There were four of them. He had no weapon. And the gun was still aimed at him.
“Naomi.” He forced calm into his voice. “Don’t fight. Let them?—”
But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the SUV.
At Grace.
One of the men moved to the rear door.
“No—” Naomi twisted hard, wrenching free of the man holding her arm.
She threw herself toward the rear door, putting herself between the man and Grace.
She fought with everything she had—clawing, pushing, throwing her weight against the man reaching for Grace.
For a few seconds, she held her ground.
Then Grace started wailing.
Out of instinct, Micah lunged forward.
As he did, something hard connected with the back of his skull.
The gun.
His vision fractured for a half second.
Then the gun pressed against his temple again.
“Easy, Sheriff.” The voice was right in his ear.
Micah forced himself to still, his gaze still on Naomi.
The man trying to grab Grace shoved Naomi out of the way.
She hit the side of the SUV then fell to the ground.
His stomach dropped. No!
“Naomi . . .” The word came out raw, desperate.
She didn’t get up. Instead, she gasped for breath as if the wind was knocked out of her.
The man yanked the rear door open.
“Don’t you touch her—” The words tore out of Micah before he could stop them.
The barrel pressed harder against his temple.
He couldn’t move. Could do nothing but watch as the man unclipped Grace’s carrier from its base.
Grace’s cries grew louder as the man lifted her out.
From the pavement, Naomi made a helpless, whimpering sound that he knew he’d hear in his sleep for a long time.
“Grace—” Her voice cracked on the word. She tried to get up. One hand was pressed to her temple. But her legs didn’t cooperate.
The leader looked at Micah. “Keys.”
