Missing in the Mountains Page 5

  He opened the book and turned the pages with reverence, poring over every detail. Every photo. Every inscription. He admired the proud smile on Emma’s face in each photo.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma asked, resting back in her chair. “You look furious.”

  “No.” He closed the book. A swell of pride and gratitude expanded his chest. “Thank you,” he said softly.

  She quirked a brow. “You can’t keep that. Sara made it for me.”

  “No.” He laughed. “Not for the book. For Henry.”

  Emma’s cheeks reddened again. “It’s not like I made him on my own.”

  “No, but you did everything else on your own,” he said. “I can’t imagine how frightening it was to learn you were going to have a baby. Especially one whose father was literally MIA.” He thought again of the monsters who’d taken those months and his men from him, but forced the images aside. He curled his fingers around the book’s edge, grounding himself to the present. “You could’ve chosen so many other ways to deal with your pregnancy, and I swear I never would’ve judged you, whatever you’d decided, but—” he cleared his thickening throat “—but because you made these choices—” he lifted the scrapbook in a white-knuckle grip “—I’m a father, and whatever you think of me now, I am irrevocably indebted to you for this.”

  Emma’s mouth fell open, then was slowly pulled shut. “You’re welcome.”

  Sawyer’s aching heart warmed at her acceptance of his apology. It was a step in the right direction. “What was it like?” he asked.

  “Scary at first, then pretty amazing,” she said, forking a bite of bunless burger into her mouth. “I got really fat.”

  Sawyer let his gaze trail over her, indulging himself in the admiration of her new curves. “Agree to disagree.”

  “I’m working on getting back in shape now,” she assured him. “It feels good but getting chubby with a purpose was fun too.” Her lips twitched, nearly accomplishing a smile.

  By the time dinner was done, and Sawyer had cleared the table, some of the smoky air between them had cleared, as well. Emma joined him at the sink in companionable silence as they washed and dried dishes by hand before putting them away. It was dangerously easy to be with Emma when she wasn’t looking at him as if he might be the one in need of protection from her. Easy to let himself think there could a future for them, that he could somehow make up for his absence when it had counted most.

  But Sawyer couldn’t afford to think that way. Couldn’t afford to get distracted until he brought Sara home safely as promised. Only after he’d proved himself worthy of Emma’s trust would he allow himself to dream of more. Until then, he had work to do.

  Chapter Five

  Sawyer’s eyes snapped open, his senses on alert. According to the clock on Emma’s living room wall, it was approaching 3:00 a.m., meaning he’d slept for four straight hours. It was the longest stretch he’d managed since returning stateside, and he felt unnervingly vulnerable for it.

  Normally he woke to the screams of his fallen teammates or the pain of his own torture, but not this time. So, what had woken him?

  He tuned in to the quiet home, suddenly acutely aware that it was his gut that had jerked him into the moment. Instinct. His pulse quickened as he listened. For what? He wasn’t sure. Sawyer straightened, planted his feet silently on the floor.

  The baby monitor on the coffee table caught his eye. He waited for an indication that Henry had stirred and woken Sawyer, but there was only the slow and steady breaths of a sleeping child.

  “Sawyer?” Emma whispered, struggling upright on the couch, where she’d fallen asleep midsentence during the retelling of a pregnancy story. He’d been wholly engrossed in the details, but her words had turned to soft snores before she’d finished, and he hadn’t had the heart to wake her or the guts to try to move her. He certainly had no right to touch her.

  She frowned in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

  He considered telling her everything was fine, but he hadn’t had time to confirm that yet, and the distinct creak of floorboards removed the possibility it was true.

  Her eyes stretched wide. “Someone’s in the house?” She flicked her gaze to the baby monitor, and panic drained the blood from her face.

  Sawyer lifted a finger to his lips, then reached for his sidearm, tucked carefully between the cushion and overstuffed arm of Emma’s chair where he’d rested. Then he reached for her. Much as he didn’t want to bring her into harm’s way, he couldn’t afford to leave her alone either.

  Emma followed closely on his heels, her small hands at his waist as they crept down the hall toward the sound.

  Each bedroom door was open as they passed. Each light off. The laundry room. The guest bedroom, where Sawyer’s things were stashed. Emma’s room, where Henry slept soundly, unaware of the intruder or his parents’ fears.

  At her bedroom door, Emma released Sawyer and stepped over the threshold. She shot a pleading gaze at him, and he nodded before pulling the door shut with her inside.

  He waited for the soft snick of the lock before moving on.

  The bathroom door was open also. A night-light illuminated the narrow space, projecting the silhouette of a duck onto one wall.

  When Sawyer reached Sara’s room, the door was closed.

  A beam of light flashed along the floor inside, leaking into the hallway at his feet. A sly grin slid over Sawyer’s mouth. He hadn’t imagined an opportunity to return the man’s punch so soon, but he was glad for it, and unlike Emma, this guy wouldn’t be waking up so soon after the hit.

  Sawyer cast a look over his shoulder, confirming he was still alone, and he hoped Emma had taken Henry to hide wherever they’d gone the night Sara was taken. Someplace she could call the police and wait safely until help arrived.

  He struck a defensive position behind the closed door and turned the doorknob carefully. The soldier in him rose instinctively and unbidden. His mind and muscles falling instantly on their training.

  The door swung on noisy hinges, and the creaking of floorboards turned quickly into the loud groan and rattle of an aged wooden window frame forced upward faster than it was prepared to go.

  “Not on my watch,” Sawyer said, flipping the light on and aiming his gun toward the window. “Stop right there.”

  A man in all black looked at him from the bedroom window, one half of his body still inside the room as he straddled the casing, a black duffel bag over his shoulder.

  “Release the bag and climb back inside slowly,” Sawyer demanded, hyperaware that only one of the intruder’s hands was visible from this angle.

  The man shifted the duffel from his shoulder to his palm and stretched it into the room toward Sawyer.

  “Drop it,” Sawyer barked. “Now, show me your other hand.”

  The man dipped his chin slowly. His opposite hand came into view with a gun poised to shoot.

  “Put your weapon down.” Sawyer’s voice slid into the deep authoritative timbre that forced most folks to obey his commands. This man didn’t budge.

  “I will shoot you,” Sawyer warned. “I’m willing to bet my aim is better than yours.” He let his mouth curve into a sinister smile, enjoying the weight and feel of his SIG Sauer against his palm and the flash of indecision on the man’s face.

  Henry’s scream broke the silent standoff and Sawyer’s concentration. A million terrifying scenarios thundered through his brain like a punch to his gut. Was there a second intruder? Had Sawyer overlooked him? Was Henry hurt? Was Emma?

  The intruder’s gun went off with a deafening bang!

  Sawyer jumped back into the hall, pressing himself to the wall and cursing inwardly at the moment of distraction. “Emma!” he called.

  Henry cried again, but Emma didn’t answer.

  Sawyer swore. He spun silently back into Sara’s bedroom, already aiming for the window.
He pulled his trigger as the muffled thud of the duffel bag hit the ground outside. The man took a second wild shot at Sawyer, then toppled out the open window, smearing blood over the frame and Sara’s wall beneath.

  Sawyer’s attention stuck to the hole in the drywall a few feet away from his head. The intruder’s final shot had missed him by several feet, but the hole had punched through a wall shared with Sara’s room. A wall shared by Henry and his crib.

  * * *

  EMMA’S PULSE BEAT in her ears as she burrowed deeper into the walk-in closet that had been her refuge just two nights before. She could only pray it would be enough to protect her again. She shushed her fussing baby and tried desperately not to imagine Sawyer being injured while she hid. She couldn’t live knowing another loved one had been taken from her while she sat idly by, but what could she do? She couldn’t leave Henry, and she wouldn’t risk making him an orphan, so she was stuck. Hiding and waiting. And praying. Again.

  The dispatch officer insisted on staying on the line with her until the police arrived. “Can you see anything from your location?” she asked.

  “No,” Emma whispered. “Please hurry.”

  “What can you hear?” the dispatcher asked. “Can you tell me the number of intruders based on voices?”

  Emma shook her head, unsure she could make another sound even if she wanted. Even if she wasn’t terrified her voice would give away her hiding spot and put her baby in danger.

  “Ma’am,” the dispatcher began again, but a sudden gunshot reverberated through the silent home, stopping her midinterrogation.

  Emma’s heart seized and her chest constricted.

  “Was that gunfire?” the dispatch officer asked abruptly, concern in her voice.

  “I—” Emma nodded. “Yes.” She stroked Henry’s hair as he began to scream once more. “Help us,” she breathed. “Please.”

  The blast that erupted next poured tears onto her cheeks.

  Henry’s eyes were wide in the glow from her phone. His lips pulled low into a full pout, startled to silence by the sound but ready to wail at any moment.

  “Was anyone hurt? Do you need an ambulance?” the dispatcher demanded.

  “I don’t know.” She covered her mouth with one palm to stifle a building sob.

  The door to her room banged open, and she screamed. The door ricocheted against the wall, rattling the closet where she hid. “Henry!” Sawyer yelled. “Emma!”

  A wave of relief pressed the air from her lungs. “Here,” she croaked. “We’re here.” She inched forward as the closet door opened, balancing a crying Henry in her arms and the phone against her shoulder.

  Sawyer dropped to his knees and pulled them into his arms. “Thank goodness.” He took Henry from her, then offered a hand to pull her to her feet. “Call 911,” he instructed. “I shot the intruder, but he got away with a duffel bag. I don’t know what was in it.”

  Emma lifted the phone from her shoulder. “They’re on the way.”

  He closed his eyes for a long beat, then reopened them to kiss Henry’s hair and round cheeks a dozen times before kissing Emma’s forehead and pulling her close. “May I?” he asked, sliding a hand up to take the phone. He spoke heatedly with Dispatch for several moments while Emma stepped away.

  Her insides fluttered and her limbs quaked with excess adrenaline as she tried to follow Sawyer’s explanation of what had happened inside Sara’s room.

  “I definitely hit him. There’s blood. He’ll need a hospital,” Sawyer said.

  A dark spot on the wall caught Emma’s attention, and she moved across her room to inspect it through the bars of Henry’s crib. A hole in the drywall. Inches from the place where Henry laid his head at night. She touched the hole with shaking fingers, and nausea rolled in her stomach. “He could be dead,” she whispered.

  Sawyer opened a pocketknife and dug the casing from the wall with his handkerchief. “I’ve got the brass,” he said. “This might be all we need to track him. We can match the gun if it’s registered. Match the print if he’s in the system.”

  Flashers lit the world outside her bedroom window.

  “Cavalry’s here,” he told Dispatch, pulling the curtain back for a look into the driveway.

  Sawyer returned the phone to Emma, then headed for the front door with Henry to greet the emergency responders.

  Emma tried not to look too long or hard at the crib or the bullet hole in the wall at its side. She doubted she’d ever be able to lay Henry there again, and she was sure she wouldn’t sleep if she did.

  She followed them to the living room, Henry lodged tightly against Sawyer’s chest, silent and calm. Shocking because Henry wasn’t good with strangers. Though Sawyer wasn’t really a stranger, she thought. Sawyer was his father.

  She took Henry from him as he greeted the line of police officers, crime scene officials and the detective she’d spoken to earlier that day. She didn’t have it in her to speak without crying, and tears would help nothing. Coffee, on the other hand, cured a multitude of things, and she could make a pot to be useful.

  She moved to the kitchen as men and women in uniforms canvassed her home. There wouldn’t be any more sleeping for her tonight, but honestly, she wasn’t sure how she’d ever sleep again.

  Sawyer paused outside the kitchen as a pair of uniforms passed by. “You okay?” he asked, concern and compassion plain in the words and his expression.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded, pushing her attention back to the chore at hand.

  Tonight’s gunshots had punctured more than the drywall. The possibility she’d lost Sawyer again had wrenched her heart in agony and eradicated her carefully constructed walls of emotional protection. The realization that he was safe but would leave once Sara was home, made her chest pinch and ache in the extreme. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was nearly positive it wouldn’t end well for her raw and aching heart.

  Chapter Six

  Emma set Henry in his high chair once he’d calmed from the scare and offered him his favorite teether. At just over four months, his coordination wasn’t great, but once he got the rubber cactus to his mouth, he normally chewed happily. Tonight was no different, and Emma marveled at the resilience of her son. If only she could suck it up so easily and move on to the moment at hand.

  She turned to the counter and rubbed trembling palms down the legs of her jeans. Brewing the coffee and setting out the cups, cream and sugar would give her an outlet for the energy surplus buzzing around inside her.

  Sawyer appeared a moment later, leaning against the jamb. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not as well as Henry,” she said, “but I suppose I should expect as much from your son.” She poured a mug of coffee and extended it in Sawyer’s direction. “Coffee?”

  Sawyer accepted the mug. He took a long pull on the steaming drink, eyes focused on her. “You did great tonight,” he said. “With everything going on, I forgot to say that sooner, but it’s true. Henry’s a lucky kid.”

  Emma nodded woodenly. What had she done besides hide? Again. She was sick of being caught off guard and forced to react to all the villainous encounters. She wanted to do something that would stop them. Not hide until the situations passed. “We need to find out what he was looking for,” she said. “It was a good sign. If whatever he wanted wasn’t in the bag of things I took from her office, then Sara might still be alive.”

  Sawyer gave one stiff dip of his chin.

  “If he found whatever he’d been after in her room tonight, then we don’t have much time,” she said. “We have to do something.”

  Detective Rosen arrived in the kitchen behind Sawyer. “Do I smell coffee?”

  Sawyer nodded. “Help yourself.”

  The detective poured a cup, then offered Emma his hand. “I’m sorry to be back so soon, Miss Hart. I understand you were able to contact Dispatch while staying out of
danger’s path and protecting your son to boot. Nice work.”

  “Any word on Sara’s whereabouts?” Emma asked, ignoring the comment about her spectacular abilities to hide and use a telephone.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosen said. “Not yet. We’re running down every lead, but we don’t have anything to share at the moment.”

  “Well, which is it?” she asked, working to control her tone and not upset Henry again. “Is there nothing to share or just nothing you’re willing to share?”

  The detective looked at Sawyer, who returned his level gaze. “Nothing worth sharing,” he said.

  “Try me,” Emma dared. “You’d be surprised how little it would take to reassure me right now.”

  Detective Rosen rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat. “Well, we’re working on the theory that this had something to do with her position at the credit union,” he began. “We’re unclear how her job and the abduction are related, but we believe they are.”

  Emma’s hopes sank. She’d hoped the leads he’d mentioned were significant. Maybe even inside tips of some sort. Instead, it sounded like the police didn’t have anything more than she’d come up with on her own.

  Sawyer moved to her side, silently sharing his strength with her. “Any luck on deciphering the notebook’s contents?”

  “Not yet.” Detective Rosen set his empty mug aside and fixed Emma with a patient look. “Mr. Lance said the intruder took a duffel bag with him. Do you think you might be able to walk through the room and tell me what’s missing?”

  Emma stepped away from Sawyer and pulled Henry from his high chair with a kiss. “I didn’t spend much time in Sara’s room,” she said, moving into the hall behind the detective. “I’m not sure I’d notice if anything was missing besides the furniture, but I’ll try.”

  A handful of men in various uniforms filled the space inside her sister’s room, dusting the window frame for prints, taking photos and collecting blood from the floor.