Page 12 of Kidnapping of a Myth

“I’m not seeing any pull-offs or paths,” Eamon said, his voice dangerously rough. “No bent foliage either.”

“Me neither,” Bel agreed. “But the cameras don’t monitor every stretch of this lane. If Peter Pann worked for the Darling family for two years, he would’ve driven here often. He also would’ve had access to the security room to memorize the camera’s blind spots. It would have been easy for him to drive the estate undetected.”

“Let’s double back with that in mind,” Eamon said. “At some point, he had to leave the main lane to avoid detection. There’s bound to be signs of his car somewhere.”

“If we can find the most logical stretches of road, we can—stop!” Bel shouted so loud that Eamon slammed on the brakes with a startled grunt, and she jerked forward, her seatbelt constricting around her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Eamon scanned the area for the threat, but Bel gestured behind them.

“Go back! Go back!” She unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted to stare out the rear window as he eased the car into reverse. “Stop,” she ordered after he retreated fifteen feet, and she jumped out onto the road before the vehicle stopped rolling.

“What is it?” Eamon parked as she raced for the tree line.

“Second star on the right.” She pointed at the expertly manicured trees, for tucked away in the foliage were the overgrown remains of an old structure. “Second star on the right and straight toward morning. It wasn’t a hidden meaning meant to expose Wendy. It was directions.” She couldn’t tell if it was originally a sign used to mark the estate or the ruins of a forgotten building, but the message was clear. The rubble had two stars carved into its crumbling stone… two stars on the right side of the road.

“Isobel, wait,” Eamon cautioned, but she was deaf to his warning.

“The Tinker assumed Wendy would remember these and leave the mansion to search for her brothers. They’re on the right side of the lane when driving toward the exit.” The excitement in her voice echoed off the trees. “These stars face east…” She paused, her eyes studying the sky. “The sunrise… that’s what he meant by straight toward morning.”

“Isobel.” Eamon picked up his pace, closing in on her as she took off through the underbrush.

“This is where he said we’d find them.” She moved faster, searching for a clue, a tire track, anything that would lead her to the Darling boys. “John? Mich?—”

Click!

The sound was unmistakable, and Bel froze as a flood of crippling fear consumed her muscles. The subtle vibration beneath her shoe warned of the terror her future held, and she knew what would happen to her if she moved her foot even a fraction of an inch. Her legs felt suddenly unstable. Her breathstrangled in her lungs, and her limbs shook, even though she understood what the slightest movement would do. She couldn’t help it. The fear was too great. She knew what that click heralded, and there was no escaping her fate. This was how she died.

With slow and terrified movements, she twisted, careful not to move her foot, and met Eamon’s horrified gaze. Their eyes locked, and tears flowed down her cheeks of their own accord. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not in front of the man who loved her. He shouldn’t have to watch her get blown to pieces.

Her hands shook as she opened her mouth. Her falling tears stained her shirt as she spoke one final word. It came out like a plea, like an apology, like a prayer. It left her tongue as pure fear.

“Eamon.”

Click!

The sound was unmistakable, and Eamon froze, fear bleeding into his muscles. He knew what would happen to the beauty who owned his heart if she moved her foot even a fraction of an inch, and his entire body stilled. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. His heart rate slowed, and it was as if he’d become stone. His body fell unnaturally still while hers trembled, for they both understood what that click heralded. There was no escaping her fate. This was how she died.

With slow and terrified movements, Bel twisted without lifting her foot and met his gaze. Their eyes locked, and tears flowed down her cheeks of their own accord. Yet he did not move.

Her hands shook as she opened her mouth. Her falling tears stained her shirt as she spoke one final word. It came out like a plea, like an apology, like a prayer. It left her tongue as pure fear, and it was an arrow to his heart, bloody and agonizing and deadly.

“Eamon.”

His name sparked a chain reaction, and Eamon’s powerful legs bent below him. With a speed unmatched in nature, he launched himself at Bel, for his stillness hadn’t been paralyzing fear. It had been a calculated preparation for an inhuman feat of strength. One he feared not even he could accomplish, but he had no choice. He would not watch the woman he loved be ripped to pieces, and so Eamon ran.

His power propelled him across the road in a blink of an eye, and he slammed into Bel so hard, she screamed. He dove into the trees, his beauty captured in his arms, but the instant her foot released its pressure on the plate, their world exploded. Debris and death vaulted up from the ground, enveloping them as they crashed to the earth with a bone-jarring impact. Eamon wrapped his body around her smaller frame, shielding her from the firestorm of pain. Bel cried out as he landed on top of her, stones digging brutally into her spine, but Eamon ignored her agony, pulling her beneath him to shield her from the explosion. Soil and shrapnel rained down on him, but he did not move. He held his beloved in the dirt, held her against his heart, and only once the dust settled did he pull back to look at her face.

“Are you—?” his question died in his throat when his eyes locked on her. Blood. Too much blood. It bathed her sweatshirt and coated the tips of her brunette curls. He hadn’t saved her. He’d tried, but he’d failed. He hadn’t been fast enough. She was bleeding out in his arms, and the edges of his vision blurred black with panic.

“Isobel!” He tore at her shirt, shredding the fabric to find the wound. He needed to staunch the flow, to stop her from exsanguinating in the dirt like an animal. She couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her because he couldn’t live without her. If she died, he would lie down and die beside her because there was no life without Isobel Emerson.

“Where are you hurt?” His movements were erratic as he shoved her sweatshirt up her torso. He braced for the carnage, but the only marks he found were her healed scars. She was whole and perfect, her skin soft beneath the crimson stains.

“It’s not mine!”

Eamon jerked at the sudden sound of her voice, finally registering that she was screaming. How long had she been screaming?

“Eamon!” she seized his face, forcing him to look at her. “It’s not my blood.”

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