Anger swirled in her belly. Who in the hell had lured her up here, Tasered her then tied her up and drugged her? Surely Wes wasn’t this desperate. Heck, all he had to do to get her back was apologize and promise not to be such a jerk anymore.
She blinked, startled, as the realization hit her. She’d never stopped loving him. No matter how mad she might be at him, her base feelings for him hadn’t changed one bit. Too bad she was just figuring that out now. It would suck rocks if she never got a chance to tell him how she really felt. What if she died and he spent the rest of his life thinking she hated him? The idea of that caused a giant knot to form in her stomach. She had to get out of here and get back to him.
It was hard, but she pushed aside her panic at the idea of never seeing Wes again to concentrate on escaping her current predicament.
Who had kidnapped her? She had a very vague memory of seeing someone when she’d first entered the cabin. C’mon, brain. Who was it?
Maybe, as the drugs continued to clear from her system, full memory would return. In the meantime, she tried to remember the things she’d heard in speeches and discussions around her father’s dinner table with former POWs over the years.
They talked about being stoic. Prepare for a long incarceration but know with certainty that you’ll survive and someday get free. Set a goal in the distant future to focus on. Don’t get too optimistic about a rescue or release soon or else you’ll be disappointed and eventually break emotionally. But keep an eye out for opportunities to escape if they present themselves. Be willing to take the pain to get free.
Okay. She could do this. She might not get free tonight or tomorrow or even next week. But she would a) survive, and b) get loose, somehow. Stoic attitude in place. Check.
Next on the list: a distant goal. She needed a long-term goal.
As soon as she set her mind to it, that one was a no-brainer. She had to make it back to Wes. Tell him she was sorry for walking out on him. Beg him to do the counseling or other emotional work to get past his mental baggage so they could be together forever. Heck, maybe she should propose to him. Now that was a goal worth living for. Check.
What was the last bit? Oh, yes. Be on the lookout for chances to escape and be willing to take the pain to break loose. Heck, this kidnapping business had already hurt a lot. If Wes was the end goal, she could take the pain. All the pain. As much as the kidnapper wanted to dish out.
She didn’t know how long she lay there. Long enough to decide that she was probably here alone. The night settled around her, and she listened idly to nature’s concert outside. Gradually the cobwebs cleared from her brain. She remembered driving to the cabin because she’d gotten an urgent text from Wes. Which obviously hadn’t actually been from Wes.
Who knew her well enough to use him as bait to lure her out here? That narrowed the circle of possible kidnappers by a lot—to someone she knew fairly well, in fact.
All of a sudden, the rest of her memory popped back into her head. One second it was gone, and the next it was there. Disbelief coursed through her as she remembered the face of the man who had met her at the door of the cabin. The man who had Tasered her and knocked her out.
Her. Own. Father.
Terror roared through her. Of all people, she knew how irrational he could be. She had always been afraid of him when he’d been drinking. Not because he got violent but because he got delusional. Had he had some sort of psychotic break when he got kicked out of the Marines? It was the only explanation she could think of for all of this insanity.
There had to be a way to talk him down off that bridge. After all, she was his daughter. He loved her, right?
Maybe love was too strong a word. But he surely considered her to be his responsibility. He expected loyalty from her and gave loyalty to her in return, if not actual love. She couldn’t count how many times he’d said “Blankenships stick together” over the years. She would appeal to that side of him.
Assuming he returned here anytime soon. He hadn’t abandoned her way out in the middle of nowhere, had he? She would give it till morning. If he didn’t show himself by then, she would start screaming her head off. For now, though, she didn’t want to risk waking him up if he was, in fact, asleep in the other room. He always had woken up more sane after sleeping off a good drunken bender.
She would reason with him in the morning, and he would untie her then and let her go. And the two of them would forget that this unfortunate little episode had ever occurred.
Except a frisson of warning somewhere in the back of her mind warned her that it might not be that simple.
The frisson turned into a shiver.
The shiver turned into fear.
And the fear turned into stone-cold terror.
* * *
Wes broke every speed limit between Sunny Creek and White Pine Forest State Park. Thankfully, at this time of the evening, the roads were deserted way out here. He drove up to the ranger’s house with an angry spit of gravel from his tires, leaped out of his truck and knocked on the door urgently.
A gray-haired man of maybe fifty years answered him. “Can I help you? The park’s closed for the night.”
“My name’s Wes Morgan, and a close friend of mine has gone missing. Sheriff Westlake, his men and I are looking for her.”
“I haven’t seen any lone women in the park recently.”
Wes nodded impatiently. “I’m looking for a man who came through here a few weeks ago. It’s important that I find him. It’s actually his daughter who has gone missing. He’s a retired Marine, in his late fifties. He would be balding, but otherwise have a very short military haircut. He’s a wide, muscular guy with a barrel chest. His name is George Blankenship. He used a credit card to pay for an overnight stay here.”
“We’ve got a guest in the park who matches that description, but that’s not his name. Last name is Smith. And he’s paying in cash.”
Wes’s gut tightened in anxiety. That sounded like George. Why would he be using an alias and cash if he was here for purely innocent reasons? Aloud, Wes said, “I need to know where he’s staying. It’s urgent.”
“He’s in the cabins. They’re at the far end of the park, around the west end of the lake. Just this side of the boat ramp.”
“How do I get there?”
“Follow the main road until you see the signs for the cabins, turn right, then left. He’s in Number Eight. Last one on the end.”
“Thanks. I need you to call the county sheriff’s office and tell them everything you just told me. Tell them Wes Morgan thinks this Smith guy is George Blankenship and that he’s up to no good. Have you got all that?”
“Uh, yes,” the ranger replied in alarm.
Wes bolted from the house and ran for his truck.
* * *
The cabin’s front door opened without warning and Jessica jolted in alarm. She forced herself to relax, however, when she saw who’d joined her. “Hey, Dad. I’m so glad to see you. How are you doing?”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk me,” he growled.
“I was just asking how you’re doing,” she replied carefully. She knew that tone of voice. He’d been drinking and was in an ugly mood.
He grumbled incoherently.
“Any chance I can go to the restroom? I’d hate to make a mess and stink up the place,” she said as casually and calmly as she could. Which was a stretch. Her heart was pounding and warnings were screaming in her head that something was seriously wrong with her father. His eyes were wild. And his clothes were disheveled and dirty. Never in her life had she seen the man actually be messy. Not once.
Another grunt in response to her toilet request. However, he moved over to the bed and unbuckled her left hand. He stepped back, apparently expecting her to do the rest of the work of unbuckling her right hand and feet. She twisted to reach her right hand and then sat up slowly, her body
creaky from inactivity. As she reached down for her feet, she heard the distinctive metallic click of a revolver being cocked.
Her blood ran cold. He was pointing a gun at her? Oh, yeah. Something was definitely extremely wrong with him. If he’d said it once, he’d said it a thousand times. Never point a gun at a man unless you’re willing to kill him. Moving very slowly and deliberately, she unbuckled her feet and swung them over the edge of the bed. “Is it okay if I stand up?” she asked evenly.
“Slowly.”
“No problem.” She eased to her feet and walked slowly to the bathroom, her hands held well away from her sides. No need to make him any more jumpy than he already was.
She used the bathroom and splashed water on her face to help clear the last cobwebs from her mind. What the hell was she going to do now? She had to find a way to get away from him and that gun. But she dared not panic and do something stupid. She took a deep breath and stepped back out into the main room.
“How about I get the two of us something to eat? I’m hungry, and I bet you haven’t been eating enough. You never do when you’re working hard.” She tried to sound fond of him but had no idea if she succeeded past the terror clogging her throat.
“No need to eat. You and I are going for a little ride.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool. Where to?”
“Shut up, Rebecca. You always did talk too damned much.”
Uh-oh. Not good. He always turned vicious when he lost himself in memories of his dead wife. She nodded silently.
He waved the barrel of the big Colt .45 revolver toward the front door, indicating that she should go ahead of him. Should she make a break for the trees or not? Thing was, George was a decent shot, and at a range of only a few feet he wouldn’t miss her with that gun. He was also strong, fit and fast, thanks to a many-decades career as a Marine. She wouldn’t likely be able to outrun him. Nope. It wasn’t time to escape yet.
They stepped outside, and she didn’t see her car anywhere. George must have moved it. He handcuffed her wrists together beside his black Land Rover using metal police-style handcuffs and shoved her into the vehicle’s front passenger seat.
She wasn’t surprised when he zip-tied her handcuffs to the door, thwarting any ideas she might have about leaping at the steering wheel. He always had been thorough and meticulous in planning things.
She sat quietly beside him as he pulled out onto the main road. Maybe she could make a fuss when they passed the ranger’s house. Scream or maybe use her foot to hit the car horn. She was surprised, though, when George turned away from the park exit and drove deeper into the white pine forest.
Where in the world was he taking her?
* * *
Wes pulled up at the cabin and approached cautiously, pistol in hand. He snuck up under a side window and took a surreptitious peek over the sill. The main room was empty. He moved to the bedroom and had another look. Damn. Empty, too. He was startled to try the front door and find it unlocked. He went in fast, looking for signs of Jessica having been here.
His blood ran cold at the sight of the four shackles still attached to the headboard and footboard of the bed. He moved over to examine them, and the scent of gardenias rose from the sheets.
Jessica had been here. And recently.
Swearing, he bolted back out to his truck. The ranger had agreed to close the park exit gate, so if they were lucky, George and Jessica were still somewhere in the park. But where?
On the assumption that the ranger would stop them from exiting, Wes turned deeper into the park. C’mon, George. Show yourself, you crazy bastard.
* * *
Jessica stared in dismay as a boat dock with a dozen motorboats tied up at a long wooden pier came into view. She hated boats almost as much as she hated lakes. They both reminded her of her mother’s tragic death.
Her father parked his Land Rover and came around to the passenger side of the car. Using a big, scary knife to sever the plastic zip tie, he cut her loose from the car door. But he didn’t take the handcuffs off her wrists. He stepped back and waved the antique revolver that was his favorite at her, gesturing for her to head out to the dock.
She balked, stopping short of the wooden pier. “You know I don’t like lakes or boats, Dad.”
“Don’t make me do you the way I did your mother,” he snarled.
Ice froze in her belly. She asked carefully, “What do you mean, the way you did my mother? What did you do to her?”
“We never talk about that!” he shouted.
“I think maybe we need to talk about it now,” she replied carefully.
“Get in the damned boat, Rebecca.”
“I’m not Rebecca! I’m Jessica. Your daughter.”
“Jessica’s a baby. Asleep. Get in the goddamned boat or I’ll kill you right here in the house with her.”
“My mother went for a swim. She didn’t get in a boat the night she died,” Jessica tried. A tiny voice in the back of her head was screaming, No...no...no.
He didn’t kill her. He couldn’t have. He loved her, right? Her mother went for a swim and drowned.
George grabbed her upper arm and shoved her toward the dock. She stumbled, caught her balance and turned to face him. “Tell me what you did to her, Father. Did you kill my mother?”
“Of course I did.”
The words were so shocking they knocked the breath right out of her lungs. She stood there in the sand in front of him, gasping for air. He might as well have punched her in the gut.
“Why?” she managed to gasp.
“Bitch thought she was going to leave me. Would have wrecked my career. I got my first job in the Pentagon because everyone thought I had pull with her family. That I could get the military a break on some huge contracts. But if she dumped me, I would lose it all. Selfish bitch didn’t care. Said she wasn’t happy. That I was mean. She didn’t like moving all the time. Being alone. What the hell did she think being a military wife was all about?” he bellowed.
“How did you kill her?”
“Same way I’m gonna kill you. Hold your head under water until you drown, then push you in the lake.”
Jessica stared at him in horror. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“Got away with it before.”
“Yes, but I’m your daughter. My mother was weak, fragile, but I’m not. I’m a fighter. If you shoot me, everyone will know you killed me. They’ll run the bullet through the FBI database and match it to your gun.”
He raised the revolver as if to strike her and she said quickly, “Mark me with your gun, and they’ll know you killed me, too.”
Scowling ferociously at her, he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her onto the dock. But now that she knew what was at stake, she fought with all she was worth. If he was going to kill her, he was going to have to do it right here, on shore, where maybe someone would hear the gunshot and come to investigate.
Very few gunshots killed people outright. Maybe she wouldn’t bleed to death before help came.
Her father was a powerful man and yanked her violently forward. She fell to her knees, her only option to become deadweight to him.
He swore violently, alternately calling her by her own name and her mother’s.
She ended up sitting on her rear end, digging her feet into the sand for all she was worth, backpedaling every time he tried to shift his grip. Cold water lapped around her ankles and then around her knees.
She screamed then. At the top of her lungs, as piercingly loud a shriek as her throat would produce.
Her father’s hands slipped around her throat from behind. She yelled, “You’ll mark me. They’ll know!” before his fingers tightened and cut off all her air.
She flung herself onto her back, kicking her feet up and back, connecting hard with her father’s face. He howled and let her go. She rolled as fast as she could away f
rom the water and came up onto her knees, her handcuffed hands in front of her.
She panted hard, catching her breath.
Her father charged her like a bull, and she waited till the last possible second and then dropped flat on the sand. He sailed past her and splashed several steps into the water before he could stop himself. She climbed awkwardly to her feet and ran a half-dozen steps up the beach before he tackled her from behind, knocking her flat once more.
Wes was out there. Waiting for her. She had to fight. For him.
She rolled onto her back and swung her hands as hard as she could, aiming her metal handcuffs at her father’s face. He roared in pain as she slammed into his nose. She screamed again with all her might, a sound of rage and determination to prevail against this madman.
George’s fist rose up and swung down toward her temple. She saws the blow coming, but too late. She threw up her hands, but he smashed past them with his fist. Blinding pain and white lights exploded inside her skull, and then nothing.
* * *
Wes spotted the boat ramp in his headlights, and seconds later the beams of light illuminated George’s Land Rover. He hit the gas pedal and shot right past the parking lot and onto the grass leading down to the dock. As he flung open his door, he heard a shriek that cut off sharply.
He sprinted forward toward two figures on the beach. One lay prone, unmoving in the sand. The second figure—male, muscular and familiar—stood up over the first person’s body.
Rage exploded in Wes’s skull. If that bastard had hurt Jessica—his mind wouldn’t even allow him to contemplate the idea of her dying—George was a dead man.
Wes hit the sand at a dead run as he saw George brandish a big revolver, pointing it at Jessica. “No!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
George lurched, jerking the gun up.
A deafening report shattered the night and a bright muzzle flash exploded. As he closed the gap between them, Wes spied the gun pointing directly at him. He staggered as something hot slammed into his left shoulder, but he righted himself and kept on running.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 69