NowMaddy jerked back, flattening herself against the bricks. “The men.” Bran’s ears caught the panic in her voice. And when she turned to him, her eyes were wide and unblinking. “They’re crossin’ the parade grounds and headed our way.” She lifted trembling fingers to her lips. “Alone! What did they do with the girls?”
* * *
8:13 p.m.…
“Get inside the magazine house.” Bran barked the order and it was a verbal slap. Then there was the heat in his eyes. It was enough to set Maddy’s soul ablaze.
Death and destruction.She’d been trying to find the right words to describe that particular look that sometimes came over his face, and it suddenly occurred to her. He was death and destruction personified.
Oh no. No, no, no…
“You can’t kill them,” she whispered desperately. The way he moved closer to the corner of the gunpowder magazine house told her he wasn’t paying her a lick of attention. “Bran,” she whispered, grabbing his forearm. “You can’t kill them.”
“No?” He lifted his weapon. It effectively jerked his arm from her grasp. “Watch me.”
“Not until we know what they did with the girls,” she pleaded. It was a tiny island, but there were lots of places to squirrel away two teenagers—or hide their bodies.No. No, don’t even think about that! They’re not dead. Theycan’t be dead!“Bran, listen to me. We need to—”
“I won’t ask you again, Maddy.” He briefly met her eyes, and she found herself backing away from him. She wasn’t sure why. Bran would never hurt her. But in that moment, instinct took over. Like a gazelle darting away from a recently fed lion, there was no real danger, but the urge to flee was there nonetheless.
He narrowed his eyes. In the dim light, she thought she saw a strange emotion flicker across his face. He almost looked…anguished. But then his expression changed, morphing back into that whole death-and-destruction. “Get in the magazine house. Now!” he hissed.
He didn’t wait for her to comply. He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the open doorway, shoving her inside—not cruelly, but not very gently either. For the first time in her life, she understood how the termmanhandling came about. He was a man. And he was definitely handling her.
“But if it’smethey want,” she insisted, “I could offer myself up, and then maybe they’ll tell us where—”
“Stay.” He pointed a long, blunt finger so close to her nose that she went cross-eyed trying to focus on it.
Now, normally Maddy would come back with some wiseass remark along the lines ofHey, bucko! In case the lack of pointed ears didn’t give me away, I’m not a German shepherd.But she was too scared to be her usual sarcastic self. Scared of what had happened to the girls. Scared of what was about to happen to Bran and Mason in the next couple of minutes.
When Bran turned and darted out of the magazine house, there was a part of her that longed to follow him. The part of her that hated, loathed, and utterly despised being reduced to the little woman who sat in the corner painting her toenails. But theotherpart of her, the far smaller yet far wiser part of her, piped up and told her she had no business interfering in whatever they planned to do.
She glanced around the dark interior of the structure, looking for something. She didn’t know what. Anything. Something she could use to help. Something she could use to defend herself if all hell broke loose and somehow those three masked men managed to get past the two Navy SEALs—heaven forbid. But there was nothing. Just a small, dark room that smelled of old mortar, damp bricks, and dirt.
Wait. There!
Her eyes adjusted and she spied a shadow in the corner. It was long and thin and propped against the wall.
Scurrying over, she discovered it was an old piece of driftwood about three feet long. It was dry and cracked, but it felt sturdy enough to survive one or two good whacks upside the heads of the bad guys, should she need to use it that way. The tip was sharp. Stake-sharp. It could be used that way too. And even though it was ridiculous—you didn’t bring a knife to a gunfight, much less a brittle piece of driftwood—she felt better once she was armed.
Then she heard it…
The quietclinkof metal against metal. The mutedcrunchof boots on dirt.
The bad guys.
Maddy held her breath and pressed back against the brick wall beside the door. The old mortar was cool, and for a moment her mind drifted to the men who had fired the bricks and laid them. They were all dead now, left to the pages of history books. Their testament to life was a decaying ruin in the middle of nowhere. But at least theyhada testament.
What wouldhertestament be?
Please, not the deaths of two innocent girls, Lord. Please!
She turned her head and strained her ears so hard it was a wonder she didn’t burst an eardrum. More boots on uneven earth. A hissed exchange of words she couldn’t make out. The sound of someone tripping and cursing.
They were close.
“Damnit, Dustin,” one of the men, the one with the Southern drawl, said. “That bum knee of yours is a problem. Rory should’ve never let you come on this job.”
Who is Rory? What job?Her kidnapping?
