was closing the distance between them, not trying to hide the fact that he was following. He’d let the guy know he’d been seen, that what he’d tried to do under the cover of darkness had been exposed.
The light turned green as Henry neared the back bumper of the Jeep. He thought about clipping it, but worried that Everly would be hurt.
As the Jeep turned onto the highway, the back door flew open and a woman jumped out, Everly clutched against her chest. She stumbled and fell, skidding across the pavement on her knees, her arms still tight around his daughter.
She was up in a flash, sprinting toward buildings that she probably hoped would offer her cover or a place to hide. Everly hadn’t moved. She was limp as a rag doll, bouncing against the woman’s shoulder.
Henry threw the SUV into Park and jumped out, racing after her. Not caring about protocol, about securing the perpetrator, about doing any of the things he’d been trained to do. He was only worried about how still Everly was. How quiet. How completely unlike the bubbly little girl he knew her to be.
“FBI! Slow down and let me help you,” he called as he sprinted after the woman.
She didn’t believe him, of course.
She’d been traumatized and was running for her life with a child in her arms. He doubted his words had even registered. He’d spoken to victims of violent crimes. He’d interviewed witnesses. He knew how difficult it was to process information when the brain was bent on survival.
He tried again. “Ma’am! Stop! Let me help you!”
She darted between two buildings and entered an alley much too narrow for a vehicle.
He was right behind her, catching up fast. His attention was on Everly’s arm, flopping against the woman’s back. He’d never seen his daughter unresponsive. She was always filled with energy and verve. Unlike her twin, she was outgoing and talkative, her mouth running as often and as fast as her nearly six-year-old feet.
“Everly!” he called as he finally caught up to the woman. He grabbed her narrow shoulder, yanking her backward.
She whirled toward him, her arms wrapped around his daughter, her eyes wide with fear.
“Back off,” she panted.
“I’m her father,” he responded, dragging her farther away from the opening of the alley.
“You said you were with the FBI,” she replied, trying to pull away.
“I am.”
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be her father and with the FBI.”
“Why not?”
She scowled. “I already called the police. I can hear the sirens. They’ll be here any minute.”
He could hear the sirens, too, wailing in the distance, shouting that help was on the way.
Only help had no way of knowing where they were, and the perp was still on the loose. “Come on. Let’s get away from the street.”
He pulled her toward the far end of the alley, past a Dumpster and pile of dismantled cardboard boxes.
Something scuffled on the cement behind them.
He glanced at the entrance to the alley as a dark figure stepped into view. Tall and lean, his face hidden by the shadows, he took a step forward and pulled something from beneath his jacket.
Henry jerked the woman sideways, shoving her behind the Dumpster. He followed, throwing himself in front of her and Everly as the first bullet shattered the quiet and slammed into the metal near his head.
A bullet pinged off the brick building, the casing dropping to the ground and rolling under trash that littered the alley. Another slammed into the ground just beyond the Dumpster they were hiding behind.
Sirens screamed in the distance, but help was too far away. The next bullet could pierce the metal and slam into Tessa, the little girl she carried or the man who’d shoved them behind the Dumpster.
“We need to get out of here!” Tessa yelled as a third bullet hit the building just above them. Bits of brick and mortar rained down, clattering onto the ground and skipping across the concrete.
“It’s okay,” the man said, pressing her into the old brick wall. She knew the alley, the buildings on either side—a barber shop and an art shop—the streets that crossed in front and behind it. She knew where she was, but she doubted the police did, and she doubted that staying where they were was going to make anything okay.
“It is not okay,” she whispered, shoving against his solid weight, the little girl still in her arms.
“It will be,” he replied.
“How do you know?”
“He’s not going to come around the Dumpster. He has no idea if I’m armed.”
“He is armed. That’s what’s going to matter to him.”
“What is going to matter to him is escaping. He might want to get rid of a witness, but he won’t risk losing his freedom to do it.”
It made sense, but that didn’t make her feel any less like a sitting duck.
She shivered, her body smashed between the wall and the man.
She hated the feeling of helplessness that brought, the memories that clawed at the back of her mind. Other dark mornings and late nights when fear had made her cower and beg. When she’d fled Patrick, she’d promised herself that she would never do those things again. That she would fight or go down trying to.
She tried to move, but the man was a solid mass of muscle and sinew, all of it focused on keeping her where she was.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice shaking.
She hated that as much as she hated feeling helpless.
He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe. She inhaled cold air and baby shampoo. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d kept a child from being kidnapped. Now, she wanted to go to the diner and get back to the familiar routine of prepping for opening. That felt safe to her, and it felt more right than staying in the cold alley waiting for the police to arrive.
“I need to get to my job,” she murmured.
“Your boss will understand if you don’t show up,” the man said gently, reaching for the little girl and taking her from Tessa’s arms.
“You don’t know my boss.”
“No. I don’t,” he said, his attention on the child.
“He’s counting on me to open the diner.”
“The police will want to speak to you first.”
“They can find me at Ernie’s.” She knew it was unreasonable. She knew that she needed to stay where she was. The police would want to speak to her. She’d have to give a statement. There’d be dozens of questions about what had happened and what she’d seen.
But, all she wanted to do was walk away.
Just like she’d done three years ago.
She knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Running from problems never did. Her grandmother used to tell her that. The one person in her childhood who had actually cared, Hester had done her best to give Tessa a firm foundation on which she could build a better future.
It had taken way too many years for Tessa to do that.
“The police will know where that is,” she continued.
“You’re in shock. You’re not thinking clearly. If you were, you’d realize