Countdown. Heather Woodhaven

officers probably had their sights and, hopefully, their weapons, trained on him. So they were clueless about this guy on the loose.

      The man walked around the front of her car. He stared at her with calculating eyes. He pointed the weapon at her and made a come-hither hand signal. Rachel gasped. He wasn’t looking to exact revenge. He wanted to use her as a hostage. To get away or to get the boys again? Or both? She inhaled sharply. The dispatcher. “Are you still there?” Her voice squeaked.

      No one responded. She turned the ignition. It released an awful grinding noise as if telling her it wouldn’t take any more of her abuse today. With one hand, she flipped open the console between the seats and felt for the hard plastic handle of her emergency escape tool.

      On one end, the pointed steel hammer ensured she’d be able to shatter the vehicle windows if needed. She imagined it’d pack a potent punch against an attacker, as well. She shoved it into her jacket pocket on the remote chance she was put in a hostage situation.

      Lord, bring help. She forced a façade of bravery and returned the man’s glare. The kidnapper seemed unfazed as he approached. She needed to get the police’s attention before he succeeded, but how?

      * * *

      James McGuire slapped the steering wheel. He’d lost sight of the back of Rachel’s maroon SUV. He couldn’t see where they’d gone. “Don’t take them away from me, too. I can’t—” The words stuck in his throat. The unbidden memory of being told his wife had been killed rushed to the forefront of his mind.

      He gritted his teeth and didn’t let up as the Dodge Charger jumped over a curb. He took each curve at a diagonal. He jerked his gaze from north to south at each side street as he barreled toward the east exit of the subdivision.

      Caleb and Ethan... His eyes stung from pent-up anguish and rage. A horn in the distance blared and didn’t let up. He sped closer and closer to the exit. The horn grew louder. “Please,” he groaned aloud. If ever he needed the Lord to hear his cry...

      He shot past the final corner. The white van sat parked across the subdivision entrance. His mouth went dry at the sight. They’d been stopped? His boys...were they? The horn continued to blare, the noise coming from Rachel’s SUV. Had she crashed? A man at her driver’s door lifted a gun toward her window while his other hand gestured for her to get out. His car windows muffled shouted words from a police officer’s megaphone. They wouldn’t get to her in time. Had they already pulled his boys to safety?

      The Charger revved and responded immediately the moment he shifted into high gear. James aimed the nose of the car for the man. The squeal of the tires finally got the man’s attention, his eyes wide, but the gun remained trained on Rachel. The man’s face contorted as if trying to make sense of where the car planned to go.

      James squinted and blocked out the rest of his surroundings. He would not lose another woman in his life to senseless violence. For half a second he questioned whether he should spare the man that laid a hand on his children. His heart squeezed, his neck tingled, and James exhaled as he slammed on the brake. The car skidded to a stop a centimeter away from the man’s legs.

      The kidnapper jumped backward, as if trying to get out of the way, at the sound of squealing brakes. His face paled as if he was unsure James had actually stopped. The man’s arms flailed. He fought for balance and lost. The gun slipped from his fingertips as he fell to the pavement.

      James thrust the car into Park and jumped out. He stepped toward the kidnapper, prepared to fight him if necessary to keep the gun from his reach. The man had already jumped to a crouched position and glanced between the gun and James. Most likely he was trying to judge if he could make it to the weapon before James pounced.

      James balled his hands into fists in response. The kidnapper snarled and sprinted past the nose of Rachel’s car, disappearing behind the closest house.

      The police fanned around the van, guns drawn, but pointed their weapons at the driver who had his hands up in the air. They didn’t run after the other man. Had they not known there were two of them? James couldn’t allow him to escape.

      Police cars screeched to a stop behind them. One cruiser squeezed past Rachel’s car and ramped up a driveway before two officers jumped out and pursued the kidnapper on the run. James relaxed his hands.

      Rachel stepped onto the pavement. The slight breeze moved her glossy, thick hair away from her pale face and wide eyes. James ran to her and grabbed her shoulders, looking for signs of shock. “Are you okay?”

      She trembled underneath his fingers but nodded rapidly. His gaze jerked back to the van swarmed with officers. He fought back the urge to run over and wrench the van door open, but he watched everyone on high alert. The last thing he wanted was to escalate the situation and to give them any reason to delay opening the door to his boys.

      He pulled Rachel to his chest, his chin grazing the top of her head. Her body shook, and he held her tight. Please let my boys be okay.

      An officer near the white van ran toward them. The cop spoke into his radio and waved his hand, indicating Rachel and James should stay back. Other officers pulled the driver out of the van. They pressed the man against the hood and proceeded to handcuff him.

      Rachel pulled away from James but grabbed for his hand. Any other moment and he would’ve felt uncomfortable with her touch for reasons he’d take days to analyze. But now, at this moment, it was as if they stood together in prayer, in unity, during the most excruciating wait of his life.

      The side door of the van slid open. Inside the cargo area, on the floor of the van, the twins clung to each other. His eyes burned, his throat tightened, and a wretched bark of relief escaped.

      The boys were safe. Thank You, Lord.

      He jolted forward, but the officer held a hand out. “Those are my sons.” It wasn’t a request, and he didn’t wait to hear the officer’s response. He ran at a full sprint to the van.

      “Daddy,” Caleb screamed. The twins let go of each other and held their arms out. They didn’t seem injured as the officers on either side of the door stepped back.

      James kneeled down. Caleb and Ethan hurdled into his open arms. His hands splayed across their small backs. Their soft cheeks, wet with tears, pressed into his temples.

      “Daddy.” Ethan’s cry mixed with a laugh broke his heart.

      “Guess what, Dad? I put on my seat belt all by self,” Caleb said, his little voice shaking. “Ethan needed help.”

      James opened his eyes enough to look into the van. A ripped-up bench seat in the back of the van held three seat belts. The middle of the van had holes on the floor where rows of seats used to reside. He choked back a sob at the provision of safety. “That was very smart of you boys. You’re not hurt? Are you sure?”

      They shook their heads. Their blond hair brushed against his hair. “Daddy, you saved us, huh?” Ethan nodded his head while he asked. His son’s long eyelashes held tiny teardrops.

      James closed his eyes. His entire body shook with emotion. He fisted the backs of their shirts, wishing he could hug them tighter but careful to be gentle. “God did, buddy.” The words barely escaped his swollen throat. “And He used our neighbor to help.”

      James twisted to look over his shoulder at the woman in question. She stood with a hand cupped over her mouth, her head bent. She’d always been attractive, but at the moment, she looked a thousand times more beautiful than he’d ever noticed.

      He fought back the habitual onslaught of questions and theories flooding his mind whenever a problem arose. It made him an asset to his company, but as a parent he didn’t want to face what his analytical mind shouted: this was too bizarre to be random.

      The events of the last week shifted together in his memory, a puzzle begging to be solved. The blood in his veins ran cold. Bottom line: it had to be his fault, and he had no guarantee they wouldn’t try again.