LITMIR.BIZ

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deep, beyond the waves of comfort that were flowing through her body, and shot her arm up to jerk off his mask.

      His mouth dropped open as he gaped at her in horror. He cursed, but she ignored his words and memorized every pore on his face. A wide jaw. Whiskered chin. Jet-black hair to go with his cold gray eyes. High cheekbones. A mole near his left ear. She’d never seen him before, but she’d be able to describe him to the police.

      “I’ve seen you now,” she said, her words slurring. “You won’t get away with this.”

      Her arm fell to the floor, and she dropped his mask.

      Her mind clouded, and her strength receded. He retrieved his mask and put it back on, then continued to glare at her. Her eyes blinked closed. She forced them open. Dizziness swept in like a tidal wave. Her muscles liquefied. She felt as if her body floated toward the ceiling.

      “I have no choice now,” he finally growled out. “I’ll have to kill you.”

      Kill me? Okay. That was fine. Everything was fine. The peace she’d sought a moment ago descended in an ocean of joy.

      Yes, this was better. Nothing was wrong. Nothing mattered.

      Her head fell to the side. Her gaze caught on Kelly’s crib. Precious three-month-old Kelly. Asleep. Like the heaviness pulling Rachael down.

      Kelly.

      Rachael’s thoughts drifted.

      Wasn’t there a reason she should be concerned about the baby?

      Four years of denied sleep beckoned. Her eyelids drooped.

      She lay on the floor. Blinking. Floating. Trying to remember what was happening.

      As if he had all the time in the world, he sauntered toward her, his boots thumping on the floor.

      Rachael tried to lift her hand. So heavy. She willed her eyes to remain open to see what he might be planning, but her eyelids closed like the lid on a casket, and soon, she knew nothing at all.

      * * *

      “It’s looking like the kidnapper’s really going to kill her.” Jake Marsh, commander of the First Response Squad, stared at the live video feed of director Rachael Long and the gunman in the Columbia Child Development Center.

      Jake and two members of the FRS had been on their way to a tactical training session in their command truck when dispatch rerouted them to the center. Thankfully, many child care centers streamed live video so parents at work could see their children. As soon as the call came in, his team had easily accessed the feed, and they now watched the action from their command truck.

      The kidnapper slipped the baby’s arms into a snowsuit then strapped her into the infant seat. Taking great care with the baby, he struggled with the straps. Jake had no children, but he knew it almost took a college degree these days to figure out how to properly use a car seat, buying the team time to intercept him.

      “The director got a good look at his face before he put the mask back on, so there’s no way he’s going to let her live,” Jake said. “Too bad the camera angles aren’t giving us a look at his face, but I guess it doesn’t matter right now. We just need to get in there quickly.”

      “If whatever he injected her with hasn’t already killed her.” Team sniper Brady Owens looked up from behind the video console, an ominous look on his face.

      “We don’t have any time to lose,” Cash Dixon, their bomb expert, said.

      Jake nodded. “We’ll proceed as if this is a hostage rescue. Cash, you remain here and monitor communications. Brady, let’s move!”

      Jake charged out the door, wishing negotiators Skyler Hunter and Archer Reed were with them. As squad leader, Jake had needed to act as negotiator only twice in the six years he’d directed the team.

      Well, today will be your third, and a baby’s and woman’s lives depend on you. No pressure.

      He stifled his concerns and took a good look around. Not even 7:00 a.m., the sun hadn’t yet climbed into the sky. Warm light spilled from the center’s windows, sparkling off the recent snowfall, but Jake’s attention went to an empty patrol car sitting in the lot.

      Brady stepped up behind him. “What’s a patrol car doing here?”

      “My question exactly,” Jake replied.

      “Likely some hotshot who ignored directives to stand down.”

      Brady sucked in a breath. “The guy’s gonna get himself or the woman killed.”

      “Just picked up the deputy on video,” Cash said over Jake’s earpiece. “He’s in the hallway outside the baby room.”

      “Then negotiations are off the table, and we’re going in strong.” Jake mentally called up the center’s blueprint he’d viewed in the truck.

      A main hall ran down the middle of the building. Doors for classrooms and a kitchen faced that hall. Each room had at least one exit leading to playgrounds behind the tall fence. The baby room was the second room on the south side of the building, with two exterior doors.

      Jake shifted his steel-plated tactical vest. “Cash, keep us updated on any movements.”

      “Roger that,” Cash said.

      Jake started forward as sharp winds howled down the Columbia River, sending trees rustling. Directly ahead sat a fenced yard with two gates—and one of them stood open. Jake held up a hand and paused to check for any sign of danger.

      Finding none, he peered at Brady. “I’ll intercept the deputy in the hallway. You hold at the side entrance to the baby room.”

      “Affirmative,” Brady replied before moving swiftly toward the open gate.

      Jake approached the front door. A fragrant pine wreath with a red Christmas bow caught his attention for but a moment. He turned the doorknob. Entered. Paused again.

      Darkness obscured the hallway, but light escaped from under the baby room door and through the window. The wayward deputy stood looking through the window, but he hadn’t yet opened the door.

      “Stand down,” Jake announced loud enough for the deputy to hear but, he hoped, not loud enough for his voice to carry into the baby room.

      The deputy spun, his weapon raised. He hadn’t rotated fully when he fired.

      Bam. Bam.

      The bullets slammed into Jake’s vest. The crushing force felt like a baseball bat to the chest, pushing him back and knocking him to the floor while stealing his breath. His first instinct had his hand going to the Velcro to rip off his vest, gain a breath and ease the pain, but the kidnapper would have heard the shots and could open the door and fire off a few rounds.

      “Oh, man,” the deputy cried out and ran to Jake. “Man, I didn’t... I mean you’re...”

      “Shooter spooked by shots fired,” Brady announced over the comms.

      “Roger that,” Jake managed to get out as he continued to fight for air. “Make entry now.”

      “Affirmative,” Brady replied.

      The deputy dropped down beside Jake. Jake glared at the guy and wanted to give him a piece of his mind, but he wouldn’t waste any more time on the deputy. Not when Brady counted on Jake for backup.

      He struggled to his feet, his anger barely in check. He should have been the one to breach the perimeter. He was in charge. He was the best trained. He should have taken the risk. Thanks to the yo-yo staring at him, Jake had lost all control of this op. Losing control meant people died.

      Boom. Boom. Boom.

      The shots sounded from a handgun inside the room. Brady carried a rifle, which meant the masked man had opened fire. Jake listened for Brady’s return fire.

      Nothing.

      The

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