by Rebecca York
Her heart thumping wildly inside her chest, she imagined the beam of light stabbing into the hood of the Cherokee. Was there any place nearby that a helicopter could land? she wondered, picturing a squad of men jumping out to surround the car.
The lights swept closer, crisscrossing the forest, inching toward her hiding place under the pines, and her fingers closed around the butt of the gun as she waited.
Chapter Three
Amanda’s whole body went rigid as the helicopter seemed to hover almost directly over the car.
When she thought she might crack from the tension, it moved off to the left, the sound fading away as the illumination receded.
She wanted desperately to believe the midnight searchers hadn’t spotted the car. But there was another possibility she had to consider. What if they were waiting for her where the road met the highway?
She glanced at the man beside her. Despite the noise and the light, he hadn’t moved a muscle, and she felt a ripple of fear slither down her spine.
“Matt?’’
When he didn’t respond, the fear exploded into her chest cavity. Closing her fingers around his arm, she gave him a little shake.
“Matt!’’
His eyes snapped open, and his hand shot to the holster strapped around his waist. When he found the gun missing, he made a low, distressed sound.
“Matt, it’s all right,’’ she said, hoping she was right—on several counts.
His head swung toward the window, then back to her. “Where are we?’’
“In the woods. The helicopter came right over us, searching. I pulled under a tree. I don’t think they spotted us.’’
“You did good,’’ he answered, his voice slurred. Before she could continue the conversation, he had slipped back into sleep.
She sighed, afraid to leave him in that state yet afraid to remain where she was. When Logan’s men didn’t find them, they’d come back to the forested area near the ranch house, since that was the most logical hiding place.
Matt made a strangled sound in his sleep as his face contorted.
“What?’’ she asked, laying her hand on his arm again.
“Bethany?’’ he muttered. “Is it too late?’’
She stared at him, at a loss to answer the question. “It’s Amanda,’’ she told him, her name coming out on a quavery exhalation.
“Forgive me. I should have…’’ The sentence trailed off into something else that she couldn’t catch.
When he didn’t speak again, she felt her chest tighten. “Who is Bethany?’’ she asked, hearing the urgency in her own voice.
He didn’t answer, and she sat there, staring at him, trying to read the expression on his face. Finally she gave up and started the engine, then eased out from under the tree and onto the dirt track again.
Leaning toward the windshield, she kept her eyes on the dark shapes of the pine trees her father had brought to the ranch as seedlings forty years before. But she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to the brief but revealing conversation she’d just had with Matt.
When she’d spun out fantasies about him, she’d assumed he was unattached. Now she realized just how much she didn’t know about him. Was Bethany his wife? Or maybe his ex?
She glanced at his left hand, relieved to see that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, although that proved nothing. Lots of men didn’t wear rings. Then she brought herself up short. She had no claim on Matt Forester. And more important, she’d decided long ago that she was better off on her own.
Still, she couldn’t prevent the memory of his fingers slipping beneath the placket of her gown from stealing back into her head. His hand had been provocative, yet oh so gentle. He’d said she was beautiful. And she’d responded to his touch and his words like the loose woman he probably thought she was.
As she remembered those few intimate moments, she felt the thrum of her quickening pulse. Had he seen the way his hand on her breast had made her nipples harden? She hoped he’d missed that embarrassing detail.
Silently cursing her own foolish longings, she clenched her hands on the wheel and concentrated on negotiating the dangerous road as she considered her options. Every instinct urged her to get away from Matt Forester while she still could. Before she did something stupid, something she knew she would regret. Yet logic told her that survival might depend on sticking with him—at least until he gave her more information about Roy Logan. And Colin. She felt a shiver travel over her skin.
During the kidnapping, she’d deliberately kept herself from thinking about the murdered heir to the Logan Ranch. Now an image of his handsome, confident face flashed into her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut to make it go away. The effort was wasted. Once she’d opened that door, she couldn’t slam it shut.
She’d known Colin Logan since grade school; she’d been humiliated by him countless times. She’d always thought he was insufferable. The fifth-grade spelling bee, when he and she were the last remaining players, came to mind. He’d laughed when she’d messed up the spelling of laboratory. Everybody else had laughed, too.
She made a low sound, trying unsuccessfully to blot out the memory, like so many others from her supposedly carefree school days. Then sweet old Miss Benton had given him an easy one—recommendation. And he’d walked away with the grand prize—a gold bee. Which he’d waved in her face—and then crushed under his foot when they’d gone out onto the playground at recess.
That was Colin. As he’d gotten older, he’d grown even more malicious and arrogant. Even so, she’d been sorry when she heard he’d been murdered. But she hadn’t really been surprised because it was easy to imagine him getting the wrong person riled. And he’d been far from home—in Denver—without the power of his father to protect him.
She shuddered as Matt’s frightening words came back to her. He’d said Roy thought Colin was the father of her child—and he wanted the baby. Pressing her hand against her mouth, she struggled to hold back a wave of hysteria. Lord, what a mess she’d gotten herself into. And she’d thought she was being so clever!
THE RINGING OF THE PHONE jerked Tim Francetti from sleep. Opening one eye, he squinted at the clock. One in the morning. With a curse, he fumbled the receiver out of the cradle.
“Francetti here.’’
“The Barnwell girl’s gotten away,’’ a peremptory voice growled.
What the hell do you want me to do about it? The angry question formed in Tim’s mind. You didn’t hire me to baby-sit her. But he knew better than to get smart with Roy Logan.
Taking a moment to get his thoughts straight, he cleared his throat and switched on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness. “Give me the details,’’ he said, pushing his straight blond hair out of his eyes before reaching for the notepad on the nightstand.
“The security guy I had working for me got wind of the situation. He showed up at her ranch a couple of hours after I talked to Hewitt. Then he bashed her foreman over the head and took off with her.’’
“What’s in it for him?’’
Logan made an angry sound in his throat. “Maybe he wants to sell her back to me. I don’t know. But I want his dossier on my desk by tomorrow evening.’’
“Didn’t you have him checked out before he came to the ranch?’’
“The security company vouched for him, dammit! Now I want you to find out what the hell they weren’t telling me.’’
“Twenty-four hours may not be enough time,’’ Tim objected.
“Make sure it is.’’
Tim swallowed a shudder. “What’s his name and social security number?’’
Logan gave him the information.
“I’ll get you what I can on him as fast as possible. Did the Barnwell woman go willingly?’’
“How the hell should I know?’’
“How did you find out Forester was hooking up with her?’’
“I had some stuff to discuss with Hewitt. When I couldn’t locate him, I sent some guys out looking.
We found him in a storage shed, and as soon as he told us about Forester, we headed over to the Barnwell ranch in a chopper. The foreman was out cold, and Forester and the girl were gone.’’
“You’re in ranch country. You have a helicopter. Why couldn’t you spot them?’’
It was the wrong question.
“How in thunder should I know?’’ Logan asked, the retort exploding out of him like a discharge from a double-barreled shotgun. In the next moment the phone slammed down on the other end of the line. With a grimace Tim replaced the receiver.
When Roy Logan had hired him to investigate the circumstances of his son Colin’s death, he’d been bowled over by the fee. He’d soon found out that Logan demanded value for his money. And he’d also discovered that Colin had the morality of a barracuda. He was into a network of dirty deals and moneymaking schemes, and he’d stepped on enough tender toes to get himself killed several times over.
Now Tim was stuck with the task of sorting through the mess, trying to determine just who had rid the world of a real bastard.
He sighed again. He was damn good at digging up dirt on people, digging up stuff they thought was dead and buried. That was his bread and butter. But business had been slow for a couple of months, and he’d counted it a real piece of luck when Logan had come to him with a fat retainer.
That was before he’d found out that Roy Logan was going to make his life hell until he got results. So he’d scraped around for something that would knock Roy’s socks off—and hit upon a choice piece of information about Amanda Barnwell.
Tim slammed his fist against his palm. Damn Forester. And damn Miss Amanda for flying the coop. If this didn’t resolve the way Roy wanted, heads were going to roll. And Tim suspected that his would be one of them.
THE DIRT ROAD STRETCHED endlessly ahead of Amanda. As she drove, her mind kept turning in circles—circles that imitated the whir of the blades she’d heard above her. She kept expecting them to come back. But the helicopter did not return. Finally in the distance she could make out a break in the trees and knew she was coming to the highway. Peering over the wheel, she looked up and down the ribbon of blacktop. At this time of night, it was deserted.
Crowfoot lay in one direction. Cody in the other. And she figured the more populated area was the safer choice. There was a hospital in Cody, and, if need be, she could take Matt there. She could even go to the law, she supposed, although she silently admitted she’d given up that option for the moment. Until she got some more details from Matt, she was stuck with this harebrained scenario of his.
She was pulling out of the shadows when the wail of sirens in the distance made her step on the brakes, then throw the vehicle into reverse. As she eased back into the cover of the trees, two police cars barreled around the bend in the road, lights flashing.
To her profound relief, neither of them spotted her. Maybe they were speeding to apprehend some of those rustlers Ed had told her about earlier in the evening. But she didn’t think so. More than likely, they were looking for her and Matt.
She glanced over her shoulder but immediately discarded the idea of retracing her path. Returning to Double B land was only going to get her trapped. Yet it seemed the highway was a risk, too.
“Matt?’’ she tried, her fingers tightening around his upper arm. “Matt.’’ She wanted to shake him, but knew that wouldn’t do his head any good.
He roused himself enough to murmur, “Hmm?’’
“There are patrol cars out on the highway. What should I do?’’
He cracked an eyelid. “Stay away from them,’’ he answered.
“I’m trying.’’
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had started, when he turned his head away. After giving him an exasperated look, she glanced up and down the road. The law could come back at any time. But in the end, there was only one choice. With a sigh she switched on her lights, then turned in the direction of Cody.
Four or five minutes later, headlights knifed toward her through the darkness. Hands fused to the wheel, she kept up a steady pace, praying that it was just a rancher on his way home from a late evening in town. When the car passed, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
The trees had given way to grazing land, and she divided her attention between the blacktop ahead and the far side of the highway.
About twenty miles down the road, she came to a large outcropping of rock. Slowing, she crossed the center line and drove onto another dirt road that wound into the hills.
After a moments’ hesitation, she switched off the lights again, navigating only by the moonlight. The car was completely exposed now. And if the helicopter came back, they were sunk. But she couldn’t see any better option at the moment. When she reached an area of low, sparse trees, she breathed in a little sigh, glad she had some cover.
The road wound upward at an increasingly steep angle, and the tires spun on loose gravel. When the engine began to labor, she switched to a lower gear as she peered ahead into the darkness.
Rounding another curve, she finally saw what she was looking for—a low, rough cabin. After pulling the car as close as she could to the entrance, she retrieved her tennis shoes from the back seat and pulled them on before lowering herself to the hard-packed ground.
Outside it was silent except for a light wind rustling the trees and the sound of a mountain stream bubbling over rocks.
Risking a brief inspection with a flashlight, she ascertained that the door was secured with a padlock, but the jamb was badly weathered. Using a large rock, she was able to break off the hasp and open the door. Again she risked the light, locating a bunk bed built into the wall, a table and chairs, storage cabinets and a small kitchen area.
When she approached the bottom bunk, she found the mattresses gave off the rank odors of unwashed bodies. Apparently the hands who’d slept here last hadn’t been much on personal hygiene. The blankets folded at the end were similarly ripe.
With a grimace she returned to the Jeep Cherokee, opened the storage compartment where she kept her emergency kit and got out several blankets. She was looking for a good spot to lay them on the floor when she noticed something strange about the rough wood. The direct beam of the flashlight revealed where the boards looked sawed through, forming a rectangle about four feet by five feet.
Curious, she ran her hand along the crack and felt a slight draft. After rummaging in the cabinets, she found a crowbar, which she stuck into the crack. Using it as a lever, she pushed downward, and the rectangle came up several inches from the rest of the floor. Flipping it over, she peered down a ladder into a dug-out space below the floor. Was it just a cellar?
After a glance toward the door, she climbed onto the top rung and descended. There was nothing stored below the cabin. But she was surprised to find what she did discover—a tunnel, stretching away into the darkness.
An escape hatch. How interesting!
Amanda didn’t know where the underground passage led, and she didn’t have time to find out, but she filed the intriguing fact away before returning to the cabin floor.
She spread the blankets to the right of the trapdoor, then returned to the front seat of the Jeep and slipped behind the wheel.
Matt was leaning back in the passenger seat, breathing heavily. Reaching out, she stroked her hand against his cheek, relieved that his temperature appeared to be normal. When she let her fingers trail across the stubble of his beard, his eyes snapped open and his hand shot out, his fingers closing around her wrist in an iron grip.
Fear leaped in her throat as she tried to wrench away, but he held her fast. “Matt.’’
He seemed unaware that she was speaking as he pulled her toward him so that she half-sprawled against his body, her right breast pressed against his chest and her robe sliding halfway up her legs.
“Matt, don’t. You’re hurting me,’’ she gasped, her voice catching as she wiggled against him, trying to wrench away. She might as well have been playing tug-of-war with a buffa
lo.
She got her free hand onto his shoulder and pushed, but he only closed his fingers around her leg, his hand digging painfully into her flesh. “Matt, stop!’’
Her voice rose in panic, and her hand formed into a fist as she started to pound against his rock-hard shoulder.
“Amanda?’’ His grip loosened on her leg and her wrist, his eyes flicking from her face to the thigh she’d exposed in their struggle.
Automatically she snatched at her robe, pulling it down to cover her legs before yanking at the V where the top had loosened.
All the while he watched her from under hooded eyes, and she heard his breath freeze in his lungs before he gulped in air. “Amanda. God, I’m sorry.’’
She was prepared to wrench away, but the anguish in his voice stopped her. Since he’d pulled that gun on her, she’d been holding herself together with putty and baling wire. Suddenly the events of the past few hours were too much. Unable to make her muscles work, she felt herself go slack against him. Then, to her utter mortification, she felt tears welling in her eyes.
“Amanda. Sweetheart.’’ His hold tightened on her, but this time he was gentle, oh so gentle. “I’m sorry,’’ he repeated, his head turning so that his lips could skim her cheek, the edge of her hair, as his hands soothed over her back and shoulders. “Did I hurt you?’’
She tried to tell him he hadn’t done any irreparable damage, but the words choked off in a sob. He rocked her in his arms, crooning low, tender words as his lips played along the side of her face, soothing her, offering comfort. Gradually she got control of her runaway emotions.
Raising her head, she swiped her hand across her eyes. When she looked up again, she saw that her face was a few inches from his.
She forgot to breathe when she realized he was staring at her lips, his expression hungry, his eyes dreamy. She could have jerked away. But the look on his face made her stay where she was, waiting to see what would happen next.