Page 71 of Emma's Element

“That’s enough now,” Harrison thundered, grabbing Emma’s arm and yanking her to her feet.

“Wait!” Marcus called. “It’s freezing out there. She’ll never last long enough to track Charlie. She’ll succumb to hypothermia. Let her take her coat.” Emma met his eyes, a slight smirk on her lips. Harrison mulled the request over for a minute before agreeing. The man who’d hovered next to Colleen through the entire ugly episode picked up the coat and placed it on her shoulders. Guess they weren’t willing to cut her bonds yet. At least she had the coat. There was hope.

Harrison shoved Emma through the front door and followed with Colleen but not before Marcus heard him whisper to the two minions remaining to kill his son once they were gone.

Chapter twenty-five

Emmatrompedthroughthesnow, wishing she had her coat on more securely as the cold settled in her bones. The ache in her face from where she’d been struck throbbed with each step. She’d tried to hide the worst of the pain she’d felt from Marcus, knowing how close he was to losing it. All those guns pointed in his direction scared her more than having one held on her.

The sun was melting the snow quickly, but it wasn’t warm enough to keep the chill away. She tried making as much of a messy trail as she could without being completely obvious. Marcus would come after her as soon as he was free. But in the meantime, she had to figure a way out of this mess. But how in the world was she going to do that? There were three of them, well, two men and Colleen. But they had guns. She needed a weapon. Something sharp. Or blunt. She searched the ground as she moved, the snow making it difficult to see anything but Charlie’s footprints.

She repeatedly stumbled, hoping she could convince them she needed her hands loose in order to work her tracking skills better. Finally, Harrison got impatient with her “stumbles.”

“What the fuck, bitch? Why can’t you stay upright?”

“It’s hard to walk in this slush without my hands to balance me.”

Harrison huffed and continued walking. When she fell to her knees again, he growled. “Jesus Christ.”

She held her hands up to stop his tirade while pointing to a spot on the ground in front of her. “Look, there are his footprints. If my hands were free, I could measure his pace and estimate exactly where he would be heading and how fast he’s moving.” It wasn’t a complete lie. They did occasionally use a sign-cutting stick to measure a person’s stride, not their hands.

Harrison sighed, then gestured to the other guy who stepped forward with a knife cutting her bonds. She made a show of measuring the distance between two footprints, then got to her feet, confidently following the directions the steps were headed. Sliding her arms into her coat, she quickly got to work, tearing a hole in the lining to get to the feathers.

Emma knew as soon as Marcus mentioned her needing a coat that he was remembering finding her during their practice search using the little feathers that kept working loose from her coat. She would try to do everything in her power to make it as easy as possible for him to find her.

Volunteering to find Charlie may not have been the smartest thing to do, it could very well be the worst mistake ever. But the Nighthawks were on their way, she needed to give them time. She moved slowly, pretending to analyze the area. Feigning a search for clues as to Charlie’s whereabouts. She knew that if she found him too fast, they would kill her.

Time. Time was her friend.

Just then, something on the ground caught her eye. It glinted in the sun. When she drew closer to it, she pretended to slip on a patch of snow and fell to her knees. She grabbed it in her hands before the thug hauled her back to her feet. She couldn’t believe her luck. A tent stake! She shoved it up her sleeve to hide it. While at the same time using the pointed end to cut through the lining in her coat.

Now, not only had she reached the feathers to lay her trail, but she also had a weapon. She had to be smart about this. Choose just the right moment to act. The question was, could she kill someone? She’d never had reason to in the Coast Guard. She’d hunted the bad guys, arrested them. But never had to kill them.

She’d been trained to, of course. She’d had hand-to-hand combat. Plus, all her fencing training. But you couldn’t fence against a gun. Therefore, she would have to catch them unaware. Not to mention, move quickly enough to get them both, if she could find something else and strike them both at the same time. A large rock or something that she could throw to knock one of them out.

And maybe hell would freeze over.She was dreaming. She’d never be able to take out Colleen and two men with guns with a tent stake and a rock. Her best option was to stall and hope that Marcus and the guys could catch up to them.

Marcususedtheka-barEmma had slipped him to free his hands, ignoring the nicks and cuts he was sustaining. The two idiots left to watch him had raided Graham’s liquor cabinet and were sitting at the table downing shot after shot, which would work perfectly for Marcus’s plan.

“Finally, we get the easy assignment,” Shorty remarked. Stretch grunted and downed another shot. “How long do you think we should wait before we off the guy?” Shorty refilled both shot glasses while Stretch shrugged.

Let them get good and drunk. They’d be easier to deal with. He was slicing the tape on his ankles when the helicopter passed over the cabin. Good, the cavalry was here. The idiots were looking at the ceiling as if they could spot the source of the noise through it.

He got to his feet as quietly as possible and snuck up behind them. Moving quickly, he grabbed Shorty’s gun out of his waistband and knocked him in the head with it. Stretch reacted quicker than he expected and pulled his gun. Marcus lashed out with the knife and sliced the guy’s gun hand, the weapon clattering to the ground.

Shorty had recovered from the blow to the head and threw a punch at him. He caught the blow in the stomach. Marcus doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

That obnoxious snicker of Shorty’s made his ire rise. “You really think you can take both of us, Titan? Are all actors as stupid as you? Give up now, and we’ll make your death easy for you. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can get to the good stuff. I’m looking forward to getting a taste of your girl.”

Rising quickly, his rage fueling him, Marcus punched Shorty with an uppercut, knocking him to the ground. Stretch tried reaching for his gun with his uninjured hand. Marcus kicked out, knocking him over.

Shorty was back on his feet and had pulled a knife. Marcus hadn’t anticipated another weapon but wouldn’t let it deter him. They circled each other. Shorty struck first, but Marcus easily dodged, executing a move that would make his sparring trainer proud. He lashed out with his knife, slicing the guy on the arm. That pissed Shorty off.

“Guess you underestimated the actor,” Marcus taunted.

Shorty howled and charged angrily at Marcus. He spun away and lashed the guy on his back. A nice angry slice. The man howled in pain as blood stained his shirt. By that time, Stretch was back on his feet . . . with his gun. Crap. His time was up.

The sound of the shot made his ears ring, but apparently, the guy was trashed. The shot grazed him in the arm, but he pushed the stinging pain aside and chortled. “That’s the best you got? Maybe you should have laid off the liquor.”

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