Sawyer’s heart seized, and his lungs seemed to stop midexhale. “Emma?”
Emma Hart had been the only woman Sawyer ever imagined a future with, and a set of monsters overseas had stolen that from him. He’d been forced to say goodbye to her for the sake of a simple eight-week mission. That mission should have brought him right up to his last day in the service. Instead, it had gotten him captured and tortured. His team had gotten worse.
“You’re alive,” she said, a snare of accusation in her voice.
“Yeah.” If she wanted to call it that. He’d fought six long months to get away from his captors and back to the secluded US military base. Another two months before he was debriefed and returned stateside. More weeks before the long-overdue discharge.
“Yet, you never called,” she said.
Emma’s message had been the last one left on his cell phone before the service was disconnected. The cell contract had ended while he was overseas, trapped for months past the contract’s renewal date. He’d planned to get a new phone after the mission, after he’d returned stateside and been discharged. He’d even told himself Emma’s number would be the first one he’d call. It was one of many plans his captivity had ruined.
“No,” he answered finally, sadly.
He hadn’t returned her call for multiple reasons. Part of him knew he wasn’t ready to do normal things again, like date, or pretend he didn’t wake up in cold sweats most nights. The rest of him doubted Emma was in the market for a 180-pound sack of misplaced anger, jangled nerves and general distrust. He couldn’t make her happy anymore. She’d sounded so darn happy on that voice mail. Unlike now, he realized.
Instinct stiffened Sawyer’s spine. “What’s wrong?” Something in her voice set him on edge. She might’ve been mad at him, but there was something else there too.
“Sara’s gone,” she said, her voice breaking on the second word.
“Gone?” he repeated. His mind scrambled to make sense of the word. “How? When?”
“Tonight,” she said. “He just came in here and took her.”
Sawyer was already on his feet, gathering his things, shoving a fresh magazine into his sidearm. “Who?”
“I don’t know. She told me to hide.”
He slowed, pressing a folding knife and wallet into his pocket. “So, Sara’s alive? Just missing?”
“I don’t know if she’s alive,” Emma snapped, “but she’s not just missing. She was choked, overpowered, hit and dragged away. There’s nothing just about it.”
“Of course.” Sawyer shook his head hard, moving faster toward the exit. “I meant no disrespect. I’m only gathering facts.” He stooped to grab his go-bag and a duffel of supplies from the closet floor. “What did the police say?”
“They’re looking into it.”
Sawyer blew out a humorless half laugh. So, the police were chasing their tails and waiting for Sara to appear on their laps. “I’m glad you called. I can keep you safe.” He swung his laptop bag over one shoulder on his way out the door.
“You always talked about your plans to open Fortress Security with Wyatt,” Emma said. “I figured he’d answer the call. I hoped he’d remember me and be willing to help. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing,” he assured her.
“I know the last thing you probably want to do is see me—” her voice was strangled and tight “—but I’m scared, and I need help.”
“I’m already on the way,” Sawyer said, tossing his bags into his pickup, then climbing behind the wheel. “Are you home?”
“Yeah.”
He gunned the engine to life and jammed the shifter into Drive. “I’m heading your way from the office. I won’t be an hour.”
“Okay.”
He listened keenly to a few more rattling breaths.
“Sawyer?”
The quaver in her voice was a punch through his gut. “Yeah.”
“You should have called.”
EMMA’S WORDS HAUNTED him as he made the trip to her family ranch at a record pace, nearly doubling the posted speed limits whenever possible. The desolate country roads were poorly lit but easily navigated. At times, long stretches between darkened fields made visibility clear for miles, and Sawyer took full advantage. The hillier, curvier portions got a good cussing.
He hit the gravel under the carved Hart Ranch sign with a deep crunch and grind. Stones pinged and bounced against the undercarriage of his pickup, flying out in a cloud of dust behind him.
A small silhouette paced the porch. Long hair drifting in the wind around her face, exactly like the ghost from his past that she was. She went still when he started his walk across the lawn.
Sawyer pulled the cowboy hat off his head and pressed it to his aching chest. “Emma.” His lungs seemed to fill fully for the first time since answering her call.
She gave a small nod, running the pads of both thumbs beneath red puffy eyes and brushing shaky palms over flushed cheeks. “Hello, Sawyer.”
He took a step closer, and she wrapped her arms around a new, curvier figure. Sawyer tried not to stare, but the change looked damn good on her. So did the spark of ferocity in her eyes. He didn’t know what had sparked the fire, but whatever it was, the change suited her. And it would help her get through the tough days ahead. Unfortunately, civilian abductions weren’t known for their happy endings.
She appraised him as he climbed the steps. Her smart blue eyes scrutinized the visible scars along his neck and forearms, pausing briefly at the angry, puckered skin above his left eye. Then swiftly moving on to the lines of black ink circling his biceps beneath one shirtsleeve. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.”
Behind her, the small sound of a crying baby drifted through the open door.
Emma’s chin ticked up. She turned immediately. “Come in. I’ve been through all of Sara’s things, and I have something I want you to look at.”
Sawyer followed. His heart clenched as the baby’s cries grew more fervent. “Sara had a baby?” He tried to imagine it and failed. The willowy blonde had more interest in horses than men when he’d briefly known her.
“No.” Emma grabbed the flashing baby monitor and shut it off as she passed through the dimly lit family room. “You can have a seat. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Are you babysitting?” he asked, ignoring her order and following her down the hall toward the bedrooms, unwilling to let her out of his sight and drawn by a strange tether to the infant’s cry. “Was the baby here when Sara was taken?”
Emma opened her bedroom door and strode inside. A crib stood against the wall across from her bed. “No,” she said, “and yes.”
Sawyer paused at the end of the crib, puzzling over her unnecessary coyness. “You aren’t babysitting?” he asked dumbly, watching as she raised the kicking blue bundle into her arms and slid a pacifier into the baby’s mouth with practiced skill.
“No,” she whispered, rocking the infant gently into sedation. “This is Henry.” She turned a pride-filled smile in Sawyer’s direction. “I named him after my father.”
Sawyer’s gut rolled against his spine. His jaw locked, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides. This was what had changed her. The carefree woman he’d known had been made into her own kind of soldier in