The Soldier's Mission. Lenora Worth

good eyesight. She’d come across the state to save Paco, not watch him die. She would have to shoot the intruder.

      Paco knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Matched in sheer strength by the other man, he fought for control—and his life. With each grunt, each surge of renewed energy, he wrestled and pushed his fingers against the stranger’s thick throat muscles. If he could just find the right amount of pressure—

      The room shook with a thundering roar and then the man holding Paco in a death grip went limp, his hands loosening and falling away, his expression going from determined and enraged to a surprised tranquility. Paco watched while the intruder’s bulging, hate-filled eyes closed and he fell back on the floor with a heavy thud. For a minute, Paco didn’t let go of his own frozen grip on the man’s throat. But the silence and his own fast-moving breath brought him out of his stupor.

      Looking up and around, he caught at a hitched breath. “Laura?”

      She stood with the shotgun aimed high, her whole body trembling. “I’m okay.”

      Paco hopped up and stared down at the blood flowing from the stranger’s side. The man wasn’t breathing. Then he hurried to her. “Laura?”

      “Your grandfather,” she said, pointing a shaking hand toward the floor. “Go check on him!”

      Paco took the gun, prying it away from her white-knuckled fingers to carefully lower it to a table. Then he went into action.

      “Grandfather?” Paco felt for a pulse, relief washing through him when he found a faint beat pumping inside his grandfather’s wrinkled neck. “Wíago, talk to me!” Turning Walter’s head, he saw blood on the floor then felt around until he found the deep gash on the old man’s skull. “He’s bleeding from his nose and he hit his head. We need to get him to a doctor.”

      “I’ll call 911.”

      Paco lifted up, torn between getting the dead man out of the way and taking care of his grandfather. He didn’t have a choice. His grandfather could die. They had to call for help.

      “I’ll do it,” he told Laura. Thinking about the implications of the scene, he said, “I’ll have to explain this was self-defense.” He pulled out his phone and dialed, telling the operator to hurry. “My grandfather was attacked by an intruder and when he fell, he hit his head. He’s not responding. Yes, he has a pulse, but it’s weak.” He hurried to the man lying near the door and felt his pulse.

      “And the intruder is dead. Yes, from a gunshot wound. Can you please send someone?”

      After giving the dispatcher their location, he brought a blanket from the small den in the back and wrapped it around his grandfather, then checked him over again to be sure there were no other injuries. After doing everything he could to make Walter comfortable, Paco left the dead man where he was—afraid to disturb the scene. Then he finally turned to Laura.

      And saw that she was about to fall into a heap on the floor.

      “Laura,” he said, hurrying to her, wishing the nearest hospital wasn’t so far away. “Laura, are you sure you’re all right?”

      She bobbed her head, her arms crossed around her midsection, her gaze locked on the gruesome site of the man by the door. “Is that man dead?”

      He pulled her close, leveling his gaze on her until she looked at him. “Yes, he is. You saved my life.” He was as amazed by that as she seemed to be.

      “I…I didn’t know what to do. I had to stop him…and I thought I’d shot you at first. Is your grandfather going to be okay?”

      With each word, tears brimmed in her eyes until one lone drop moved down her right cheek. Paco reached up and caught the tear, keeping his gaze locked on her. “I hope so. I think he’s got a concussion and he’ll need stitches for the gash on his head. I’ve made him comfortable and the paramedics are on the way. But it’ll take them a few minutes. Let me check you over.”

      She tried to push away and stumbled, her face deadly pale. “I’m okay. I…Paco, I think I’m going to be sick.”

      Paco hurried her to the tiny bathroom in the back and waited at the door, keeping watch on his grandfather while he paced. When she came out a few minutes later, her skin was whitewashed with shock and she held a damp paper towel to her mouth.

      “Better?” he asked, guiding her to a chair.

      “I think so.” She looked up at him, her eyes as blue as a desert sky at midnight. “I’ve never killed anyone before. Now I know how you must feel.”

      That statement punctured Paco’s heart. How could such an innocent woman ever know or understand the way he felt? How could she be so brave, coming here to find him simply because she was worried about him? How could she get herself caught up in something that was probably of his making, put herself on the line like that for him, when she didn’t even know him?

      Before he could speak, she touched a trembling hand toward his heart. “I know what you were searching for that night, Paco.”

      Paco swallowed back the lump in his throat, the sound of distant sirens echoing inside his head right along with the rising echo of his pulse. She’d called him Paco. That meant she trusted him now, meant he’d allowed her to get that close already.

      “What then?” he asked, unable to stay quiet, unable to comprehend this whole morning.

      “You were looking for your heart. You wanted your soul back.” She cleared her throat, her delicate hand warm on his chest, her gaze full of understanding and redemption. “I read a poem once where there was this heart hunter. He was searching for his own heart. He wanted to feel that warmth in his soul again. You know, that warmth that comes from faith and love and grace. And forgiveness. And so do you, I think. That’s something we can all understand, something everyone longs for.”

      Paco lifted away, his head down. Grandfather always said there were no coincidences in life. He believed the Father knew all and saw all. Had God seen Paco’s pain that night, the struggle for his soul, the struggle he’d battled through between the Bible he’d clutched and the bottle that was trying to clutch him, all night long and well into the early light?

      Had God sent Laura to him?

      “We have to get you out of here,” he said in response, his thoughts too raw and fresh to express right now. He didn’t know how to voice his thoughts, even on a good day. “They’ll want a statement. Let me do all the talking. If they do ask you questions, just answer as briefly as possible. And be completely honest.”

      She dropped her hand away. “I have to tell them I shot that man.”

      Missing her warmth and needing to protect her, Paco said, “We could tell them I did it.”

      “No, I won’t lie to them. And you said to be honest. I shot him because he was trying to kill you. That’s the truth.”

      Paco knew she was right. They couldn’t lie. But he had a very bad feeling about this whole situation. And he knew this wasn’t over. Someone had sent a killer here two different times this morning. And they would keep coming until they hit their target.

      He headed to the door to show the paramedics where to go and to greet the two officers pulling up outside. Then he glanced back at Laura to make sure she was holding up.

      She gave him a wobbly half smile, her eyes still moist. Then she pushed at her hair and straightened her clothes, her head lifting as her eyes met his again.

      And Paco had to wonder who in the world would want to hurt this woman?

      She’d come here to help him, but in doing so she might have put herself in danger. Then she’d somehow managed to shoot a man in order to save Paco, which meant she was stronger than she looked. But that also meant she was now Paco’s responsibility.

      He had to get his grandfather to a safe place and he had to protect this woman no matter what. Maybe in the process, he just might