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MARISA RAN TOWARD THE police at the other cabin. As soon as she saw a figure, she screamed for help. The sounds of doors opening, men yelling, carried on the still night.
"Brady!" Her shout barely penetrated theirs. She tried, "Help!"
A uniformed officer ran toward her from the cabin. "Ma'am, you need to stay back."
"Help! He's down here."
The cop slowed as he neared her. "Go back in your house."
She gripped his arm. "I'm the woman you're trying to rescue. The kidnapper saw you coming. He's this way."
The man's eyes widened. He spoke into a walkie-talkie, relaying her message. "Backup's on the way."
"You have to hurry." She pulled uselessly on his arm. "They were fighting. He's going to kill him."
Finally, the words seemed to penetrate. "Show me."
Marisa turned and ran back toward Nate, the cop right beside her. She could hear more police officers behind them, catching up.
When she reached the edge of the cabin's property, she slowed. A man lay on the ground. Another stood over him. But which man was which? It was nearly impossible to tell in the darkness.
"Nate?"
"Stand back, ma'am." The officer passed her, his gun pointed at the two men. "Drop the knife."
The man took a few steps away from the figure on the ground, dropped the knife, and leaned against the cabin wall and slid to the ground. Marisa inched closer. Peered at his face. The blood, now dried, on his scalp. The rock still gripped in his right hand.
Nate. He was alive.
She ran forward, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around him.
He winced, and she let him go. "I'm sorry. I hurt you." She backed up, searched his face for more injuries. "Are you all right?"
"I'll survive." His eyes met hers
"Ma'am, you need to step back."
She brushed bits of rock and dirt off Nate's cheek and rested her palm there, soaking in his warmth. She leaned forward, kissed his lips gently, and said, "Thank you."
"I didn't—"
"You did." She kissed him again.
"Ma'am." Police officers swarmed around them now. Some hovering over the man unconscious just a few feet away. Another behind her. "Please step back."
She met Nate's eyes. Even in the darkness, she thought she saw her own feelings reflected there. Maybe, when this was all over, when she had Ana...
"Ana."
"Go."
His word propelled her, and she stood, swiveled, ran back toward the cabin.
* * *
MARISA RAN UNTIL HER chest burned. Past one police officer heading toward Nate and the kidnapper. Past trees and bushes and cabins and police cars lining the road. All she could think about now was Ana.
Was she alive?
Had she been hurt?
Would she recover?
Marisa's whole life hinged on this moment. On what she would find back in that dingy cabin. Had she truly rescued Ana from a life of an impoverished orphan in Mexico? Or had she adopted her into an early death?
How would Marisa survive if Ana hadn't?
She reached the cabin and froze at the bottom of the steps just as a figure filled the doorway.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure that could only be Brady.
And on his hip, a little girl in a blue sundress.
"Mama?"
The most beautiful melody in the world could be found in those two syllables.
Through a haze of tears, Marisa rushed up the stairs, and Brady shifted Ana into her outstretched arms. Ana's tiny arms slid around Marisa's neck, her thin legs folded around her torso and clenched as if the girl would never let her go.
Marisa held on just as tight. Focused on the soft skin pressed against hers.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry."
Ana's tears soaked through Marisa's thin pajamas, and her own tears dripped into her daughter's hair.
Brady whispered, "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, held her baby closer. "I'm fine."
"Marisa."
His tone had her focusing on him.
"The blood."
"What?"
"On your pajamas."
She had no idea what he was talking about. She adjusted Ana, looked down, and saw the red stain. She'd felt it before, the dampness. She'd ignored it. But now...that was blood.
"Oh, my God. Nate."
"All right," Brady said. "Let's get out of this cold. You want me to get a car to drive—"
"I can walk."
They walked fast down the road to the cabin. An ambulance had arrived, and Nate was lying on a gurney, a paramedic examining him. He must've seen them approach, because he tried to push himself to a sitting position. The paramedic pushed him back down with a hand to his shoulder.
Marisa rushed to his side. Nate's head was bloody, which she'd expected. It was the fresh blood on his shirt that had her gasping.
Before she could form words, Nate said, "Thank God." Tears slid from his eyes. "Is she okay?"
"I think so. Are you all right?"
"It's not serious." He seemed to be trying to peer around her to get a look at Ana.
Not serious. Dear God, let that be true. She turned and bent so Nate could speak to her daughter.
"Hey, pretty girl. Are we glad to see you."
Ana let up her grip just a tiny bit. "Hi, Uncle Nate. Mama found me."
"She sure did."
Marisa faced the paramedic, a tall woman with a no-nonsense stare, who stood on the opposite side of the gurney. "Is he going to be okay?"
"We need to get him to the hospital."
She looked at Nate. "We'll be right behind you."
"No. Take care of her."
"But..." She wanted to argue, but Nate was right. She needed to take care of Ana, and the last thing the little girl needed was to spend the night in a hospital waiting room. "I want to be with you, too."
He reached out, and she took his hand. "Tomorrow. I promise."
Joy and fear bubbled, and she couldn't form words.
"Ma'am, we have to go."
She addressed her question to the paramedic. "What happened to him?"
"It's a stab wound."
She turned back to Nate. "He stabbed you? Oh, Nate—"
"I'm fine. As long as I know you and Ana are okay."
All the joy in Marisa's heart drained like water through a colander. Or the holes in Nate's body.
Marisa held her daughter closer, thankful to have her back. But Nate...
The blood on his shirt, the blood dripping from his head. What if Nate wasn't fine? What if the cost of getting Ana back was Nate's life?