Trusting Danger (Danger, #2)(38)

No!

Hardly able to breathe, she turned and ran. It wasn’t until she was fifty feet or so into the woods that she heard branches snapping behind her. Claire risked a glance over her shoulder. Two dark figures dodged trees and trampled underbrush, racing toward her in the darkness.

Too close. She wouldn’t be able to outrun them; Grayson had proven that at the gas station. Time to stand her ground and fight back.

Adrenaline flooded her system. She slowed and stooped to grab hold of a stout fallen branch. Turning, she slammed the branch as hard as she could into the face of the man who was closest.

“Bitch!”

His hands flew up to his ski mask as he cursed hard. Claire looked up to see the second man hurtling toward her, only a few feet away.

She dropped the branch and took off again, making it only a few yards before she was caught by the hair and yanked against a brawny chest. Screaming, Claire struggled, kicking her legs and clawing at the man’s arms even as she was shoved to the leaf-covered ground. He grunted and swung his fist, connecting with the side of her face.

Oh my God . . .

Desperate to get away, she flipped onto her hands and knees and tried to scramble out of the man’s grip. Another blow came from behind and caught her temple. Her vision tunneled, and she was too stunned to react when he shoved her facedown on the ground and stuffed a rag into her mouth.

The last thing Claire felt before everything went black was her arms being tugged behind her.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





With a total of eight hours on the road today, Grayson was exhausted by the time he made it back to Springfield. As he turned into the development and neared the safe house, he noticed something odd and glanced in his rearview mirror.

What the hell is with that car? The driver he’d just passed had braked to a sudden stop in the middle of the road. Now the driver and passenger were fleeing, leaving their doors wide open.

Grayson slowed and looked toward the safe house. When he spied the open balcony door, the one leading from Claire’s room, he cursed and slammed on his brakes.

Snatching up his cell phone, he texted a quick distress code to his team’s twenty-four-hour dispatch. Then he dropped his phone in the passenger seat and yanked his gun from his shoulder holster before jumping from his car. He ran for the abandoned vehicle, training his weapon on it. Ducking his head, he got a good look inside.

Empty.

He whirled toward the trees and sprinted in the direction the men had gone. His boots pounded the dirt, matching the quick pace of his heart.

Just inside the woods, he spotted moving figures in the darkness and raced toward them. “Federal agents! Show me your hands!”

Instead of obeying, the men turned and one opened fire.

Cursing, Grayson ducked behind a tree. Not wanting to risk a gunfight in a residential neighborhood, he held his fire. He waited a second, then left the cover of the tree to run behind a closer one. When he had a target in plain sight, he squeezed off one careful shot, then another.

One of the men went down with a yelp. The other took off running.

Grayson ran toward the man who was lying on the ground, groaning as he gripped his side. “Where’s your weapon?”

“Shit! You shot me!”

Grayson raised his voice and repeated, “Where’s your weapon?”

Ignoring his question, the man continued to curse him loudly.

Grayson yanked a zip tie from his pocket and knelt to secure the man’s wrists, then did the same with his ankles.

At the sound of a low moan nearby, Grayson spun around. Several yards away, a woman’s body lay huddled on the ground. Tangled auburn hair obscured her face, but he’d know that shapely form anywhere.

He hurried toward Claire, cursing at the sight of the cord binding her wrists and the gag in her mouth. Fear stole his breath as he tugged the cloth from between her lips. Had she been shot?

He checked for blood. There wasn’t any, but her eyes were still closed. He went to work on the cords, loosening them enough to yank them off her wrists, and gathered Claire into his arms.

“Claire, wake up.” He patted her cheek, noting the painful-looking swelling there as he tried to wake her up.

They’d hit her; that was why she’d lost consciousness. Furious, Grayson looked back at his prisoner, wishing he’d shot him again. Claire might be a major pain in the ass, but she didn’t deserve this.

The sirens growing closer made little impression as he continued to coax Claire awake. He let out the breath he’d been holding as she finally blinked her eyes open. The dazed expression on her face made him want to reassure her, keep her safe.

He cupped her cheek with his palm, keeping his voice soft to calm her. “You’re safe now.”

“Jeremy,” Claire whispered. “I think he’s hurt.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Something woke me. The door to the patio was open when I looked downstairs. Two men came inside.”

“You escaped from the balcony?”

Wincing, she nodded.

“We’ll find Jeremy.”

But Grayson’s heart was heavy as he thought about his teammate. He wouldn’t have left Claire to fend for herself—not unless something catastrophic had happened.

Branches snapped, flashlight beams bobbing as two officers came crashing through the woods. Grayson identified himself, explaining that the other man had run, and pointed out the direction.