Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending.
― George Eliot
Sam’s phone rang moments after he’d headed toward Cici’s last-known location, Frank pale and resolute in the passenger seat. He pressed buttons, barely watching where he drove before he managed to get the phone on speaker. He ran over the curb at the church and nearly plowed into a parked vehicle. He hopped out of the car and sprinted toward the cemetery, Frank puffing behind.
Of course Cici would come here. No doubt she wanted to be close to her mother and twin. Maybe even the ghost that was haunting her.
“Sam! Can you hear me?”
“Jeannette. Talk to me,” he said.
“We received a nine-one-one call.” She sounded ragged, as if she’d run miles. Sam could hear the worry in her voice—it thrummed through the airwaves. “It’s Cici. Her phone’s still active, so we’ve been able to trace. They’re on the move.”
“Tell me where.” Sam didn’t bother to mention her earrings again. He’d call Miguel Lopez, the tech guy, next to make sure the points triangulated. “Sterling’s been shot,” Sam gritted. “He’s got on a vest, but he got caught outside it at least once. Lots of bullets. Lots of blood.”
Sam squeezed the back of his neck, ignoring the sounds of Frank’s retching.
“I need to know where she is, Jeannette. You saw what he did…what he’s capable of doing.”
“Bresdeen and I are on our way to…” She paused. Then she rattled off an address. Sam sprinted back toward the car, uncaring that Frank didn’t keep up.
He hung up with Jeannette and called Lopez, confirming the address based on Cici’s earrings.
Somehow, the older man managed to snag open the car door as Sam started to peel out of the lot. He swung into the seat with a grunt, closing his eyes. His lips moved, and Sam wondered what he was saying but didn’t care enough to ask. Instead, he pressed the gas pedal as hard as possible until it hit the floorboard, and he kept it there, whipping around cars and nearly clipping multiple bumpers.
Nothing mattered but finding Cici. Fast. Now. Before Michael hurt her. Or hurt her more. Sam’s stomach rolled and then seemed to bake into a vicious knot.
He yanked the steering wheel toward the parking lot of a high-rise building. Opening the car door, he bolted out before the vehicle stopped rolling.
He headed toward the doors as he redialed Jeannette’s number.
“What floor?” he demanded, gripping his phone.
“Not sure,” she replied. “We’re less than a minute behind you.”
“We better find her, Jeannette.”
“I know what’s at stake,” she replied. “So does Bresdeen—now. And he’s going to do everything within the power of the United States government to make sure we get her out.”
The bite in her voice confirmed she wasn’t speaking to Sam but to Bresdeen. Still, Sam took comfort in the words.
“I’ll start at the top. You start on the first floor. Keep me posted.”
“Gotcha.”
Sam unclipped his holster as he bolted up the stairs. Frank followed, but Sam ordered him back to the car. Not that he waited around to see if the older man obeyed his orders. He needed to get to Cici, fast.
Top floor was an open-concept office. Sam wasted precious minutes checking each closet, weapon leading, before clamoring down to the next level.
Sweat trickled from his temples, burning as it fell into his eyes. His own breathing became more labored, and his heart thumped out her name: Cici. Cici.
He moved to the fourth floor, and he heard her. Not on this one. Down.
“Down one, two levels, I think,” Sam said into his phone. He could barely form the next words. “She’s screaming.”
Jeannette’s curse was heartfelt and vicious.
He bolted back to the stairwell as Cici’s cry rose higher, harsher.
That scream ripped something apart deep inside of Sam. For the first time in his career, he didn’t think, didn’t assess. He reacted.
He slammed his thick-soled hiking boot against the solid wood-and-metal front door. It took him four tries, but he broke it down and plowed into the darkened interior of the apartment. The first bullet slammed into the diamond-plaster wall next to Sam’s cheek; the second caught him in the thigh. Sam grunted, but he stayed upright, gun raised, and fired twice.
He then dropped into a crouch, gritting his teeth against the agony and building light-headedness. He couldn’t fail Cici. He wouldn’t. Never again. Never.
He should have found a way out of this investigation; he never should have allowed her to come to Scottsdale.
His fault—all of it—and he’d make sure she was never, never in the crossfire again.
He bit down harder, fear of what he’d find pounding against his chest, his eyes, deep in his neck as he stood and slid around the corner.
Cord McGee struggled to rise, his hand pressed to his thigh. Sam had aimed higher, for his torso, but Cord must have shifted. Sam wouldn’t make that mistake again. He fired three more rounds, which hit Cord in both shoulders, the third wide because he’d spun with the impact of the second bullet.
Sam’s jaw remained tight as he struggled across the floor, his leg dragging as the agony seeped into his bones. His vision darkened, causing an alarm to go off in his head, but he ignored the worry as he fell, crawling toward Cici.
“Cee,” Sam moaned. He sobbed at the blood dripping from her right hand.
Running feet caused Sam to whirl, his vision tunneling, his ears ringing. Jeannette and Bresdeen cleared the door, working as a well-oiled machine. Jeannette gasped, her face pale as she took in Cici’s battered, bloodied face and her mangled hand.
“Ambulance,” Sam croaked.
“Three,” Bresdeen said. He moved toward Cord even as he dialed his phone.
Jeannette crouched next to Sam, her face white, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Her first,” he said.
Jeannette gave her head a little shake, and fumbled to take off her belt. “She’s not bleeding out.” Jeannette wrapped the tourniquet around Sam’s upper thigh, staunching the worst of the blood.
His vision cleared a little, but he remained light-headed.
“Love you, Cee.”
He struggled to raise his hand. He wanted to clasp her good one, wanted her to know he was there.
Tears spilled over Jeannette’s lashes as she laid Sam’s hand in Cici’s lap, placing their hands together.
“I’m so sorry, Sam. So damn sorry.”
“Love her.”
Jeannette smiled as she met his gaze. “I know. And you saved her life.”
Sam closed his eyes, his head too heavy to hold up, his body relaxing into the blackness.