea how connected the Fitzgeralds are,” he told her. “For now, use that phone.”

  Of course, there were conspiracy theorists with friends in high places. Governors who had bunkers in case of a nuclear blast. She’d just read about them that afternoon.

  And she’d grabbed candy, as though she and Ezra were on an adventure. A road trip.

  She had to do better. Be better.

  “We’re Jack and Molly Wallace,” he told her as he stood the phone in a cup holder beside him and handed her a cheap metal band, motioning toward the one on his left ring finger.

  Feeling surreal, she slid her matching band in place.

  She could think about being Molly Wallace.

  She had to not think about what could be happening to her daughters. Not think about Claire’s worries or Neve’s need to make things seem okay when they weren’t. Not think about them afraid and crying.

  As anxiety rose up, ready to choke her, she turned to reach for one of her bags in the back seat of the Jeep, intending to get the bag of candy she’d snagged, to grab a piece of chocolate to give her immediate distraction, and instead, her gaze landed on Ezra’s bag.

  More particularly on the new package of underwear visible through the thin plastic.

  A three-pack—red, blue and black—of cotton boxer briefs.

  Ezra’s...

  Anxiety dissipated.

  And she no longer needed the chocolate.

  * * *

  Not liking going into battle with someone to protect beside him, Ezra drove toward Tom Smith’s known residence with trepidation building within him. He only ever took armed and trained soldiers into battle with him.

  A team of men who knew how to read each other and the situation, who knew how to preempt the unexpected and deal with it if it slapped them in the face.

  Theresa was most definitely not armed or trained.

  But if he hoped to get a good look inside Smith’s premises, and around his property, he had to have an in, and Theresa was it.

  With the Fitzgeralds seemingly off the grid, Ezra’s chosen course of action could be the only way to get the girls back expediently.

  Only if it worked perfectly, of course, and there was no guarantee of that.

  As he thought over every aspect of the plan, he saw no reason to fear immediate physical harm. The man ran a viable business with a stellar rating with the Better Business Bureau. Smith was just an unknowing means to a possible quick and happy end to a kidnapping.

  They were only a mile from Smith’s place when he got an answering text, telling him that Smith could meet with him at his convenience that day. Not wanting to rush in like a fool, he texted back that he and his wife had stopped for a bite to eat, and asked if half an hour would be okay.

  The confirmation came back within a minute.

  And the thirty minutes he and Theresa waited were excruciating to him, as he ran the plan over and over in his mind, thinking about what to look for, where to look and what questions to ask.

  “Dom’s the undercover expert,” he said aloud to Theresa at one point. She’d spent the majority of their time scrolling on her phone. After their very clear understanding that there couldn’t be anything personal between them, he’d given up being friendly with her.

  If only he could quit being aware of her as easily. Her scent. Her almost frantic touching of thumb to screen, more like jabs than the light touches that seemed more natural to her. Every breath she took...

  “If I call him, to get pointers, he could very likely order me not to visit Smith, and send law enforcement there instead...”

  “No!” Her gaze wide and alarmed, she looked straight at him for the first time since they’d exited the store. “Then we have the whole warrant thing to deal with. Please, Ezra, no matter how this turns out, I have to try.”

  “And I have to make you aware of all aspects of this situation, as best I can,” he said. “I’ve never freelanced before. Or been on any job without explicit orders and protocols to follow. But here I am, listening to a gut that has led men into many victories, and I feel as though I have to do all I can to get those little ones back as quickly as possible, but they’re your girls to save, not mine.”

  “And this is my choice,” she said, her tone almost calm, and most definitely filled with strength. “When Mark was sick, there were choices to make, different treatments with different risks and levels of success rates... I wanted to go one way, he wanted to go the other, but it was his life. He had to be the one to make them. And in the end, when the choices he made didn’t pan out as he’d expected, he was at peace with having taken his life in the direction he’d thought best. That was one of the last things he told me. He’d lived on his terms. If we don’t do this, and I find out that having done so could have helped my girls... I would never be able to live with myself.”

  He nodded, went back to his game planning while she went back to her phone, and they didn’t speak again until he pulled through an opened chain-link gate. They drove across a dirt yard and up to what looked like a metal barn with a storefront sitting just feet away from an old, but well-kept, white-vinyl-sided house.

  He turned to her. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” She didn’t hesitate.

  With a nod, he reached over to the glove box in front of her knees, opened it and pulled out his handgun. He slid it into the waistband of his jeans and covered it with the loosely fitting shirt. “I have a concealed carry permit in my wallet,” he told her.

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “I’m Jack and you’re Molly,” he reminded her.

  “Wallace,” she confirmed, exiting the Jeep and meeting him at the front, visibly calm when he knew she had to be shaking inside all the way to her core. God, he admired the woman.

  He took her hand in his as they headed toward the front of the store. To get into character.

  And because he wanted to connect with her.

  When she linked her fingers with his, squeezing tight, he was glad.

  * * *

  Tom Smith was nothing like she’d expected. A short, thin man, with dark-rimmed glasses, a clean shave and short hair, he welcomed them to his store as though they were friends. Showed them to a table toward the back of the partitioned-off front room, offered them water or coffee or a bottle of soda and gave them a couple of notebooks loaded with page protectors filled with photos.

  Walking around to the back side of the table, against the wall, Ezra pulled out a chair for her, and then scooted his right up next to hers, so they could look at the same photos at the same time. Smith, returning almost immediately with the bottled water they’d both requested, and a pad and paper, took a seat opposite them.

  As the men started their conversation, Theresa felt surreal. Enjoying the imaginary story of Ezra and her as Jack and Molly Wallace more than anything else she’d had to face that day. Wishing she could lose herself in the make-believe and rest awhile. She couldn’t remember ever taking as much solace from the warmth and nearby presence of another human being as she did Ezra Colton. He was a man of few words during situations when she needed words, and yet he said enough. Said what she’d needed. She’d calmed more through his silence than she’d ever have thought possible.

  Smith started by telling them basics, recommendations based on type of location—city, rural, size of lot—and then trenching specifics. He likened his process to what was done for subway systems, rather than digging, to prevent cave-ins. Finally he moved on to dimensions. He built his bunkers ten feet underground and recommended ten square feet of space per occupant.

  Much of which, just like the photos in front of her, triggered every one of Theresa’s panic buttons.

  Were Claire and Neve already hidden away ten feet under? Experiencing for real what Theresa was only looking at in pictures? Would they both already be claustrophobic for life, being trapped down there? Were they scared out of their minds?

  As her imagination started to run away with her, she felt Ezra’s hand on her knee under the table. And remembered that she had a job to do. Covering his hand with hers, she forced her focus to the room in which they sat, taking in whatever she could, in case Ezra needed it later.

  “Do you recommend all steel construction?” Ezra asked, perusing pages so thoroughly she almost believed he was in the market for a bunker for himself. He talked about things she hadn’t even read about, and it quickly became clear to her that Ezra Colton was no stranger to bunker construction.

  And, of course, he wouldn’t be. He was a career soldier, on special operation assignments. Dangerous ones. Where they’d need bunkers to keep them safe.

  “I mostly do metal sheets with cement, reinforced with rebar in between them,” Smith was saying, “but we can do steel if you prefer and are willing to pay for it.” The man went on to talk about ventilation, generator sizes, furniture built into the wall to make more use of a small space.

  “What about plumbing?” she asked. She was there to convince the man she wanted to live in a bunker. It was time to take ownership of the home, or she’d fail the task, and possibly her daughters. “I read about toilets that grind and then pump and dump up to one hundred feet horizontally, where the compost becomes natural fertilizer, keeping any odor from collecting inside the dwelling.” She pulled from what little she’d remembered from her afternoon reading.

  “We do pump and dump, yes. I don’t generally add the grind feature. It adds a lot to the cost, and as long as you don’t throw sanitary napkins or condoms in the tank, you won’t need to grind.”

  He spoke pragmatically.

  She could feel her face turning red as embarrassed heat crept up her skin with condoms and Ezra sharing her space at the same time. And celebrated the fact that she was doing her job well enough to feel something besides panic and growing despair.

  “I’d still like the grind feature,” she said. “I’ll borrow the money if I have to, but we have quite a bit saved already from my father’s life insurance policy. We’re...” She glanced at Ezra, allowing herself to show the deep regard she felt for the man she barely knew, and continued, “We’re trying to start a family, and I want to be prepared for a stray something to get flushed...”

  Ezra held her gaze. The warmth in his eyes made her want things she couldn’t ever have with him.

  “Yes, we’ll definitely want the grind feature,” he said, blinking and straightening his shoulders as he turned back to the bunker builder.

  And she wondered...did he have the information he needed? Could they get out of there?

  Had he seen something in her that he’d wanted?

  “Do you have any clients who would be willing to give testimonials about your work?” her soldier man asked as Tom made a list of their dimensions, preferences and specifications.

  “I do,” the man said. “They’re designated by type of bunker, and type of location, too, so you can contact those who have interests and needs similar to yours. I’ll get you the list when we’re through here.”

  Her heart started to pump. So hard she could feel her pulse in her chest, thumping through her. Hear it in her ears. Was it really going to be that smooth? They’d get the Fitzgeralds’ bunker information, and maybe even an approximate location, handed to them on a printed piece of paper?

  Clamping her hand down on Ezra’s knee, she took the sustenance she needed without apology. For that moment, he was as a husband to her.

  Tom asked questions. Jotted on his list. Retrieved a laptop and moved notes onto a form that would give them an approximate cost for their personalized bunker, to be set out on an old hunting lot in the middle of the Colorado wilderness. Something Molly had also inherited from her father.

  Whereas Theresa Fitzgerald had never even known who her father was. Her mother, either, for that matter.

  Feeling rather fond of the imaginary deceased figurehead, she gave Ezra a glance as, figures done, Tom slid them across the table. Assuring Tom that they’d look everything over and get back with him before they left town the next day, she watched as the man left them to collect his list of references.

  Tom’s phone buzzed, obviously a text, as he pulled out the cell and looked at the screen rather than answering it, and Theresa couldn’t help but touch Ezra’s knee one more time. “Thank you,” she said, her heart pretty much in her throat, making her voice soft and guttural.

  When Ezra stiffened, his immediate tension noticeable to her hand still on his lower thigh, she tried to snatch her hand back, but it didn’t leave its location.

  His hand held her fingers where they were as he leaned over to kiss her cheek and said, “I think we’ve been made. Stay behind me and follow my lead.”

  Clinging to the hand holding hers, she stood as he did, not questioning his judgment for even a second, as he walked her behind the man bending beside a desk in front of a tall filing cabinet and out of the odd little store.

  “Keep to the wall,” he said, his free hand under his shirt where she knew he’d shoved his gun. And then, “See that wall of trees? Run behind it, and follow it back to the far side of the Jeep. Climb in the back seat and stay down. Now. Go!”

  She went. She didn’t think. Didn’t question what she wanted to do. She just ran. Reached the trees, hugged the first one she came to with her arms up against her chest, not spread wide, and looked to the next trunk, getting there as quickly as she could. Two minutes was all it took for her to reach the Jeep and scramble onto the floor of the back seat.

  Two minutes, and then gunshots rang out.

  Chapter 13

  Ezra heard the bullet hit the tree just to the right of his shoulder. And then tossed the rock he’d grabbed on an upward trajectory, to arch down and hit the ground near a tree a few feet over from him. Waited for the bullet to hit. And repeated it twice more, throwing the rocks up on an angle to land a few feet farther each time. When the fourth shot rang out beyond his last throw, in anticipation of where the path would go next, he spun and made his way stealthily through the woods, behind the barn and out to the trees on the other side where he’d sent Theresa. The side with more covering.

  Years of training for battle had taught him how to move undetected, but he couldn’t be sure how long Smith would be distracted by his movement in the woods before advancing on the vacant Jeep. He went on the hunch that the man wanted his prey badly enough to follow the path Ezra had laid. Keeping down, he slid into the Jeep and started it. With only enough of his head above the dash for him to see, he spun them around to head toward the property exit before Smith had a chance to figure out what was happening.