the mud packed in it. His eyes were brown, too. So ordinary, and yet, there was nothing ordinary about any of this.
He wasn’t looking at her now. Instead, he was squinting toward the trees, where the old man had gone a few minutes ago. Had he heard something? Was someone coming?
Hope flared in Darby’s chest. She risked a quick glance at Rafe, lying facedown in the mud a few feet away. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Was he alive? A sinking feeling shot through her, as if she was on a roller coaster and had just plunged down a steep drop. If he was alive, he wouldn’t be for long, not with his face in the mud, blocking his airway. She needed to wipe the mud from his nose and mouth.
She needed a weapon.
She glanced frantically around, searching for the rifle Rafe had been holding. When she saw it, her hopes plummeted. Only three feet away, so close, but impossible to reach because it was behind the gunman. Not that she knew how to use a gun anyway, even if she could somehow get to it without being shot. Her entire body started shaking.
Get it together, Darby. If Rafe is alive, you’re his only chance. You have to focus, help him. Somehow.
The gunman’s attention snapped back to her, and he took a step forward.
“What do you want?” she choked out past her tightening throat.
“I want these cuffs off,” he snarled, shaking the gun, making the cuffs on his wrists rattle against the short chain between them. “Get the key.”
“I don’t have the key. I don’t know where—”
“The cop. Check his pockets.”
Yes. Thank God. An excuse to go to Rafe.
She pushed herself up, sucking in a breath at the pain in her side, the sharp burn in her knees. Not sure she had the strength to stand, she crawled to Rafe’s still form, using the marshy grass to pull herself forward. When she reached him, she placed herself between him and the shooter so he couldn’t see what she was doing. She gently turned Rafe’s head to the side and wiped mud away from his nose and mouth.
Breathe. Come on, breathe.
“What are you doing?” The shooter’s angry voice was nearly on top of her. “You’re wasting time.” He cuffed the side of her head with the gun, throwing her against Rafe.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but risked one more swipe of her hand over Rafe’s mouth, carving out a depression in the mud.
“Get the key, or I’ll bust your skull just like his.”
His voice held the promise of death. She turned to the side, keeping a wary eye on him.
The sound of sirens in the distance had his mouth contorting with fury. He drew the gun back like a hammer, ready to strike.
“Okay, okay, I’m looking!” Darby dug her hand into Rafe’s back pockets, but the only thing she found was his wallet. She tried to roll him over, but he was too heavy. “I have to turn him over to check his front pockets. Help me.”
He hesitated, but the sound of sirens seemed to spur him on. He knocked her out of the way and used his foot to shove Rafe onto his back. Motioning her forward with his cuffed hands still wrapped around the gun, this time he aimed at Rafe’s head, his grip steady and firm.
“The key. Or the cop dies.”
Panic sucked the air from Darby’s lungs. She scrambled back to Rafe and shoved her hand in his front left pocket. She pulled out a roll of cash, which the gunman grabbed from her. She shoved her hand back in the same pocket, but it was empty. Moving to his other pocket, she slid her hand inside. Her fingers wrapped around a small chain, with a tiny key on the end. As she pulled out the key, the fingers of Rafe’s left hand brushed against her thigh. The movement was so slight, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.
Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were shut, but had his eyelashes fluttered? Was there a new tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before?
A dull thud against her cheekbone had her crying out and sprawling in the mud. Glaring at the gunman, she pushed herself back to a sitting position. The side of her face throbbed in rhythm with her racing pulse.
He raised the gun, ready to hit her again.
She held the key up in the