At that point, they’d have all hands on deck to search for that baby. It was the only thing that made sense. The woman who’d been kidnapped... McKellips could have been saving her life for all anyone knew. Seeing a woman in distress, shooting to protect her.

  Then some wild man comes out of nowhere and takes her again. McKellips’s only crimes would be not reporting the murder, tampering with a corpse, with a crime scene, and not reporting the second kidnapping.

  Nothing that would lead to a newborn kidnapping ring. Or illegal adoptions.

  The hunters were systematically combing the hay field, circling in closer, leaving him less and less wiggle room. His only chance of escape was to get by one of them.

  The floodlights limited possibilities.

  His best bet was the same way he’d sent Dorian. The river. It was dark, with trees hanging over much of the bank, blocking any hint of moonlight. He could disappear underwater in the event of flashlights.

  But he didn’t want to risk leading McKellips to her.

  He had to travel upstream. Meant swimming underwater until he got far enough out of earshot that his body against the current didn’t create a surge.

  He could do that.

  And go in farther upstream, too.

  He continued to move slowly. Had one more bullet he needed to shoot. The one farthest from the water. But footsteps were getting so close, he couldn’t shoot without giving away the location of his gun.

  He could shoot the leg. Then the next, and the next.

  Which would definitely give up his location and bring a barrage of bullets down upon him. They wouldn’t shoot to kill, though.

  Not until he gave up the baby.

  Which he wasn’t going to do.

  Damn sure they weren’t ever going to let him walk out of there. Baby or no.

  “I think I got something here...”

  Scott heard the voice. Continued to belly crawl. Pulling with his elbows, pushing with his feet. Staying in shadow, beneath blades of plants, as much as possible.

  A radio crackled, and then, another voice, “I’ve got something over here, man...a diaper, and it wasn’t here five minutes ago...”

  The feet coming at Scott ran down the row next to him, so close he could have tripped the guy. Was just passing on the option, when he froze again.

  “Attention!” The female voice commanded what she’d demanded. Loudly. Clearly. Through a megaphone?

  “This is Captain Michaels with the Phoenix police. The FBI is here as well. You’re surrounded. Come out with...”

  “Scott!” Dorian was there beside him, on her hands and knees, with the baby strapped to her chest, looking...just as he’d last seen her, though wetter. “Come on!”

  He didn’t question, didn’t need to know at that moment. With the satchel still on his back, he followed the woman and child to the river.

  Chapter 23

  As soon as they were in the water, Dorian took her place behind Scott, not even pretending she knew what to do next.

  She’d saved him.

  That had been the end of her plan.

  He took them upriver, mostly swimming.

  With the summer heat, the water was like a tepid bath and little Michael woke up but didn’t cry. She fed him as soon as they were on dry land in a low mountain cave. And found some dry diapers in the satchel, too.

  She wanted to wait for his sleeper to dry before moving, but Scott had said they didn’t have time. He wasn’t meeting her gaze.

  Hadn’t talked to her, other than to give directions or check in on how she was doing, since she’d found him.

  “We’ve got to go back up tonight,” he told her, standing at the base of the mountain. “And head down on the other side of the dam.”

  She didn’t see how he was going to make it. Not with the way he’d been dragging his leg around on the ground for hours. Wasn’t sure she would, either. But didn’t say so.

  “Following the dirt road out is no longer an option. We’ll head out farther west instead. And run into the north-south blacktop at some point.”

  It could take days. He didn’t say so. Neither did she.

  She just started hiking when he did. Watching the baby. Watching him.

  And trying to believe that as long as they were still alive, they had hope.

  * * *

  Scott realized the futility of pushing too hard when he heard Dorian’s foot slip behind him. She was a doctor, not a triathlon athlete. And she’d been carrying the extra weight of a newborn for days. With nothing to eat but cactus fruit.

  Granted, their supply was plentiful. They’d been switching between the four different kinds of plants that Dorian knew for certain were healthy and safe. And had different health benefits.

  But as the moon reached its peak and headed downward, and he and Dorian were only halfway up the mountain, he knew he had to call a halt.

  He needed intel. And then they both needed sleep. One thing was certain, McKellips wasn’t going to just give up.

  He might be calling in backup. Or, if his supposition was spot-on and the man didn’t want to alert anyone else of his kidnapper’s major screw up, he and his men would sleep some.

  Which gave him and Dorian a little more time.

  Just depended who all was on McKellips’s payroll. And who he might call on in an emergency.

  The hunt for the man and baby was clearly a crisis. A life-and-death one.

  As an inlet came into view, leading back into a smaller cave, one that was deep enough to provide decent protection, he called a halt.

  Built a cradle and pallet as though he’d been doing so for years, as Dorian fed and changed the baby with their last dry diaper. And he arranged the unused, river-soaked diapers on warm rocks along the wall for drying.

  Their own clothes had been dry within half an hour of leaving the river. Arizona’s dry summer heat was a real thing.

  The first aid kit they’d taken from the four-wheeler hadn’t fared well. The one he’d stolen from the mission was waterproof. He hadn’t known. But was thankful as, dropping his pants, he got a look at the stained off-color gauze around his thigh.

  The fresh blood didn’t please Dorian.

  He’d figured it was there. Had felt the injury open a time or two.

  Lying on the pallet, too tired to care whether or not his shirt covered limp parts, he didn’t speak as Dorian tended to the wound.

  But was thankful when she announced, “There’s no sign of infection right now.”

  It could come. The river water would have been on every doctor’s list of things to avoid. He felt her reapply salve. And strips. Before beginning the bandaging process. They’d be out of gauze, too. If not in the next seconds, then by the next bandage change.

  Just as they’d run out of formula sometime the next day. Even switching it out with cactus juice, the baby milk was running out.

  As were the diapers. “Good call, leaving a dirty diaper...” he said then, sounding woozy, even to himself. But only because he was allowing himself to relax for a minute or two.

  The second he heard any sound of approach, he’d have his gun out and be ready.

  He’d rather have his pants pulled back up first.

  “But the Captain Michaels thing?” He had to ask. The question was there...

  “I heard a radio transmission, that the baby had been crying in the wheat field.” She’d finished with his leg. Helped him get his pants up.

  Neither one of them so much as paused as they went over his penis and he zipped them closed.

  “You recorded him on your phone, right?”

  Looking up at her in the shadows, with eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized, “You just did all of that wound cleaning without your phone.”

  “I didn’t know if I’d find you, so used the name Michaels, as a clue to you. Turned out, watching the circle of men closing in, finding you wasn’t the issue. Getting them away from you was.”

  He could see that. Still didn’t...

  “I used palm leaves to make a megaphone,” she told him. “Set them, with the burner phone, and my recording timed to start, far enough from you to give us a chance, and then hightailed it, at a crawl, over to you...”

  She’d saved his life.

  Good. They were even.

  Holding out an arm, Scott waited until Dorian had settled down beside him, her head on his chest, and then let himself sleep.

  * * *

  Dorian didn’t wake up in fear. She awoke slowly, with a sense of relaxation, and as consciousness descended more completely, didn’t move right away. The steady rise and fall of Scott’s chest, the strong, healthy heartbeat were...nice.

  More than nice.

  She’d been up every two hours in what was left of the night. Could see bright sun shining in a small corner of rock around the small cave’s bend.

  Didn’t even think about the day bringing rescue. Instead, she got up, used the quiet time to carefully check her surroundings and then tend to her own ablutions and returned to see Scott changing the baby.

  She squeezed fresh juice into an empty formula bottle, rinsed out with juice, and then fed little Michael while Scott tended to himself, and then cut up breakfast for them.

  It was routine. And a sense of well-being settled upon her. For the moment, only, she knew. Her life had begun to consist of only the current moment. They couldn’t live as they were for long. She only had one more bottle of formula. And three dried disposable diapers that she’d have thrown away if she hadn’t been desperate.

  A diet of only fruit wasn’t good for her or Scott, either. They’d finished off the power bars the day before. It wouldn’t be long before their digestive systems reacted to the fruit overload.

  All stuff she knew. Just didn’t worry about on that early morning. After days of the same, she’d grown weary of the effort it took to be bothered by things over which she had no control, things she couldn’t change.

  While Scott went back out to investigate their surroundings in daylight, to determine their next moves, Dorian dismantled their pallet and the baby’s cradle. Rearranged the satchel some. Holding out the medical supplies she’d need to change Scott’s dressing before they headed out.

  She was tying the little one to her chest, ready to go find Scott when he came back in. Handing her his phone. “Look,” was all he said, but his demeanor, the tone of voice, all different. Stronger.

  One glance and her pulse picked up.

  “A road,” she said, glancing from the phone to his face, and right back to the phone again.

  “Paved and about a mile down the mountain,” he told her. “It could mean cell service. But even if we’re too far out for that, I’ve seen two cars pass over the stretch already, and it’s early yet.”

  “What about trucks?” she asked. Every vehicle they’d seen since they’d been in hiding, all driven by their hunters, had been trucks.

  “Not so far,” he said. “But it’s not like we’re going to head down there and just stick our thumbs out at the first passing vehicle,” he added. “We find a hiding place with a good view of what’s coming up the road. We observe. And then we pick a vehicle that is most likely to carry law-abiding people and we flag them down.”

  “How do we know who’s law-abiding?” Thinking of Grace, in particular, she had to ask.

  “We don’t.” His statement, so matter-of-fact, sent the day’s first tremors through her. “It’s all guesswork.”

  He thumbed through his phone again, then, held another photo up to her. It was blurry. Beyond blurry. But she made out enough. “A police car,” she said, recognizing the aerial-view number displayed on roof.

  “If we can, we wait for another one to pass by. If not, we look for a woman with children, for instance. Or, better yet, women with children. Maybe four women, heading out to lunch. Young couples. A vehicle full of young dudes, with at least one of them holding a basketball...”

  He grinned at that one, and she smiled back. Silence fell as they watched each other. Until she broke contact and said, “I get it.”

  There were no guarantees.

  And the only things certain were that they weren’t safe and could die.

  Sobering, she straightened her shoulders. “I need to tend to your wound.” There were no guesses about that one. Her tone of voice must have communicated as much because Scott immediately dropped his pants but remained upright. “My muscles hurt like hell, but the wound itself feels less tender today,” he told her, while he stood, looking at his phone.

  With the baby strapped to her chest, maintaining professionalism was a given. Helped by the fact that Scott couldn’t have been less interested in her kneeling beside him with her head at crotch height. He didn’t care. She didn’t look.

  The wound appeared better than it had to date. Some of the coloring was still concerning, but the skin was already pulling together. She applied antibiotic cream, rebandaged and wrapped and stood. “I’m ready when you are,” she told the man she still trusted with her life.

  Her attraction to the man, and any feelings she might have for him, were what couldn’t be trusted. Whether she believed what he’d said about her past being circumstantial, not a deficiency in her, or didn’t believe him. One thing was clear to her. Aside from feeling drawn to Scott in the past, her current situation could clearly be the result of a form of Stockholm syndrome.

  She almost said as much. Just to make things clear between them. With words, not just looks and actions.

  But when he set off without looking at her, she followed behind him silently, thankful that she could.

  * * *

  The woman’s touch was an addiction that he had to avoid at all costs. Scott told himself he was just reacting to days in hiding, living with death on their doorsteps every minute of the day, being responsible for two very precious lives, while still aware of all the other babies in danger. And all the babies in misplaced homes whose biological parents were grieving them.

  An hour had passed since he’d avoided embarrassing himself by staring at a blank phone screen so his gaze didn’t wander, reminding himself of the danger they were in. Reliving the night before, planning for the day ahead, Scott was still thrumming with an awareness of the woman walking the path with him.

  She was everything he’d ever admired in a person, all in one. To the point that her physical beauty, which was definitely noteworthy, took a third-row seat to everything else.

  He wanted to believe that once Dorian and the baby were safe, he’d be back to normal. His desire to be close to her, to hear her voice and see her face, would fade. His gut wasn’t convinced on that one. But the possibility hung there.

  Heading back down the mountain was much quicker than climbing up. Doing so on an angle made it easier on his leg. The vegetation was different on the western peak, thicker, with more leaves. By midafternoon, Scott was finding a total influx of adrenaline again.

  He was going to get Dorian and the baby to safety. Nothing else mattered.

  They’d made it to mostly level ground, were close enough to the road to find a hiding place. He’d seen no sign of hunters.

  And he had bullets in his gun.

  “Do you have phone service?” Dorian’s question sounded with a note of the hope he’d been trying to keep in check. So he didn’t make a mistake.

  She glanced over his shoulder, so close he could feel her sweet warmth, as he turned on his phone. “You do!” She exclaimed, right there, next to his cheek, and he wanted to turn his head and kiss her.

  The desire plummeted as his phone screen went blank.

  “Your battery’s dead,” she stated the obvious. “And I left the burner phone in the hay field.”

  What kind of fate did that? Got them right to the winner’s circle, only to make them stand outside it? The part of the plan where they had service and called for help was deceased.

  It was a setback, not a fail. Scott shook his head, pocketing the evidence.

  He was too close to believe that they wouldn’t make it.

  Warding off a strength-sucking downward cycle, wanting to hold Dorian up, too, he focused on the good. They’d made it out of the mountain alive.

  “We see a paved road. Another hour and we’ll be in hiding someplace close to it,” he stated the plan again. A reminder to her, and to him. And then, when he started to reach for her, to pull her against him, as though to make some silent open-ended promise that he’d get her home yet that day, he shook his head and headed toward the closest cluster of desert brush.

  Good intentions or not, he had no business making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

  * * *

  With a nagging pain in her shoulder blade, a crick in her neck, Dorian put one foot in front of the other. And, when necessary, one hand and knee in front of another. The farther out from the mountain they traveled, the more important it became for them to stay low. Out of sight. For their movements to appear animal like to anyone up on the mountain looking for them.

  Michael was moving more, crying some.

  “He’s got to be tired of that sling,” Scott said, as they sat within a cluster of flowering bushes.

  Rocking the newborn, trying to quiet him, Dorian, who’d just fed and changed him, nodded. And then added, “It’s also the cactus juice in his tummy. I knew it was going to affect his stool, but that’s better than no nourishment.” It was all a matter of choices.

  You made the ones that kept you and others alive, first.

  And then?

  Any man. Scott’s words from the night before in the hay field had been rankling for most of their travel time that day. In spite of her best intentions. He’d said any man who loved her in return. But not him.