In Protective Custody

A loud pounding on the front door blew the whistle on their huddle. Time for action.

Max crouched low behind the kitchen counter, yanking her down with him.

“Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “Go out the back. Take the baby, and get in your car. Don’t close your car door until I get there. I don’t want the noise to alert them.”

“Like this screaming baby won’t?”

Max gritted his teeth. She was right. They’d certainly hear the baby.

“Are they cops?” she whispered, the hope in her voice unmistakable.

“Afraid not, sweetheart. These men are dangerous, and they mean business.”

Her eyes opened wide with trepidation. “But the baby—”

“Stop talking and go!”

He saw the shudder that shook her, and guilt for placing her in danger wrenched inside him.

She scurried for the back door, clasping the baby close to her chest.

“Stay low!” he called.

Without waiting to make sure she’d followed his orders, Max hustled, crouched low, toward his gun cabinet. Like most native Louisiana men, he’d been raised on hunting. He’d learned to fire a gun before he had his driver’s license. Now he was the hunted, and he needed his rifles for self-defense.

The men on his porch must have seen him through the tall, narrow window by the door. He heard a shout from one of the goons informing the others of his position.

“Caldwell, open up! That baby belongs to us!”

Anthony Rialto. So, the patriarch of the drug clan had made a personal appearance.

Max searched the top drawer of the gun cabinet for the key to unlock the display case. Moving with deft, sure speed, he grabbed out his best hunting rifle. Next he removed the 9mm Glock he kept for home protection and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans.

His front door rattled and shook as Rialto’s men tried to break it down. Gambling precious time, Max crawled across his living room floor to the front window and raised the rifle. With one swift motion, he broke a hole in the glass and aimed at the tires of the lead car.

His fire drew an answering assault from Rialto’s men. The rest of the front window shattered under the barrage of bullets. Glass littered the carpet around him. The jagged shards bit his hands as he scrambled away from the window, leaving a trail of blood. He’d reached his kitchen when the front door burst open.

Bullets whizzed over his head and peppered his cabinets. Over the cracking gunfire, he heard the woman scream. His heart leaped to his throat.

Damning the consequences, he rose to his full height to beat a quicker retreat. A sharp sting pinched his shoulder, telling him he’d been hit.

Spinning, as he taught the kids on his Pee Wee team to dodge a tackle, he ran for the backyard. When he plowed through the back door, he found Anthony Rialto stalking the blond woman. Rialto backed her away from her car with a gun aimed at her head. She held the baby clutched to her chest in a protective grasp that won Max’s admiration. She could easily have handed the baby over to Rialto to save her own skin. The woman had guts.

In three long strides, Max covered the distance between him and Emily’s father-in-law. He tackled the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Rialto fired, sending the bullet into an oak tree at the line of the woods.

“Get in the car!” Max yelled.

The blonde jumped to follow his order.

The gunshot and shouts brought reinforcements around the side of the house. Max landed a hard blow to Anthony’s temple with his elbow. The abrupt movement caused pain to streak like lightning through his shoulder and arm.

He left the older man clutching his head and staggering.

Shifting his focus to the men at the side of his house, Max held the thugs at bay with a couple of blasts from his rifle. As soon as the woman reached her car, Max made a dash for the driver’s door. His feet slipped as he scrambled through the cypress needles littering his yard.

Bullets pocked the side of the Accord. As he climbed in the Honda, he heard Rialto shouting.

“Damn it, hold your fire! My grandson’s in that car! What if you hit the gas tank?”

Max wasted no time cranking the engine and shifting into Reverse. Rialto’s men tried to stop the escaping car with their bodies, but Max refused to slow down for any reason. The men jumped out of his path at the last second. When the thugs tried shooting at the Honda’s tires, Max swerved left then right, making their target more difficult to hit.

“I said, hold your fire!” Rialto screamed. “Follow them!”

Max peeled across his front yard, around the sedans blocking his driveway. He’d managed to take out the front tire of the lead car, he noticed as they sped past. Good. That meant only one car could pursue them.

He stole a glance at the woman as he wheeled onto the narrow, two-lane road. Tears streaked her pale face, and a mask of sheer terror molded her delicate features.

His gut knotted as he mashed the accelerator and sped away from the nightmare scene. “Did he hurt you?”

She didn’t respond.

“Did he hurt you?” he barked.

She jumped. “No.”

Max nodded. “Hang on. We’re taking the shortcut.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged the baby closer and slumped down in the seat.

Bouncing across the ditch at the side of the road, he headed down a narrow dirt road. “ATV trail. Kids in the area use it to go four-wheeling.”

She didn’t acknowledge his explanation, and he worried about her slipping into shock. “Stay with me, darlin’. The worst is over. We’re gonna be okay now.”

Skeptical turquoise eyes rose to meet his glance. Her look asked, Why should I believe you?

Good question. He’d gotten her involved in this mess, lied to her, nearly gotten her killed. He knew he didn’t deserve her faith. But he also knew he’d move mountains to see that she got out of this disaster safe and sound.

One more person he couldn’t let down.

The stakes in this fiasco kept growing. But he’d never been one to let an obstacle keep him from accomplishing a goal. Results were what mattered. He lived by that mantra as a firefighter and taught it to the kids on his football team. No excuses and no quitters.

Especially since, in this game, they were playing for their lives.

The man’s hands and shoulder were bleeding.

Laura gaped at the crimson stains on the steering wheel and on his shirt and battled down a wave of nausea. Considering the armed men on their tail, they couldn’t afford any delays. That included any stops for her to be sick at the side of the road, so she averted her gaze from the bloodstains.

Mercifully, the baby had finally worn himself out and fallen asleep. Since the baby’s safety was paramount to her, even above her own, Laura unfastened her seat belt and wiggled between the front seats, leaning into the back. As they bumped down the dirt side road, she secured the baby in his car seat then slid back into the front.