She tried to keep silent, to let him concentrate and do what he did, but after a couple of minutes, her throat clogged with tears, she asked, “Did you see them?”

  “No.” He focused only on the road, except to keep close watch in the rearview and side mirrors.

  If he hadn’t seen her girls, it stood to reason that he didn’t know how they were. She digested the news, accepted it as best she could, and watched her side mirror as well as her phone, waiting for service.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  She just needed basic facts.

  “Fine.”

  He didn’t look fine. Not only did the tight line of his jaw and the steely glaze over his eyes tell her he wasn’t fine, but his clothes were filthy, and his shirt was ripped. She was pretty sure, when he moved and she caught a glimpse of his stomach through a rip, that she’d seen red.

  His stomach was bleeding?

  Horrified, she asked, “Were you hit?” She should never have let him drive.

  “No.” He glanced at her then, once, quickly, and for that second, his gaze softened. “I’m fine, Theresa—scraped up, maybe. Right now, we have to get word to Dom so they can get aerial surveillance out before the Fitzgeralds have a chance to lose us again. The van isn’t drivable, but we have no idea what other plans they might have in place, maybe two-way radios that allow them to communicate with someone in a bunker close by. Some kind of signal they send. The technology back there was expensive.”

  That was why he kept looking behind them. And was racing to get off the road before someone else came at them, too?

  They might not just be fighting one older couple. There could be a whole community behind the grandparents, believers in the cause, who’d help them in their fight to keep their granddaughters safe.

  Sitting stiffly, feeling like she was dying an excruciating death one emotion at a time, she watched in all directions and imagined her face lying against warm T-shirt-covered chest muscle as she counted heartbeats.

  Chapter 20

  The second Theresa told him she had cell service, Ezra pushed a call into his brother, leaving the audio on the vehicle’s speaker. He gave Dom the exact coordinates of the bunker, listed camera locations, the telescopic gun site, how many shots had been fired, and a moving shooter who was invisible to him. And noted that he wasn’t sure it even belonged to the Fitzgeralds. He described the brown van, down to tire type, listing all of the bags he’d seen from various fast-food outlets so someone could check their security cameras.

  “It’s no longer drivable,” he relayed. “Tire rim meeting rock took care of that. Broken axle guarantees it. Reconnaissance says you’re going to have to go in aerial first,” he finished.

  “I’ll get drones out immediately.” Dom’s tone held urgency, which calmed Ezra’s a bit. A good soldier knew when to back off and trust the man with superior ability to get the job done.

  “There’s a scenic pull-off a quarter of a mile down the main road,” he said then. “We’ll wait there.”

  Ezra hung up before Dom could argue. Or advise.

  If his brother had something pertinent to say, he’d call back.

  “We’re staying in the area?” Theresa’s tone sounded much better than it had the last time she’d spoken.

  “Of course. Strangers go in and get your daughters out, you need to be one of the first things they see.” He might not be child-savvy, but he wasn’t a moron.

  She looked at him, and he had no excuse not to look back. He read the panic, the pain, coursing through her. Swallowed hard.

  He couldn’t tell her there was no reason to fear.

  “What are the chances of getting them out unharmed?” Her gaze, more than her voice, demanded honesty.

  He had a much easier time telling a platoon of soldiers that they might die than telling Theresa that her two little girls could end up with the same fate. Easier, but still, excruciatingly hard.

  “Reason says to look at the motivation of the captor.” He changed the word from enemy at the last moment. He was talking about her dead husband’s parents. People who’d been devastated by the death of their only child. “They are motivated by love for those little girls. Their goal is to ensure that they’re safe when the debilitating blast that they believe is coming actually hits. We aren’t dealing with narcissistic psychopaths,” he finished. “The Fitzgeralds love deeply. They have consciences.”

  And their minds were misguided. While the last bit of his thought remained unsaid, he knew Theresa was fully aware it was there.

  And that the older couple’s instability gave possibility to any scenario.

  He also knew that he’d met the woman of a lifetime in the person sitting upright next to him. She wasn’t immune to her emotions. But she took them and still managed to present herself to the problem.

  He admired the hell out of her.

  The way she’d not only held up over the past two days but had managed to think and act in a rational, beneficial way, as good as many trained soldiers. He was...beyond impressed.

  He’d recommend her for a Purple Heart if she was a soldier. Although she hadn’t been physically wounded, the emotional wounds she was bearing while continuing to serve effectively weighed far more.

  And he knew that though he’d be leaving her, he wouldn’t do it until he’d brought her daughters home.

  One way or another, he was going to be there.

  * * *

  Theresa managed to stay logical for about five minutes after they’d pulled into the lay-by, which was really a fancy word for gravel at the side of the road. The scenic view was across the street—looking out from the mountain down into the valley stretching all the way to Denver, not that they could see that far if they went over and took a peek. Glints from Benson were visible, cars moving, probably, like little stars on the ground, from where they sat, Jeep turned and pointed toward the road in the direction heading to the Fitzgerald homestead. Land with a door to the home underground.

  From what Ezra had described, there was no way anyone was going to get those girls out. At least, not until Eric and Jennifer ran out of ammunition to shoot in the legs anyone who attempted to descend the ten feet down to them.

  Unless the rescuer had head-to-toe body armor, and such a thing didn’t exist.

  Although, some military gear came close...

  The Fitzgeralds likely had enough ammo to last through more law enforcement manpower than existed in the state of Colorado. They’d been stockpiling for decades.

  And Claire and Neve would witness it...

  You didn’t ever forget something like that. Her sweet little ones, if they survived, would be emotionally scarred for life.

  She couldn’t fix that, no matter how much mother’s intuition or love she poured into them.

  And what was her other option? To leave them down in that bunker for the rest of their lives? They had to be rescued...

  Sitting there contemplating options, she felt as trapped as they were. Flying out of her skin as she sat quietly within it.

  Feeling the darkness closing in as it had the night before when she’d crawled into bed. Her stomach swarmed. With dread and fear-induced butterflies. Her mind careened to a place where emotion ruled and created thoughts.

  Her precious little girls were being irreparably damaged, and there was nothing she could do about it and no way she’d ever be able to make them better. Were they already hurt physically? Restrained? Bruised? Or...

  Ezra shifted in his seat, drawing her attention. Watching out the window, he seemed to be on the lookout every second. As though the Fitzgeralds might drive past them at any moment.

  Because...that was Ezra. Always aware. Always prepared.

  Always focused.

  Butterflies flitted away with that thought.

  Focus dissipated them.

  Thinking about Ezra wiped them out.

  And the moment she tried to concentrate on the occasional car driving past, on whether or not the drones were in place yet, what images the powerful cameras might be portraying...she catapulted into darkness.

  Was reminded of the night before...the despair.

  If they didn’t find the girls, she’d be right back there that night. Only eight or so hours in the future, she could be climbing back between the sheets of the bed she’d left back in Benson that morning.

  She couldn’t do it.

  But she’d already done it.

  So...if she had to...maybe she could...

  “If we don’t find the girls tonight, will you hold me again until I fall asleep?” The words blurted out of her, born of panic, pushed out by desperation.

  “Of course.”

  The certainty, the rapidity, of his response reached deep within her. As did the promise within it. She glanced at the unusual, one-of-a-kind man at her side and knew that, no matter what, she’d survive another day.

  So that she could be the mother she was meant to be.

  * * *

  Dom’s caller ID showed up before Ezra was expecting it to. Dread filled his gut as he grabbed his phone. The Jeep and thus its audio system were turned off, conserving gas. No reason for him to make it obvious that he wanted the call to be a private one. There hadn’t been enough time for surveillance and then a successful extraction.

  Even Dom wasn’t that good.

  But if the cameras showed death...

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not them.”

  Feeling Theresa’s gaze hot on him, Ezra said, “What’s not?”

  “The people in that bunker... It’s a young guy and his pregnant wife.”

  He didn’t say the string of words that ran through his mind, but he sat with them for a couple of seconds. Avoiding the woman seated to his right completely.

  “You’ve trespassed and have been shot at twice now, bro.”

  Yeah. And he’d let Theresa down twice, too, which hurt far worse.

  “Guy’s claiming self-defense and is well within his rights to do so. He saw your gun. He wants reimbursement for the van you damaged. He agrees not to press theft charges against you, considering the circumstances, as long as he gets a new van.”

  “Fine.” He could afford to buy a guy a van. Even without a financial wizard as a sibling, like Oliver looking after his investments for years.

  “I get what you’re doing, Ezra,” Dom said then, sounding a bit like he needed a beer—and maybe a night alone with his fiancée. “I get why. But you’re making me look bad here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t call again until you’ve confirmed their location.”

  Dom had stopped short of ordering him to cease and desist. Ezra owed him one. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Caleb called,” his triplet said then, the comment random enough that Ezra knew it was important.

  “He’s got verified intel that shows evidence of Ronald Spence smuggling, just like I suspected. In or very close to Blue Larkspur. Hitting us at home.”

  “Thumbing his nose at all of us.” The idea made Ezra burn. As did the fact that he’d failed his older brother. He’d told Caleb he’d help look for evidence on the guy Caleb and Morgan had erroneously helped get out of prison, thinking he’d been one of their father’s victims who’d been sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

  Ezra couldn’t remember a time when his family had needed him. Now Caleb had, and he hadn’t been there for him.

  The knowledge didn’t sit well, not that Dom knew what Ezra had told Caleb. His brother was just filling him in on family business.

  None of what Dom was telling him sat well.

  “Hey.” Dom’s tone was firm. Like a slap upside the head.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t give up.” Dead silence followed the words. Dom had ended the call.

  Leaving Ezra alone with one of the strongest women he’d ever known. A woman who was hanging on by a thread that he was about to cut.

  * * *

  It was like she was in a free fall that just didn’t stop.

  “...a young couple...”

  She heard Ezra’s voice filling the Jeep sitting on the gravel lay-by. Only caught a few of the words that came after the ones that kept replaying themselves over and over in her mind.

  It wasn’t them.

  Such innocuous words could mean anything. Them could mean anyone. It might mean that Eric and Jennifer weren’t the ones shooting at Ezra, because they were down in the bunker playing the girls’ favorite princess board game with them and a friend had been visiting and taken care of the intruder for them.

  Or...or...it wasn’t the Fitzgeralds there at all. What if the girls had been left in the care of a babysitter who’d been told to protect them at any cost, so she’d pushed the button that set off an electronically manipulated rifle to shoot at sensor movement?

  It wasn’t them.

  A young couple...

  “You were shot at...could have been killed...for nothing.” The words fell from her lips, born from the depths of despair into which she’d fallen.

  And she hadn’t finished descending the downward trajectory inside of her. The longer she sat there, the deeper she went into a darkness that had no beginning and no damned end.

  Starting the Jeep, Ezra pulled out onto the mostly deserted road. Drove without saying where he was taking them. She didn’t ask.

  Just sat frozen, watching trees go by, seeing mountainsides and distant vistas, and hearing It wasn’t them.

  A whole day had passed, and all of the law enforcement agencies looking for her daughters had made no progress. The Fitzgeralds had planned long and well. For a crime that had obviously been spurred on by their son’s death. They were successfully completely off the grid. And might not ever be found.

  With no power to change the circumstances, she had to face facts...

  “It wasn’t for nothing.”

  Ezra’s words were a long time coming. So long, in fact, that the shock of hearing his voice again got her attention, and she heard every one of them.

  “How can you say that?” What good could possibly have come of that afternoon’s debacle? Of the wasted time? Darkness was going to be falling before they could make it to the next destination on the map.

  She’d done the math. Unless some miracle happened and her daughters came walking up the road toward them, or showed up on law enforcement’s radar, her wish for their sweet dreams was going to be delivered to them via angels again that night.

  “We’re on the right path, Theresa.” The cadence of his voice flat, he didn’t even glance her way. Whatever he was giving her, it was no pep rally. He wasn’t trying to convince her. To build her spirits. He was giving her facts as he believed them.

  So she didn’t argue with him. She just sat there, arms crossed over her aching body, and wondered if he was hurting, too. The man had spent close to an hour dragging himself along on his stomach on her behalf.

  Glancing over, she saw the tear in his shirt again. And felt something besides death inside.

  She felt gratitude. Toward him.

  And toward a world that held people who got up every day to risk their lives for others.

  “The authorities can’t go and search private property,” he reminded her. “And today we proved that our theories are accurate. We found a bunker. Just not the right one. Yet.”

  Yet.

  “We know they’re out there. And we know enough to reasonably assume that their bunker is in the state and out there, too. It’s just a matter of time until we find it.”

  Time was something he didn’t have. A couple of weeks, maybe, was all he had left before he’d be off on assignment again.

  Panic soared within her. Taking over mind and body.

  “We have two more areas on our list,” he continued, speaking without inflection. And yet somehow getting through to her. “We knocked off three today. Tomorrow, instead of heading west, we head north from the motel and hit both of them.”

  There were two more areas on their initial list.

  There could be another list, too, expanding farther around the state. They had the recipe for bunker search parameters. They just had to stay in the kitchen until...until...

  “I’m sorry.”

  Those words drew her gaze in a flash. “Sorry? For what?”

  “I honestly have no idea. This is war. You make the most logical plan with the best chance of success, you go out, you fight like hell, and you keep doing it until the battle’s won. I’ve just never had someone with personal investment in my platoon before. I’ve never fought for someone I knew personally, and it feels...”

  He broke off midsentence.

  And just like that, Theresa’s panic-filled pity party was gone for the moment. She was outside of herself, caring for someone else.

  Ezra wasn’t just a body on the job. He was a man, a person, with a good heart, a great heart, and...a friend with his own struggles.

  “You might be out of your element, but you’re doing far more for me than I would have thought anyone ever could, Ezra Colton, and I don’t just mean finding bunkers and getting shot at.”

  He continued to stare straight ahead, but she saw his jaw tensing. Showing, to her, that he cared.

  And she cared, too. Even if she hadn’t...she’d never been one to make the world all about her. Doing things for others felt better. And Ezra, whether he knew it or not, had just given her a job to do. She had to be okay, to show him that she was holding up; she had to hold on to her hope, so that he could focus on getting his job done.

  “What’s your favorite food?” she asked him. Yeah, it was random, but feeding others was what she knew. Everyone had to eat—Maslow’s lowest level on the hierarchy, food in the belly and roof over the head.