Valiant Defender

“My daughter is in there,” he responded.

That didn’t answer the question.

It didn’t make her feel any better about the situation.

“I’m aware of that,” she replied, keeping a tight grip on his arm. “If he takes you out before you reach the cabin, what’s going to happen to Portia?”

“If he takes me out, it’ll ruin the game. Sullivan isn’t about that. He wants to see my face and know that he’s got me where he wants me—scared and helpless.”

“You’re not either of those things.”

“I’m not one of those things, but let him think what he wants. It’ll keep me alive until I can free Portia.”

“Until? What about after?” she whispered, but he pulled away, breaking her grip easily.

“Stay here and stay hidden. He’s got nothing to lose by taking you out.”

He stepped into the clearing with Quinn, and she almost followed.

But Justin was right.

Sullivan had no grudge against her, no game he wanted to play with her. He had no reason to want to watch her suffer. If she stepped out into the clearing, the first bullet he fired would be at her.

He’d save the next for Quinn. Then Portia.

Finally, after he took everything Justin cared about, he’d kill him.

She slipped back into the woods, skirting around the clearing, listening to the eerie silence and the wild beat of her heart. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was terrified for Justin and for Portia. Boyd Sullivan had come to Canyon Air Force Base to seek vengeance for perceived wrongs, and Justin was probably at the top of the list of people he wanted to destroy. The fact that Portia was in danger seemed to be clouding Justin’s judgment, and clouded judgment could easily get a law enforcement officer killed. Especially in a situation like this.

She stepped out of the woods near the back of the cabin and moved silently across the clearing. She could hear Justin moving on the other side of the building, his footsteps crunching on dead leaves and twigs. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. He probably figured there was no reason. Boyd knew he was coming but had no idea Gretchen was there, too.

She’d use that to her advantage.

She crept close to the light-colored log walls of the cabin. There’d been two windows cut into the facade, and she approached one, freezing as she saw the flashlight beam sweep across one of the openings and then the other.

“I know you’re out there,” a man called in a singsong voice that made her blood run cold.

For a moment, she thought she’d been seen, that somehow Boyd had realized Justin wasn’t alone.

She dropped to her stomach, her left side pressed close to the cabin, her right arm free to pull her service weapon.

“Blackwood!” the man continued. “Move a little faster, or your little girl is going to die.”

“Dad! No!” Portia called, her voice wobbly with tears. “He’s going to shoot you!”

“Shut up!” Boyd yelled in response, the quick hard crack of flesh against flesh ringing through the night.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then the soft pad of feet on the ground. Justin was moving again, and Gretchen wasn’t going to let him go into the situation alone. She crept toward the window, staying low to the ground as she moved toward the old cabin, the sound of Portia’s terror still ringing in her ears.

THREE

Justin had spent most of his adult life keeping his anger in check. His father had been a raging alcoholic with a mean and violent temper. The day Justin had left home for basic training, he’d vowed he’d be a better man. He liked to think he had been. He’d avoided the trap of alcohol and anger. He’d treated people with empathy and kindness. Even on the job, even with known criminals, he’d focused on justice rather than revenge.

Right now, though, he wanted to drag Boyd from the cabin and make him pay for putting his hands on Portia.

His muscles were tight with anger and tension, his movement stiff as he approached a gaping hole that had once been a door.

“Leave the dog outside, Blackwood,” Boyd commanded.

Boyd thought he had the upper hand, and he seemed happy to let the game play out for a while longer. That was fine by Justin. He could hear Security Forces officers moving through the woods. It wouldn’t be long before the cabin was surrounded.

“Down,” he commanded, and Quinn dropped to his belly, growling deep in his throat as he eyed the doorway.

“Good boy,” Boyd said, laughing coldly. “You. Not the dog, Blackwood.”

If he wanted to get a rise out of Justin, he was going to be disappointed. Having his judgment clouded by emotion wasn’t going to help him get Portia out of this situation alive. That was his goal, his mission and his focus. Boyd’s games were incidental.

“Nothing to say to that?” Boyd taunted. “I guess you’re not as big a man as you pretended to be when I was in basic training.”

“Let Portia go,” Justin responded, ignoring the taunt. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a teenager. One who likes to post junk on the internet she knows nothing about.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I shouldn’t have written any of those things about you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Do you think an apology is going to save your dad?” Boyd replied.

“I just—”

“It’s not!” Boyd snapped. “Me and your dad go way back, and there’s nothing good between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia repeated, and Justin wondered if she was trying to keep Boyd’s focus away from him.

“Shut up! Blackwood, get in here!”

Justin stepped across the threshold and into the cabin’s main room. Decades ago, the place may have been someone’s home. Now it was nothing more than a carcass made of old logs. In addition to the missing windows, the door and part of the roof were missing. Moonlight illuminated the interior, and he could see Portia sitting on the ground a few feet away. Her face was pale, her hair falling across her cheeks. She looked more like Melanie than she did Justin—her build delicate, her cheekbones high.

Boyd stood beside her, tall and lean, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He had a gun in his right hand and a flashlight jutting from his jacket pocket. If he were worried about being captured, he wasn’t showing it.

“Well, well,” he said. “Here we are. Finally face-to-face. After all these years, you probably thought you were going to get away with what you did to me.”

“I don’t recall doing anything,” Justin responded, taking a step in Portia’s direction.

“Don’t,” Boyd said, his voice cold with rage. “I would hate to kill your daughter before the party even got started.”

“This isn’t the kind of party I like,” Portia said, and Boyd’s gaze cut to her.

“No one asked you, Ms. Bigmouthed Blogger.”

“If that’s the best insult you can come up with—”

“That’s enough, Portia.” Justin cut in before she could say more. Goading Boyd would only anger him, and right now, Justin wanted things to stay calm.

“Good call, Blackwood. Now, how about we all take a little walk?” He grabbed Portia’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

To her credit, she didn’t resist, and she didn’t cry out.

She looked terrified, though—her eyes wide and filled with fear.

“It’s going to be okay, Portia,” Justin said.

Boyd laughed. “That depends on what side of the gun you’re standing on. Speaking of which...” He lifted his gun and pressed it to Portia’s temple. “What’s it feel like to come face-to-face with the guy you called inept, blogger-girl? Do you still think I’m stupid?”

Justin’s heart stopped.

He stared into Portia’s eyes, trying to convey a sense of control and comfort that he didn’t feel. Trying to discourage her from giving a flip teenage response.

Boyd could and would pull the trigger.

He’d done it before.

“Let her go, Boyd,” Justin said, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to escalate things.

“You don’t call the shots anymore, Blackwood.” Boyd chuckled, the pistol easing away from Portia’s temple but still aimed at her. “Get it? Call the shots? You’re not laughing. I guess you’re as boring and uptight as ever. Man, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough.”

“I disagree. I’d have been happy to take you out months ago. I should have thought about her before now.” He jabbed the gun closer to Portia. “Seems you’ll do anything to keep your kid alive.”

“I will,” Justin agreed, and Portia shook her head.

“Dad—”

“This is a grown-up conversation, blogger-girl,” Boyd growled. “You keep your mouth shut. Where’s the dog, Blackwood? We’re leaving, and I don’t want him coming at me when we step outside.”

“He won’t bother you.” Not until Justin called him. Once he did, Quinn would be on Boyd like a missile—quick and deadly accurate.

“He’d better not. Your daughter’s life depends on it. She sure is a pretty little thing.” He flicked Portia’s hair with the muzzle of his pistol, chuckling when she flinched.

“She’s a kid. A little girl,” Justin said, his voice gritty with banked anger.

“A teenager who knows her way around a computer. Not a kid. I don’t kill kids,” Boyd spit. “But I do kill annoyances, and you’re both that.”

“She wrote a few anonymous blog posts. What’s that matter to a guy like you?”

“It matters. It all matters.” The gun swung toward Justin and then back in Portia’s direction. “You did this, Blackwood. You did all of it. I might have pulled the trigger and fired at those people, but you called the shots. Do you regret it? Do you have any remorse?”

“Maybe if you tell me what I did—”

“You know what you did! I would have done just fine in basic training. I would have excelled. I would have been top of the class. Except for you.”

“I don’t like bullies, Boyd. I don’t let them prey on people weaker than they are. I don’t allow them to hurt defenseless animals.”

“Everyone there was weaker. That wasn’t my fault. I was taking my rightful place as the leader of the pack. You work with dogs. You should understand how that goes. And as for that puppy, I didn’t do anything but save his life, and look at him now—one of the top dogs on your team.” The pistol was slipping again, the muzzle dropping.

Portia noticed. She met Justin’s eyes, shaking her head slightly. He knew the message she was sending him silently. She didn’t want him to act, didn’t want him to try to disarm Boyd, but that was the only way to save her.

“He was. Now he’s missing. Thanks to you.”

“Right. Consequences stink, don’t they?” He grinned.

“I guess you’d know about that more than I would. You were insubordinate in basic training, and you got a dishonorable discharge. You went home and killed five people, and then got sent to federal prison. You escaped and started killing again, and you’re going to be thrown in prison again,” Justin said, purposely riling him up, getting him angry, trying to keep him from thinking, from noticing that Justin was edging nearer.

A few more steps, and he’d be close enough to lunge for the weapon.

“I’m not going back to prison, Blackwood,” Boyd said coldly. “Men like me never do.”

“Like you? You think you’re too smart to get caught?” he asked, taking another step forward. “You made a mistake tonight. You should have come after me and left Portia alone.”

“I don’t make mistakes!” he screamed. The gun moved, and for a split second, Justin thought he’d won, that Boyd would release his hold on Portia and go after him.

But as quickly as Boyd’s anger appeared, it was gone.

“Good try, Blackwood,” he said. “But I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Maybe you could explain it to me?”

“Put your gun on the ground. Now. And do it slowly. You so much as make me think you’re taking aim, and I kill your daughter.”

Justin played along, taking his handgun from its holster and setting it on the floor.

Something moved in the window behind Boyd, a flurry of shadows that coalesced into a figure climbing silently through the opening. Slim. Tall. Graceful and quick.

He had about two seconds to realize it was Gretchen.

He wanted to tell her to stop, but it was too late.

Boyd must have sensed her presence. He swung around, firing a shot almost blindly.

Justin grabbed Portia, yanking her away and thrusting her through the doorway, shouting for Quinn.

The dog was there, snarling and snapping, rushing toward Boyd, who still had his gun in hand.

“Call him off or she dies,” he yelled shrilly, his firearm aimed at Gretchen.

She lay still.

Stunned or injured or afraid to move.

“Quinn, off!” Justin shouted, and the dog backed off, still growling, still snarling. Unhappy to have been called off his prize.

Justin moved toward Gretchen, freezing when Boyd dragged her to her feet and pressed the gun into her side. She was a rag doll, limp and helpless in his grip.

“Don’t move,” Boyd commanded. “Don’t even breathe.”

The world went silent.

Not a breath of sound.

And then chaos reigned again. Gretchen moved suddenly, thrusting her hand under Boyd’s chin, slamming her elbow into his gut. The firearm discharged, the bullet slamming into the dirt floor.

Boyd backhanded Gretchen, propelling her toward Justin.

He caught her, lowering her to the ground and grabbing his gun at his feet. He came up and fired a shot as Boyd jumped through the window. He wanted to follow, but Gretchen was injured and Portia was standing in the doorway, her soft sobs filling the cabin. Obviously, she’d been too terrified to make a run for it. He didn’t dare leave them alone. Not with Boyd on the loose.

“It’s okay, Portia,” he said quietly, holstering his weapon. “He’s gone.”

She’d been shot. That was Gretchen’s first thought. Her second thought was that Boyd Sullivan was escaping. She pushed herself to her knees, surprised when someone took her arm, holding her steady as she got to her feet.

Not someone.

Justin.

He’d shrugged out of his jacket and was pressing it to her shoulder. She brushed it away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding a lot, Gretchen,” Portia said, hovering a few steps away, her eyes wide with fear, her face pale.

“You call this bleeding?” She scoffed, offering the teen an encouraging smile. “You should have seen me when I fell out of the tree my brothers dared me to climb. I hit my head on the way down and bled so much they thought I was dead.”

“You have brothers?” Justin asked, pulling the fabric of her jacket and shirt away so he could see the wound. The bullet had grazed her upper arm, and dark blood bubbled from the wound. She didn’t feel any pain. All she felt was anger. That Boyd had struck again. That a man was dead. That a teenager had been terrorized. That a man who killed indiscriminately was escaping again.

“I have four brothers.” She brushed Justin’s hand away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. If fine is having a bullet take a chunk out of your upper arm,” he responded, pressing his jacket to the wound to try to stanch the bleeding.

She felt that. The pressure on the open wound made her grimace, but she wasn’t going to admit that she was in pain. She brushed his hand away again. “The bleeding has almost stopped, and Boyd needs to be captured. Take Quinn and go after him. I’ll watch Portia until backup arrives.”

He hesitated, and she knew he was torn. He didn’t want to leave his daughter, but he knew how important it was to apprehend Boyd.

“I’ll make sure Portia is okay, Justin. I promise,” she assured him.

“It’s not just her I’m worried about,” he replied, but he’d moved to the window Boyd had escaped through. “You’re pale and still bleeding. You probably need stitches.”

“I can get stitches with or without you nearby.”

“Dad, please don’t go,” Portia cut in, grabbing Justin’s arm as he leaned out the window opening.

“Portia, he needs to be stopped. Tonight. Before he hurts anyone else. Gretchen will make sure you’re okay—”

“I’m not worried about me,” the teen protested. “I’m worried about you.”

“Your dad is going to be okay, too,” Gretchen said, putting a hand on Portia’s shoulder and wishing she were better at this part of the job. She’d gone into military police work because she’d believed in justice, and because it had seemed like the thing to do. Her father had worked as an MP until he’d retired. All four of her brothers were military police officers, and from the time she was old enough to remember, she’d wanted to follow in their footsteps. She’d been the youngest by nine years. A surprise that had pleased her parents and her brothers. She’d been encouraged to pursue her dreams, and military life had been the only one she’d had.

Until Henry.

He’d made her want the things she’d written about in her adolescent diary—love and romance and forever. By the time she and Henry met at an on-base church, she’d already established herself as a tough no-nonsense military police officer. Tough was a necessity when you were a woman in a man’s world. Showing empathy, sympathy and sorrow were not. Henry had appreciated that. He’d been Airman Second Class, back from Afghanistan and training new recruits. They’d hit it off immediately.

If things had worked out, Henry would have finished out his final year in the military and then applied to the FBI. Gretchen would have spent another four years working and then left the air force to start a family with him.

But things hadn’t worked out.

And now she was in an old cabin in the middle of the woods with a teenager who needed the kind of nurturing support Gretchen hadn’t had any practice with.

Portia still had Justin’s arm, her eyes dark in her pale face. “Dad! Really! You can’t go after him. He wants to kill you.”

“Gretchen is right. I’m going to be fine. Quinn is smart and quick, and he always has my back.”

“He’s a dog, and he can’t stop a bullet. You know Boyd Sullivan will shoot you as soon as he gets a chance.”

“I’m not going to give him a chance,” Justin assured her.

“That’s what you think is going to happen, but you can’t know for sure that you can stop him. Look what happened to Mom. She was going to work. Just like she did every Wednesday night. She should have made it home, and she didn’t.” Portia swiped at a tear that was sliding down her cheek, and Gretchen wanted to pull her close, tell her again that everything was going to be okay. That her father would return. That Boyd would be caught. That life would go on, and that she’d continue on with it. That, one day, she’d think of her mother, and she’d be happier for the times they’d had than sad for the times they’d missed.

But those were big concepts. Difficult ones.

Gretchen was nearly thirty, and she struggled to accept her loss. Even four years after his death, she missed Henry and what they’d planned together.

Portia was a kid.

One who’d lost her mother. It wasn’t surprising that she was terrified of losing her father.

“I wish I could stay here with you,” Justin said, pulling Portia in for a hug.

She went stiff, her arms down at her sides.

“If you really wished it, you’d stay,” she muttered.

“I have a job to do, Portia. And if I don’t do it, you’ll never be safe.” He stepped back, his voice as stiff as Portia’s hug had been.

“If you die it’s going to be my fault. Just like—” She stopped and stepped back, her expression tight and guarded.

“Just like what?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She was lying. Gretchen didn’t know much about teenagers, but she knew a lie when she heard one.

Justin hesitated, staring into his daughter’s eyes as if he could find the secret she was keeping.

Outside, a dog barked and dry leaves crackled. Lights bounced across the clearing. Help had arrived. Finally.

“I need to go,” Justin said. “We’ll discuss how none of this is your fault later. Stay with Gretchen. Do whatever she tells you without arguing.”

“But—”

“It really is going to be okay, Portia,” he said, and then he issued a command to Quinn, waited for the Malinois to bound through the window and follow him. He had to find Boyd. He had to stop him.

Tonight.

Before he had the chance to hurt anyone else.

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