“Does he have any weapons?”
“I’ve never seen any.”
Heather raised a brow at Travis and he nodded, understanding her silent thought. Just because Ryker hadn’t seen one didn’t mean the man didn’t have one. Most people in these rural areas did. “What’s his name?” Travis asked.
“Dr. Erik Colson.”
Travis pulled the motorcycle keys from his pocket and climbed out. When he returned, he slid an arm around Ryker’s shoulder and helped him to the door while Heather slipped inside first.
“Dr. Colson?”
To the right and left of the entrance a row of chairs lined the walls facing the check-in counter straight ahead of her.
“Dr. Colson? Are you here?”
The door to the left of the counter opened, and an older African American man with gray hair and neatly trimmed matching beard stepped through. “What’s going on in here?” He slipped a pair of glasses over his nose. “How’d you get in here?”
“It’s me, Doc,” Ryker said.
“Ryker!” His eyes widened. “Oh, my dear boy, what’s he done to you now?”
“Doc . . .”
Dr. Colson stepped back through the door and held it open. “Get him in exam room one. There on the right.”
Heather followed Travis. “He needs antibiotics and probably would appreciate a painkiller at this point. Do you keep any here?”
Dr. Colson eyed her for a moment and Ryker let out a dry chuckle. “She’s a doc too, Doc.”
The man gave a slow nod. “Guess questions can wait for a bit. Hold tight and I’ll get you something for the pain.”
“No narcotics, Doc.”
“Ryker—”
“None. But I’m okay with Toradol.”
“Not sure that’s going to do the trick, but we’ll start with it.”
He left and Heather touched Ryker’s hand. “Narcotics will take the edge off faster and better.”
“My dad’s a drug addict, an alcoholic, and everything in between. I won’t do anything that he does. Especially not drugs.”
Heather squeezed his fingers. “Come on, Ryker, let us help you.”
Ryker’s expression never wavered, and Heather gave up. She knew exactly how he felt. She didn’t like anything that made her seem weak. Or not in control. Because if one appeared weak, someone might zoom in to take advantage of that.
She pushed the thoughts away as the doc returned, gloved up and with a syringe in his right hand. “Toradol coming up.” He administered the shot. “Now, let me take a look at the wound.”
Ryker’s gaze met hers. “I let you help get me here, but no narcotics and no social services and no cops. I’ll take the antibiotics and the Toradol, but that’s it.”
She hesitated, then locked eyes with Dr. Colson. The man frowned and gave a slight shake of his head. She nodded. “Okay. We’ll do it your way, but we’ve got to talk to the local cops about what happened to Travis and me.”
“Just leave me out of it.”
“I can only promise that we’ll say as little about you as possible.”
“I guess that’ll have to do.” His scowl said he wasn’t happy about it.
She glanced at Travis, who paced from one end of the small room to the other. “You ready to talk to the cops?” she asked.
“And a few other people.”
“Like who?”
“Brooke, for one. And the others waiting to hear what’s going on and how they can help.”
She froze. “I really want to leave them out of it.”
“They’re your friends, they want to help.”
“They also might be in danger if they try to help.”
“Hey,” Ryker called, “what happened to letting friends help you? Or was that just for me?”
Heather winced, the barb striking the bull’s-eye. She sighed. “Ryker, this is a whole different situation.”
“How?”
“Because if I let them help me, they might die because of it.” And then how would she live?
“That’s a bunch of . . .” Ryker glanced at the doctor. “Uh . . . what’s that word you use, Doc? Hooey. That’s it. No, it’s a double standard. And that’s wrong.”
“Yeah,” Travis echoed. “That’s wrong.”
Heather took a deep breath. “The sheriff might not even be in the office. After all, as Ryker pointed out, this is a very small town.”
“We have a good sheriff’s department,” Dr. Colson said. “Just call the sheriff and he’ll meet you there.”
The doc rattled off the number and Travis punched it into his phone. “Good memory.”
“I’ve had to call it more than once. We might be a small town, but we have our share of trouble.”
“Like my father,” Ryker said.
“Yep. And others too.”
“So,” Travis said, “you’re fine with me rounding up help, right?”
Heather scowled and pointed to the door. “Let’s talk about this on the way to the sheriff’s office.”
“Yes, ma’am, let’s do that.”
His hard-eyed stare sent her heart into her toes, and she didn’t think the conversation had any chance of going the way she was planning for it to.
“She got away,” Donnie Little said. He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down the side of his cheek. “I don’t know exactly how, but she did.” Why had he ever agreed to this stupid plan?
Oh. Right. He needed the money.
Silence.
“Then you need to get her back,” the voice finally said.
“How? I was in her house, in her bedroom closet, and she never came back there. She left. And when we finally had a chance to get her on a back country road, she had a rescuer swoop in and ruin it.” No way was he mentioning how they’d almost killed her when he’d run her off the road.
“Why did she run from the house? What tipped her off?”
Probably that stupid picture. It had been an impulse thing to draw the little red dots on the foreheads of her friends, but he hadn’t expected it to send her running. He honestly didn’t know what he expected. It had been a stupid, amateurish move, and his “boss” didn’t need to know that either. “How am I supposed to know? Maybe the house felt different or something?”
A sigh. “Whatever. So, what happened tonight?”
“Sam and I almost had her and some guy came charging to the rescue.” And no way was he admitting that he’d shot at the guy, trying to get rid of him so he could grab the girl. “I think you need to give up on this. Just let it go while you can. Why do you need her anyway?”
“Give up? There’s no giving up. And it’s not your business why I need her. I just do.”
Why did he bother to argue? “Then what’s next?”
“Plan B.”
Donnie groaned. “What’s plan B? Because from where I’m standing, you’re going to have to act fast. They’ll be leaving town soon.”
More silence. Then a sniff. “All right, here’s what you’re going to do. In that go bag I gave you with the guns and other supplies, there’s a chunk of Semtex in a box.”
Donnie went still. “I’m sorry, what?” He’d noticed the small box but hadn’t opened it. He’d thought it contained more food supplies. There’d been protein bars and fruit and several cans of beans. He’d ignored that stuff. All he’d been going for were the guns, the hood, and the rope.
“You heard me.”
“You had us carrying Semtex? I could have blown us all up. Are you crazy?”
“Probably headed in that direction,” the person muttered. “Look, there’s not a lot of it, but it’ll do what we need it for. Now shut up and listen.”
The sheriff had answered on the third ring, groggy and cranky about being pulled out of a sound sleep since he was off duty. However, once he heard the reason why, he agreed to meet them as soon as he could throw on some clothes.
Travis shot silent glances at Heather, who hadn’t said a word on the short trip to the sheriff’s office
. “I thought we were going to talk about this,” he finally said.
“I’m procrastinating.”
“No. Really?”
She scowled.
“The kid’s right, you know,” Travis said as he put the truck in park and turned to face her.
“Hmm.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice sharp. He didn’t care.
Her jaw dropped and she met his gaze.
“I may be just a dumb cowboy, but even I recognize that ‘Hmm’ is a dismissive, cowardly response,” he continued, “and you’re not a coward. How would you feel if this was Sarah, Brooke, or Gina? Or Ava? Or any of the guys, for that matter? Would you let any of them get away with what you’re doing to them?”
Her eyes narrowed, her breathing accelerated. The fury built and he braced himself for the explosion.
Only it never came. The fire faded into resignation and a weariness that she tried to, but couldn’t, hide. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“Then stop doing it to them.”
“I’m trying to protect them!”
“Maybe so, but you’re just going to put them in more danger if you push them away.”
“How—”
“Because you know as well as I do that they’re not going to walk away simply because you refuse to let them help. The fact that I’m here should reinforce that they’ll—we’ll—do whatever it takes to ensure your safety. It would probably make that easier—and less dangerous for all of us—if you cooperated.”
For a moment, she simply stared at him. He couldn’t tell if she was thinking about punching him or opening the door and walking away.
“Well . . . wow,” she said.
“What’s that mean?” When a tear slipped down her cheek, Travis almost felt bad for pushing her so hard. Almost. When she still hadn’t said a word a full ten seconds later, he sighed. “Think about it while we go file our report with the sheriff—assuming he’s in the office. Then we’re going home so we can surround you with protection and come up with a plan on how to find your stalker.”
“I don’t have to think about it,” she said, her voice so soft, he nearly missed it. “Okay.”
He stopped. “Okay, what?”
“I mean, you’re right. So, okay, let’s bring in the big guns. Asher, Gavin, maybe even Caden can help in his FBI kind of way. But they have to promise to take every precaution. If one of them is hurt—or worse—because of me, I don’t think I’d ever recover from it.”
“They’ll be careful, but even if something happened, it wouldn’t be your fault.”
Heather raked a hand through her blonde hair, dislodging the messy bun she’d scraped it into back at the cabin. Absently, she redid it, and for some reason, her movements fascinated him. When she nodded, he blinked.
“Mentally, I know that,” she said. “Just like I know it’s not my fault that I couldn’t save Abdul. I know it’s not my fault when I lose any patient, but it still hurts.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help.”
He pulled her into a loose hug, and she surprised him by not resisting. “First of all,” he said, “the fact that you hurt when you lose a patient is one of the prime things that makes you an excellent surgeon. Second, I know you’re not used to asking for help or receiving it, but frankly, you don’t have a choice, so try to adjust.”
“You’re awfully bossy.”
“Only when I know I’m right.”
A low chuckle escaped her, and she sat back with a small smile. “Come on, bossy, let’s go get this over with.”
Two hours later, the sheriff finally decided he was happy with the information he’d gathered from them. Travis had also turned over the weapon he’d confiscated from his attacker, and the sheriff had checked the number on it. Only to discover it had been reported stolen a week ago. Surprise, surprise.
“I’ll send it off,” the sheriff had said. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”
So, now they’d wait.
Heather had asked him to grab her a soda from the machine while she collected the items from her rental and visited the ladies’ room.
The television in the break room was turned to a news channel, and closed captions played at the bottom. He watched absently while he waited, wondering if the media would pick up on Heather’s surgery story or if they could manage to keep it contained. No reason for them to know unless someone wanted them to. The television didn’t distract him for long. His thoughts returned to the last part of their conversation before they’d met with the sheriff, and he was mortified. He owed her a huge apology.
The door to the bathroom opened. Might as well get it out of the way.
“You good?” he asked when she stepped out, purse over her shoulder and cell phone in her right hand.
“I’m fine. Tired of answering the same questions over and over, but fine.” She took the Coke he offered and swigged it while he waited. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Look, Heather, I’m sorry.”
She raised a brow. “For?”
“Raking you over the coals back in the truck. I lost my temper a bit and I shouldn’t have done that.”
“That was losing your temper?”
“Yeah.”
She laughed and patted him on the arm. “Wow.”
“Wow?”
“That was just you being honest. I didn’t get that you were having a temper tantrum.”
He sighed. “I wasn’t, I guess. Not really. I was ticked with you, though, because you have people who care about you, and you want to keep us at arm’s length.”
Heather slid her gaze from his. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. It’s just . . . habit.”
“You know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“Habits are meant to be broken.”
A laugh slipped from her and she nodded. “Noted.”
His phone pinged and he glanced at the screen. “Asher and Gavin are here.”
“That was fast.”
“It’s only an hour-and-a-half drive, and they were on the way out the door almost before I hung up with them. They drove two vehicles. When we leave here, one will be in front and one behind.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of protection.”
“Not really. Not as much as I would like, but it’ll have to do for now.” He paused. “They say anything about your rental?”
“Um, yeah.” She rubbed her nose. “It’s totaled, of course, but I purchased the extra insurance on it, so that’s not an issue.”
“All right. I want to go by and see Ryker one more time and make sure he has enough money to replace the groceries we ate.”
A flush crept up into her cheeks. “I kind of already took care of that.”
He raised a brow. “You did?”
“Yeah, when they brought my car up, they gave my stuff to the sheriff, including my purse. I gave him some cash for Ryker.”
Some of the cash? She’d probably given him every last penny she had.
“Sheriff Dawkins is going to keep an eye on Ryker,” Travis said. “I feel better knowing that between him and Dr. Colson, the kid is going to be taken care of.”
“You didn’t tell the sheriff about Ryker’s father stabbing him, did you?”
“Didn’t have to. That was the conclusion he jumped to. Said although he’d been doing his best to help get Ryker out of the home, Ryker wouldn’t cooperate. Every time Child Protection removed him, he’d just run away and go back.”
“Sad, but understandable. Ryker probably feels responsible for taking care of the man who can’t take care of himself.”
“The sheriff said he’d been waiting for the day he’d hear Ryker’s dad had killed him. He’s arrested him on numerous occasions, and each time Ryker finds a way to bail him out. Sheriff said he finally quit arresting him so Ryker didn’t have to keep coming up with bail money.”
Heather shook her head and frowned. “He shouldn’t be in the home. He shouldn’t be u
nder that man’s thumb, but interfering at this point will just send Ryker running again.”
“But the law—”
“I know the law, but he’s almost eighteen.”
“Exactly. He’s still a minor.”
“Granted, but you don’t understand, Travis . . .” She looked away.
“And you do, is that it?”
Heather nodded, and Travis’s heart squeezed at the moment of vulnerability she allowed to shine in her eyes. Then it was gone, and her expression smoothed.
“I guess,” Travis said, “the doc is watching out for him now. Not to mention, Ryker’s hiding out in a cabin in the woods and isn’t exactly living with his father anyway,” Travis said. “Short of locking the kid up, they can’t keep him from seeing his dad—or his dad from seeing him.”
“I know.” She paused. “You sure did get a lot of information from the sheriff.”
“Only because he asked me a lot of questions, and I insisted on having my own answered.” He shrugged. “Besides, he’s a nice guy. Truly cares about this small county he’s in charge of.” His phone buzzed. “That’s Asher. They’re outside and ready to escort you home.”
Heather stilled. Took a steadying breath. And nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Once she was settled in the passenger seat with Travis behind the wheel, Heather let the memories wash over her. She’d found it better just to let them come when they wanted, deal with them, and move on. Only they seemed to be sharper, more in focus lately.
Maybe it was the stress of the stalker. Maybe it was Ryker who was only a couple years older than Abdul had been. At least she’d been able to help Ryker.
“Help me!”
I’m sorry, Abdul, I’m so sorry.
“You doing okay?” Travis asked.
“I’ll be all right.” Abdul’s voice faded and she blinked. “I’m just really, really confused.”
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