He couldn’t pull them off an active search for someone trapped in the debris. Although if she could give him half an hour to just point him in the right direction…
Pivoting on his heel, he jogged back out the door, down the steps. Once outside, the sun just climbing on the horizon, he broke into a run. His military uniform would get him past any roadblocks or checkpoints. Even with the debris, he could make it to Rachel’s quarters in under ten minutes.
No one looked twice at him running through the street like a madman. Nothing seemed unusual here anymore—well, other than running out in the street half-naked, wearing nothing but towels.
Had that been only a few hours ago?
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be losing a man on his team. Yes, he understood it happened. Hell, it had happened far too often during his combat days as an Army Ranger. But he was in charge now. He controlled the missions and they focused on rescue, not combat. He refused to lose another brother-in-arms. And yeah, that made him overreact sometimes.
Like now, chasing down a missing team member who was probably just off trying to impress a woman. Except Franco never, never dated women with children since his wife and daughter died. Which brought Liam to his real fear—that this latest rescue had pushed Hugh over the edge. A dark thought, sure, but then morbid conclusions had a way of chasing him.
People thought Liam was a lighthearted son of a bitch who did a helluva Chuck Norris impression. He was just covering up the fact that his insides were so scarred up from burying fallen comrades he’d become like that old Charlie Chaplin tune his mama liked to sing through her cancer treatments, “Smile, though your heart…”
Shit. He cut the morbid thoughts off short. Morose garbage never saved anybody and it wasn’t going to find Franco for him.
Although if Franco was off kicking up his heels, playing house with the Bailey chick and her nephew…
Yeah right. The chances of that happening were next to nil. The only thing Franco avoided more than commitment was kids.
He sprinted past his lopsided quarters, the cottage still hanging out on the edge of the cliff at pretty much the same scary-ass angle as before. Stopping at the next house, a yellow and green little place with porches all the way around, he tugged his camo top smooth again. The door was covered with plywood over where a glass panel must have been. He knocked hard, twice.
Footsteps echoed from inside, along with a couple of deep barks. The door swung open and Liam almost swallowed his tongue. Rachel wore skimpy gray cotton shorts and a T-shirt without a bra.
He had more serious things to think about than how her ni**les strained against well-worn cotton and how her brown hair tumbled around her shoulders as if calling to his hands.
“Major?” She reached down, her hand falling to rest on her dog’s head without her even looking to see that he’d slid into place beside her.
Liam cleared his throat and thoughts. “I’m sorry to bother you. I know sleep is scarce—”
“Understatement—”
“Right. Sorry. Honest to God, I am. But one of my team members, the one you found, he’s gone missing, along with the woman and child he rescued.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” She blinked fast, her brown eyes still fuzzy with sleep and exhaustion.>Hugh’s hand curled into a fist a second before he whispered, “Now.”
Chapter 8
Hugh launched forward, eyes on the green glow of the dash lights. He didn’t want to think about the inevitable wreck.
Rushing the pair up front was his only option. At least he had the reassurance Amelia would do everything possible to keep the baby safe. But he could not let them get to this “Guardian” person.
His arm swept a stack of crates like a battering ram, toppling them onto Tandi. The van veered hard. He landed on the driver, arm around Oliver’s neck. A low-lying branch slammed into the windshield. Glass shattered. Oliver clawed at Hugh’s cheek, his voice garbled.
Hugh squeezed his forearm harder along the windpipe of the bastard who’d kidnapped Joshua and Amelia. The criminal who’d leered at Amelia, not even bothering to hide his lecherous plans. He wanted to kill the bastard. No one would blame him. This was a kill-or-be-killed situation.
But Amelia sat in back. She didn’t need to see that side, the violent side of him that seethed like the assholes she put in prison. He would hold tight, squeeze just long enough to knock him out—
Oliver stabbed back with a knife from nowhere. Hugh jerked, the knife grazing his leg in a fiery swipe. The car swerved. Hugh adjusted his hold and resorted to a Vulcan nerve pinch—fast and effective. Oliver slumped forward, foot ramming the accelerator.
Shit.
Hugh’s hands shot forward to grab the steering wheel. The van rocked, catapulting over a ditch.
“Brace, brace, brace!” Hugh shouted to Amelia.
“I hear you,” she shouted back just as the van went airborne. Time seemed to freeze for those three seconds before—
The van rammed a palm tree, flinging Hugh forward. He forced himself not to tense, to roll with the momentum rather than fight it. Pain exploded through him as the vehicle settled. Wrapped around the dash, he willed the world on the other side of the fractured glass to steady. But the spinning landscape just kept right on whirling like a kaleidoscope.