Midwife Cover. Cassie Miles
you there yet?”
“Just approaching the house,” Cole said. “I haven’t seen any sign of the other deputies.”
“Don’t go in alone. Wait for me.”
“We might have a problem,” Cole said. “A few minutes ago, the deputy at Doc’s called me. Even though I could hear the woman sobbing and yelling in the background, he said he had everything under control and didn’t need my help. He said he’d meet me at the sheriff’s department.”
“He was warning you off.”
“That’s what I thought,” Cole said, “but I played along and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need assistance.”
“His answer?”
“He confirmed that he didn’t need help. I could barely make out what the woman was saying. It sounded like she said, ‘Don’t hurt my baby.’”
Brady feared that the traffickers had caught up to the witness at Doc’s place. He might be headed into danger. Worse than that, he’d dragged Petra and the baby along with him.
Chapter Three
In the reflected light from the dashboard, Petra studied Brady’s profile as he ended his call. Intuitively, she knew something was bothering him. Not that he’d been cheerful before, but he was definitely darker and more serious. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“When I exit the vehicle, you get into the driver’s seat. If I don’t signal you in five minutes, drive away fast. Do not, I repeat, do not enter the house.”
“I’m armed,” she reminded him.
Under his breath, he said, “Please don’t kill anybody.”
“I’m just saying … If there’s a threat, I can respond.”
“A dead suspect isn’t going to do me much good. I need for you to concentrate on one thing—keeping the baby safe.”
She didn’t argue. It didn’t take FBI training for her to realize that there needed to be one clear leader in a crisis situation. “Are you going to wait for Cole?”
“He’s already at the house.” Brady eased up on the accelerator and drove slowly past a black panel van parked at the side of the road.
“What is it?” she asked.
“California plates on that van.”
Tension prickled along the surface of her skin. She rested her hand on the butt of her weapon. When she’d made her bold pronouncement about keeping up her skills, she hadn’t really expected to fire the GLOCK. And target practice was a lot different than facing real danger. “Do you think the van belongs to your suspect?”
His fingers tensed on the steering wheel. “How far are we from Doc’s place?”
“I’m not sure.” This narrow, winding road followed a small creek, and one curve looked much like another. “I think it’s just around the next bend.”
He was still driving slowly. His headlights slashed through the trunks of pine trees into the forest. She caught a glimpse of something moving and pointed. “There.”
Gunfire rang out. Three shots. The windshield cracked.
Brady hit the brakes. Petra tore off her seat belt and ducked. From the backseat, the baby jolted awake and started wailing.
“Drive away,” Brady shouted as he jumped from the car.
He ran into the forest, charging directly into harm’s way. His white shirt contrasted with the trees and the brush at the edge of the road. His black suit faded into the night, but that gleaming shirt was a target for the gunman.
She wanted to go after him and provide the kind of backup he’d need in facing an armed-and-dangerous suspect. But her first concern was protecting the infant.
Petra scrambled over the center console and got behind the wheel. There were two bullet holes in the windshield. The shooter hadn’t been kidding around. He wanted them dead.
More gunshots split the air. She heard a high-pitched scream. Where was Cole? Where were the other deputies?
There wasn’t room on the road to turn around, so she flipped the SUV into Reverse. As she backed up, her headlights lit up the scene that played out in front of her. She braked to a stop and took her gun from the holster.
Brady was facing a gunman who held a woman carelessly around her waist. Her hands were fastened behind her back, and she was yelling in Spanish. Ayudame. Help me.
Both men dodged behind tree trunks. Even though Brady was returning gunfire shot for shot, she knew he wasn’t taking aim. He wouldn’t risk hitting the hostage. Nor would she.
But Petra might provide a distraction. She buzzed down her window and fired her weapon into the air.
The gunman swung toward her. With his arm outstretched, he aimed at the SUV and fired. Bullets smacked against the hood. In the backseat behind her, the baby continued to cry.
She ducked, barely peeking over the dashboard, and she saw Brady make his move. With one running step, he mounted a rock that was the size of an ottoman. Using that height, he launched himself through the air toward the gunman. It was the boldest, bravest, stupidest thing she’d ever seen in her life. But it worked. Brady knocked the gunman off his feet.
Her breath caught in her throat. The two men struggled on the ground amid the brush. She couldn’t tell what was happening. Desperately, she wanted to help, to leave the SUV and go to Brady’s aid.
Another vehicle rumbled toward her. She recognized her truck. Cole was coming back toward them from Doc’s house.
In the glow of her headlights, she saw Brady stagger to his feet. He held the woman against his chest. His gun was aimed at the suspect on the ground.
Relief washed through her. And pride. Brady might think of himself as someone who would never break the rules, but she was pretty sure that his diving leap at an armed suspect wasn’t standard FBI procedure. He’d taken a risk, a big one.
She wriggled in her seat, wanting to rush toward him. But she knew the protocol. Until she was one-hundred-percent sure it was safe, she needed to stay in the car with the baby whose cries had faded to a whimper.
With gun drawn, Cole went toward Brady and the woman. They talked for a moment. Cole took custody of the suspect on the ground. Brady freed the ties that bound the woman’s hands behind her back and helped her toward the SUV.
Leaning on Brady’s arm, the dark-haired woman limped forward. She had bandages on both forearms. Her clothes were spattered with blood, bruises marred her face and her long dark hair hung in a tangled mass. Still, she dragged herself toward her baby.
Petra got out of the SUV and opened the back door. In seconds, she freed the baby from the carrier. Holding the tiny bundle, she went toward Brady and the mother whose arms were raised, reaching desperately.
When Petra handed her the child, the woman gasped. She sank to her knees on the ground, cradling her infant to her breast. She rocked back and forth, holding him and quietly sobbing.
Before Petra could compliment Brady on his rescue, he said, “She told me there were only two men. The guy in custody and Escher who we already know is dead. Ask her again. I need to be sure.”
Petra hunkered down beside the woman. “He’s all right. Your baby is all right.”
Her exhausted eyes sought Petra’s face. “Mijo es bueno.”
“Si, muy bueno.” She smiled and gently rested her hand on the woman’s trembling shoulders. “What’s his name? ¿Cómo se llamo?”
“Miguel.”
“And your name?”
“Consuela.”