She nodded urgently.
“I’m Rick Garrison.” He tucked the glass cutter back in his belt. “Your father sent me.”
Relief soared inside her. “Thank God.”
“Are you hurt?” Garrison asked. “Can you walk?”
“I’m fine. Please, just get me out of here.”
“Do you have a coat?”
She noticed then that his breath left puffs of white in the air. A chill swept into the room, making her turn to the chair where she’d draped her coat. “It’s bright red,” she told him. “Will that be a problem?”
Garrison nodded briskly, already removing his own fitted black jacket. “Put this on,” he ordered, handing her the coat through the empty square left in the window.
She took it and quickly shoved her arms into the sleeves without bothering to zip up the coat. Then she climbed onto the small desk, biting her lip when the wood squeaked from the added weight. She glanced toward the door. Nobody came. Turning back to the window, she leaned forward, then hesitated when a thought occurred to her. Hadn’t Deacon said there was a motion sensor on her window? Yes, he had said that.
“Motion sensor,” she blurted out, feeling panicked as she looked at Garrison.
“Taken care of,” was all he said. “Come on now. We need to hurry.”
Adrenaline spiked in her blood. Lana went out head first, landing in Garrison’s arm with the grace of a tourist. He steadied her, his dark eyes sweeping across her face to assess her well-being.
“They didn’t hurt you?” he said quietly.
She shook her head.
“Your father will be happy to hear that.” Garrison removed a lethal-looking pistol from his waistband. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Y-yes. My brothers took me to the shooting range a few times.”
Garrison’s fingers were warm as he gently placed the weapon in her hand. He unslung his rifle from his shoulder, holding it with complete ease. “You’re going to have to be extremely quiet. And very quick. I came here by foot, through the mountains, but I managed to leave an ATV up on the trail, about five miles from here. Can you handle that?”
Five miles. Lana tried not to cringe. She wasn’t out of shape by any means, but a five-mile hike in this bitter cold was not going to be pleasant. Still, she was determined to keep up. “I can handle it,” she said grimly.
“See that cluster of rocks?” Garrison gestured to a spot about a hundred yards away.
Lana nodded.
“That’s where we need to be.” He grimaced. “If I tell you to run, you run, all right? I’ve been up in the mountains for days, watching the cabin, and I’ve gotta tell you, these bastards are pros. They don’t have a recognizable routine.”
“Isn’t that good? Professionals usually know what they’re doing,” she said feebly. “This could mean they’re amateurs.”
“There’s nothing amateur about the way they’ve handled this. Uneven shifts, random perimeter checks. Different men each time. They’re smart, made sure that anyone who tried to infiltrate wouldn’t be able to rely on a clockwork rotation. Which means that the moment we head for those rocks, one of them could be coming out of nowhere.”
Lana swallowed. “Okay.”
“Now, I took out two of them, but—”
Her heart lodged in her throat. He killed two men? Terror jolted through her. What if Deacon was one of them? She told herself she was simply concerned about her baby’s father, but deep down she knew there was much, much more to the turbulent wave of fear crashing inside her.
She wanted to ask him to describe the men, but Rick was still talking. “There are still two more walking the perimeter. We need to move, and fast. Are you ready?”
She drew in a breath, releasing it in a visible cloud that drifted in the air. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Garrison’s eyes moved across the empty clearing in a sharp sweep. They had the cover of darkness on their side, but Lana didn’t feel invisible. When Rick gripped her arm and pulled her forward, she followed him blindly. Her pulse raced. The gun in her hand felt out of place. She hoped she didn’t have to use it. As their boots crunched against the grass, she cringed, frightened the noise would alert one of her captors, but nobody came after them.
Ten yards. Twenty. She ran alongside Rick Garrison, as the harsh wind slapped her face and whipped her hair around. She spat the long tresses from her eyes and mouth, wishing she’d tied them back in a ponytail, but there’d been no time. As she and Garrison moved in swift, long strides, she couldn’t help but glance back at the cabin.