The perimeter of the hay field was being guarded. They’d almost reached a clearing and Scott couldn’t lead them out of there.

  With his head flat on the ground, he’d seen the lights shining into the growth. The first time had come just a few minutes after they’d started the last leg of crawling themselves out.

  And now, with the clearing in view, he caught the taillights of a running, but stationary vehicle. He had to assume that McKellips’s team had guns posted on all perimeters.

  There was only one chance of getting Dorian and the baby out of there alive.

  He was prepared.

  Reversing course, motioning for Dorian to do the same, he backtracked far enough into the hay to be able to speak softly without fear of immediate discovery.

  Whether or not McKellips knew they were in the field was immaterial. The killer knew they were somewhere within his mountain or in hiding on the ground. He wasn’t going to quit looking. He had time on his side, as he didn’t have a baby to feed, and he apparently had the manpower to pretty much guarantee his success. Scott wasn’t willing to risk Dorian’s or the newborn’s life by trying to retrace and get back up the mountain.

  He’d led them right into a well-laid trap.

  With adrenaline pumping through him, his gut filled with certainty.

  But he had something to do first.

  “What did you see back there?” Dorian asked as soon as they were once again sitting as they’d been earlier. Side by side, facing opposite directions. Albeit in far tighter quarters. No dead stalks to give them more space.

  “A flash of light,” he told her. The truth. Not all of it. Not the worst of it. Not until she listened to him about something else that had to matter. That would matter if she made it out alive. “In the meantime, since we’re back here waiting again, let’s get back to that conversation...”

  “What conversation?” Her tone remained low, as it had been all the while they’d been hiding out in the hay, and yet it sent a certain warning with it.

  The same freeze he’d been met with the night before?

  He didn’t have time to take the hint.

  “Yep, that’s the one. I’ve been thinking about what you said—I think you’re wrong, Doc.” Never, in a regular day of his regular life, would he have said such a thing. Regular life was a thing of the past.

  “Excuse me? You think my life choices are wrong? What gives you the right to judge?”

  Good. She had anger left in her. The will to fight.

  And he didn’t have a lot of time to defend himself. The longer it took McKellips to find them, the more troops he’d call. The writing was on the wall.

  They’d done their regular checks for phone service all day. Still had none.

  He could no longer rely on any hope that his team or Sierra’s Web was going to find them.

  “I think your assessment of circumstances is skewed by personal involvement and preconceived notions about yourself. Or an inability to see outside yourself.”

  Her glance in his direction was sharp. When she didn’t argue, he pressed forward. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Your reasonings. And it sounds to me to be more of a case of you not being able to understand or explain your emotions in a way that makes logical sense to you, so you see them as a flaw.”

  What, he’d become some kind of psychiatrist now in the waning hours of life?

  Or something more was guiding him. Mixed in with behavioral analysis training. He chose to go that route. What did it hurt at that late stage?

  “The instances you use as proof... Brent, Faith, Sierra...all circumstantial, Doc. You were engaged to a man you loved but weren’t in love with. Those were the circumstances. Faith’s childhood...circumstances. Sierra...a set of tragic circumstances. Those lives came into close contact with you, but you didn’t cause the circumstances.”

  He could go do his job much more easily if he could do so with the assurance that he’d be leaving Dorian with a new lease on life.

  With the hope of having a personal partner, a child, of her own.

  Of having the things he’d never had.

  Of having it all.

  He could go feeling good about himself.

  “I’m guessing Brent took his ring back, not because you were attracted to someone else, but because he knew you weren’t in love with him. I can pretty much guarantee that any man you’re in love with, who loves you in return, will love you for your mind and your heart and will eagerly welcome the occasional loss of cerebral response, take on the risk that you might miss a fact now and then, when you’re caught up in the emotion of the moment. That’s what love is, and does, Doc. And the lack of perfection you seem to find as a fault...it’s called being human.”

  She sat there. Staring straight ahead at the hay just a foot from her face. The baby asleep against her.

  He couldn’t look at the little one, again.

  In his mind, he’d already passed the newborn over. He was trusting Dorian to get him back to his parents.

  “Any man?”

  Dorian’s softly spoken words had his head swinging in her direction. Her gaze caught his before he could stop it from happening. Moments careened down upon him.

  That first kiss all those years ago. Seeing her again, scraped up, in the interview room at the clinic. Her feet kicking in the barn with moves he’d taught her. The sex. The kiss she’d planted on him earlier, just before they’d headed out to the clearing...

  “But not you.” She wasn’t asking.

  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He’d seen the question there, when she’d first turned toward him, through the shadows. That was his take on it. And the question wasn’t there any longer.

  Taking a breath, he finished the job he’d crawled back to do. “Not me.”

  He had to convince her. To set her free.

  “I’m as selfish as they come, Dorian. Every single thing I do, I do for myself. With myself in mind.” Total, undeniable, ugly truth. One he’d never have admitted under any other circumstance.

  “I visit my parents in prison, flying to two different states, several times a year. They live for those visits. And I don’t give a damn about that. I don’t go for them. Ever. I go for me. To remind myself of who I will never be. Every choice I make, it’s with one thought in mind. Me. Being the me I can live with.”

  He stopped, evaluating the solid truth in his words, coming up with total certainty. And then finished his task with, “My whole life has been about me taking care of me. I’m not capable of loving others.”

  He might have faltered on that last bit. He didn’t test himself again. Didn’t have time. “Let’s head out,” he said, last task done, ready to implement his final plan.

  Without waiting for her agreement, he turned and started to crawl.

  Chapter 22

  Dorian wasn’t ready to move forward. With every knee and hand moving forward, she grew angrier at the man whose butt was less than a foot in front of her.

  The idea had been to appear as one movement, not two. A deer, not human. She couldn’t think about what the day’s turmoil had done to Scott’s leg. There’d be time later to examine that.

  In the meantime, how dare the man sit and tell her that she’d misjudged herself, but think he saw himself clearly?

  How dare he offer the possibility of more to her, and then retreat, taking the one thing she might want?

  She wasn’t saying she did, but...what the hell?

  The anger buoyed her. Made her a little less aware of the sharp ache in her neck, and the stinging in her hands.

  Who cared about an irritant like physical discomfort when one had more important things to consider—like ripping into a man for...what?

  Hurting her feelings?

  For his own lack of clarity?

  Or...or...pretending he didn’t want her?

  They were yards away from the clearing. As Scott lowered down to his belly again to scout, she remained completely still, ready to put a knuckle into Michael’s mouth if he started to stir, just in case. She would need to pacify him so he didn’t give them away to anyone who could be close by, until they knew the person was a friendly.

  Or, at least, someone not out looking for them.

  How would they know?

  Grace had been a hard-learned eye opener.

  Still down on the ground, Scott scooted around toward her, motioning her down to him.

  Leaning forward, so that her ear was close enough to hear his whisper, she thought she heard him say, “I need you to listen. To do. Period.”

  Pulling back, she stared at him in the darkness. Saw pinprick glints in his eyes. And nodded.

  “The stream we were following from up above is through this row to your left. You are to leave now, take the first row break you come to. It’s about ten yards back. Follow the break, crawling as we’ve been doing, down to the water. And then, staying low, and along the bank, step in and move at the pace of the water, no slower, no faster, to keep the rush of water from sounding against your legs. If someone comes, you go under, baby and all, and stay down as long as you can without risking the child’s life. While you’re under, you move, in various directions, coming up for air, and going under again...”

  While her heart thundered and her mouth hung open, she saw him move again, fidget some, and then he was handing her his knife. “Strap this to your ankle. And don’t hesitate for one second to use it.”

  She who hesitates could lose her life.

  His words from self-defense class so long ago came flooding back to her.

  As she had back then, she nodded. Took the knife. Moved little Michael as little as possible as she strapped the weapon on. Trusting Scott fully to have her future safety in mind. To teach her how to protect herself.

  “If you can swim across the river, underwater, do so as soon as possible. About half a mile back, the river butted right up to the mountain. Get there. Find a place to hide. And keep hiding until you’re rescued.”

  Reaching into the satchel, he then pulled out the last bottles of formula. “I can’t help you with diapers, they’ll be soaked, but stick these in your waistband, and pockets.”

  He waited while, with trembling hands, she did so. She had questions. But she needed all the information first.

  With his whisper turning urgent, he said, “Good, now go. Stay in your head, Doc. Do.” He didn’t wait for a response, just turned around and started to crawl away.

  “Scott!” she hissed, going after him. “Scott.”

  He didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance back.

  And she got the message. Whatever he was doing, he had to do it alone. She and the baby would hamper him. Slow him down. Get him killed.

  Just as he had that first night at the mission, he was trusting her to stay safe until he came back to them.

  She had her instructions.

  Turn around. Stay low.

  Get to the water.

  And with her heart in throat, and also with Scott, she did as he’d ordered.

  * * *

  Scott had nothing but the plan on his mind. Getting it right. The test of his life was ahead and there’d be no room for error of any kind.

  As he crawled, his mind went over the plan.

  Create every distraction he could. Make it appear as though there were two adult bodies in the field. Draw all manpower in the hunt to the hay field. Have all eyes on the continued ruckus he created. Attack, move through the hay, attack. He’d recorded the sound of the baby crying the night before. Had about 20 percent battery. He would have to make certain that he utilized the limited capacity of his ace in the hole in the most effective way.

  The baby was McKellips’s guarantee of a paycheck. Getting the kid back would likely save his team.

  Certainly, that baby would be the killer’s only hope of saving his own ass. And if McKellips made good, his team would likely be protected as well.

  McKellips wasn’t going to have anyone fire at any target that couldn’t be clearly seen, lest the baby get hurt.

  All Scott needed was enough diversion to get all eyes off the water, away from the mountain, long enough for Dorian to get to safety.

  From there, his plan was, ultimately, to set the field on fire. Drawing first responders. A load of them. With the water source right on the edge of the field, preventing the flames from jumping up the mountain, a perimeter could be dug around the field, preventing spread in the valley.

  A burn off not completely unlike ones that farmers did sometimes to refertilize their ground.

  The fire was his last act. When Dorian had had ample time to escape. And he was staring death in the face.

  Scott didn’t hope to save himself. Didn’t have any plan to do so.

  If he made it out, he’d be thankful as hell. If he didn’t...he couldn’t waste a second worrying about it.

  He was the bait. The sacrifice.

  It had come down to Dorian’s and the baby’s lives. Or his. He’d made his choice. Felt right, knowing that he’d have lived his entire life, and gone out, a good man.

  Beyond that, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—go. Just as when he’d been overseas, a young soldier sent to battle enemies that went beyond the scope of any training he’d had, he focused on what had to be done.

  Not on what would happen to him.

  He would not die as his parents and grandparents had lived. Breaking laws and oaths, sacrificing others, to live.

  Nor would he cling to those in his life, as his parents had also done. If they’d been willing to sign away their rights to him, he could have been adopted out.

  They’d been more interested in the welfare money received on his behalf. And maybe of their own selfish love for him.

  And he was not going out with them on his mind.

  Figuring, based on her earlier progress, he’d given Dorian enough time to reach the water—thinking of her and Michael swimming away to safety—Scott lay on his belly, aimed low.

  Ready to slither like a snake to his next location.

  And shot.

  * * *

  She was in the water, wading slower than she’d ever walked, hugging the bank when she heard the first shot. Freezing in place, Dorian listened. A couple of long minutes later, she heard another shot.

  And then, only yards away from her, the click and static of a radio.

  Dear God, was she being rescued? Had Scott known?

  Too frightened to show herself just yet, she held the baby’s head to her chest, ready to duck underwater, and hardly breathed as the river flowed slowly by her.

  “All, I repeat all, hands to base. Just heard the baby cry in the hay field. I want all eyes in there finding the merchandise. And if the woman happens to be alive, get rid of her. That’s an order.”

  McKellips’s voice sent chills through her. Followed by nausea.

  And reality crashed down on her.

  Scott had set a trap for them, more ingenious than the one they’d set for him. He must have recorded the baby crying. It was the only way McKellips could have just heard...

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she stymied them. She couldn’t afford so much as a sniffle. Stood still, praying Michael stayed asleep, ready to slide them both underwater if he so much as twitched, as brush moved, twigs broke and the sound of more than one big body moved farther away from her.

  All sound ceased, other than a barrage of gunfire in the distance, and still, she remained still. There’d been at least two men in the mountains. For all she knew, there could be a dozen or more by then.

  Another gunshot, she heard a masculine note barely floating to her through the air. McKellips sounding victory?

  Scott hit? Giving her some last warning?

  About to move, she stopped when she heard the rhythm of the water change to her left. Something clearly in the water. More than one something. For a few seconds, it sounded like a waterfall over there. Or a dam burst.

  Preparing herself for an onslaught of water, she was left staring as only calm waters came at her.

  The last of the hunters, those in the mountains, had crossed the stream.

  She’d bet on it.

  They were the last of the bunch.

  At their backs.

  She was free to run. To head into the mountains and hide. To wait for rescue.

  And there was no way in hell she was going to just slink away and let Scott Michaels die like trash.

  * * *

  They were closing in on him. Floodlights had flipped on after his first shot. He’d seen poles, had expected as much. Just kept moving. Detonating.

  During the time he’d allotted for Dorian to make it to the water, he’d watched the flashlights and crawled around inside and outside the field, planting bullets in hills of dirt in various locations.

  He’d shot two of them. The first had brought the floodlights, and two sets of footsteps running.

  That’s when he played the recording of the baby crying. Using an app that amplified it, but made it sound like it was coming a distance away from him.

  By the second shot, there were four sets of feet on the ground.

  He was now counting six. All teams of two. Like the hunters that morning.

  He believed that, with McKellips, there were seven. And was fairly certain the killer had assembled his entire team. At least the parts of it that knew about the foiled kidnapping.

  If the operation was as large as Scott suspected, and as was indicated by the website and the ledger he’d copied the other night, the general in charge had to be someone with clout, somewhere. Someone with a load of money by this point, too.

  Someone in a position to have made certain that McKellips would disappear if he found out the man had been compromised.

  So...the six-member team...someone, probably McKellips, was keeping the news small. Mitigating fallout.