When he’d dreamed of getting Macey back alive Tyler had thought that the waiting would be over. Waiting for news, waiting for a lead, waiting for evidence, waiting to have her back in his arms where she belonged.
Now that he had her back he was still waiting.
Only now he was waiting for Michael Cummings to make his move.
Time to play the ultimate game of cat and mouse.
If the stakes weren’t so high, and so personal, then Tyler would enjoy the hunt, he loved his job, bringing down criminals gave him a rush, and there was nothing so satisfying as snapping handcuffs on someone who deserved to be in prison.
But this was Macey’s life they were playing with and that meant he just wanted this over.
She was fast asleep, tucked up in his bed, and he was glad she was getting some rest. The doctor at the hospital had given her some sleeping pills and he thought he was going to have to fight with her to get her to take them but she had acquiesced easily. That was a testament to the toll the last four months had taken on her.
Movement out the window caught his attention and he climbed off the bed, picked up his gun and crossed the room. It was dark out, and he scanned the yard, searching for anything moving.
Tyler was about to give up when he saw it again. Over by the back fence, behind the old oak tree that he and Macey used to sit under on warm summer evenings. There was a man.
“Ryder, back yard, there’s someone there,” he said into his radio.
“On it,” Ryder said.
He was about to turn back to the bed when he noticed a beam of light like from a flashlight. It looked like someone was trying to get a look at the house, maybe figure out which room Macey might be in.
It had to be Michael.
Since Macey was fast asleep he decided to head out there, Michael wasn’t going to go down easily, and there was no way the man was slinking away again.
Running down the stairs he burst through the back door as he saw Ryder round the house. The beam of light winked out.
“Ryder, over here,” he said running in the direction he’d seen the light.
Footsteps pounded and he knew that Michael was trying to flee again.
Not going to happen.
Picking up speed he caught movement to his left and didn’t even think, just threw himself at the other man.
Tyler connected with him, tackling him to the ground. Michael fought against him but four months of anger and frustration was fuelling him and he managed to spin the man onto his stomach, arms pulled behind his back, pinned in place.
“Cuffs,” he asked no one in particular, and when he was given a pair he snapped them on and rolled Michael over.
The man was wearing a black hood pulled low on his face, and Tyler shoved it back and then gasped.
This wasn’t Michael Cummings, it was some kid, from the looks of him barely old enough to drive.
A trick.
This had been a trick to get them out of the house, leaving Macey alone and vulnerable.
“Macey,” he screamed as he stood and tore back through the yard, praying he wasn’t too late.