Where had the carjacker gone?
Mitch knew he had to be around here somewhere. They’d almost had him. But he’d underestimated the man.
He had to find Mackenzie. He couldn’t let her die. The very thought was repulsive to him.
He crawled on his knees through the dark cabin, searching for her.
Then he found her.
In a pool of something wet and sticky.
Mitch didn’t need to be able to see to know it was blood.
How badly was she hurt?
His hands roamed her body and quickly located the gaping hole in her side. He ripped off his shirt and pressed it against the wound.
At the pain that no doubt doubled as he put pressure on the gunshot wound hit her Mackenzie moaned.
He had no time to coddle her. “Here keep pressure on it,” he ordered, finding her hand and pressing it to her wound.
Then he went to work untying the ropes that bound her other hand to the bedpost. Untying the knots made all the harder by the fact he couldn’t see what he was doing.
“How does it feel?” he asked, more to check she was awake then because he didn’t know she must be in agony.
“Fine,” she croaked.
That was his girl. Tough, strong, determined, she didn’t give up and neither was he.
Taking much longer than he would have liked at last the ropes slid undone.
Mitch was about to snatch her up and run when pain exploded in his back, and the world spun around him.
His last thought before he blacked out was that he had failed Mackenzie, and now they were both going to die.