When they burst through the doors into the hotel lobby, the older man behind the desk jerked his head up in surprise. “Can I help—”
“Have you seen Kensie Morgan? She’s staying—”
“Fourth floor,” the man interrupted. “From Chicago. Nice lady. She—”
“Have you seen her in the past ten minutes?” Colter demanded.
“No.”
“She’s in trouble. Call the police.” Colter didn’t care that he’d already done it. The fact that they weren’t here yet—regardless of how far the drive was for the closest officer—pissed him off.
“What?” The man pressed a shaky hand to his chest. “What’s going on?”
Colter didn’t answer. He just bolted for the elevator and jammed his hand against the Up button. If he’d been in fighting shape, stairs would be quicker, even at four stories. But these days, elevators were a faster option.
Thankfully, the elevator must have been at the ground floor, because it opened up fast and then he and Rebel were inside it, heading up. “Please be okay,” he chanted, watching the numbers beep by as they rose too slowly.
Finally the elevator arrived with a loud ding and Colter slid through before the doors finished opening. Rebel charged out after him.
He’d never been up here, but over the blood racing in his ears, he heard...something. Almost like a gurgling. And way down the hall, something lying in the hallway. Small, like a piece of wood. But it didn’t belong.
Colter headed that way, almost stumbling as he pushed his leg as hard as he could. Rebel ran beside him, following his silent command.
Before he reached the room, the noise stopped. When he finally peered inside, Henry Rollings glanced back from where he knelt on the floor.
And beneath him was Kensie, her head lolled to one side and her eyes closed.
WITH A ROAR that didn’t even sound like him, Colter dropped his cane and rushed Rollings.
Panic shot across Henry’s face as he tried to scramble to his feet. But he wasn’t fast enough.
Leaning on his stronger left leg, Colter grabbed the man by a fistful of shirt and yanked him off Kensie and onto his back. Not letting him regroup, Colter let go of his shirt and grabbed him by the forearm, twisting up and back as he dragged Henry farther away from Kensie.
“Check Kensie, girl,” he told Rebel, who leaped right over Henry and landed beside Kensie.
Colter said a silent prayer that she was okay, but right now he had to focus on neutralizing Henry before the guy realized Colter’s weakness and went for his bad leg like Danny had.
From the corner of his eye, Colter watched as Rebel nudged Kensie, then did it again, harder. Kensie didn’t move and Colter felt panic rising inside of him.
Then Henry yelped and twisted, yanking his arm free while Colter was distracted. Pushing against the floor for leverage, Henry shoved himself upward.
Colter’s panic shifted into rage. His focus narrowed onto just Henry, all of his fury and fear directed at the man. He could feel his lips twisting back into a snarl as he raised his fist.
He’d been to war, survived multiple tours where he’d seen others die. He’d faced an enemy with the desire to eliminate a threat, but he’d never felt this kind of primal hatred before. His fist connected with Henry’s face, fueled by all of that rage, too hard and fast for the man to block it.
Henry hit the ground hard, lights out.
For a split second, Colter wanted to keep pounding on him. But his worry for Kensie quickly overcame his hatred for Henry.
Colter twisted toward her. His knee popped as he dropped down beside her. His eyes watered at the pain, but he brushed the moisture away and pressed his fingers to her bruised neck. Rebel let out a long, low whine as Colter prayed.
Then he felt it. A pulse. Slow, too weak, but it was there.
Dropping even lower, he placed his hand in front of her mouth and nose, waiting for the soft brush of her breath. It, too, was faint but there.
Suddenly, he couldn’t see as he stroked his hand down her cheek. “Kensie, Kensie, wake up.” A drop splattered on her face and he realized he was crying.
Her eyes blinked open, confusion and pain in her gaze. “Wha—” she croaked.
“Don’t try to talk.” He sucked in a long breath of relief, swiped away tears so he could see her better, then folded her hand in his. It felt so fragile, so delicate. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Beside him, Rebel’s tail thumped the ground and she dropped to her belly, resting her head on Kensie’s arm.
Down the hall, he heard the ding of the elevator and footsteps running toward them. “We’re in here,” he called. “We need an ambulance.”
“Colter Hayes?” a voice called back.
Chief Hernandez had come herself. It had taken way longer than Colter would have liked, but he knew the chief didn’t live nearby. If she was the closest, then she’d still made good time.
“Yes. We’re in here. Kensie needs an ambulance.”
Kensie started to lift her head, but Colter put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move.”
He glanced back as Chief Hernandez poked her head around the door, then entered, holstering her weapon and lifting her radio. “Get me an ambulance.”
She strode into the room and cuffed Henry’s hands behind his back as he groaned and started moving.
“Where’s Alanna?” Kensie croaked, her words barely intelligible.
It hurt Colter just to hear her speak. Neither his hand on her shoulder nor the chief’s admonishment not to move until an EMT had looked at her prevented her from struggling to a sitting position.
Colter braced his hand behind her back and Rebel jumped up, rotating her body until she was sitting half behind Kensie for support.
“Good girl,” he told Rebel, but she didn’t even wag her tail in acknowledgment, just kept her serious gaze on Kensie.
“Where is she?” Kensie demanded, her voice raw but gaining volume.
Chief Hernandez yanked Henry to his feet and he groaned some more, shaking his head.
Trusting Rebel to have Kensie’s back—literally—Colter stood, ignoring the
