their heads boards creaked. Those booted feet, walking around inside the cabin.
Amy held herself still. They were right above them.
One sound, and she and Noah would be killed.
Noah tried to reassure her, but couldn’t use words. The man above them would surely hear if he even made the tiniest sound. Amy had been having a panic attack. Because of the dark enclosed space?
The footsteps above moved through the cabin as the person looked around. Noah prayed they wouldn’t find the trapdoor, despite it being in the middle of the floor. If they weren’t discovered, it would be for sure a God-thing.
Noah trusted in Him to keep them safe. He also prayed for Amy. She needed to hold it together and not let the fear overtake her. Right before the trial she’d been under marshal guard at a hotel. During transport to where she’d been supposed to record a video of her testimony for the US Attorney, they’d been ambushed.
Amy had been taken.
Three hours later, he’d been part of the team that stormed the house and got her back. The cartel foot soldiers who’d been holding her were either killed in the operation, or sent to jail and killed there. Far too convenient. None of them had ever given anything away.
As for Noah, he would never forget the look on her face when he’d kicked the basement door in and found her tied to that chair. They’d saved her that day, but clearly there were lasting repercussions. The fact she was able to keep a lid on her reaction, enough to not give away their hiding spot, was a good sign. She’d retained that strength he’d seen in her during the trial. That resolve to do the right thing.
A door slammed above.
Amy flinched in his arms. He squeezed her hands and let her go so she could take a half step back.
He whispered, “Keep quiet for a little longer, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice was small. Forlorn.
He’d liked to have hugged her again, but that would be more about reassuring himself that she was all right. Amy was his protectee. He shouldn’t move things beyond what was professional. A year ago, during the trial, he’d still been a newer agent. He was more seasoned now, but he could still remember every word of his boss’s caution against allowing his personal feelings for Amy to interfere with his career.
Getting tangled with a witness will mark you until you retire. You’ll be that deputy and you’ll never shake it.
He could care about her. He could protect her.
What he couldn’t do was fall for her.
Noah shifted to face the stairs and felt his way up a couple of steps until he could touch the trapdoor above his head. “I need to go and see if the coast is clear. Stay here.”
She said nothing.
“Amy?”
He heard her sniff. Then she said, “Okay.”
Noah needed to do this safely, but also quickly. She needed to get out of this dark, enclosed space and out where she could see daylight.
He prayed again, and held his breath as he listened for noise on the other side of the trapdoor. When he heard nothing for another minute except the distant sound of a small engine, he eased it up. No time to lose. They could have been forced to stay in that cellar for hours, but the sheriff’s department wasn’t coming here. He didn’t know if Amy could handle being down there that long. The situation could get worse in that time, not better.
An inch of sunlight spilled in. He listened again and thought he might have heard Amy whisper, “Please be careful.”
She was scared, but knowing she cared about him helped. It made him a little bit more confident that she wouldn’t put them both at risk. Some witnesses didn’t listen. But the fact was, Witness Security hadn’t lost a protectee who followed their rules. That was why they had them in place.
Noah eased the trapdoor all the way open and laid it down as carefully as he could. If the wood banged the floor someone might come running.
He climbed out and moved to the window, staying out of sight as he looked around. A man climbed behind another onto the back of a snowmobile. They roared off and he realized the one on the back had been the man he’d shot at Amy’s cabin.
Taken away because he needed medical attention, maybe.
So where were the other two?
He moved through the cabin and looked out the other windows. Tried to see where the gunmen had gone. Finally, he spotted them. “There you are.”
Before either could turn and see him through the window, he ducked out of sight again. If he was going to take them out, he needed to do it without using his gun. The noise of a gunshot would carry through the snowy wilderness. Every gunman in the area—and he didn’t figure these four were out here alone—would be drawn to them.
Noah walked to the front door, determined to get this done. He kicked the side table as he went. Two empty drink cans clattered to the floor. A second later, someone yelled outside.
Noah swiped up one of the metal folding chairs that sat around the card table and adjusted his grip. Here goes nothin’. He’d need to swing it hard and fast to take the men down without getting shot.
Footsteps pounded around to the front door. Noah watched the door handle rotate, counting every breath as he braced for what was about to happen.
The first man stepped in. Noah waited a heartbeat and then swung with the chair. It slammed into the man’s face and shoulders. He dropped to the floor.
The momentum took the chair into the door. Noah tried to pull the swing, but it slammed the wood. The impact rushed up his arm.
It wouldn’t be long before the other man stepped in.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw movement. But it wasn’t the other man. It was Amy, coming out of the cellar.
The expression on Noah’s face didn’t mean anything good.
She looked at the man on the floor. “Wow, he—”
Noah’s gun came up. Pointed right at her. “No!”
Arms banded around her and lifted her feet off the ground. Amy tried to scream but the air caught in her throat as this man’s arm pressed against her diaphragm.
“Let her go!” Noah’s voice rang through the cabin.
Her head swam. She kicked with her legs. Tried to hit back at the man holding her. Fresh from a panic attack, she had little in the way of reserves. But the last thing she wanted was to be taken from here.
“Gun down!” The man’s voice was heavily accented. She’d heard that lilt before, but couldn’t be sure if it had been this man specifically.
Where is our money?
Her gaze connected with Noah’s. She could see the intent there in his eyes, plain as if he’d spoken the words out loud. He would die to save her.
Noah’s lips pressed together for a second, and she saw a slight shake of his head. “No way. I’m not lowering my gun.”
Nothing about what he’d said surprised her. He was a federal agent, and he wasn’t about to disarm himself. Especially not with a witness in the room in danger.
The gunman shifted his aim. He laid his forearm on her shoulder, weapon pointed at Noah.
She could try and shove it away.
Noah