Page 56 of Ransom for His Secret Son

He hoped that didn’t give Tarrant enough courage to lift his head and see what the heck was going on. Just in case it did, Brody squeezed off two more shots, then quickly ejected his empty magazine and slapped in a fresh one that he took from his pocket.

Behind him, movement caught his eye—Remi, belly flat on the porch floor, crawling toward the door. She was low, but still too exposed. One well-aimed shot from Tarrant and—

He pushed the thought away. Had to. He couldn’t let his fear for her cloud his mind. But there was fear, all right. She was risking everything to save his son, and the baby might not even be inside.

While Brody continued to fire off more of those shots, Remi reached the door, lifted her hand and tried the knob. It didn’t budge, so she tapped lightly.

“Please,” she whispered, just loud enough to carry. “I’m here to help. If anyone’s in there, please let me in.”

Brody clenched his jaw. It was a long shot, but if someone was inside—if they had his son—maybe the plea would work. Maybe.

Or maybe they were already too late.

Brody squeezed off another round, then another, but he forced himself to slow down. He didn’t know how long this standoff would last, and he couldn’t risk burning through his remaining ammo. He had the backup weapon, but he might need all the firepower he could get.

Remi tapped again on the door, her voice softer now, more coaxing. “I’m here to help,” she said. “Please, just open the door.”

Silence.

Brody’s grip tightened around his gun. No movement, no answer. Hell. He was about to call out, to tell Remi to give up and scramble back down before Tarrant got another shot off—

Then a voice. Faint. Trembling. “Don’t shoot me.”

Brody went still.

Someone was in there. A woman. And unless she was putting on a good act, she was clearly terrified. Of course, anyone would be with the gunshots. Well, anyone who wasn’t involved in creating this nightmare.

Remi pressed her palm against the door, keeping her voice calm and steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help. I’m Remi. What’s your name?”

A pause, then the woman inside spoke, her voice shaky but clear. “Maria.”

“Okay, Maria,” Remi said. “Can you open the door for me?”

“No,” the woman blurted. “It’s not safe. The bullets might hit the baby.”

Brody felt the impact of her words like a gut punch. His grip on his gun tightened, emotions slamming into him hard and fast.

Remi kept her focus. “Is the baby safe?”

“Yes,” Maria whispered. “I moved him into the closet.”

Before Brody could process the relief that surged through him, another shot rang out.

Tarrant.

The bullet struck the side of the cottage, and Maria screamed. Brody’s heart dropped at the sound, and he heard a dull thud. Either she had fallen or dropped to the floor for cover.

She could be shot.

White-hot rage roared through him, and Brody didn’t hesitate. He fired fast, his aim lower this time, tearing through the branches of the trees. A fresh crack split the air as thick tree limbs came crashing down. Tarrant let out a sharp curse.

Good.

He hoped the snake was pinned down. Hoped, too, that he could continue to keep Tarrant from shooting.

Brody barely heard his own breath over the blood roaring in his ears. He kept his focus on the trees, searching for any sign of movement, finger tight on the trigger, ready to unload if Tarrant so much as twitched.

Behind him, Remi’s voice was more urgent. “Maria, are you hit?”