Instinctively, Win kicked out.
“Fuck!” The man reeled back and doubled over, clutching his left knee where her boot had caught him. “Goddamnit!”
“It’s you!” Win scrambled backward, tripped and sat down hard, immediately pushing up to her feet again. Could she dodge around him—reach the manor?
He was limping but still standing, and he lurched toward her again. Win couldn’t take her eyes off the back of his hand where a devil was tattooed, its coiled tail ending in an arrow that snaked over his wrist.
She’d seen it before—when she was thirteen—when a stranger lunged at her and threw her into his truck—
As he drew near, images cascaded into her mind. The bumpy ride in the back of the vehicle, the taste of the gag in her mouth, the pitch darkness of the room where she’d spent weeks—alone…
“Stop it—leave me alone! Why are you doing this?” she cried, backpedaling.
The man—in his late forties, she guessed, muscled and rugged—sneered at her.
“Money, what else? And now you’ve seen me. Not good, little girl.” He kept coming.
She feinted right, but he matched her movements, limping but still agile.
“I’m not a little girl anymore. Not like last time.”
He hesitated, and she thought she’d surprised him, but then his gaze traced her body. “Not anymore,” he agreed. He gestured at her with his gun. “Get over here. You’re wasting time we don’t have.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, relax,” he drawled. “Worked out last time, didn’t it? You’ll be fine. Sit around on your ass for a couple of weeks. Wait for mommy and daddy to pay up…”
“They didn’t pay up last time. They came after you. Took you out. What makes you think it’ll be different?” She had to get away—had to trick him—
“Do I look like anyone took me out?” he sneered again. “Stop talking and get over here, or this isn’t going to go well for you—or that baby—at all.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
When the shot rang out, every man in Base Camp leaped into action, racing up the hill to the manor, Angus in the lead.
“Walker—Walker!” A young man streaked out of the woods and made a beeline toward them. “He’s got a gun. He’s got her—in the woods. Behind the manor.”
Angus didn’t stop to ask questions. Footsteps pounded behind him, and he was sure Walker was among the men racing after him, but soon all he heard was his own breathing coming fast and loud as he strained to reach Win before it was too late. He couldn’t say how he knew it was her—but it was; he felt it in every fiber of his being.
Her parents had said there were threats. He hadn’t taken them seriously. He hadn’t stuck with her. It was all Leslie’s fault—
No, his own fault, for allowing Boone to make him spend a month with a woman he didn’t even want.
When someone caught up to him, he was surprised to see it was Nick, who he recognized. He’d met him once in town with Walker. Nick kept pace like a long-distance athlete who’d trained his whole life.
“This way,” the young man said, veering off behind the large three-story house into the woods when they reached it.
Angus followed.
“There!” Nick grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to a halt, just as Angus caught sight of Win, who faced off with a burly man pointing a gun at her.
He drew his own pistol, but knew he didn’t have a shot that wouldn’t put Win in danger, too.
“Oh, crap!” Nick breathed. Angus saw what he saw; Douglas had taken a different path and was skirting through the woods a dozen or more feet away, running straight at the man with the gun, although he couldn’t see him yet.
Angus lunged toward him, waving his arms, hissing to get his attention, but Douglas kept going. Angus kept pace with him as best he could, moving in parallel, weapon drawn, still not aiming it—not having a clear shot.
“Douglas!” he hissed again.
Ahead of him, the stranger lunged at Win, who darted to her left—just in time.
“Hey!” Douglas shouted as he broke through the brush and trees and spotted the gunman, skidding to a stop.
Angus dropped to his knees, aimed—
The man turned to see who was coming—swung his arm around to aim for Douglas—
Two gunshots rang out.
Win screamed, lurched away and stumbled over the uneven ground.
The man fell to the ground and writhed there. Angus surged to his feet, caught sight of Douglas—
Flat on his back.
A bloom of blood spreading across his chest.
Win stumbled several times before regaining her balance. She was still alive. Unhurt.
When the shots rang out, she’d been sure she was the target, but she was still standing.
Still breathing.
She turned in time to see Angus rush to the two bodies on the ground, followed closely by Nick.
Angus dipped down by the gunman, scooped his weapon from the ground and kept going to Douglas’s side.
Win gasped when she saw the blood on Douglas’s shirt, hurried toward him and stopped short. “Is he…?”
Douglas opened his eyes. “I’m not dead, if that’s what you’re asking, lass, but I’m going to be if you don’t get me to a hospital. Fuck, this hurts.”
“Welcome to my world,” Angus told him as the rest of the men of Base Camp reached them.
Win pulled out her phone and dialed 911. She gave the particulars the best she could, her head spinning as the truth crashed down around her.
She had been being tracked.
Her parents were right.
“Win? You okay?” Angus surged to his feet as she swayed, but she shook her head.
“Help Douglas.”
Angus didn’t look convinced, but he pulled his T-shirt over his head, tore it into strips and used them to staunch Douglas’s bleeding, assisted by Boone and Clay. “Looks like a graze,” Boone said some moments later.
“Graze, my
