Wyatt studied her a moment longer before nodding.
“Thunder, guard,” Wyatt commanded.
The dog immediately sat beside Millie, alert and protective.
Then Wyatt took off after Caleb.
Biscuit emerged from the shadows and ran to her side.
“It’s okay, boy,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s okay.”
Maybe this was all finally over.
Maybe.
Caleb’s lungs burned as he ran. Garrick was fast—fueled by desperation and adrenaline—but Caleb was faster.
He’d spent years running these woods. Knew every trail, every drop-off, every fallen tree.
Garrick didn’t.
Ahead, Caleb saw the man stumble, his arms windmilling as he tried to keep his balance.
This was his chance.
Caleb holstered his gun before launching himself forward.
He tackled Garrick to the ground.
They rolled, grappling, fists flying.
The gun fell from Garrick’s hands—just out of reach.
Garrick was strong, but Caleb had training. He blocked a wild punch and returned one of his own, his knuckles connecting with Garrick’s jaw.
Garrick’s head snapped back, but he didn’t go down. He twisted, trying to throw Caleb off, his hand reaching for something?—
The gun, Caleb realized.
Caleb drove his elbow into Garrick’s ribs. Garrick grunted, the wind knocked out of him.
“It’s over,” Caleb growled, pinning him.
Garrick bucked, trying to get free, but Caleb held him down, his forearm pressed against Garrick’s throat.
“Stop fighting,” Caleb ordered.
“She’s mine?—”
“She’s not yours!” Caleb’s voice sounded raw with emotion. “She never was.”
Footsteps pounded behind him. Wyatt appeared, breathing hard.
“I got him,” Caleb said. “Zip ties.”
Wyatt pulled a set from his pocket and tossed them over. Caleb secured Garrick’s wrists behind his back, pulling them tight.
Garrick thrashed. “You can’t do this! You have no right?—”
