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serious damage before he realized he was fighting a SWAT officer.
    Even then, the drumbeat of Caroline in danger pounded in his head.
    “Sitrep!” he’d barked at the first face he recognized. Sgt. Glenn Baker. Good guy with a gun, good guy to have on your side, good guy all around. Except right now he was keeping him from Caroline.
    “Arne Pedersen, thirty-four, rap sheet as long as my dick. Likes beating up on his wife, Anna, who is currently in the county hospital. There’s a restraining order against him—which he has just broken—so with that and endangerment, he’s going away for a long time, no matter what. He’s holding his stepson hostage. Wants his wife. Who is still in a coma. Our medic says he’s hopped up. Here, get a look.”
    Baker put a restraining hand on Jack’s shoulder, then showed him a video feed off his cell, and Jack froze. Huge guy, holding a Ka-Bar to a little boy’s throat. The knife was already biting into the skin, blood seeping from a cut.
    It would take nothing for the bruiser to slice the boy open.
    And there was Caroline, several feet off. White-faced, staring at the man in anger.
    “Here.” Jack handed over his cell to Baker. “It’s an open line.”
    They put the two feeds together—video and audio—and followed what was happening. Baker was talking quietly to his team through his boom mic.
    He suddenly heard Caroline’s voice clearly, talking into the cell. “This is Caroline Prescott at First Page. I’d like to speak with Anna Ramirez Pedersen, please.”
    “Honey,” Jack said in a low voice, meeting Baker’s eyes. “I’m right outside. We’ve got rifles on the guy. The instant you and the boy get down, they’ll take the shot.”
    Baker notified the team and Jack stood away from the line of sight, heart pounding, listening to Caroline orchestrate the takedown. Admiring her courage, wishing for his sake she was more of a wimp, understanding very well that she was saving that little boy’s life.
    At risk to her own.
    But now he was holding her. At the thought he might have lost her, he shuddered again.
    A warm hand against his face. “Jack.” Caroline smiled at him. “Don’t look like that. I’m fine.”
    “I’m not,” he answered, shifting her in his arms so he could open the passenger-side door.
    They’d reached his SUV, the driver-side door still open, snow collecting in the footwell.
    He placed her in the passenger seat—which was dry, thank God—and rounded the vehicle. Once she was belted in with a blanket from the back over her, he took off, trying to make it home as fast as he could before his nerves gave out.
    “Well,” Caroline said, picking at the blanket, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “That was interesting.”
    He ground his teeth so hard the sound was audible.
    “What’s the matter, Jack?” She placed her pretty hand on his forearm, as she’d done a thousand times before. She often touched him while talking to him—as if judging his reactions through his skin—and he loved it.
    He loved everything she did. He loved everything she said. He loved her.
    “I almost lost you,” he said through gritted teeth.
    Caroline sighed. “Yes, but you didn’t. ‘Almost’ only counts in horseshoes.”
    “And hand grenades,” he answered without thinking, watching her.
    “What?”
    “The whole quote is ‘ “Almost” only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ ”
    “Oh. Makes sense.” She reached out to turn his face back to the road. “Pay attention. Just because I tricked death once today doesn’t mean we can’t still die.”
    She was right, damn it. He kept his face turned to the road, though all his attention was on the pale, fragile woman by his side.
    “I thought I was going to lose you,” Jack said, his voice tight. “I don’t think I could live without you.”
    “You’re not going to have to.” Her voice was gentle and soothing, as if he’d been in danger and not she. Except she seemed to be calm