Braden’s breath whooshed out when a bony elbow struck him hard in the stomach. The breath blew silky strands of hair across his cheek as he leaned way down to wrap his arms around the wriggling person.
“Sam?” he asked, his voice choked with emotion and pain. His stomach was tender from where her elbow had connected. She was small but almost freakishly strong. And so was this person he held; it had to be her.
God, he wanted so badly for it to be her. For her to be all right.
He'd only seen the gun in the darkness. He hadn’t been able to see who held it, but he’d known that he needed to get it away before it could be turned on him. And he had; he grasped it in one hand while he struggled to hold on to the shadowy person who’d brandished it.
A shadowy person whose struggle and spirit and warmth and silky hair reminded him of Sam. And from the way his pulse had quickened and his skin tingled with awareness, he knew without a doubt it was her.
She stilled within his arms and whispered his name. “Braden? Is it you?” she asked.
Obviously the same doubts and hopes had been flitting through her head.
“Yes.” He loosened his hold enough for her to turn toward him and wrap her arms around him, clasping him close. His heart pounded hard against hers, and she, who was always so fierce, trembled slightly in his embrace. She must have been so afraid when she’d been taken. And then he’d grabbed her like he had, probably scaring her even more.
“Sam…” he breathed, his heart swelling with gratefulness and relief. “You got away.” He shouldn’t have been surprised that she had; she was the strongest, most resourceful person he’d ever met. “Are you all right?”
She must have fought like hell to escape, just as she’d fought his grip moments ago. She continued to clutch at him now, like she never intended to let him go. That was good because he never intended to let her go again either.
“Am I all right?” she asked with surprise. “Are you all right? How did you get away?”
Confusion began to pound inside his head, echoing the pounding of his madly beating heart. “What do you mean how did I get away?” he asked.
What had happened to her? What had been done to her that she didn’t seem to know that she’d been taken hostage?
But there had been no ransom—just those odd orders to come out here and find her.
Had he found her, or had she found him?
“What the hell’s going on?” he muttered with confusion.
Who had orchestrated all this and why?
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