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but she gently turned his face back to hers. The sadness in his gaze wrenched her heart. He wasn’t crying, though. His eyes were dry. He was a tough little soldier. “I want Mama,” he whispered.
    The tough-looking police officer rose and crossed to them, holding out a huge hand. Caroline rose, too, with the help of Jack’s strong hand because her legs felt light. She was feeling light all over, particularly her head. It was like a helium-filled balloon that would float away if it weren’t attached to her neck.
    The big officer kept his hand out to Manuel, waiting patiently. “We’ll take you to your mama,” he said gently. “She’s waiting for you.” His big hand didn’t move. Finally, Manuel put his tiny hand in his.
    Caroline let out a pent-up breath.
    The police officer’s eyes met hers. For such a big bruiser, he had kind eyes. “Social services is on the way over, ma’am.” He waved his free hand. “For everyone else, too. All the other kids are safe out back.”
    Caroline shivered. The temperature in her bookshop was the same as outside. “Can the kids wait across the street, where there’s hot chocolate and muffins?” she asked. “There’d be plenty of hot chocolate and muffins for your men, too.”
    She shivered again. It wasn’t the cold, or just the cold. It was aftershock.
    “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. We’ll be taking your statement—”
    “Tomorrow,” Jack said in a hard voice. “She’ll be giving her statement tomorrow. She’s been through hell and I’m taking her home. Right now.”
    The two men stared at each other, two alpha males with two different agendas. Caroline could almost see the waves of male will battling back and forth, and the officer broke first. He looked away, then back at Jack with a huff of breath. “Okay,, Prescott. Tomorrow. I’ll be expecting her no later than eleven.”
    “Noon,” her husband responded. He gestured to her ruined bookshop. “I’m sending people in to board up the windows and clean up. We’ll be spending tomorrow morning here.”
    The cop rolled his eyes. “Okay. Noon. The hot chocolate and those muffins better be good.”
    “The best,” Caroline promised, then sagged against Jack, the voices around her growing distant, the room turning black.
    J ack scooped up his wife and walked out with her in his arms, meeting the eyes of all the cops filling the room. He was awash in fear and anxiety and would have welcomed someone trying to stop him.
    He was itching for a fight, since the motherfucker with the knife was already dead.
    But no one said anything—just silently shifted and made way for him in the swirling snow coming in through the shattered picture window.
    It was a miracle his heart hadn’t stopped when he answered his cell, only to hear the screams of children and Caroline yelling put down that knife!
    He’d been coming back from consulting with the Chief Financial Officer of a bank about banking security. Every hair on his head had stood on end and sweat had broken out all over his body. He’d been in battle countless times, survived dozens of firefights and kept his cool. Right then, though, his entire system had gone haywire.
    He was perfectly equipped, by nature and by training, to deal with threats to himself. He had no defenses against threats to Caroline—none. There was nothing in his system that could handle this.
    It had begun to snow, but he’d gunned the engine, running through red lights, taking corners so tightly he’d have tipped over if he hadn’t been a combat driving instructor.
    Smart Caroline. She’d managed to alert him to the threat and to where she was. He’d made a beeline to the bookstore while listening to what was happening inside First Page. He’dparked half a block away and pulled out the loaded Glock he kept in a concealed holder under the driver’s seat, leaping out of the Explorer before it stopped rocking on its chassis.
    He was tackled before he’d taken ten steps, and did some