They weren’t going to make it.
Emmy must have sensed her thoughts because her shoulders shook and her little fingers dug into Laine’s neck. She nestledher face to her baby’s ear, wishing she could comfort her. The urge to sing the song Emmy had loved as a baby was heavy on Laine’s lips, but she couldn’t remember the words right now, and Emmy wouldn’t even hear them.
She held her daughter close to her heart. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” she cried, needing to say the words into the void of racket around them.
Boom!
The vehicle was airborne.
Laine’s body lifted. Her forehead banged against the window as the car rolled. A hard weight slammed against her, pinning both Emmy and her to the seat.
They landed with acrash. Silence cut into the noise.
Roarke liftedhimself from Laine and Emmy. Enemy fire filled his ears, making him hold fast to his rifle and scramble for the nearest window. Their car had been hit with an explosive, and the vehicle now lay on its roof.
“Everyone good?” Viper called.
Striker confirmed, as did Roarke, but he couldn’t take his attention off Laine and Emmy, curled up together.
Emmy stared up at him from beneath her mom’s shoulder. Shock. Terror. All of it written in her pretty little eyes.
Laine’s stillness made him jolt with fear. He gripped her shoulder and shook. “Laine? Wake up.” He searched her body, but other than a few knicks from debris, there were no signs of blood.
She must have hit her head.
Two military vehicles rolled up behind them. He ran his palm over Emmy’s cheek. “I need you to come to me, sweet pea.”
Big tears filled her eyes. “Mommy’s sleeping.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“She’s okay. We’re almost safe, but we need to get out of this car.”
Before they were hit with more gunfire.
He shifted Laine and helped Emmy out from under her. “M-Mommy,” she sobbed.
“She’s okay, honey.”
Bullshit. He barely knew the kid and he was already lying to her.
Striker knelt near the side of the car, shooting at the parked trucks.
Viper was outside the window next to Roarke, momentarily protected by the overturned vehicle. “Pass me the girl.”
Two men climbed out of each military vehicle. Sonofabitch, they were out of time. Roarke eased Emmy through the window and into Viper’s arms. In a flash, he darted into some trees for cover, shielding the little girl.
Bullets fired.
“I’ve got your six,” Striker shouted, as he returned fire. “Can you get Laine out?”
A man’s sharp cry told him Striker had taken down at least one of the men. Bullets pinged off the body of the car as Roarke slid through the window he’d passed Emmy through.
Keeping Laine’s head protected on his forearm, he pulled her limp body from the wreckage. Striker’s gunfire blasted a few feet away.
Concern pinched his chest. He’d never worried about his men—even after Twist’s death—but he hoped to hell Viper was safe. If he’d been hit, no one was there to protect Emmy.
He held Laine against his chest with one arm wrapped beneath her knees. Blood trickled from a wound on her forehead.
