Page 12 of Unplanned Target

“I need you to trust me right now, okay?” I need all the oxygen I’m breathing to move, so talking isn’t high on my list of priorities. Reaching the corner of one lot, I cut across, using the privacy fence of the property behind it to hide my direction change.

After turning fast at the edge of the yard, I slow down a little, prioritizing stealth over speed. I’ve got one chance at this, and if I fail, it could be catastrophic.

The fence anchors to a brick two-story with thick hedges lining the front elevation. Reaching the corner of the house, I drop Miranda’s feet to the ground and shove her behind me, holding one finger to my lips.

Miranda nods, pressing her lips together to indicate she understands.

I hold her eyes for a second longer, letting the knowledge I’m the only way she’s getting out of here settle into my chest. It’s the kind of pressure that can overwhelm some people, but it’s always driven me. The responsibility of it narrows my focus and hones my senses. I lean into that now, the desire to protect her at any cost stronger than I expect. Maybe because I know her brother. Possibly because she’s a single mom, and it reminds me of everything my own mother went through to take care of me and my brothers. The sacrifices she made. The risks she took.

Whatever the reason, the thought of failing her is unthinkable.

Forcing myself to turn away, I creep out of our hiding place. With Miranda right behind me, her finger once again hooked in my belt loop, I take short, silent steps. She matches my pace, and manages to stay remarkably quiet for someone untrained in evasion, as we close in on the spot where Allie was hiding, coming at it from the opposite side. I know chances are good she’s moved by now, but hopefully she hasn’t gotten far.

And hopefully she got there quietly.

Reaching the section of large ornamental bushes Miranda’s daughter was tucked into, I stop. Holding my breath, I listen, both for any sign of Allie or any indication whoever shot at Miranda has found us.

But the night is eerily silent.

Taking advantage of our temporary and relative safety, I pull out my phone, checking the location of the phone Allie took. Once I have an idea where she’s gone, I tuck it back into my pocket and tip my head in the direction we’re about to go.

Miranda’s hold on me tightens, her expression determined.

Following the path Allie likely took minutes ago, we quickly move toward the spot she should be. Just as we reach a boat stored at the back of a well-manicured yard, the sound of running footsteps reaches my ears.

Fuck. I’m running out of time.

I go to the side of the boat, intending to shove Miranda up under the cover so she’s out of sight while I go dispatch whoever’s after us.

But then I see it’s weirdly tucked in on one side.

“Allie’s in the boat.” I keep my voice low, pointing at the spot she accessed. “I need you to get her to come out. Quietly.” I stress the word quietly because we cannot do anything that will call attention to our location right now. We’ve got about thirty seconds before things get real ugly, real fast. “Now.” Grabbing her around the waist, I heft Miranda up, making sure not to lift her too high, making her visible over the top of the boat.

“Allie Bug?” Miranda’s voice is quiet as she lifts the edge of the cover. “Are you in here?”

“Mom?” The single word is music to my ears.

But I need them to pick up the tempo.

“We need to go, ladies.” I set Miranda down and lift one hand as Allie peeks out at us. “Come on. Time to go.”

The teenager doesn’t even hesitate. In the blink of an eye, her face is replaced by a set of sneakers coming at me.

Gripping one foot so she can use my hand as a step, I lower Allie far enough I can wrap an arm around her waist to get her the rest of the way down. The second her feet are on the ground, I grab one of her hands and one of her mother’s, and drag them along with me, heading in the opposite direction of the footsteps closing in on us. We’ve got to move fast, so I set a punishing pace.

Hopefully these two have been doing their cardio.

FIVE

MIRANDA

“We need to go.” Owen’s grip on my hand is bruisingly tight. “Now.”

I want to ask questions—shocking, I know—but he’s running so fast it’s all I can do to keep up with him.

My thighs and shins are burning and I can’t pull enough air into my lungs. The arches of my feet are cramping from trying to keep my cute flats on, and my underwear is climbing up the crack of my ass.

I walk miles every day while I work. Spend more hours on my treadmill than I do off it. It seems that gave me an inflated sense of my cardiovascular condition, because I think I’m going to die. Not due to one of the bullets flying past, but from moving my legs too fast. Which would be really fucking embarrassing.