“I knew they’d bring dogs. I’d be a fool not to know that. But the bait worked. It’s drawing them off in the wrong direction. Away from us. If you make a sound, your blood will paint the trees. Doesn’t matter if you’re dead, you’re still my hostage.”
He looked up again toward the sound of the dog. Wren could make out a man’s footsteps, too.
Shane? Shane, is that you?
Then other footsteps following the man and his dog, impossible to know how many.
Guys! Over here!
Wren fought the insane urge to shout, to stomp, to thrash her body, anything to get their attention as the sounds moved farther away.
Panic. Will. Get. You. Dead.
She and Weisser both strained to hear the men and the dog now. Weisser kept the gun pointed at her with one hand while he brought the other to his mouth. For one irrational moment, she thought he was going to whistle for the dog. Instead, he flattened his hand sideways, shoved the side of his pointer finger into his mouth, and bit down. His body shook and Wren realized he was stifling a laugh.
Come on, you bastard. Laugh. Laugh hard. Think funny thoughts. I’m beaming them straight at your head.
Weisser was so focused on the dog, and Wren was so focused on Weisser that she almost missed the silent movement to her right, behind Weisser’s back. She didn’t dare turn her head or look sideways, didn’t dare break Weisser’s concentration—hisdistraction, she realized—so she stayed still and watched the figure out of the corner of her eye.
Elias.
She watched him study them both. She watched him raise his gun.
She saw the bright muzzle flash. The sound was not as loud as she anticipated.
Weisser’s head snapped forward. He crumpled.
Elias grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled his body off Wren, and shoved it aside. Waylon materialized out of the brush. “Clear!” he shouted.
Then Elias was beside her. He slid his arm under her head and lifted Wren. She realized her arms had gone numb from lying on them. As much as she’d wanted to thrash moments ago, now she could barely move.
Am I in shock?
Elias yanked the gag down and pulled the cloth out of her mouth.
“Baby, are you hurt?”
She heard the others running toward them. Heard Shane shout, “Willow, heel.”
“Talk to me, Wren.” Elias was looking her over while he did something behind her back. When her shoulders shifted, she realized he’d cut her bonds. Waylon was at her feet, doing the same thing to the zip ties securing her ankles.
Their friends and Willow sounded closer.
“I can’t feel my arms. Is that my voice? I’m a frog. Ribbit.”
Elias’ expression stayed serious as he pulled her shirt up and scanned her torso.
“Ribbit?”
All she wanted to do was make him laugh.
“No porcupine quills this time, but I did spot a deadly fire coming from a gun a minute ago,” she said.
That did it. The hot medic smiled.
Because of me.
TWENTY-FOUR
