Chapter Thirty-One

With her heart in her throat, Sam leaned her rifle against the tree and pulled the Glock from the back of her waistband. She ran down the bank and jumped over the railing, careful not to look at the body lying there.

Holding the pistol up and ready, she pushed the door open and checked the room for any enemy she had missed.

All clear.

“Garrett?” she called to him.

Nothing.

Please don’t let him be dead. Please don’t let him be dead.

She went to the front door and saw another man lying in the parking area. Garrett must have taken him out.

Once she felt confident that everyone was down and accounted for, she ran back to Garrett and set the Glock on the floor right next to her, in case she needed it in a hurry.

“Garrett?” she whispered, and held her fingers to his throat. His pulse against her fingertips nearly made her shriek with joy.

She quickly checked him over—though she was not really qualified to make any kind of medical diagnoses or decisions. But she was all he had.

His arm was covered in blood from a deep gash across his biceps, but he didn’t appear to be bleeding from anywhere else other than his lip. He had been kicked, though, so she worried he might be bleeding internally. She didn’t dare move him until she knew more.

“Garrett, please wake up. Please?”

As if in answer to her plea, his eyelids fluttered. He squeezed them tightly closed for a moment, then opened them again, focusing on her face.

“Sam?” He spit blood and winced.

“I’m here, baby.”

“Please tell me I have been laying here for ten days and you did not come back to help me after I told you to run.”

She knew he was trying to be angry, but his voice wasn’t up for it. He sounded more exhausted than irritated.

“Not ten days. Sorry,” she offered with a wince.

He tried to sit up and gasped in pain. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and shook his head. “Damn it.”

“Are you okay?”

He examined it closer. “The bullet went through. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me get you a towel. We can put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.”

“We need to get moving before the next team arrives to finish up what these guys started.” He started to rise. His quick breath whistled across his teeth. “Go pack your things.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “But you’re hurt.”

“Sam, for Christ’s sake, can you please start listening?”

“Okay.” She nodded, but tied the towel around his arm first and helped him to his feet. When he was standing under his own power without falling over, she ran down the hall and did as he’d ordered.

It took maybe a minute to stuff everything she owned into her backpack. Then she ran back out to the living room.

Garrett was moving a little better, but he wasn’t fast, by any means. He handed her the Glock, which she crammed in her waistband.

“The rifle. I left it leaning against a tree.” She pointed out at the woods.

“Leave it,” he snapped.

A twinge of unease twisted her stomach. That gun had become like a friend to her. It had saved her life, as well as Garrett’s. But rather than admit to having formed an unnatural affection to a firearm, she simply nodded in agreement.

Garrett wasn’t packing much in the way of clothes. Instead, he was loading up more guns and ammo. The first aid kit and a large manila envelope were tossed into a grocery bag.

“Let’s go.” He tossed his laptop in his duffel bag and struggled to get it over his head. She took it from him and slid it over her shoulder with her backpack as he swayed.

She grabbed his arm and steadied him. If he fell, she didn’t know how she would ever get him out of the house. He just needed to stay upright until she could get him to the Jeep.

But where she’d go from there, she had no earthly clue.