Her nerves were screaming at the silence. All she could hear was the wind blowing through the large, abandoned cement structures. It felt as if they were the only ones there, but that wasn't true. Mark was also present, and he was waiting for someone—someone who might already be here.
She needed to get closer. Moving with sure-footed confidence, she kept Mark in view as she got closer to the scene. She wanted the kidnapper to show his face before she showed hers. One wrong move, and the situation could go bad in any number of ways. She had to protect Mark, keep the kidnapper alive long enough to tell them where Hayley was, and then find Hayley. At any time, the FBI and the police could storm in at the wrong moment and create more chaos.
She wished she was in better communication with them, but at this point even the slightest whisper could carry.
A car turned in to the entrance and pulled up thirty feet away from Mark's vehicle, a cloud of dust hiding the identity of the driver. As the dust cleared, the man stepped out. He had on a dark ski mask, a gun in his hands, and he kept the door of his vehicle open in front of him.
She could feel Nathan's tension as his body slid forward next to hers.
"Just wait," she murmured, sensing his impatience. "We need to know where Hayley is." The little girl didn't appear to be in the sedan, but it was possible she was in the trunk.
"I've got the money," Mark yelled.
"Show me," the man said.
While the two men were engaged with each other, she crept forward another few feet, then settled into position, putting the gunman in her sight. She would take him down but not kill him. She needed to keep him alive, so he could be forced into telling them where Hayley was.
Before she could pull the trigger, Mark moved into her line of fire.
"Where's Hayley?" Mark yelled.
"Give me the money, and then you'll get your daughter back," the man said.
"I want to see my daughter. Where is she?"
"She's safe. Throw the bag to me."
Mark tossed the bag into the air, and it landed about five feet from the kidnapper. "I did what you wanted. Now give me my daughter."
Bree shifted position, trying to line up her shot, but Mark kept moving around, making it impossible for her to hit her target.
The gunman came from behind the car door and walked forward to get the bag. She waited for her opportunity.
"Tell me where she is," Mark demanded. "Please. She's just a little girl."
The man grabbed the pack off the ground and started backing away.
He was going to leave, and Mark was going to get nothing.
She held her breath, ready to fire… One more step, and she'd have him.
But then Mark let out a blistering, frustrated yell of rage, as if he'd just realized his last hope was leaving and he charged toward the kidnapper, right into her line of fire.
The man fired his weapon, and Mark fell to the ground.
She immediately fired back, hitting the gunman in the right shoulder. He dropped the gun and stumbled backward in surprise, the bag of money hitting the ground.
She jumped up and ran forward.
Mark was alive, writhing on the ground in pain.
"I've got him," Nathan said, right behind her. He dropped to the ground next to Mark, as she moved toward the kidnapper.
The man's face was still hidden by the mask, but she could see panic in his eyes as he struggled to get up.
"Where's Hayley?" she demanded, aiming her gun at him. "You've got one second to tell me before I kill you."
"You'll never—"
His words were cut off as a bullet blast hit him right between the eyes. He fell backwards, dying instantly.
She whirled around.
Where had the shot come from?
Nathan was applying pressure to Mark's wounds and there was no FBI, no police, in sight.
There was a second shooter. But why had he shot this guy and not her? Not Mark? Not Nathan?
She needed to protect them. She scanned the surrounding structures, looking for some glint of metal in the sunlight, but the shot could have come from anywhere.
And another shot could be coming any second.
Twelve
Nathan stared down at Mark, fear racing through him when he saw his friend's glassy, shock-filled eyes. He was clutching his abdomen, and there was a massive amount of blood dripping through his fingers.
He heard Bree call for an ambulance, and prayed it would get there fast, because he didn't know how much time Mark had. Taking off his jacket, he pressed the material against Mark's wound. He didn't know what was going on with the shooter. He assumed he was dead or unconscious.
Bree had checked the trunk of the shooter's vehicle, which had apparently been empty.
Now, she seemed to have taken up a protective stance in front of them, and she was as tense as she'd been before.
She didn't think the danger was over.
He didn't want to think about what that might mean, because there was no way they were moving Mark to a safer location. He'd bleed out before they could do that.
"It's going to be okay," he told Mark, lying with as much sincerity as he could muster. He'd seen a few gunshot wounds in his life, and this one was bad. But he needed Mark to hang in there.
"Hayley," Mark choked out. "Love her so much. Tell her."
"You're going to tell her yourself. You have to be strong, Mark. Stay with me."
"I—I was desperate."
"I know."
"Tell Lindsay…I'm sorry. Had to…take the chance. Said they'd kill Hayley if I didn't come alone…and bring the money. Should have known…trap."
"We'll find Hayley. Don't worry."
Relief flooded through him as police cars and unmarked vehicles came screaming through the entrance, followed by pounding feet, officers with guns drawn, and paramedics running toward him with a stretcher. Thank God!
He got up and stepped back as the EMTs took over, stabilizing Mark, so they could get him into the ambulance. He could see his friend going in and out of consciousness, and he hoped he'd done enough to stem the bleeding. He glanced down at his blood-soaked hands and felt a wave of nausea.
A female police officer came over to him and handed him a towel. "Are you injured?" she asked.
"No, I was just taking care of him," he replied, wiping the blood from his hands.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
He drew in a breath. "I don't know where to start." Glancing across the way, he saw Bree and a circle of FBI agents surrounding the gunman, who appeared to be dead. As happy as he was that the shooter would not be able to hurt anyone else, he couldn't help worrying about what was going to happen to Hayley if this guy didn't come back with the money.
"Start with how you came to be here," the police officer said, interrupting his thoughts.
"I was following my friend, Mark Jansen. His daughter was kidnapped. I saw him leave his house in a big hurry, acting suspiciously, and I—we—decided to follow him. Me and Agent Bree Adams," he said, tipping his head to the group of FBI agents. "She can fill you in on the rest."
"I still need your side of the story."
"Wait, what's happening?" he asked, seeing not only more police cars coming into the area, but officers and agents heading up and into the abandoned silos.
"We're searching the area."
"For Hayley? Do you think she's here?"
"We don't know. But she's not the only one we're looking for."
It suddenly clicked in: the second blast, Bree's frenzied movements after that, the way she'd positioned herself in front of him and Mark. "There was a second shooter, wasn't there?"
The officer met his gaze. "Did you see someone?"
"No. But I heard the shot. I thought it was Bree—Agent Adams. I was rushing to Mark's side. I didn't see who fired the weapon."
"We're going to need you to come down to the station and answer a lot more questions," the officer said.
"Sure, whatever you need."
"Stay here." She walked over to speak to another officer, one who appeared to be in command of the scene.
Despite her suggestion that he stay where he was, as soon as the circle of agents around Bree broke up, he headed in her direction.
She must have also been told to stay put, because she was suddenly alone, her gaze on the deceased gunman.
He quickly made his way to her side. "Are you okay, Bree?"