Sworn To Protect. Shirlee McCoy
would shoot Rusty and have the gun aimed back at Katie in a heartbeat.
“Or what?” Martin asked, his yellow-green eyes focused on Tony.
“I don’t think you want to find out,” Tony responded, trying to keep him talking and buy some time. Backup was on the way. A 911 call had been placed moments before he had arrived at the medical center. He had been running his regular patrol route through Queens, detouring past the four-story brick building every few minutes. Worried, because he knew that none of Jordan’s brothers had been available to accompany Katie to her appointment.
“You’re a big talker, Knight,” Martin snapped, yanking Katie backward. Of course, he knew Tony’s name. He was obsessed with everyone and everything that had anything to do with Katie’s life.
“I’m also big on action. Let her go.”
Martin scowled. He was moving Katie to the edge of the paved lot. A few feet of lush grass separated the medical clinic’s property from the edge of Forest Park. Tall oak trees marked the eastern edge of the public area.
“But, you won’t risk Katie’s or the baby’s life,” Martin said. “For the sake of your buddy Jordan, if nothing else.”
He was right.
Tony couldn’t take a chance. He was confident in his ability to hit his mark, but if Katie moved, if Martin yanked her at just the wrong moment, she or the baby could be injured.
Or, worse.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Put your gun down, Martin. Let her go. We’ll get you the help you need.”
“I don’t need help. I need my family.” He pulled Katie into his chest, pressing the gun against her side. The barrel was hidden by the soft swell of her abdomen, but Tony could see her face, her blue eyes and her blond ponytail snaking over her shoulder.
“Please, Martin,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just let me go. We can talk things out after you’ve gotten treatment.”
“Treatment for what?” Martin asked coldly, his eyes blazing hot in his impassive face.
He was delusional and dangerous, and he was stepping into the grass, dragging Katie with him.
Tony needed to stop him before he made it into the park.
“You were in the hospital,” Tony pointed out, stepping closer, his gun dropping to his side. He wanted Martin to be off guard and vulnerable, unprepared for what was going to happen. “And, from what I heard, you were doing well there.”
He hadn’t actually heard much, but Martin would do just fine locked up in a mental health facility for the remainder of his life.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Or, the opinion of anyone else,” Martin snapped, but the gun had fallen away from Katie’s side, and he was glancing back, eyeing the sparse growth of oaks that heralded the beginning of parkland.
The proximity of Forest Park might make it more difficult to apprehend Martin. Tony was determined to get Katie away from the guy, but if Martin managed to disappear into the park, there would be plenty of footpaths and several roads that he could use to make a quick escape.
“Get back in your car,” Martin said coldly. “I would never hurt Katie, but Jordan’s kid means nothing to me.” He jabbed the gun into Katie’s stomach, and she winced.
“You can’t hurt the baby without hurting the mother,” Tony reminded him.
“I’m not as stupid as people think I am. I know a lot of tricks.” Martin moved backward, away from Tony, his K-9 vehicle and the parking lot.
Tony unhooked Rusty’s lead from his collar so he could release him. Normally the chocolate Lab wouldn’t attack. He was a placid, easygoing house companion and a die-hard worker when it came to search and rescue, but he hadn’t been trained to unarm dangerous criminals. He did, however, have a fierce desire to protect his pack.
Right now, he was barking, sensing the tension and anxiety and ready to do what he had to in order to make certain his people were safe.
“And don’t even think about releasing that dog!” Martin screamed, the gun shifting away from Katie as he focused on Rusty.
Katie slammed her elbow into his stomach.
Martin gasped and dropped the gun from his hand.
“Go!” Tony shouted, releasing Rusty as Katie darted away.
Fight. Free yourself. Run.
Jordan’s words echoed through Katie’s head as she sprinted away. He had said them dozens of times when he had taught the self-defense class she had signed up for a few weeks after taking the job teaching in Queens. The neighborhood had been safe, but she had grown up in the suburbs, and the hustle and bustle of the city had been disconcerting.
Plus, she had been a young woman, alone.
She had wanted to know that she could defend herself.
She had not been thinking about defending an unborn child.
She hadn’t been thinking about being a wife or a mother. She had been thinking about living life on her terms. That was something she had not been able to do when she had been a teenager moving through the foster-care system.
Rusty growled and snapped as he dashed by.
She ran in the opposite direction, darting off the curb, her ankle twisting. She tried to right herself, but the pregnancy made her ungainly, her body front-heavy and cumbersome.
She tripped and went down, hands and knees skidding across asphalt. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. It had to be Martin!
She fought the way Jordan had taught her.
Elbow to the stomach, pushing back into his weight.
“Katie, stop. It’s me,” Tony said.
She knew his voice.
If she had not been so panicked, she’d have known his gentle touch—his fingers curving lightly around her upper arm.
He had done the same at the funeral, standing beside her as Jordan’s coffin was lowered into the ground.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
She stopped struggling and whirled toward the park. “Where did he go?”
There was no sign of Martin, but Rusty was nearing a copse of trees, still barking ferociously. He was trained in search and rescue and had no business going after a deranged and dangerous man.
“Rusty is going to get hurt,” she said, her voice shaking. “You need to call him back.”
“He’ll be okay,” Tony responded. He was tracking the dog’s movements as he relayed information into the radio.
If he was worried, she couldn’t hear it in his voice.
But, then, he was one of New York’s finest. Just like Jordan had been. He had great training, a good head on his shoulders and the ability to stay calm even in the most challenging circumstances.
He and Jordan had been best friends.
My fourth brother.
How many times had Jordan said that?
And how often had Katie set an extra plate at the dinner table? How often had she watched as the two men tossed balls for their K-9 partners in the yard behind the three-family house they’d shared with the Jameson clan? Countless times. She and Jordan had lived on the second level of the home. His parents just below them. His brothers and young niece above. They were the family she had