The SEAL's Special Mission. Rogenna Brewer

her cookies.

      A concussion was the least of her worries right now.

      Thanks to the static of Stan’s radio, she found it within easy reach under the Dumpster. “Did you call for backup?”

      He offered a weak nod.

      A curious neighbor stepped out his back door with a bag of trash and glanced their way.

      “You,” she called to the elderly gentleman who looked as though he was about to head in the opposite direction toward another garbage bin. “Stay with this man until the ambulance arrives. Keep pressure on it.” She demonstrated before shoving the radio at her neighbor and reaching for Stan’s firearm.

      Without hesitation, she wiped her bloody hands on the pants of her Ann Taylor designer suit for a better grip on the weapon. She hated to leave Stan like this, but Ben had to be her priority.

      Stan latched on to her wrist. “Tyler—”

      “Save your strength, Stan. Which way did they go?”

      He pointed her in the right direction. Digging the Mustang keys from her jacket pocket, she raced the few feet to the garage. She stripped the drop cloth from the Skylight Blue exterior of the 1964 ½ classic, opened the door and sank into the blue and white pony leather. Blood from her hands stained the white leather steering wheel and gearshift as she backed out of the garage.

      Assuming Special Agent Christopher Tyler was chasing Nash on foot, and that the ex-marine was in better shape than Stan right now, there was still a chance she’d find Nash hiding out in her neighborhood. Loaded down with a small boy and their two bags, he couldn’t have gone far. He wouldn’t try to outrun the agent—he’d try to outfox him. Maybe even lead him on a merry chase before circling back to wherever he’d parked his getaway car.

      Which had to be around here somewhere.

      Close. But not too close.

      Not a car, an SUV. He’d want to blend in with the neighborhood.

      She was wishing for the radio now or some way to communicate with the agent, but Stan had needed it more than she did. Why hadn’t she stopped to grab her cell phone? “Come on, Tyler. Flush him out.”

      The average criminal wasn’t too hard to figure out. When he ran, you ran after him while your partner cut him off.

      But Nash wasn’t your average criminal. He was better trained and he’d be familiar with their training.

      But what he didn’t know was that she spent six days a week in the gym and had spent six long years studying everything she could about Navy SEALs in anticipation of this moment.

      So if she was part of his plan A...

      You and the boy are coming with me.

      Somewhere in his contingency plan B, C or D, either he planned to leave her or, if she stayed visible and vigilant, he’d find her. Except she intended to find him first.

      Mal never realized how many dark SUVs there were on her block until now. She rolled down the windows and opened the top of the old Mustang.

      Listening. Praying there’d be no more gunfire.

      Block after block she made her way in a crisscross pattern toward the highway. There were several on-ramps near her neighborhood, which bordered the park. Nash would have parked facing one of them. Somewhere he wouldn’t draw a lot of attention.

      Somewhere familiar.

      She backtracked toward the house where he’d grown up only to be disappointed.

      Nash had the advantage over Tyler of knowing the old neighborhood. But maybe, maybe she had the advantage of knowing Nash. If she just put her mind to it, she should be able to figure this out. Unless of course he anticipated her trying to second-guess him.

      “Where the hell are you, Nash?” She had to find him before he took off down the highway. Otherwise she might never see Ben again.

      That bloodcurdling thought made her want to scream.

      “Think, Ward. Think.” She prowled his old block tapping the steering wheel.

      The street where Nash had grown up was catty-corner from their street.

      One block up, one block over.

      She was facing the direction of her house now.

      Wait—what if he’d never left the alley? It was basically made up of a combination of wooden privacy fences and low chain-link ones. How hard would it be to jump a fence or break into a detached garage? There were two dozen backyards facing that alley. He could have ducked into any one of them. She glanced up the next block toward Jackie’s house.

      Her persistence paid off; an engine roared to life down the otherwise sleepy street. Streetlights out. Headlights off. Directly across the alley from her house.

      Exactly what she was looking for.

      The driver pulled out just as Mallory entered the intersection.

      She pulled a hard U-turn into its path. The driver slammed on his brakes, coming to a screeching stop inches from her driver’s-side door.

      Mallory scrambled over the side of the convertible with her weapon drawn. She had Nash in her sights across the hood of his SUV.

      Point-blank range. Finger on the trigger.

      They stared at each other for a full second.

      Nash revved the engine. All he’d have to do was roll forward and she’d be pinned between the two vehicles. All she had to do was pull the trigger to stop him. “Let him go!” She could hear sirens in the distance from the fire and paramedic station located right on the edge of the park. The police would follow. All she had to do was hold him off.

      He leaned across the front seat and threw open the passenger door. “Get in!”

      Ben’s dark head bobbed behind his father’s.