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  “Good. Good,” Boyd said. “That’s what I like. Quick action. Come on, Gretchen. We’re getting out of here.” He nudged her forward, the gun slipping away from her face, and this time she was ready. She swung the handcuff, slamming it into his temple.

  She expected the explosion of gunfire. Instead, she heard an angry snarl, and a large dog flew past, clamping his jaws on Boyd’s leg and dragging him to the ground.

  Not Quinn.

  Beacon.

  He must have come through the window.

  She moved away from the writhing man and the dog. She’d seen Beacon the day he’d finally arrived from Afghanistan and been reunited with Isaac Goddard. He hadn’t seemed vicious then. Now he was terrifying, Boyd’s screams filling her ears.

  She felt sick.

  Really sick, and she stumbled to the couch, dropped down and pressed her head to her knees.

  “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Justin was beside her, his hand on her back, and she turned her head so she could see his face.

  “Where’s Yvette?”

  “In cuffs out in the hall with Ava and Oliver.”

  “I can’t believe she’s been working with him all this time,” she murmured, her head throbbing with every word.

  “She had us all fooled.” He felt her pulse, his fingers gentle on her wrist. “There’s an ambulance on the way. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “I’d rather stay here and see what Boyd has to say.” She stood, and he grabbed her arm, holding her steady.

  “I don’t think standing is a good idea.”

  “I agree,” Vanessa said, suddenly on Gretchen’s other side. “Sit. Let me take a look. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Not enough to kill me,” she said, sitting down again, because she still felt dizzy and off balance.

  She tried not to wince as Vanessa probed the head wound, focusing instead on Justin and Isaac. They flanked Boyd, their dogs close beside them. He was cuffed, angry and as arrogant as ever.

  “This isn’t the end, Justin,” he said, his face filled with rage. “I’m going to win. I always do.”

  “Not this time.” Oliver stepped into the room, flashing his FBI badge at Boyd as he read him his Miranda rights, and Gretchen closed her eyes, trying to still the spinning world and anchor herself to the moment.

  She was alive.

  Justin was alive.

  The team and their dogs were all okay.

  And Boyd had been caught.

  Finally. After months of hunting him, he’d been captured.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered out loud, and someone squeezed her hand.

  “I was just saying the same thing,” Justin said, and she opened her eyes, realized she was on a gurney in the elevator.

  She could hear someone crying, and she tried to sit up.

  “Don’t,” Justin said, touching her shoulder and urging her to relax.

  “Is that Portia?”

  “No. She’s still at the safe house, remember?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

  “I got hit hard, but I haven’t lost my memory. I just... Who’s crying?” It wasn’t a large elevator, and there was just enough room for the gurney, Justin and a medic.

  None of them were crying.

  She didn’t think.

  She touched her cheek. Just to be sure.

  Justin smiled. “It’s not you. In case you’re wondering. Yvette is down in the lobby. She’s been sobbing since I cut through the sliding glass door and took her into custody.”

  “I don’t think many people would be happy about going to jail.”

  “It’s not jail she’s worried about,” he said as the doors slid open.

  Another medic was waiting in the lobby, and he helped roll the gurney out.

  She thought he might be saying something to her, but she couldn’t hear anything over Yvette’s ear-piercing cries.

  “Please!” she screamed. “Take me to the same prison. I just want to know we’re close. Please, I’m begging you. Please.”

  “Someone shut her up!” Boyd shouted, his voice thundering through the lobby.

  “Wow. Some lovebirds. They sound more like alley cats,” Gretchen said as she was wheeled outside.

  “I was thinking the same,” Justin replied.

  “She’s mentally ill,” she said, because she was afraid she’d close her eyes and lose the opportunity. Yvette was sick and needed treatment.

  She also needed to be behind bars.

  “She’s being transported to a high-security VA mental facility. That’s why she’s screaming,” he explained. “She thought they were going to the base prison together.”

  “Is that where he’s going?”

  “No. We’re transporting him directly to the federal prison he escaped from. Which I’m sure he knew would happen if he was caught. That’s not what he told Yvette, though. He had her convinced that they’d be brought to our holding cell, and he’d escape again. With her, of course.”

  “Of course. She’s going to be shocked when he turns on her during the trial, and you know he will. He was planning to abandon her and leave with me as his hostage. Meanwhile, she’d been dreaming of happily-ever-after. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her. She might be mentally ill, but she did ask Boyd to kill me.”

  “I heard. I was outside the window when you had that conversation with her. I wanted to break the glass and climb through, but I was afraid you’d be hurt before I could get both Boyd and Yvette under control. So I followed the plan and waited for Isaac to show. It was the worst three minutes of my life.”

  “Really?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

  “Really. I’ve enjoyed having you as a partner, Gretchen. But I enjoy having you in my life even more.”

  “I feel the same way,” she said, halfway thinking she was in a dream, because the world suddenly seemed made of soft edges and gentle slopes. Nothing hard or difficult or ugly.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I have some plans for after you’ve recovered.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “Moonlit walks, picnics after church, sitting beside the fire and listening to Portia gab with her friends while we just enjoy each other’s company.”

  She smiled at that, because she could picture it happening. She could picture him—walking beside her for days and weeks and years to come. “That sounds like...”

  “What?” he asked, touching her cheek and looking into her eyes.

  “Like everything I could ever dream of.”

  “Good, because all of my dreams of the future suddenly have you in them. I love you, Gretchen. I need to say that now, because when Boyd had his gun to your cheek, I realized how much I would regret it if I never got the chance to say the words.”

  “I love you, too,” she murmured, and he smiled.

  “Sir?” one of the medics said, interrupting them. “Are you planning to ride along?”

  “Am I?” Justin asked her.

  Two words, but it seemed like more. It seemed like the most important question he’d ever asked.

  “Can his dog come?” she asked, and the medic shrugged.

  “I don’t see a problem with it.”

  “Then yes,” she responded, holding on to Justin’s hand as she was rolled onto the ambulance, looking into his face as an IV was started. Memorizing the curl of his lashes and the curve of his lips. The fine lines near his eyes and the ones that bracketed his mouth. Filing every detail away, because this moment was the beginning of their journey together.

  And she didn’t want to forget any of it.

  THIRTEEN

  Thanksgiving

  It had been a long time since Gretchen had been part of a big Thanksgiving celebration. She’d been back home for the holidays a few times over the past eight years,
but her brothers were usually in distant locations, and Thanksgiving with her parents had been a quiet, intimate event. After years of hosting airmen and their families, that was the way her mother and father wanted it.

  Gretchen didn’t mind, but she’d missed the controlled chaos of large holiday gatherings. She’d always enjoyed the sounds of people chatting and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Growing up in a military family had meant moving a lot and leaving a lot behind, but it had also meant making strangers family.

  Today, she was going back to those roots and to the sweetest of childhood memories. She couldn’t wait.

  She eyed herself in the mirror above her dresser, trying to ignore the deep circles beneath her eyes and the paleness of her skin. She’d spent nearly a week in the hospital after Boyd’s attack, recovering from a fractured skull and a severe concussion. Even now, three weeks after the attack, she tired easily. She’d been on medical leave since the incident. Hopefully, she’d be cleared to work following the holidays. Once she finished her required time at the base, she could return to Minot.

  Her phone rang as she grabbed her purse and stepped out of the bedroom. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled. Portia had come out of her shell since she’d returned from the safe house. She’d begun making friends at school, and she seemed happier, more content with her life. She enjoyed sharing stories about her day, telling Gretchen about her new friends.

  Gretchen, for her part, had been happy for the distraction. Inactivity was boring, and she’d had too much of that while she was recovering.

  “Hello?” She held the phone to her ear as she walked down the hall and pushed the elevator button.

  “Hi, Gretchen, it’s Portia.”

  “I gathered that from the caller ID.”

  “Yeah. I had to say it, anyway. My mother drilled phone manners into my head.”

  “Are you missing her more today?” Gretchen asked, stepping onto the elevator.

  “I miss her more every day,” Portia replied, the sadness in her voice unmistakable.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to have Thanksgiving without her. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Hurry up and get here? Dad said we can start the celebration once you’ve arrived.”

  “Am I late?” She glanced at her watch, worried that maybe she’d gotten confused. That had been a problem after the head injury. Although she’d been better during the past week. Clearer thinking. More focused.

  According to the neurologist who was treating her, she still wasn’t quite back to normal, but Gretchen could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  “No. It’s still early. I just wanted to make sure you were coming. We invited the families of two of my friends from school. I don’t want to act stupid in front of them.”

  “You’re not stupid, so that would be impossible.”

  “I think you’re forgetting that I was the anonymous blogger,” Portia said with a sigh.

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Not mistakes that almost get people they love killed. Anyway, Dad keeps saying I have to forgive myself, so I’m trying.”

  “Your dad is smart, too,” Gretchen said.

  “Would you say that if you weren’t madly in love with him?” Portia giggled, obviously amused by her assessment of Gretchen and Justin’s relationship.

  “Madly, huh?”

  “Would you call it something else?”

  “I’d call it...wonderfully, beautifully, happily.”

  “The happy part sounds good. I love you both, and I want both of you to always be that. So, you’re on the way?”

  “Yes. Heading to my car now,” she responded, stepping outside and crossing the parking lot.

  “The doctor said you could drive, right? Because I don’t want...” Her voice trailed off, but Gretchen heard what she didn’t say: that she didn’t want Gretchen to get into an accident.

  “Yes. I got cleared yesterday, and I’m thrilled. Maybe we can go Black Friday shopping tomorrow.”

  “No way. You’ve got to rest, and that won’t be restful. I’ll see you in a few.” The teen disconnected, and Gretchen dropped her phone into her purse.

  The sun was high and warm, the air chilly. Someone had a fire burning, the warm aroma drifting on the late-November air.

  This wasn’t supposed to be home, but lately it had felt like it. She’d expected to come to Canyon, do what she’d been assigned and return to Minot. She’d known she’d have to make a decision about her military career, but she hadn’t imagined that she’d have something even bigger to decide.

  Not that there was a decision.

  She knew in her heart that a military career wasn’t for her. Just like she knew deep down where it counted that right here was where she wanted to be. Close to Justin and Portia and all the people she’d come to care about. She’d spent some time with Ava these past few weeks, watching her train puppies for search and rescue. There were several civilian search and rescue teams in Texas, and she planned to join one after her honorable discharge from the air force.

  She also planned to get her master’s in forensic profiling. Eventually, she’d like to use trace evidence to make cases against criminal offenders.

  She and Justin had discussed it over several dinners and over ice cream and over cups of coffee. Just thinking about the conversations they’d had and the time they’d spent together made her smile. She was still afraid of heartache. She was still worried that she might be shattered again one day.

  But Justin was worth risking her heart.

  And God was good.

  He’d brought them through so many trials and challenges, and brought them to a place where they could meet and fall in love and make something beautiful out of the tragedy.

  She pulled up in front of Justin’s house, her heart pounding a little harder, her pulse beating happily in her veins. She could see people in the backyard, gathered under canopies that Justin had set in place the previous day. Adults. Kids. Teens. Dogs.

  Family.

  Not by blood or even by legality.

  There was one thing she’d learned after spending a lifetime in the military. Sometimes family was a disparate group of people brought together by God.

  She got out of the car, pulling her sweater a little tighter as a cool November breeze chased leaves across the grass.

  A dog barked, and Quinn was suddenly there, nudging her hand with his nose, begging to be petted.

  “Hey, boy. I bet you’re having a fun day.”

  “He’s having the time of his life,” Justin responded, walking across the yard. Sun glinted in his hair and his flannel shirt pulled taut across his muscular shoulders, but it was his smile that made her heart swell with dreams she’d once thought were dead.

  “And are you having fun?” she asked.

  “More so now,” he responded, pressing a quick, warm kiss to her lips. “You’re beautiful, Gretchen.”

  “And you’re a flatterer. But I’ll accept the compliment.” She took his hand, Quinn falling into step beside them as they headed around to the backyard.

  She could see Linc Colson and his wife, Zoe, her little boy standing between them, and Linc’s rottweiler lying in a warm patch of sunlight beside them. They were talking to Isaac and Vanessa, Beacon sitting next to Isaac and leaning against his leg.

  “It’s good to see them together,” she said aloud.

  “Who?” Justin asked, his palm warm against hers.

  “Isaac and Beacon.”

  “I agree. Beacon is being retired from the military and is training to be Isaac’s obedience and protection dog.”

  “I have a feeling Beacon will be good at any task.” That reminded her of another German shepherd. “How’s Scout doing?”

  “Great. Westley has given all four shepherds some peace and quiet and
rehab time, but they’re getting back to work, and none of them seem the worse for wear.”

  “I’m glad. And I’m glad Boyd is where he belongs.”

  “And that Yvette is getting the treatment she needs,” Justin added.

  “Still no link between her and his crimes?”

  “She helped him get on and off base. She helped him keep you prisoner. She did admit to planting the rose and the threatening note in her apartment to throw us off her track. More than likely, she’ll be court-martialed and sent to a mental hospital for the rest of her life.”

  “Gretchen!” Portia called, racing across the yard, two teenage girls with her. “This is Lauren and Stacia. We’re all on the school’s yearbook committee. We’re also starting a journalism club.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Gretchen said, greeting each of the teens, happy and excited to see Portia connecting with people who had similar interests.

  “It’s going to be. We’re going to do some investigative reporting on what they’re putting into the cafeteria meals. We’re thinking it’s not actually food.”

  “Portia, don’t get into trouble trying to prove that theory,” Justin warned, and Portia laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I learned my lesson about digging up dirt. I’m going to keep my nose clean and do this the right way. Come on, girls. You can help me bring out that surprise I showed you earlier.”

  The girls hurried away, and Gretchen smiled. “I remember being that age.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Long enough,” she said. “Not that I’d ever want to go back. It’s hard making friends when you’re the new kid.”

  “I hope she’s happy,” he said quietly, watching as Portia and her friends rushed into the house.

  “She is. You’re doing a great job, Justin. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  “So, there’s more than one, huh?” He pulled her close, kissing her tenderly.

  “Hey, none of that stuff,” Maisy Lockwood called as she walked across the yard, a casserole dish in her hands. Chase McLear was beside her, his little girl in his arms. They made a beautiful family, his beagle, Queenie, trotting along behind.