“…two down…”
Four to go.
We continue listening intently to the comms while keeping our eyes peeled for all activity. After a few tense moments, Abigail winces and rips out her earbud. Seconds later, my own comms start to go in and out, the pouring rain wreaking havoc on the sensitive equipment.
Suddenly, Thane starts shouting. “…kids. Ronan…your way…the SUV…get…out of…”
He never yells (orgasms don’t count), and the only words I can make out send a chill through my spine and start my feet running toward the one bit of sidewalk, splashing as I go. Without being told, Abigail is right behind me.
Did he really say kids? There wasnothingabout kids in our package.
With an ear-splitting electronic squeal, my water-logged comms finally give up the ghost. Worried that I might get electrocuted, I rip the thing out of my ear, picking up the pace. I slip twice before Abigail grabs me to prevent me from busting ass, and we finally make it to the SUV. Grabbing the key from my tactical vest, I crank up the huge motor. Racing down the long drive to the big house, I screech to a halt when I see something pink dart across the front lawn.
Slamming the SUV into park, we jump out, running toward the house in an all-out sprint. Torrential sheets of rain and slick grass slow us down, but we both know that we can’t let that little girl go into the street.
“Did we know there were kids?” Even though Abigail shouts, I’m barely able to hear her over the rain. I shake my head in response.
I reach the little girl first, and she’s maybe two years old. Her eyes go wide as she screams in terror. I kneel, smiling at her. Abigail does the same, and the little girl immediately walks into her arms.
Abigail hugs her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
The little girl rubs her eyes with a chubby fist. “Momma?”
“Is your Momma in the house?” Abigail asks, her voice rough.
Tears spill down the little girl’s cherry-red cheeks as she nods. “Mmhmm.”
“Okay, sweetie. We’re going to put you in the car, and we’ll make sure they get your momma.”
Abigail scoops her up just as another kid, slightly older, starts heading fast in our direction. I grab the other kid on the fly while Abigail rips open the door, setting the little girl in the middle seat. I race around to the driver’s side, realizing that I’m holding a little boy.
I open my side and get him nestled in next to the little girl just as the nearly dead comms device starts squawking in my pocket. I hold it up to my ear and faintly hear my name and something like,twomore. Two more ofwhat, I have no idea.
The little boy blinks up at me, rain falling from his eyelashes, then darts his eyes toward movement by the front door. Two kids—teenagers, really—are running at us from the house.
Abigail and I wave them in. “Climb in, be careful of the babies.”
They do as I say without hesitation, wide-eyed fear visible even in the dark and the rain.
I yell out to the taller one, a young woman. “How many? How many more?”
Mascara streaking down from newly blackened eyes, she shakes her head. “No more. J-just us.”
“What about his girlfriend? The one who asked for help?”
She looks down, shivering so violently, I worry about the state of her teeth.
“That’s me,” she whispers, a great and terrible sadness rising off her undernourished frame.
“And me,” says the other person, who I realize now is also a young woman.
Abigail leans in. “Are these your children?”
They both nod, crawling over each other to get to the right kid, whom they hold tight.
My heart hurts, but there’s no time for it.
I curse under my breath and take another good look at the first young woman. She looked much older in our photographs, her face heavy with make-up and her hair perfectly set into beachy, sun-kissed waves. The girl before me looks like a half-drowned high school sophomore.
