Page 45 of Rescuer
Bits of rock and dirt crumbled when she shifted.
Jackson’s gut clenched, but Mia never faltered. Please, Lord, keep her safe.
He waited until she’d gone a few more feet. He didn’t want to land on top of her. Normally, he’d wait until she was near the bottom, but they didn’t have the luxury of time. He needed to move. Now.
He checked his harness and grabbed the rope. Backing toward the edge, he glanced over his shoulder to gauge his distance from the ledge. He heard a sound and whipped his head back toward where they’d come from.
A figure burst from the tree line. He didn’t have a gun, but he was built like a linebacker. Jackson barely had the chance to register more than a tall shape in a dark hoodie, pulled tight and obscuring the face, before the man pounced on him. They struggled for a moment, but the added weight unbalanced Jackson, who had already been leaning back. Their feet got tangled together.
With a furious roar, the large man threw Jackson away from him. Toward the ledge. Jackson started going over. He twisted and clawed at the earth, holding himself half on the ground while his legs hung over the edge. He tried to scrabble up.
He needed to grab the rope.
“Enjoy your fall.” His opponent rushed him, shoving him into midair.
Jackson shouted once, then he free-fell past Mia, his arms spiraling in the air. He frantically grabbed for the rope. Catching it with one hand, he tightened his grip. His descent slowed, but he was still out of control.
Abruptly, the lead he’d given himself ended. The rope jerked on his halter. He swung like a pendulum. Jackson flailed his free arm, twisting to grab the rope. His motion made him sway wildly again.
His body collided with the rocky surface and bounced. The pack on his back took the blow. He wasn’t so lucky when he collided again. Both his shoulder and his head slammed into the surface.
Stunned, Jackson stopped fighting.
“Mia,” he croaked. He tried to raise his head, to tell her to keep going without him, but the effort was too great.
The darkness pulled him under.
Mia had been nearing the midpoint of her descent when she heard Jackson shout. She’d raised her eyes in time to see him hurled out into space. Horrified, Mia watched him sail past her. He dropped another thirty feet, his arms and legs brushing gray rocks.
His body slammed into the wall of the cliff, and she flinched. Tears blocked her vision. She blinked them back. Please, don’t be dead. All the anger and bitterness bled out as Jackson swung limply. His hands hung at his sides, his blond hair flopped over his face, obscuring her view of him.
Glancing at the top of the ridge, she didn’t see anyone peering down. She wasn’t naive enough to think the danger had passed. No. Whoever had pushed him over the edge was still there. What was he waiting for?
Mia needed to get to Jackson before whoever wanted them dead came back to finish the job.
Tightening her hands on her line, she carefully lowered herself. Rappelling was all about control. Mia appreciated that factor. She’d had so little control in her life growing up. At this moment, though, every nerve urged her to hurry. But she couldn’t. One wrong step, and she’d be in the same, or worse, shape as Jackson.
She forced herself to concentrate, smoothly dropping lower and lower. Finally, she and Jackson were on the same level. Now came the challenging part. She found a foothold and began the slow move sideways.
When she reached Jackson, she carefully scanned him for injuries. Blood dripped from a wound on his head and into his hair, but his eyes were open.
“Mia?”
Her heart lurched. Even though he was awake, the confusion in his voice shook her. Did he know where they were or what had happened?
“Let me help you. You hit your head on the wall.”
A shower of dirt rained on them. She glanced up. A man in a black hoodie grinned down at them. She grabbed her gun. He pulled out a knife. She aimed and shot. He ducked and fell upon the rope connected to her harness. He began to saw at it. She lifted her gun, aimed again, and squeezed off another shot.
The man screamed and dropped the knife. The handle struck her shoulder before the small weapon disappeared below.
The man had vanished.
He wouldn’t stay gone for long. She’d injured him, but not fatally.
She didn’t have time to waste. Grabbing hold of Jackson, she helped him descend, keeping up a steady stream of encouragement and instructions. They were almost at the bottom when their tormentor returned. He aimed a gun at them. Why hadn’t he shot at them before?
Not that she’d wanted him to. It just didn’t make sense—until he tried to shoot but forgot to flip the safety.
