Chase’s muscles were coiled tight, his body poised to spring as Ryder chased after the truck. The maniac holding Becca had run the last three lights, causing collisions at all the intersections, but so far had managed not to get hit.
“Watch him,” he cautioned as the truck careened between the lanes of moving traffic up ahead.
Ryder braked and dodged other cars, not bothering to reply.
“He’s going left.” He braced his arm on the door as Ryder turned sharply to follow. But this time the driver wasn’t so lucky. Traffic snarled around the truck, hemming it in. The driver had no choice but to hit the brakes.
The passenger door opened slightly. Chase’s heart shot into his throat as something appeared in the gap. An arm. Becca’s arm. “Stop!”
The instant Ryder did, Chase leaped out, weapon in hand, and tore toward the truck just as Becca toppled out in a heap onto the asphalt. Jesus.
There was nowhere for the truck to go. The driver popped out of his door, his hand coming up to point a weapon at Chase.
He cursed and darted behind the back of a parked car as the fucker opened fire on him. Screams erupted around him from inside the other vehicles. Tires squealed, more metal crunched as people panicked and tried to flee the scene.
The shooter darted around the front of the truck cab, using it as a shield. He was going for Becca.
Chase burst out from behind cover and sprinted toward her. She was struggling to her hands and knees, trying to crawl away.
His stomach twisted. What had that bastard done to her? “Becca!”
Her head turned toward him, but her sluggish movements told him something was very wrong.
The shooter popped up from behind the open passenger door. Chase raised his weapon and fired. Becca cried out and curled up on the ground as his bullets punched through the glass far above her head.
Chase kept running, determined to get to her before that asshole did. The shooter swung around the side of the hood to fire again.
Chase squeezed the trigger. The guy jerked and slumped, then turned and darted out of sight in the stopped traffic to the left.
Heart thudding in his ears, Chase pounded over to drop down beside her.
“Becca,” he breathed, weapon aimed in the direction the asshole had taken off and cupped the side of her face with his free hand. Her skin was cold, an alarming bluish color in the faint light, and her breathing was shallow and raspy.
Ryder came running up behind him. “I lost sight of him. How is she?”
“Don’t know.” Chase scooped Becca up on his lap, quickly scanning her for injuries. She had a few cuts and scrapes, but nothing to explain why she was breathing so weird.
“Fucker must’ve drugged her with something,” he muttered, then glanced around, looking for the shooter. He could hear the sirens, but the cops were still a ways away yet.
Looking over his shoulder, he glimpsed the shooter dart out of sight down a side street. “Stay with her and get help,” he ordered Ryder, then kissed Becca’s forehead. “Hold on, sweetness, I’ll be right back.” He handed her over to his best friend, his heart clenching at her listlessness, then jumped to his feet and took off.
Cars were tangled around them, people honking angrily or getting out of their vehicles to see what was going on. A group of pedestrians quickly backed out of the way as Chase tore toward them down the sidewalk. Three cop cars were coming down the highway toward him, but the snarled traffic would prevent them from getting through.
Chase wasn’t waiting for backup. He would have to do this alone.
His boots pounded on the asphalt as he raced for the side street. Reaching the edge of the building beside it, he pressed his back to it, then pivoted, weapon up and ready. Shots exploded instantly, sending up bits of brick close to his head. But the muzzle flash gave away the shooter’s position.
Chase took aim and fired two rapid shots. The guy grunted and dropped to his knees, his gun hand falling.
Chase broke from behind the wall, rushing him, ready to pull the trigger again. But the shooter’s weapon was lying on the ground now. He slumped, sagging, then toppled over onto his back.
In the faint light coming between the buildings, Chase could see the glistening holes in the man’s chest. A puddle of blood was forming under him.
Kicking the fallen weapon aside, Chase shoved his own into the back of his waistband and knelt to grab the guy. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled, shaking him.
Dark, crazed eyes met his. He bared his teeth, blood glistening on them. “She’s…mine,” he rasped out.
“Never,” Chase snapped.
The guy’s breathing was labored. Gurgling. And based on the amount of blood he was losing, he would die if he didn’t get serious medical intervention asap.
“Chase!”
His head snapped up at Ryder’s shout.
“Chase, get your ass back here, now!” his friend yelled.
He was up and running without conscious thought, leaving the dying man as he sprinted back to Becca. When he rounded the corner, his heart seized.
Ryder was leaning over her, hands holding her head, speaking urgently, his phone lying on the pavement. He was asking for an ambulance.
Chase dropped to his knees beside Becca, terror forking through him when he saw her face. She was turning blue, her eyes rolling back in her head.
“Becca.” His voice was sharp. Urgent. Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.
No response. Ryder was checking in her mouth. He shook his head, face grim. “Airway’s clear.”
“Becca! Look at me, baby.” He grabbed her. Shook her, desperate, his fingers going to the pulse in her throat. It was thready.
And then she fucking stopped breathing.
No!
“Becca, no,” he cried, stacking his hands over her sternum to start rapid compressions. He barely noticed Ryder jumping up and running off.
His heart hammered in his ears, about to explode as he worked on her. She wasn’t responding. Wasn’t breathing.
What the fuck was happening? What had that asshole given her? “Baby, please no,” he choked out. An icy film of sweat broke out over him. His throat was tight as a fist, an agonized scream locked in his chest. She couldn’t die. He couldn’t bear it. He loved her.
Two cops raced up, dropping beside them.
Chase didn’t stop. The muscles in his arms burned, blood flowing freely from the slice in his shoulder. “Come on, Bec, breathe,” he snarled, keeping up the compressions, determined to bring her back.
“What did she take?” one of the cops asked.
She didn’t fucking take anything! “He drugged her. I don’t know what with.” He would not let her die. Would not.
One of the cops pulled a syringe from a pouch and uncapped it. Chase kept pumping on her chest, sending up a constant litany of prayers as he fought to keep her heart beating.
Oh, please, fuck, don’t take her from me…