She was a McNamara. How many times had she had it drilled into her when she was growing up that McNamara’s didn’t quit? Her grandfather had been a SEAL, her father had been a SEAL, her brother was a SEAL, she hadn’t had a hope of living up to any one of them or their expectations.
Look at her.
She’d been abducted and kept in a cage, she didn’t even remember how it had happened. The last thing she remembered was leaving the dance studio late at night, she’d been working with a girl who was preparing for an audition, the child had been picked up by her mother, she’d closed up, set the alarm, crossed the parking lot, and then … nothing.
The next thing she knew she was waking up in that prison.
She’d screamed and threatened and insulted until she was blue in the face, but no one had cared. No one had done so much as even acknowledge her and bit by bit she had given up.
But not any longer.
Abigail knew she was stronger than most people gave her credit for. She was short, and a ballerina, and most people interpreted that as not being as strong as other people. While Abigail knew she could never beat Ryder—or any of the men here—in a physical fight, she had learned how to use her smaller size to her advantage.
Right now the biggest advantage she had was the gun Ryder had shoved into her hands before he left. She hadn’t even noticed it at the time, but now she felt its weight and saw the shiny black against the paleness of her hand.
Careful to be as quiet as she could, Abigail pushed the leaves and branches off herself and tried to focus enough to come up with a plan. She couldn’t carry Ryder’s pack, even if she was at one hundred percent she doubted she could carry it very far, but like this she wouldn’t even be able to get it off the ground.
Which meant she traveled light, just herself and the gun.
Hiding here wasn’t a survivable plan, it was only a matter of time before she started to cough again and one of the men would find her. She wasn’t going back to that prison, she would rather die trying to escape than just give up.
Steeling herself, Abigail planted her hands on the trunk of the nearest tree and used that as leverage to get herself standing.
Her legs wobbled precariously and she very nearly landed heavily on her bottom, but somehow she remained upright.
Fighting against the dizziness, she pressed one hand to her temple while the other she kept on the tree. She prayed that her head cleared enough that she could see where she was going, it would be hard enough in the dark without it feeling like her brain was busy riding a rollercoaster.
Heading off in the direction Ryder had gone, Abigail clutched the gun like it was her lifeline, she knew the risks of using it, but she also knew it could be the only thing standing between her and Ryder, and certain death.
Her chest heaved, sweat poured down her body, even though it was warm out and muggy she knew that how hot she felt was not in proportion to the temperature.
Determination flowed through her veins.
She’d find Ryder.
She’d make sure he took care of those men.
And then she’d do her best not to be a burden and do her part to help them get out of here and back home safely.
Abigail stumbled over something, staggering and landing hard on her hands and knees, the gun flying from her hand.
A body.
She’d tripped over a body.
Ryder.
He must have taken out one of the men hunting them.
The thought of those men getting the upper hand never even occurred to her.
Her chest seized, and she tried to fight it, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop the next coughing fit. Abigail doubled over, sick to her stomach in addition to the sharp pains in her chest, darkness started to close in around her and she wanted so badly to give into it.
But then she thought of Ryder.
She had to find him.
Had to help him.
Somehow she managed to crawl around until she found the gun then got back on her feet and this time she started running. Well, as close to a run as she could get in her present condition.
Up ahead she heard sounds of a scuffle.
Picking up the pace, a moment later she stumbled into a small clearing, two more men lay motionless on the ground but there was another and he was fighting with Ryder.
Abigail didn’t think she just acted.
She crossed the remaining distance between them and swung the gun at the man attacking Ryder. He had a knife in his hand, the blade pressed against Ryder’s neck, but at her blow he spun around. She wasn’t strong enough to have caused him any real damage but the distraction was all Ryder needed.
He grabbed the man’s arm and in one smooth motion used his own knife to slit his throat.
The man gurgled then dropped to the ground clutching at his neck.
He was dying.
She’d never watched anyone die before.
It wasn’t that she felt like he didn’t deserve it, she knew what these men did, she’d heard enough in her time here to know that they were traffickers of humans, drugs, and weapons, but seeing his life drain away made her realize how close Ryder had come to dying.
Her feelings for him might be complicated but she didn’t want him to die.
Overwhelmed, her body shaking badly, her breath increasingly harder to catch, this time when unconsciousness came calling she answered.
10:20 P.M.
Abigail swayed, and then her eyes rolled back, and she dropped.
Spider sprung forward, catching her before she hit the ground, then lowering her carefully the rest of the way down.
Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and when he put his hand on her chest he could feel her heart thumping wildly as it struggled to keep her weak body alive. Moving his hand to her neck, he checked her pulse and found it racing, she’d overdone it getting up and following after him.
He’d had things under control, led the four men away from Abigail, circled back around so he was behind them, taken out two of them before they even knew he was there, then eliminated the third before the fourth was on him. Despite the fact that the fourth man had held a knife to his throat, he’d been about to overpower him when Abigail had suddenly appeared.
Although he could have killed the fourth man without her help, the fact that she had managed to get on her feet—not an easy task given her current condition—and tracked him down, then put her own life at risk to try to help him warmed him in a place he hadn’t allowed himself to think about in a long time.
Still, she’d scared the life out of him appearing like that, and he wanted to throttle her for it.
It would be easier to be angry with her for risking her life when he was the trained professional if she wasn’t lying there struggling to breathe. He needed to get her to that helo.
Scooping her up into his arms, he backtracked to where he’d left her to retrieve his pack. Quickly he strapped it on, lifted Abigail’s wrist to check her pulse, then settled her on his shoulders and started walking toward the meeting point.
They hadn’t gone far before he heard more voices.
Lights danced in the distance, right between him and Abigail, and the spot where the helicopter would be picking them up.
There was no way he could risk continuing in that direction, he spotted at least two dozen lights meaning there were at least two dozen men. If he was on his own he might risk it, he could probably get through them or go around them, but he wasn’t on his own and Abigail hadn’t stirred yet. Attempting to get past the men was too big a risk.