Page 41 of Her Faithful Protector

Suddenly, I hear a cry coming from behind the doorway.

Reacting to the distressing sound, I rush toward its source, retaliating against the raccoon man. “Don’t you hurt him!” I call out desperately. “Quinton, Mommy is here!”

The first two bedrooms I come across are empty. I keep running. At the back, behind the last door, I’m startled to see another man stooping into a crib, a smirk on his face as he holds a knife in his hand.

My cry echoes through the room, blending with the sound of Sam’s voice saying, “I’m coming in!”

Despite the chaos, I reach the crib with neither of the men making any attempt to stop me. It doesn’t take long for me to understand why.

It’s not Quinton’s cry. It’s only a recording of it. And it’s not my baby in the crib. It’s a fucking doll!

14

JACK

A loud, high-pitched cry forces me to take off my headset.

That cry can only mean one thing: Quinton is not here. He’s in Clancy!

As I recover from the piercing noise, a cacophony of voices emanates from the radio, painting a vivid picture of chaos.

“Sam! What the hell is going on?” I whisper-shout as I maintain my position.

However, my brother isn’t responding, and neither is Ava.

Regret swarms around me like an army of ants. I should’ve been there with Sam and Ava. This is so fucked up! I’m too close to the heart of the beast, I’ve become shortsighted, and I’m paying the price—or rather, Ava is paying the price.

Maybe Quinton is, too.

As I ponder a way to correct my missteps, I’m reminded of the sound I heard coming from outside this house just a moment ago. Did I misinterpret that faraway cry? Or did I merely imagine it?

Positioned near the door, Huxley grabs my attention, signaling for me to look outside. There, I spot the driver of thewhite van we’ve been observing making his way toward the house. It’s the round-faced man.

I block out all other thoughts and concentrate on apprehending the enemy in sight.

Now that the car engine has stopped, all I can hear are the round-faced man’s footsteps. He climbs onto the porch, and in the background, I hear the distant cry once more. I remove my headset, allowing it to hang around my neck. I can’t hear anything but static coming out of it.

The man takes another step, and suddenly, I hear it loud and clear. That cry is not coming from the radio. The voice is physically present here! Even Huxley hears it this time. He gives me a signal to quickly exit the door and leave him to handle our lone enemy.

Meanwhile, the footsteps outside come to a halt. The round-faced man bends down to pick up something while grumbling, “Stupid fucking toy!” It turns out he’s picking up the plush giraffe that was left behind among the junk.

At my command, Huxley and I barge through the door. The Comet swiftly grabs his arms, locking them behind his back while simultaneously covering his mouth—clearly, our enemy is about to alert someone. But he’s no match for Huxley and me. While my partner ties his hands, I gag our captive.

Now that we’re outside, the cry becomes clearer. It’s still distant, so there’s no way it’s coming from inside the van that’s parked just a few yards away. With just one glance, Huxley understands exactly what I’m thinking. He’s like a younger brother I never had.

“I’ve got him!” Huxley grits out, determination in his voice.

Without hesitation, I sprint toward the source of the cry. It’s coming from along the street. As I turn the corner, my eyes catch sight of some movements. There, just outside a park,stands a man who is impatiently gesturing to someone. And then, as if out of nowhere, a stroller glides into view from behind a cluster of trees.

Slowly, a woman emerges. I’m still a distance away, but I’m certain it’s the babysitter trying to comfort the crying baby nestled in the stroller. I know the rules. One of them is never to assume. But even without visuals, I know in my heart that it’s Quinton.

Suddenly, my attention diverts as the man catches sight of me. He raises his weapon and begins firing. The babysitter’s scream pierces through the chaos, her figure vanishing into the depths of the park, frantically pushing the stroller away. Even in broad daylight, the surrounding area is cloaked in shadows thanks to the dense, towering trees. It could well be a forest.

The man’s relentless barrage of bullets forces me to seek shelter, but I can’t lose Quinton. I have to finish the gunman before the babysitter runs too far. He’s about a hundred yards away, and I only have a pistol with me. But it’s my trusty SIG, known for its accuracy over long ranges.

I take aim and squeeze the trigger, bringing down the assailant in a single shot. His body crashes to the ground. After detecting no movement, I approach. Sweat drips down my brow as I kneel beside him, ensuring he is no longer a threat.

The immediate danger has passed, but my next action will make or break the mission—and the stakes are the life of a baby. I sprint toward the spot where the babysitter disappeared, my eyes scanning the surroundings for clues. As I venture further, a trail comes into view, a faint imprint amid the underbrush. My heart quickens at the sight, propelling me forward. Not far in the distance, I catch a glimpse of them.

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