Читать книгу High-Stakes Holiday Reunion - Christy Barritt - Страница 11

THREE

All Christopher had been able to find in the closet was an old metal pipe that was probably leftover from some plumbing work. It wasn’t a gun or a grenade, but it would work. He didn’t have any other options.

He stood on the other side of the door frame, pressed into the wall and ready to swing into action. Adrenaline surged through him, intensifying his heart rate and causing sweat to dot his forehead. If he could catch the shooter off guard, maybe he had a chance.

The problem was that he’d estimated there to be at least three shooters. All of that gunfire had come from more than one weapon. These men carried semiautomatics, and they’d brought no shortage of ammunition. One man he might be able to take. But an unarmed man taking on three men with semiautomatic weapons?

Another round of gunshots cracked the air outside of his home. Flashbacks of the Middle East pounded his memories. Mortar shells, improvised explosive devices, enemy combatants. Men bleeding, women crying, children searching for their parents.

He ran a hand over his eyes. No, he was in Virginia now. Not a dusty village in Afghanistan. So why could he practically smell the burning of C-4? Why did his skin feel gritty with sand and dust?

He shook his head. Snap out of it, Jordan.

But the memories continued to batter him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could turn off his thoughts as easily as turning off a TV.

Another creak on the stairs pulled him back to reality, back to the here and now. Someone was definitely coming up. Christopher gripped the pipe tighter, bracing himself for the coming struggle.

Another creak. Then another. They were getting closer. They had to be only a few steps away.

Christopher would swing as soon as they opened the door. Best-case scenario, he’d knock the man out and grab his weapon. Worst-case scenario...well, he wouldn’t go there.

All he knew was that he and Ashley might be the only hope for saving a little boy. That was worth fighting for.

A wooden step outside moaned under the weight of an intruder. Whoever the man was, he was right outside the door now. Christopher could practically hear him breathing, could almost feel his presence only inches away, separated by the door.

He tightened his grip on the cylinder in his hands. His muscles were wound tight enough to spring. Sweat trickled down from his temple. It was do or die.

Just then, a bullet pierced the air. His gaze darted across the dark room. Where had that gunshot come from? It was too far away to have come from the man outside the door. Even more concerning—had it pierced the garage? Was Ashley okay?

He stared at the door, waiting to see the handle jiggle. He anticipated more shots exploding. Something hit the landing outside the door with a loud thud. A moan followed, then a grunt.

He willed himself to remain still. Everything in him wanted to open the door and see what was happening. He had to remain silent, though. Patience could mean life or death; winning a battle or losing it. He’d learned that through experience.

Afghanistan flashed into his mind again. At once, he was transported back in time and pressed against the wall of an abandoned house. Rags—or were they clothes?—were strewn across the dirty floor. The air smelled like death.

Where was Liam? Why wasn’t he answering his radio? The insurgents were—

Another thud sounded outside. Christopher snapped back to reality, shaking his head to dislodge his memories of war. The thud was followed by what sounded like something large being dragged away. What in the world was happening out there? The sounds repeated for a few minutes until finally there was silence again.

He waited. And waited.

Were these men planning something else? Or had their original plans been thwarted? By what, though?

Staying low, he crept back to the bathroom. He tapped on the door once. “Ashley. It’s me.”

The door opened so quickly that Christopher was certain her hand had been on the knob the whole time. She practically fell into the room, fell into him. Her limbs shook with fear.

“You’re alive,” she whispered. She started to reach for him but stopped.

He grabbed her elbow anyway, but only to help her stay upright. “I’m fine. You okay?”

Worry stained her gaze. “What’s going on? I thought...I thought you’d been shot. I heard...” She didn’t finish her thought.

His heart tugged with compassion, but he shoved those emotions aside. Right now there was only room for one thing—logic. Emotions would only lead him astray. “I don’t know what happened out there. It’s been quiet now for ten minutes. I don’t want to take the chance that they’re still out there trying to wait us out. We should lay low for a little while longer.”

She nodded quickly. Christopher wanted to sit beside her, to offer her some comfort and put her mind at rest. He wished that he could distract her with chitchat—do something to keep her mind off the matters at hand. But he couldn’t. Instead, he stood by the bathroom door, still gripping that pipe. The last thing he wanted was for someone to catch him off guard.

Ashley showing up today had already filled his quota on that for a lifetime.

* * *

Ashley pulled her knees to her chest, hating feeling so helpless, hating that she’d gotten Christopher into this mess. Her anxiety had her feeling nauseous and jittery. So she just kept praying the same prayers over and over again. Lord, help us. Help David and Josh.

Then there had been her crazy worry over Christopher. She’d heard that gunshot—it had sounded so close—and she was sure he’d been hit. All she could think about were the many unfinished conversations they needed to have. She needed to have.

Which caused another swell of anxiety to rise in her.

The strangest comfort filled her when she saw the pure determination on Christopher’s face as he stood in the doorway. He’d always been tough and protective. They were two of the things she’d loved about him at one time. She couldn’t imagine feeling safer around anyone. But feeling physically safe was entirely different from feeling emotionally safe.

Christopher had made it clear when he left that she wasn’t important to him. She obviously hadn’t captured his heart enough for him to try and make their relationship work. No, true love hadn’t conquered all. Or they hadn’t had true love. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She wondered if he’d found his perfect woman yet, the one he would do anything to be with. That person was not her. Despite that, she knew that Christopher would give his life for her, whether she was his fiancée or just someone from his past.

She understood what it was like to feel protective of someone. Without a second thought, she would take a bullet for her nephew. Whenever they were together, it seemed like she was trying to protect him from something—viruses, bullies, drivers who weren’t paying attention. She tried to protect him from other things, too, things like the heartbreak of losing his mom and loneliness from a father who worked too much.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to protect him now. Her heart squeezed with pain.

Minutes ticked by. Just what was going on outside? Had the shooters given up? That just didn’t seem likely. But why else would they leave? Or had they?

She hugged her knees tighter.

Lord, help us. Help David and Josh.

“I’m going to go down and check things out.” Christopher’s voice pulled her from her heavy thoughts.

New alarm spread through her. She straightened, forcing herself not to grab him. “But what if they’re still there?”

His jaw flexed. “I haven’t heard a sound in a half hour.”

“But—”

“I’ll be careful, Ashley. I’ve been in hostile situations before. I can handle myself.”

She stared at him a moment, knowing that his mind was equally as strong and tough as his well-defined muscles and quick reflexes. She had to trust him. What other choice did she have? Finally, she nodded.

She wanted to blurt out everything on her mind before he walked to his possible death.

Just in case you never come back, I thought you should know that I found out a month after we broke up that I was pregnant with your child. My brother adopted the baby, and his name is David. I’ve been wanting to tell you for years...

She sucked on her bottom lip.

It’s your son who was snatched today.

How exactly did someone tell her ex-fiancé that?

How did she tell him that back when they’d been young and foolish, that one night of passion had turned into a baby? The sweetest little baby that Ashley had ever laid eyes on. Giving him up for adoption had been the most gut-wrenching thing she’d ever done. But she couldn’t provide for a baby. Not only had she been in college and without a job or the ability to get a job that paid more than minimum wage, but then there was the car accident that happened when David was only two months old. Ashley had spent six months in the hospital, and she’d had months of physical therapy after that. Her brother and his wife had been so desperate for a child and she’d been unable to take care of little David. They’d adopted him before his first birthday.

That’s why she knew Christopher was the only person who could help her right now. This was his son.

Everything that she’d tried so carefully to control was slipping away. She couldn’t protect David. She couldn’t keep Christopher at a distance. She would have to face her fears and eventually tell Christopher the truth. The walls she’d so carefully constructed were coming down fast.

She sucked in a long, deep breath. Silence surrounded her again. Was Christopher okay? She’d heard nothing since he left.

At least nothing meant no gunfire, either. Right?

How long did she wait before checking on him? She glanced at her watch. Ten more minutes. That was as long as she could possibly stand it. What if he was bleeding and hurt? What if he needed her help? She’d sent him into a battle that wasn’t his to fight.

She let her head fall back against the cold tile wall. All was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The silence was driving her mad.

She stood and began pacing the small space. Maybe she could go to the window and peer out. She could be quick and quiet.

It beat sitting here and doing nothing.

Before she could second-guess herself, she twisted the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed the door open. Her gaze roamed the space there. Everything looked the same. No figures lurked in the shadows...she didn’t think, at least.

She took her first step out, every cell of her body alert and ready to pounce into action. Slowly, she tiptoed across the floor to the window, not relaxing for even a second. Would someone jump out at her? Were they lying in wait?

She ducked low under the window and carefully raised her head to peer out. She flinched when she saw all of the windows in Christopher’s house had been shattered. Christmas wreathes that had once graced the glass panes now lay like corpses on the deck and in the flower beds.

She watched for a sign of movement, but saw nothing. Where was Christopher? What was taking him so long?

She crawled across the floor to the closet. Was there anything left in here she could use as a weapon? She spotted a vacuum, some old coats and a wooden bar full of clothes hangers that stretched across the top. It would have to do. She stood and wedged the bar from its holders. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

Doubt filled her as she crept toward the door. She shouldn’t do this. But she had to. If they were going to shoot her, they would shoot her. But if they were gone and Christopher needed help, then she had to get downstairs.

Stark fear gripped her as she opened the door. She listened. Nothing except the wind blowing some stray leaves across the ground. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw blood across the wooden landing at her feet.

Blood? Whose blood? What had happened? She followed the trail all the way to the bottom. Someone had been shot up here and then dragged back down. Terror rose in her.

She couldn’t turn back now. If she let fear dictate what she did, she might be in the bathroom for days, afraid to leave. But each step down the stairs felt like a step closer to her death.

Be strong, Ashley. You can do this. She’d never been a quitter. Not even when she gave David up for adoption. No, she’d simply been giving him the opportunity for a better life—a life that she could still be a part of.

But if she hadn’t given him up for adoption, would he be in this situation now? Regret squeezed her heart again. She couldn’t think like that. Not now.

She continued her descent. Everything remained silent. She gripped the wooden rod like a baseball bat, wishing it would protect her from bullets.

At the bottom of the stairs, she saw that the blood trail ended at the edge of the deck. Whoever had been shot had been dragged onto the grass. Into the woods? She couldn’t be sure.

She swung her head back up, soaking in her surroundings. She had to pay attention. Her life depended on it.

The back door of Christopher’s house was wide open. She paused at the corner of the garage and slowly peered around. Nothing. No one. As quickly as possible, she darted across the deck. She stopped at the doorway.

With baited breath, she raked her gaze across the inside. Lots of broken glass. A splintered coffee table. The Christmas tree lay wounded on its side.

But no one was in sight. Not even Christopher.

Certainly he hadn’t abandoned her. Not again.

She shook her head. No, he wouldn’t do that. Not in this situation.

Still, doubt trickled down her spine. Trust was such a fragile, fickle thing at times.

She stepped inside. Glass crunched at her feet. She froze, waiting for the telltale sound that someone had heard her.

Nothing.

Slowly, carefully, she crept forward. She kept her back to the wall. Her breathing sounded so heavy in her own ears that she wondered if she’d even hear someone sneak up on her.

When she heard a noise upstairs, she knew she would.

Someone was in the house. Had that person killed Christopher, dragged his body into the woods and gone back upstairs to check for her?

Just then, the stairs creaked. Someone was coming down. Coming toward her.

She glanced around, desperate for a place to hide. Instead, she pressed herself into the wall.

When the intruder got to the bottom of the steps, she would swing the stick and hit him.

And she’d pray that her hit would knock him out.

But before she had a chance to swing, a gun cocked behind her, and the fear that was becoming all too familiar froze her blood—again.