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Yeah, she remembered him coming to the ER. She remembered his allergy.
He looked at the bandage, then at her, confusion folding to realization.
“You… What did you—”
Polly drove her shoulder into his wounded arm and shoved him away from the door. He lost his footing. Her backpack spilled. The zip ties bit deeper, but her legs were free and moving. She exploded past him and ran. Out of the bathroom. Through the office doorway.
Behind her, Cayden gagged. A ragged wheeze sawed at the air. Something slammed into the wall.
“You bitch. I thought you were diff—” His voice cut off on a gasp.
She cut left down the warehouse corridor, a sickly light striping the concrete through the masked windows. Her breath tore at her throat. She smelled oil and dust and cold iron. She ran toward a silver car, probably stolen like the sedan that had nearly killed her.
Find a door. Find an open window. Scream.
A raw rasp chased her—then a crash, metal toppling.
She drew a breath until it hurt and let it rip, the sound yanked up from somewhere primal.
“Help!” Her voice bounced and broke. “Help! Somebody!”
She glanced behind her to see Cayden waving his knife and stumbling after her, choking on air that wouldn’t come.
Polly ran harder. She slammed into a metal door and yanked on the knob. It wouldn’t budge. “Help!” she screamed again.
Cayden fell to the concrete behind her, his wheezing sounding like he was drowning in a tar pit.
She smacked the door with her fists. “He’s gonna kill me!”
She spotted a rickety set of steps leading to a catwalk around the outside walls of the building and ran toward it.
Cayden pushed himself to his feet, knife still in hand, and lurched toward her. “Mine… Mine…”
Glass shattered above her head and a chunk of brick landed at her feet.
She reached the bottom of the steps and stumbled, unable to catch herself with her bound hands. She felt a gash in her chin open up, but she had no time to assess her injury. She rolled to her bottom and saw Cayden staggering toward her.
But behind him, the Marines were storming the warehouse.
Daniel lifted Pirate through the window opening and dropped down behind him. “Pirate, go! Go, go, go, boy!”
Pirate ran right past Cayden and went to her. He put his paw on her knee, licked her hand—then turned and growled viciously at Cayden Thornhill.
But the warning wasn’t necessary. She saw Daniel run up behind Cayden. In a series of moves that were more like choreography than the violent takedown she knew it to be, Daniel wound his arm around Cayden’s neck and grabbed the man’s wrist with his free hand, twisting until she heard a bone snap. Her kidnapper screamed a breathless gasp, and the knife went flying. Then Daniel did something to Cayden’s knee, and the man was on the ground.
“Breach! Now!” Daniel shouted.
She yelped as a battering ram hit the locked metal door and men in assault uniforms with rifles stormed in, followed by Detective Standage and her stepfather—all armed, all moving to surround the man on the floor.
Standage tapped Daniel’s shoulder. “I’ve got him.”
Daniel rushed right over to her. “Pirate, sit.” The dog plopped down beside her, resting his head on her thigh. Daniel knelt in front of her. He gently turned her face from side to side, then looked down at her hands and cursed. “She’s hurt! We need an ambulance.”
Her stepdad rested a hand on her shoulder, his phone to his mouth. “Bus is already en route. Thank God, you’re okay, sweetheart. I don’t know what it is with you Cooper women—but you need to stop getting into trouble.” He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head even as Daniel pulled out a pocketknife and cut through her bindings. “I’ll call your mother and sister—let them know you’re okay.”
She winced as circulation and feeling flooded back into her fingers. Daniel massaged them between his warm hands and dropped kisses to her knuckles. She tilted her gaze to her stepfather. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.” She wondered at the hint of moisture in his eyes as he turned to squeeze Daniel’s shoulder. “Good work, Sergeant. Thank you.”
