Page 10 of Protecting the Newborn

“Long story short,” Ruston immediately said. “Get anyone you can out to the old Henderson Road. Have them head east. I want lights flashing and sirens blaring.”

Slater had been a cop for a long time, and that was maybe why he didn’t fire off any questions as to why Ruston would need such things. Within a couple of seconds, Ruston heard his brother make a call to Dispatch to request immediate backup and followed that by relaying the location that Ruston had given him.

“I’m on my way,” Slater assured Ruston. “How far out are you from town?”

“Too far. Nine minutes.” Which was an eternity. “Someone’s trying to kill Gracelyn and me, and we have a baby with us.”

No need for him to explain who Gracelyn was, because when Gracelyn had been his partner, he’d brought her to their family ranch several times.

“A baby,” Slater muttered, and he added some ripe profanity to that. “Is anyone hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“No, not hurt.” Ruston needed to keep it that way. “Two armed men attacked us at Gracelyn’s place and will shortly be in pursuit of us again.”

Ruston had barely gotten out the words when he glanced in the side mirror and saw the headlights of the vehicle barreling toward them.

“Correction,” Ruston said. “The gunmen are in pursuitnow.”

That had Gracelyn shifting her position. She was still sheltering the baby, but she moved so she’d be able to use her gun.

“If they shoot out the safety glass, I’ll return fire to try to get them to back off,” she explained.

Ruston didn’t like that plan at all, but if the bulletproof glass didn’t hold, then the gunfire could get through to the baby. Having someone like Gracelyn—who was a darn good shot—returning fire could maybe get them to back off. And if she got lucky enough, she’d be able to take out the driver.

“You want to stay on the phone with me while I’m en route to you?” Slater asked him.

Ruston didn’t want the distraction. He also didn’t add for his brother to get there fast, because he knew Slater would. “No,” he answered, and he ended the call so he could focus on the road.

Since Ruston didn’t want to risk wrecking the car, he couldn’t try to return fire as well, but he could do something to prevent these thugs from pulling up on the driver’s side of the SUV and having an easier shot. He maneuvered into the center of the road. He should be able to see the headlights of any vehicle coming toward them and get out of the way in time.

He hoped.

Ruston kept up the pressure on the accelerator, but the gunmen must have had a more powerful engine in the big silver truck they were using, because they not only kept up, but they also gained ground. Their headlights were getting closer and closer. Worse, Ruston saw one of the thugs lean out from the passenger’s window.

And take aim at the SUV.

“They’re about to shoot at us,” Ruston relayed to Gracelyn, hoping that would cause her to get back down.

His warning came a split second before the shot blasted into the rear window. The bulk of the glass continued to hold, but this bullet had created a fist-sized hole. It didn’t seem nearly big enough for Gracelyn to get off a shot, but that didn’t stop her.

She took aim. And fired. Not once. But four times.

The sound of each shot ripped through the SUV, causing the baby to wail again, but Ruston saw something positive. The truck swerved, the headlights slashing through the darkness. Gracelyn fired again. And again. Emptying the magazine.

She must have hit the driver, because the truck didn’t just swerve this time. It practically flew off the road and crashed into a pasture fence.

Ruston felt some of the tightness ease up in his chest. Part of him wanted to go back and confront these SOBs, to make them pay for endangering Gracelyn and the baby. But he couldn’t risk that. He just kept on driving and was about to use the hands-free system to call Slater to let him know what was going on. However, before he could do that, his phone rang.

“It’s Charla,” Ruston muttered when he saw the cop’s name pop up on the dash screen.

“Don’t tell her where we are,” Gracelyn was quick to say.

She was still keeping watch out the hole in the back window but was also trying to soothe the baby. The soothing was working or else Abigail had just exhausted herself from crying, because her wails were now just a soft whimper.

“Don’t tell Charla where we are,” Gracelyn repeated, this time with even more emphasis.

Ruston wanted to bristle at the notion of not trusting a fellow cop. But Gracelyn was right. Someone had set him up, and only a handful of people could have managed that.

Charla was one of them.

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