His Best Friend's Baby. Mallory Kane

He’d warned her not to exit the vehicle until the kidnapper produced the baby. And, as he’d reminded her not twenty minutes before, at the first sign of trouble, she was to turn the Hummer around and get out of there.

      Those were her instructions. But Matt had other plans. He had no intention of letting the kidnapper within twenty yards of her.

      She inched the Hummer closer. The kidnapper shifted to the balls of his feet, holding the rifle loosely yet competently, like a pro. Another point in his favor and more cause for concern on Matt’s part.

      Matt made his move. He rose from his crouch and crept around the edge of the clearing, keeping the scrub bushes between him and the other man. Once he got into position, it would take him less than thirty seconds to get behind him, slip out from the trees at the last second, then grab and tranquilize him. In a situation like this, thirty seconds was a hell of a long time.

      He’d choreographed every step ahead of time. He’d had plenty of experience with stealth from rescue missions he’d conducted in the Air Force and afterwards while working for Black Hills Search and Rescue. He knew how to approach an enemy and extract an innocent without detection. Given this guy’s obvious expertise, he was glad to have the noise of the Hummer’s engine as added cover.

      He positioned himself directly behind the kidnapper. Staying low, he inched silently forward.

      Then without warning, something hit him from behind.

      With no more than a fifth of a second wasted on startle response, Matt whirled. He rammed his fist and shoulder into the attacker’s body. As his knuckles encountered flesh and bone, he followed through, putting his whole weight behind the blow. But it wasn’t enough. His attacker was quicker.

      Matt went down—hard.

      The man grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into the frozen ground.

      The blow dazed him. But the cold pressure of a gun barrel pressed to the side of his neck brought him back instantaneously. Adrenaline sheared his breath and cleared his brain. He jerked just as a quiet pop echoed in his ear. Something sharp scratched his neck.

      A pop. Not a bullet. A tranquilizer dart.

      Damn! Even as the thoughts rushed through his brain, he torpedoed his elbow backward. With a breathy grunt, the man fell away and his tranq gun went flying.

      Before he hit the ground, Matt whirled and grabbed his collar. With a renewed burst of energy, and using muscles he hadn’t used in months, Matt heaved the man’s bulk around, between himself and the kidnapper.

      Pocketing his own tranquilizer gun, Mat slid the MAC-10 from its holster and buried its barrel into the flesh of his attacker’s neck. He was tempted to rip off the man’s ski mask, but to do that, he’d have to let go of the man or the gun.

      “You nearly got me with your tranq dart, but believe me, this is not a tranq gun,” he growled, scanning the area in front of him in case the kidnapper had heard them. “It’s the real thing. And it will take your head clean off if you don’t tell me who you are.”

      His answer was a blood-chilling string of curses, some English, some Arabic. Dammit, the kidnapper had to have heard him.

      “Are you Al Hamar?”

      The man’s head jerked in surprise.

      “So—you are. Did Novus Ordo send you?” Matt whispered, digging the muzzle of the MAC-10 deeper into his flesh.

      His prisoner shook his head, but Matt saw the truth in the man’s black eyes. “Tell me what you know about the kidnapping—”

      The crack of exploding gunpowder hit his ears a fraction of a second before the bullet whistled past his head.

      Matt ducked.

      Al Hamar used Matt’s own elbow trick to knock the wind out of him, then leapfrogged across three or four feet of ground, diving for his own weapon. The kidnapper shot again.

      Matt aimed the machine pistol at Al Hamar. But something was wrong. He couldn’t clear his vision. He bent his head and squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. Just as he did, a second bullet grazed his ear.

      He swallowed a pained cry and his hand flew to his ear. It came away bloody. His bloodstained fingers trembled as he stared at the proof of how close the bullet had come. If he hadn’t paused to clear his vision, it would have split his skull.

      A high-pitched scream, barely distinguishable above the roar of the Hummer’s engine, sent his heart slamming into his chest. It was Aimee. She gunned the engine and the vehicle shot forward, toward the kidnapper.

      Aimee, no! What was she doing? Turn around. Get out of here.

      The kidnapper aimed at the Hummer’s windshield.

      At the same time, Matt saw Al Hamar whirl around, brandishing a semiautomatic pistol.

      Matt ducked down and rubbed his eyes. The scratch on his neck had absorbed some of the tranquilizer. Enough to blur his vision. He cursed silently and gave his head a quick shake.

      The kidnapper yelled something that Matt didn’t catch, then several bullets thunked into a tree to Matt’s left. He was shooting at Al Hamar again.

       So, they weren’t working together.

      Al Hamar yelped and toppled forward.

      When Matt looked back at the kidnapper, the high-powered gun was aimed at his head. From that distance, the man couldn’t miss. But before Matt could react and dive, he swung back toward the Hummer.

      Why hadn’t he shot him? He might not get as good a chance again.

      Rising to a crouch, Matt took a precious split second to make sure his head was as clear as possible, then sprinted toward the Hummer, spraying bullets on the ground in front of the kidnapper. He couldn’t kill the man. He needed him alive—at least long enough to find out where William was being held.

      As he crouched behind a stand of bushes, he heard the hitch in the engine noise that signaled shifting gears.