It wasn’t like her to get spooked. She’d been running this place for years and was accustomed to chasing off wild animals, even vagrants.

She paused as the rush of footsteps barreled toward her. As she turned, a sharp sting bit against her neck. Electricity shot through her limbs, and she crumbled to her knees. Strong hands grabbed her arms and kept her from falling face-first into the ground.

Mitch had heard the car when it had arrived on the property. Since he’d served in the Middle East, it didn’t take more than a shift in the wind or the rustle of branches to wake him. He still slept in basketball shorts, T-shirt and boots by his bed. Mortar fire in Central Texas wasn’t likely. Logic told him that. But a gut trained to be ready for IEDs, sniper shots, and explosions didn’t care about logic. So he was always ready for trouble. Just in case.

When he heard the car door close he sat up alert and wide awake. Jasper perked up his ears as Mitch slipped his feet into his boots, pulled the laces tight, yanked on his shirt, and grabbed his cell phone, wishing it were his service revolver.

Shoving a hand through short hair, he left the dog in his room and headed outside in time to see Greer drop to her knees and a man haul her up. His arm banded around her waist, and if he’d not been supporting her she’d have fallen.

Fuck. His heart pounded as he gripped the phone, wishing he could chamber a round. “Hey, what the hell?”

The hooded man turned and in the dusky moonlight glared at Mitch. “Fuck. What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. No hint of worry or fear, just a grim determination that reminded Mitch of an insurgent who’d blown himself up. Determined fanaticism.

In the next seconds, Mitch barely shook off his shock as the other’s hands twitched and reached for the .45 tucked in his waist. Training had Mitch diving to the ground as the man fired.

But Mitch wasn’t fast enough. As he hit the ground the bullet cut through his side. Pain burned through his body.

Greer’s muffled anguished cry nearly broke his heart but also told him she was alive.

Anger and frustration blocked all the fear. Ignoring the pain, he rose up on his knees as the man dumped Greer in the truck’s front cab. Still gripping his cell, Mitch staggered to his feet.

“We can’t leave him.” Greer’s voice slurred the words.

The truck started, turned, and headed toward him. He stood his ground, one hand pressed to his side and the other gripping his cell. Mitch waited, knowing he’d have just one shot. The truck picked up speed. Seconds before it hit him, he tossed his cell into the trunk bed as he jumped to the right. The cell clunked against the bed as he hit the ground. Pain burned through his gut. He’d accomplished the task but had he failed Greer?

He tried to push up and get back to his feet but the pain burned at each twitch of a muscle. He rolled on his side and pulled his hand from the wound. Blood turned black by the moonlight glistened on his hand. Tears stung his eyes.

Mitch wouldn’t survive losing someone else he cared about.

As soon as Bragg left Kate Trenton’s house he’d called Greer and when she didn’t answer, he’d called Mitch. Two no-answers had added up to trouble. He’d not hesitated to call the Rangers and the local sheriff. He wanted every officer within fifty miles of Bonneville.

As he barreled down the dark highway, he called Winchester and gave him a brief description of the situation. Winchester was an hour away, still at the Sycamore crime scene.

When he arrived he saw the flash of lights from a dozen police cars and two paramedic trucks. His heart sank and for an instant he imagined the ground shifted under his feet as his world crumbled.

He rushed toward the stretcher as the paramedics were loading it on the truck. Mitch’s colorless face stared back.

“Mitch.”

The boy’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed his uncle by the forearm with surprising strength. “Bragg, I tried to save her but I couldn’t.”

“Greer?”

Mitch winced as he tried to sit up. “There was a man. He took her. Shot me.”

Bragg’s heart twisted for the boy before him and for Greer who’d been taken. He wanted to stay with Mitch but had to trust him to the paramedics. His gaze nailed the paramedic. “How is he?”

The paramedic checked the IV running into Mitch’s arm. “He’s sustained a gunshot. We won’t know until we get him to the hospital.”

Bragg was an expert at pushing back emotion and dealing with the worst kind of situations. Now, however, he struggled to keep focus. He took Mitch’s hand and squeezed it hoping he could convey in deed what words could not. He loved this kid like a son and would do whatever it took to save him. “Okay.”

He released Mitch’s hand and latched onto his own fears with an iron grip. Mitch winced as the paramedics raised the gurney. “I threw my cell phone in the bed of his truck.”

The first flicker of hope cut through the mire. “And if I know you, it’s fully charged.”

“They left here an hour ago. There’s plenty of battery life so you can ping right in on that asshole.”

“Good job.”

Mitch winced. “I had the chance to save Greer and I blew it.”

“She’d have been completely lost without you, and at the end of this day when I find her alive it will be because of you.”

Mitch swallowed back emotions and nodded.

Bragg leaned close, his gaze pinning the boy. “And your buddies, you didn’t let them down. They know that. Greer knows it. I know that. Now you need to believe it.”

Mitch nodded.

Bragg patted Mitch on the shoulder. “Mitch, can you describe the man that took Greer?”

Mitch’s eyes darkened. “I can do better. I can give you the motherfucker’s name.”

Greer awoke in stages, her mind a muddy, waterlogged mess. She was vaguely aware of cool grass and a warm breeze blowing over her. She was outside and for a half second wondered if she were camping.

And then her senses cleared enough and she immediately remembered the sting of her attacker’s stun gun and of her legs crumbling. He’d pressed a rag to her face when she’d started to rouse and the foul chemical had knocked her out cold.

Now, she sat up, ready to fight. Her head spun. Her stomach churned, and she thought she’d throw up. She turned to her side, prepared to wretch. But after a few deep breaths, her stomach held steady. A small victory in a war she suspected was long from over.

She glanced up expecting to find someone looming over her. To her surprise she was alone under a sky filled with too many stars to count. She moved to stand but found her legs wobbly and unsure. Drawing in a breath, she tried again but her body would not cooperate.

What was wrong with her?

She studied the stand of woods in front of her and realized they were familiar. The woods at Pinewood Cemetery. She glanced back around her and found herself nose to nose with a headstone.

JEFFREY ROBERT TEMPLETON.

Jeff’s headstone.

Panic rose up in her, choking her throat and she scrambled away from the slab of granite, now afraid to be close to it. Her legs and arms would not function, and she found herself crawling away from the marker, more desperate with each inch. This had once been a place of comfort, solace, and guilt, and now it terrified her because she remembered the dying wish she’d confessed to the group all those years ago . . . to be with her brother.

Her heart thundered in her throat as she struggled to crawl. Panic clawed and sliced at her. She’d loved Jeff. In life she’d followed him like a silly puppy. And she’d carry her brother’s death with her for the rest of her life.

But she did not want to join him in death. She wanted to live.