The Last Target

Her mind had turned the thought over and over, trying to come up with a plausible explanation as to why her name would be on a hit list.

Nothing seemed reasonable. There was no explanation as to why anyone would want her dead.

Rachel kept an arm around her son, Aidan, as they drove farther and farther away from the world she was familiar with, traveling south on back roads she didn’t recognize.

She turned to Jack. “Where are you taking us?”

His expression remained neutral. “Somewhere safe. We’ll be going to the Iron, Inc. headquarters. It’s not much farther away.”

“Iron, Inc.?”

“We’re an elite security firm. You’ll be safe at our headquarters. No one gets in or out without our knowledge. The president could stay there and we wouldn’t have to beef up security.”

His words reminded her about the reality of the situation. “I can’t even think straight.”

“It’s a lot to comprehend.”

“I’m … scared.”

Jack gave her a terse nod. “You should be.”

Rachel closed her eyes as life as she knew it crumbled around her.

Dear Reader,

“I Love Jet Noise” is a popular saying often found on bumper stickers where I live.

I do love jet noise because, to me, the sound reminds me of the freedoms I have and those who have fought to give me those freedoms.

I live in an area of Virginia where I hear a lot of jet noise coming from the military bases all around the region. I have many friends who serve the country through the armed forces. I’m so privileged to be able to see their dedication to our country and the sacrifices they make daily. Each of them inspires me.

If you know someone in the military, I encourage you to send them a letter, just like Rachel does in The Last Target. Let them know how much you appreciate them and their service to our country.

Blessings!

Christy Barritt

Christy Barritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all the military who serve our country both abroad and here on our home turf. Thank you and your families for your dedication, sacrifices and courage.

My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior—from violent men you save me.

—2 Samuel 22:3

Rachel Reynolds scanned the playground for any signs of trouble. Unsupervised children. Bullies. Swarming insects.

None. Just another day at the park for a dozen or so moms with their toddlers.

Her gaze shot back to her son, four-year-old Aidan, who was playing on the other side of the waist-high fence, not even ten feet away. He climbed up the plastic steps of the slide—the tallest one at the park—and stopped at the top.

“Look at me, Mommy!” His wide, brown eyes connected with hers and glowed with satisfaction.

Rachel waved and wiped at the perspiration on her forehead. Even under the shade of the pine tree, the summer heat still felt sweltering. “I’m watching, honey.”

Just as he propelled himself down the slide, something hot whizzed past her arm. The smell of acid filled her nostrils. Pain sliced into her skin.

“Get down!” A man shoved her to the ground, his body shielding hers. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. His mouth went to a wire at his wrist. “We’ve got shots fired. I repeat, shots have been fired.”

Shots fired? Aidan. She had to get Aidan.

She raised her head up, gaze darting around the playground. Mobs of children and their mothers fled the park, screams filling the air. Where was Aidan?

Her gaze stopped at the slide. Aidan had climbed to the top again. She had to get him, to keep him safe.

“Aidan! Aidan!” She twisted her body, desperate to get away from the man who’d thrown her out of harm’s way. Her fingers clawed at the grass. Her legs thrashed.

Her screams caught in her throat as a man approached the slide and grabbed Aidan. Her son’s tear-filled gaze shot toward her, big eyes pleading for help. His arms reached for her just as the man who’d snatched him disappeared into the thick foliage of the woods.

A guttural cry rose from Rachel. “Aidan!” She pounded on the chest of the man shielding her as tears pushed their way out. The other man was getting away … with her son.

“That’s one of my men who took your son. He’ll keep him safe.”

Her heart slowed a moment. “One of your men? Who are you?”

“I’ll explain once you’re safe.”

Safe. She had felt safe only moments ago. That was pretty much all she wanted in life—to, as a single mom, provide a stable home for her son. In the blink of an eye, that life had been turned upside down.

What was going on? Why had someone opened fire at a playground? Were they crazy? She prayed no one was injured.

She needed to thank the men who’d saved her and Aidan and then retreat home. Lock her doors. Call the police. File a report.

“We need to lay low for a couple more minutes before I can get you out of here,” the man said.

How had this man known there would be gunfire at the park today? Tension pinched her muscles. How had he gotten to her just in time? He’d known the shooting was going to happen, she realized. She felt the blood drain from her face.