The Christmas Target

She thought maybe she’d imagined him, that the head injury was causing hallucinations, or that she was hypothermic and delirious. Then a hand cupped her jaw, and she was looking into Chance Miller’s face.

He looked as shocked as she felt.

“You’re in DC,” she said, surprised at how slurred the words sounded, how difficult they were to get out.

“No,” he said, his arm slipping under her back as he lifted her out of the water. “I’m here.”

She thought she heard a tremor in his voice, but that wasn’t like Chance. He always held it together, always had himself under control.

“Always perfect,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked, and she realized they were moving, that somehow he was carrying her up the bank and away from the creek. Snow still fell. She could feel it melting on the crown of her head, sliding into the cut on her temple. None of it hurt. Not really. She just felt numb and scared. Not for herself. For her grandmother.

She had to concentrate, to stay focused on the mission. That was the only way to achieve success. She’d learned that, or maybe she’d always known it, but it had kept her alive in more than one tough situation.

“Put me down.” She shoved at Chance’s chest. “I have to find my grandmother.”

“Boone and Simon will find her. You need medical help.”

“What I need,” she said, forcing every word to be clear and precise, “is to find my grandmother. Until I do that, I’m not accepting help from anyone.”

“We’ve already called the local authorities. They should be here soon. They can conduct the search while an ambulance transports you to the hospital.”

“I’ll just transport myself back. So how about we make this easy and do things my way for a change?”

“We do things your way plenty. This time, we’re not.” He meant it. She could hear it in his voice. She could feel it in the firmness of his grip as he carried her through the snowy woods.

And he was right.

She knew he was right.

She needed medical attention.

She needed help.

But she couldn’t go to the hospital. Not while Beatrice was still lost in the woods.

“Chance, I can’t leave without her. I can’t.” Her voice broke—that’s how scared she was, how worried. Her grandmother was out in the cold, and someone was out there with her. Someone who’d attacked Stella.

More than one person?

She thought so, thought she’d been hit from behind, but she couldn’t quite grasp the memory.

Chance muttered something, then set her on her feet, his hands on her elbows as she found her balance. It took longer than she wanted, the world spinning and whirling, the falling snow making her dizzy. Her stomach heaved, and she swallowed hard. No way was she going to puke. If she did, it would be over. Chance would carry her back to the house and send her off in an ambulance.

Focus on the mission.

“Something is going on,” she said, afraid if she didn’t get the words out, she’d forget them. “Someone is out here.”

“We’re out here,” he said, turning on a penlight and flashing it across the creek bed. Something pink sat near a rock a few yards away.

“Not just us. Someone attacked me.”

He stilled, the light holding steady on that pink thing, his gaze suddenly on Stella. “Who?”

“I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. One person. Maybe two.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No.”

“Did he speak? Say anything to you?”

“No.”

“How long ago was that?” He strode to the object, lifted it.

Her grandmother’s slipper.

Stella had bought them for Beatrice three Christmases ago, knowing her grandmother would love the faux fur and sparkly bows. Funny that she could remember that, but she had no idea how long she’d been out in the snow.

“That’s my grandmother’s,” she said, that thickness back in her throat again.

“Stella,” he said, the calmness in his voice the exact opposite of the panic she felt, “how long have you been out here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Were you unconscious at any point?” His gaze drifted from her eyes to the bleeding cut on her head.

“Yes.”

“So it could have been longer than fifteen minutes?”

“Yes. Now how about we stop talking about it and start looking?”

“Okay,” he said. Just that, but she felt better hearing it.

Because of all the people she knew, Chance was the one she trusted most to get things done.

His light illuminated the shadowy bank at the far side of the creek. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the forest was tinged with grayish light. No sign of Beatrice that Stella could see, but, then, her eyes didn’t seem to be working well, everything shifting in and out of focus.

In the distance, sirens wailed.

Help coming too late?

Please, God. Not too late.

The prayer was there. Just on the edge of her thoughts, and she tried to follow it with more words, more pleas, but her mind was spinning, her thoughts scattering. Her stomach heaved, and she was on her knees retching into dusty snow and pine needles.