Okay. That was it. She would find a way on her own out of this camper before it turned into a death trap. He might be furious; then again, he might very well thank her.
God, a little help, please? Stevie, he needs me. You know he does. If something happens to me, then Dad will be devastated, too. Help me find a way out of here. Help me to help Quinn.
A thump sounded somewhere in the camper. Wait. Inside the camper? She must be mistaken. Unless...
“Quinn?” she whispered.
No. She had to get out now! Forget about finding Quinn’s trapdoor.
Bree fled in the direction of the main door, gritting her teeth through the throb in her ankle.
I can make it. I have to make it.
This was life-and-death. She didn’t have time to take it slow and keep quiet. She grappled with the doorknob—any moment someone could grab her from behind. Finally, she threw it open and fled the camper.
She stumbled down the short steps and nearly fell but caught herself, holding back the ridiculous whimper lodged in her throat, from both pain and fear.
Behind her, the door slammed shut.
Good job, Bree.
She had certainly given away that there was a camper if anyone was clueless. But someone had been inside and possibly searching for a warm body in the darkness so they could wrap their hands around a throat. Even though she didn’t know what she’d be facing out here, it felt better to be out than in.
She calmed her breathing. Her rapid heart rate. She could see better out here and protect herself. At least she still had the gun Quinn had given her. With trembling limbs, she remained behind a thick tangle of vines that loosely fell over the trailer and waited for whoever might come for her. Why, oh, why did she have to sprain her ankle?
Where are you, Quinn?
She had training in self-defense and law enforcement moves, but she didn’t have Quinn’s military training, which was far superior to anything she knew. She wouldn’t kid herself to think she could fight like him. But if she survived this, she would take extra training classes. Suggest it for all the deputies.
Footfalls crunched much too near.
The cadence was off.
Whoever was coming wasn’t Quinn. She held the weapon up but couldn’t see what or whom she was aiming at. Not good. Even if the footsteps sounded wrong, she couldn’t know with 100 percent accuracy it wasn’t Quinn.
A flicker of moonlight illuminated the silhouette of a big man as he stepped closer to the camper. It didn’t look like he wore night-vision goggles.
Her hands trembled. If she fired the weapon, she would be taking another life. She prayed he wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t somehow know she waited in the shadows.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t make me do it.
The man turned his head in her direction.
Was she breathing too loudly? Were his senses that well-honed? Without entering the camper, the man turned and walked away.
She released a quiet sigh of relief.
Her body was slammed full force against the camper. She fired off a shot, but missed. He ripped the gun from her hand and tossed it aside. Bright lights floated around in her vision. An arm pressed against her throat, lifting her off the ground and pinning her against the Casita. She kicked and wrestled, all her focus on pulling his arm away from her throat, but it was no use. Pressure built in her head.
I’m going to die! God, help me!
“Got you.” The man ground out the words, his hot breath hitting her face.
Maybe she didn’t have top military elite forces training, but she could knee the jerk. Lungs burning for air, she had a few short seconds. She kicked him where it hurt him the most and made it count.
He grunted, then dropped her. Her feet hit the ground and her bum ankle gave out. She crumpled beneath him and sucked in air. Forced her limbs into action so she could crawl away and find the weapon he’d discarded. The man grabbed her leg. She turned and kicked him in the face. He growled and reached for her again, and once he had a hold of her, pain ignited with his brutal grip as he made to crawl on top of her.
Quinn appeared out of nowhere.
Again.
He freed her from the man’s grip and lifted him. Her attacker was now the one who got to be slammed against the Casita. It probably had a huge dent in it as hard as Quinn had thrown him. She started her search for the gun again. Quinn wasn’t carrying one that she could readily see, but he punched the man instead of using a weapon.
The man dropped unconscious to the ground.
Quinn turned to her then and lifted her to stand. He gripped her arms, sounding out of breath. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. But I had it under control.” Isn’t that what he’d said to her when she had saved him, even though he’d been in denial?
“I’m glad to hear it. I might not be around next time. It’s good to know you can handle yourself against the worst kinds of thugs.”
Wait. He thought she was serious. He thought she would have won that fight against that huge, brutal man. Well, she’d go along with it. “I’m a deputy, after all.”
“I know.”
Who was she kidding? This wasn’t the kind of engagement they practiced in law enforcement training. She would be changing her training days once she made it out of this. In the meantime, she wanted answers.
“Where did you go? You just left me there for bait. Was that your plan all along?”
* * *
Her accusation was like a brass-knuckled fist to his gut, knocking the breath from him. Leaving him momentarily stunned. He composed himself and inhaled the oxygen she’d kicked out of him. She really had a much lower opinion of him than he’d realized, and that was pretty low to begin with. He ignored the pain creeping across his heart and reached for the man on the ground.
How did he pick him up?
This guy was beefy—all muscle and brawn, and that, combined with his obvious military background, made him a lethal foe. He had to hurry before the guy regained consciousness.
He hadn’t really thought she could take him on her own, but she needed reassurance from him that she could do this. He didn’t exactly want her waiting around for him to show up. She was a deputy and he believed in her. But when he got the chance, he would teach Bree some invaluable defensive moves, if she’d let him.
He hauled the guy up and over his shoulder to carry him.
“I want an answer, Quinn. Did you leave me there for bait? To draw this guy out?”
He didn’t have time to stand around and put her concerns to rest. So he’d work while he talked, though they should keep it quiet. He headed for the camper door.
“How could you even suggest that?” He ground his molars. “Could you get the door, please?”
She limped over and propped it open long enough for him to carry the guy inside. He kept forgetting about that ankle. Too bad about that. They could make much better time if she weren’t injured.
Inside the camper in the dark, he made his way to where he knew the sofa to be and dropped the unconscious man, wincing when he heard the thud. Had he just broken the sofa or had he missed it completely? Quinn flipped the light switch on.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He turned on her then. He and Bree—they’d always had sparks, and sometimes not necessarily