Except to keep going until I can see for myself, he added, stepping forward cautiously. He now had the front of a small cabin in sight. Light streamed from the open front door. Someone was silhouetted on the porch.
John pressed his back to the trunk of a broad oak and peeked around. The figure he’d seen was now entering.
The door closed, leaving John in the dark except when a new bolt of lightning flashed and momentarily showed him the way.
“Where are you, Samantha?” he whispered before turning his attention to God. “Where is she? What should I do?”
No booming voice echoed from heaven but he did give thanks for the temporary beacons the storm was providing. It would have been nicer if he could have controlled their light, yet under the circumstances he was grateful for small favors.
The last few strides from the trees to the side of the cabin meant crossing open ground. He scoped out a clear path during a flash, then made the short journey from memory as soon as darkness once again covered his movements.
Breathless, he pressed his back to the rough log wall and fought to control his galloping heartbeat. From that position he could hear snatches of conversation inside the cabin. Most sounded masculine. Nevertheless, it was likely that the building contained at least some of the hostages, if not all of them.
“I didn’t double-cross anybody,” one man said, his voice rising in panic. “I swear it. I don’t know how you guys got that idea.”
“Then where’s the money you stole?”
“I didn’t steal anything. I don’t have the account numbers on me right now but all the money you gave me is safe. You need to tell your bosses that. I wasn’t hiding anything. I got myself into a little scrape and had to lay low for a while, that’s all.”
“Some little scrape. Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to mess with cops? Of all the people to assault, why pick him?”
“I didn’t mean to do it. The guy grabbed my son and I didn’t stop to think. It was an accident. After he went down, I guess I lost it. I ran.”
With my loaded Glock, John added, positive he now knew the identity of at least one of the occupants of the cabin. What did you do with it, Ben? Do you still have it? Do you know how to use it? Would you?
Those questions, although important, were moot until John figured out who else was present.
He edged his way around the side of the building to a small window and slowly straightened.
Lightning flashed. John ducked. At the instant he’d glimpsed Samantha and the Southerlands, it had looked as if one of the occupants of the cabin had been staring right at him! Had he actually been seen? Only time would tell.
Pressed against the side of the cabin he counted the passing seconds. The door in front opened, casting steady light onto the trees directly across the small clearing.
Footsteps thudded on the wooden porch floor.
John tensed. He could hear at least one man approaching but had no idea where any others might have gone. Were more coming? Or had they stayed behind to guard the prisoners?
Another lightning bolt painted John’s whole body. It might as well have been the laser sight on a sniper rifle. He saw a shadowy figure swing around.
Instinct made him dive out of the way an instant before a rifle barked. A bullet smashed into the log where his head had been, sending splinters flying.
More shots followed. He was already around the other side of the cabin and heading for the open door when a second gun echoed. John froze. Was that shot inside? It sure sounded like it.
Staying low, he scrambled through the doorway, fearing the worst. Someone shot at him. He instinctively returned fire and saw a hefty man stagger, then collapse.
The moment his eyes met Samantha’s and he realized she was unhurt in spite of all the gunfire, he felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.
A momentary pause to take in the rest of the scene was his undoing.
Sam screamed and pointed. “Look out!”
He started to turn. Something caught him in midmotion and crashed against the back of his head.
Pain! Intense. Blinding. Numbing.
His legs gave out and he crumpled, facedown.
The thud of his body hitting the floor was his last conscious sensation.
* * *
Sam gasped. Seeing John knocked out for the second time in as many weeks stunned her, but it was the sharp, cracking sound when the butt of the rifle had connected with his head that was the most ominous. This was no simple faint following a blow. He could easily have been hit hard enough to have fractured his skull. Fatally.
She lunged toward him and was thrown aside by the second kidnapper when he bent to disarm the unconscious officer. Eyes wide, she braced her hands against the floor and stared, watching as the gunman came to the realization that his partner had been shot.