Cap slid down the wall, vision doubling as he hit the floor.
Pain radiated from his right shoulder, where he’d slammed into the corner of the kitchen counter during the fight. A rib or two felt cracked; each painful breath was the sure sign. Better that than a gunshot wound. His knuckles throbbed, and the blow to his head from the Colombian’s fist made his ears ring. They’d each fired off a round as the Colombian charged him.
Cap blinked rapidly and focused on the Colombian who lay sprawled over the braided rug, blood spreading around his head. If Cap’s bullet had hit the man, it would have hit in his torso, not his head.
That meant only one thing. The deputy.
When Cap glimpsed the deputy in the doorway, with as much effort as he could, he shoved the Colombian away from him, hoping the deputy could get a clear shot.
Deputy Landers, pale and sweating, leaned against the wall with his service weapon loose in one hand, and his fingers from his other hand hooked around the top of his ballistic vest. He sucked in air, breathing hard, recovering from the impact of being shot in the vest by the Colombian, Cap supposed. How had the guy lying dead on the floor slipped past the deputy?
Cap returned his gaze to the dead man. He’d bet once they rolled him over, they’d find he’d been hit in the chest as well. Oddly, though, he himself hadn’t been hit. Considering the proximity, that seemed impossible. He glanced at the closet door leading to the crawlspace to find a bullet hole. Cap’s heart seized. The Colombian’s first shot had been aimed at Emma.
Cap grabbed his weapon lying on the floor beside him, sprang to his feet, and headed to the crawlspace door. “Emma!” he yelled out.
“He—he pointed his gun at me. Hit me in the vest,” the young deputy panted. “But I got him before he could finish you.”
Cap let out a labored breath. “I know. But there’s no time to talk about that now. We need to find Emma. She may be hurt.”
“This is all my fault,” Landers wheezed.
“We’ll sort this out later. Get me up and help find Emma.”
Cap leaped down into the crawlspace and pulled the string to turn on the light. His gaze darted around the small room. The first wave of relief sifted through him at the sight of the open cellar doors. There was no trail of blood on the natural rock floor, nor on the wooden steps.
He suspected it would be safe to go outside. If another of the drug gang were on the grounds, he would have entered the firefight for sure.
“Emma! It’s me, Cap,” he yelled out as he ran across the small yard to the tree line.
Something rustled ten yards ahead. He froze. “Emma?”
Silence.
Then her voice came, small and broken. “Cap?”
He almost sagged with relief. “I’m coming to you. Stay where you are.”
Turning his head, he focused on the deputy. “Keep watch here. Make sure there are no others. I’m going in to get Emma.”
The deputy nodded.
“I’m coming, sweetheart. Whistle so I know where you are.”
A faint whistle sounded. She wasn’t that far, but far enough to conceal herself.
As he closed in on her, he could hear her ragged breathing.
“Emma,” he said softly.
She unfolded her arms from around her bent knees and wobbled as she stood.
He caught her by the arms before she could fall. “You okay? Are you hurt?”
“I tripped and fell. Just bruised my forearms, is all.”
“I was so worried about you when I heard the shots,” she whispered and sniffled.
He pulled her to him. “I’m okay. Everything is fine.”
