Page 73 of Operation Rescue
Blaine smothered the qualms as he’d so often had to before lifting off on a mission. He forged forward in the dog’s wake, although making a lot more noise because he didn’t care anymore—stealth had left the equation. Still Cutter got ahead of him, and he had to hustle to keep the dog in sight. He heard Rafe some distance behind him but closer than he’d expected. He’d obviously come over the rise and down, with the reason for concealment blown now. He just had to hope Erin was safely out of range.
When Blaine reached the edge of the thicket of tall brush and was able to see out to a bare spot, it was like a scenario from a film. Cutter had them cornered. Ethan was huddled on his knees, staring at the dog. The armed target—he had no problem thinking of the guy that way, even if he was a teenager, not since he’d turned that weapon on Ethan—was jammed up against a V-shaped tumble of large rocks, boulders that were taller than he was. It looked like the result of a long-ago landslide.
The wannabe boss’s gaze was fastened on Cutter, who looked beyond threatening as he snarled at him. The kid was trying to get a bead on the dog with the pistol, but apparently Cutter was smart enough—or wolf enough—to keep moving side to side, so the kid couldn’t really do it. He obviously was a few steps below amateur with the weapon. Which of course made him even more dangerous.
Blaine stepped quickly out of the underbrush.
“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you. He’d take offense at you shooting at him, and that is not a dog you want coming at you.”
“Go to hell,” the kid spat out uselessly.
“Don’t think so,” he said. “Here are your options, Isaac.” He saw the boy react in shock to the name, but kept going. “You take the dog down, I take you down. You take me down, the dog takes you down. Either way, you lose.”
The wannabe gangster’s lip curled. Blaine hoped it was just false bravado. He gestured at Ethan with the pistol. The winter sun glinted off the chrome. “And what if I just shoot him?”
“Then I kill you where you stand.”
Blaine’s tone was deadly serious and icy cold. And it registered with the kid, who tried to back up a step but came up against the towering boulder.
“And,” he added in the same implacable voice, “way out here it would take a long time before anybody found your body.”
“That’s big talk for a guy who’s not even armed,” the kid blustered, shifting his focus—and the gun—away from Ethan.
In that instant Blaine lifted his right hand and snapped his index finger forward. A crack rang out from the trees in the same instant the kid’s backwards baseball cap flew off his head.
Isaac shrieked. He fell back against the boulder. Blaine dived forward, grabbing Ethan. Using the same momentum he kicked out with his right leg, striking the kid’s gun hand hard. The weapon went flying, landing near the baseball cap that now lay a few feet away, a bullet hole obvious in the brim. Isaac stared in shock at them both.
“Fair warning, he didn’t miss your head because he couldn’t hit it,” Blaine said, his own voice almost shaky from the wave of relief at having Ethan in his arms, alive and safe.
The former boss sagged against the boulder at his back, and slid down to the ground.
“Cutter, guard!”
The call came from behind him as Rafe cleared the brush, the rifle he’d fired that exquisitely aimed shot from now slung over his shoulder. The dog leaped over to within a foot of the leader who was now just a terrified kid, gave a warning growl for good measure, and stood over him as if he were just hoping he’d try something so he could rip his throat out.
“I’d be scared of him,” Blaine said to Rafe when he reached them.
The sniper grinned. “Smart man.”
Blaine felt Ethan move, looked down to see him shifting his gaze from his broken captor to Cutter, to Rafe. And then, finally, he looked up at him.
“You came for me,” his son whispered.
“Of course I did.” He saw the moisture pooling in the boy’s eyes, and added with a smile, “And I brought the cavalry.”
Ethan threw his arms around Blaine’s waist. Blaine heard a sound, realized the boy was crying. He hugged him back, fiercely, breathing easily for the first time since he’d gotten that phone call.
His son was safe.
“Was that really you flying that helicopter?” The question was a bit muffled, since apparently Ethan didn’t want to let go. Which was fine with Blaine, because he didn’t, either.
“Yeah,” he answered. “And now I have to take it back. Want to go for a ride?”
Ethan tilted his head back then, the fear fading, and excitement growing. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Blaine said, looking down at the head that now nearly came up to his chin. How had he grown so much so fast? How much else, what other kinds of growth, had he missed out on?
That had to stop. And it would. Somehow.
