Harper clung to Bishop’s shoulders, floating on top of the water as he swam both of them toward the shore. He probably had bruises from how hard she was holding on. Goodness knows the awful, deep scratches on his hands were likely from her. But she was too scared to let go. The memory of her recent near-death experience was too fresh for her to risk that again.
At least the second time she’d gone into the creek, she’d only been under for a few seconds. Bishop had grabbed her and pulled her head up before she’d swallowed too much of the awful brackish water. As soon as he’d made sure she was okay, he’d placed her hands on his shoulders and carefully turned toward shore and began his powerful strokes.
She couldn’t even be mad at him this time. It was her fault she’d fallen in. And, honestly, she couldn’t really hold a grudge about the first time, either. He was doing everything he could to protect her. And in calmer moments, when not overcome with fear, she could admit to herself that what he’d done had been—as he’d said—the only choice. He’d saved her life, several times over. And that was just today.
Forcing herself to loosen her grip enough so that she wouldn’t add more injuries to the ones she’d already caused, she dragged in a steadying breath and studied the trees to their left. There wasn’t any sign of the men trying to kill them. But they hadn’t seemed like the type of men to give up. No doubt, like Bishop had warned, they were hurrying toward them right now.
Bishop shifted, turning to her and taking her hands in his. She clutched them tightly before realizing they were in the shallows. She forced her feet down until she was standing. The water barely reached her hips. Smiling her thanks, she was careful not to talk or to make any noise that might give away their location.
When they reached the water’s edge, he pointed to a group of rocks off to the side. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell her, until he climbed up on the rocks and pointed at the mud close to her. He didn’t want them to leave tracks, showing where they’d come on shore. She nodded and tried to climb up on the rocks. He ended up lifting her and setting her down beside him. He motioned for her to follow him, and they headed into the trees.
Once they were on harder ground, they picked up the pace. She noted he was careful about where he stepped and she was equally careful to follow his movements as much as possible. Gradually, the tension in her shoulders began to ease. They hadn’t seen or heard anyone in at least ten minutes. Maybe the gunmen had given up after all.
He suddenly stopped. She would have run into him if he hadn’t caught her against his side. Without looking at her, he stared at a stand of trees to their left. But there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary there, not that she saw, at least. He looked to the right, as well, and again she saw nothing to explain his alarm.
But she did hear something.
Or rather, she heard nothing. Earlier, the sounds of the river had been all around them. The occasional chirp of a bird. Insects buzzing or whizzing past. An animal snuffling around in the bushes. But now? It was as if someone had pressed Pause on a noisy movie and the silence was nearly deafening.
He tugged her along behind him, his steps careful like before but fast, so fast she had to jog to keep up with his long strides. Then he was pulling her behind a hollowed-out oak tree and taking out his pistol. He surprised her by handing it to her and leaning down until his lips were next to her ear.
“From what I saw earlier, you’re comfortable with a pistol, right?”
She whispered back, “Yes. Did you see someone?”
“No. But they’re close. And we’re still outgunned. I need to try to take them out one by one to give us a chance.” He pressed her back into the hollowed-out section of the tree. “Can you hide here for me? Just for a few minutes? If you see anyone, shoot. Don’t give them a second chance. They wouldn’t give you one. Can you do that?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. She wasn’t actually sure that she could shoot someone like that. But his urgency told her they were in deep trouble, so she’d have to try. Before she could even blink, he was gone, melting into the forest like a wraith.
Trying not to think about the other creatures and insects that might be sharing the tree with her, she clutched the gun in both hands, wincing when the movement made her chest hurt. Then she settled in to wait.
BISHOP ADJUSTED THE rifle over his shoulder to keep it from bumping against him as he crept through the bushes and trees. The rifle was a last resort. The sound would draw the others right to him. Surprise was his best element of defense right now. And his best weapons were ones that made no sound: his knife and his hands.
Crouching, he studied the ground where he’d seen some bushes move moments earlier. Sure enough, he found a set of boot prints. As Brielle had warned, his prey was careful, leaving only a hint of a trail to follow. But Bishop had done more than his share of tracking before, mostly while hunting with his father and brother. He was able to find a few bent blades of grass that told the story.
Moving to a more defensible position, with trees at his back, he watched, and waited. A few moments later, a whisper of fabric sounded off to his left. He dove to his right, rolling out of the way as a spurt of gunfire peppered the ground. He jerked back behind a tree as another gunman crashed through the brush up ahead, coming to help the first man.
Bishop moved with lightning speed, sprinting around the trees and launching himself at the first gunman. The man’s shocked gaze met Bishop’s a split second before Bishop violently twisted the man’s neck. He slumped dead to the ground and Bishop was off and running before the other man even realized what was happening.
A guttural yell sounded from the second man. Bishop dove behind a tree as bullets strafed across the ground. The man was shooting indiscriminately, pumping bullets into the woods all around him, yelling his rage and making it easy for Bishop to pinpoint exactly where he was.
Bishop calmly tugged his rifle down from his back and waited behind a thick oak tree. Firing indiscriminately wasn’t an option for him. His opponent was wearing body armor. He could shoot his legs to bring him down. But the kill shot had to be a head shot.
As soon as the shooting stopped, he lunged forward and strafed the man’s legs with bullets. His body jerked like a marionette on a string as he screamed and fell to the earth. Bishop finished him off with a single, deadly shot, then dove for cover, fully expecting the last gunman to have followed all the noise and try to ambush him.
Several minutes passed in silence. Bishop listened intently, studying the woods around him. Nothing. The gunshots had practically been an invitation. Why wasn’t the last gunman there, trying to end this?
Because he didn’t care about Bishop. He was going after the main target. Harper.
His stomach dropped. He took off running.
When he reached the towering dead oak with the hollowed-out middle, he ran to the side, sweeping the rifle out in front of him. The gunman wasn’t there. Relieved, he whispered, “Harper, it’s Bishop. Lower the pistol. I’m going to step in front of the tree.”
He lowered his rifle and swung around to face her. The tree was empty. Harper was gone.
He stared incredulously at the hollowed center of the tree. His pulse rushed in his ears. His hand shook as he felt the bark inside, fearing he’d find blood. When his hand came away dry, he let out a relieved breath. The gunman hadn’t killed her, at least not here. There was still a chance. But he had to find her. Fast.
“Bishop?”
He whirled around.
Harper stood on the opposite side of the clearing.
Gage jerked his rifle to the side and ran to her, scanning the woods around them as he went. When he reached her, he yanked her behind a tree and then turned her around to face him.
“What happened?” he rasped. “I told you to wait in the protection of the tree.”
“I did,” she whispered back. “But I heard someone coming through the woods. Then I saw him, on the other side of the clearing, searching the bushes, looking for me.”
“You should have shot him.”
“He had body armor. I’m not confident enough that I could have...taken a...”
“Head shot?”
She nodded, her complexion turning slightly ashen at his words. “I crept out of the hollow and hid behind a log a little deeper in the woods until he left.”
He wanted to drag her against him and never let her go. She was so brave, and smart. He couldn’t have been more proud of her. He had to clear his tight throat to be able to talk. “Which way did he go?”
“Upriver. Where we were going until the boat engine was destroyed.”
“How long ago did he come through here?”
“Hard to stay. Not long after I heard gunshots sounding from the opposite direction. What happened? Did you find the other men?”
“I found them.” He settled his rifle across his shoulder again. “They won’t be bothering us anymore.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle, looking a bit lost, overwhelmed.
“Let’s head back toward your property. The Seekers are there. Let’s hope the last gunman keeps going in the other direction.” He took her hand to pull her with him. Instead, he pulled her toward him, unable to resist the impulse to hold her.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. He heaved a shaky breath, not sure what he would have done if she’d rejected his touch. After the canoe, her nearly being shot a dozen times at least, then thinking he’d been too late, that the last gunman had gotten to her, he was nearly out of his mind with guilt, worry and grief. Now, just holding her like this, it was like taking the magic elixir. He was calming down, feeling centered, back in control.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he whispered against the top of her head.
Her hands tightened around him but she didn’t say anything.
When he realized they’d been standing there for at least a full minute, he forced himself to release her and step back. He stared down into her tremulous eyes and gently held her upper arms. “When I saw that empty tree hollow, I almost lost it. I thought I’d failed you again. That the gunman had you.”
She gave him a sad smile. “You’ve never failed me, Bishop. Not once. Don’t you get that? Nothing that happened in the past was your fault. Did it hurt that you didn’t believe me about the pregnancy? Of course. But knowing what I know now, that you don’t remember what happened between us that night, how could I expect you to have believed me?”
He took another step back, uncomfortable with her praise. “You should be angry with me, Harper. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I haven’t earned it.” Before she could argue with him, he took her hand. “Let’s go. It’s too dangerous to stand here any longer.”
Without waiting for her reply, he tugged her along with him toward the river’s edge so he could use it as a roadmap back to her property. A few minutes later, a sound downriver had him pulling her into the cover of trees.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured. “Is it the gunman?”
He peered around a tree and then smiled his first real smile in a long time. “No. It’s the Knights of the Round Table.” He pointed downriver toward a small blue boat motoring around a curve, Dalton standing in the prow. There was no mistaking that black Stetson.
“The Justice Seekers are here.”