by Rebecca York
“Stop making it sound like it’s him!’’ she almost shouted.
“I’m sorry,’’ he answered, sounding sincere.
“Don’t be sorry. Help me prove it’s not Colin.’’ She whirled to face him. “If Roy got a hold of the records, why can’t I?’’
“I’m sure his guy obtained them illegally. I don’t think you could just walk in there and request them. And if you did, you’d probably find Roy has somebody watching the place.’’ He sighed. “Didn’t you sign some sort of release that you wouldn’t seek out the father of the child?’’
“Yes,’’ she admitted. “But if Tim whatever-his-name-was could steal the records, so could you! You’re a security expert.’’
“Maybe,’’ he said, the tone of his voice making her realize she was asking something that she had no right to ask.
She turned her hands palm up. “I’m sorry. Forget it, you’ve already gotten yourself into a heap of trouble because of me.’’
He scuffed his foot against a floorboard. “If you want the records, I could try to get them.’’
“No.’’ She raised her eyes to his, tried to probe their dark depths. She’d let herself get wound up thinking about Colin, and there was nothing she could do about him at the moment. The man standing a few feet away was another matter entirely.
“Maybe you’d better tell me why you put your integrity on the line for me.’’
He folded his arms across his chest. “For starters I don’t like Logan. He’s meaner than a bear with a burr up his behind. And I couldn’t stand the idea of his getting his clutches on you or your child.’’
“You hardly know me. Maybe I’m telling you a pack of lies,’’ she answered.
“I don’t think so. I’m a pretty good judge of character.’’
She shook her head as she stared at the man who had kidnapped her from her own ranch last night. “My baby’s welfare is at stake here. I need to know why you risked your job, your reputation to come to my rescue,’’ she pressed.
He looked around the cabin as if he were suddenly thinking about escape. A moment ago she’d felt the walls closing in on her. Now it seemed to be his turn.
Pressing her advantage, she planted her hands on her hips and demanded, “Give me a reason why I should trust you.’’
He swallowed hard, ran his hand through his hair, and the look on his face made her suddenly want to back off. But she stood her ground.
“Okay. I’ll give you the best answer I can. Last time I had a chance to help a woman who was pregnant and single, I messed up,’’ he choked out.
The strangled confession was the last thing she’d been expecting. Reaching out her hand, she steadied herself against the table. “You got somebody pregnant, then left her?’’ she whispered.
“No!’’
“Then what?’’
His face contorted and the hands at his sides squeezed into fists. “I’m talking about my sister. Bethany.’’
“Bethany,’’ she breathed. “You called to her last night, when I was driving through the woods.’’
“Did I?’’
She nodded, waited for him to go on.
The hands at his sides opened and closed. “She was in high school and she got pregnant. My father, good old Coach Forester, told her she was a disgrace to the family—that he’d lose his job if anybody found out his daughter had been messing around with one of the guys on the football team.’’
She could only stare at him, trying to take in the words. Now that he’d started, he rushed ahead.
“When he found out she was in trouble, my dad kicked her out of the house, and I stood there and let it happen,’’ he said, self-accusation ringing in his voice.
“How old were you?’’ she managed to ask.
“Sixteen.’’
“It sounds like there was nothing you could do—not against a grown man, the head of your household.’’
“I should have—’’ He made a chopping motion with his hand, then turned abruptly away, his shoulders slumped.
The gesture of defeat from a man of such strength was more than she could stand. Acting on a deep, instinctive level, she closed the distance between them, opened her arms and pulled him to her. For long seconds he stood stiffly as she stroked her hands across his broad shoulders, feeling the tension shuddering through him. “You were just a boy,’’ she reminded him, “and he was a big, tough man who liked to throw his weight around. Who used his fists to keep his family in line.’’
His head jerked up. “How the hell do you know that?’’
“For starters you told me he was the football coach. But I didn’t really need to know that. I’ve helped women who were married to guys like him. Grace Logan, Colin’s mother, was married to a similar SOB.’’
The explanation didn’t seem to matter to him. “I should have helped Bethany. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, so she ended up down by the railroad crossing when a freight train was coming through.’’
A cold shudder went through her as the implication sank in. “No!’’ she gasped, willing it not to be true.
“She made it look like an accident. Or the police wrote it up that way, so as not to embarrass good old Coach Forester.’’
“Oh, Lord, no,’’ she managed to say, the shock and the pain almost too much as she took in the horror and imagined what it must have done to him.
“My mom never recovered from her death. I stayed home another year. But that was all I could take of being in my father’s house. The summer before my senior year in high school, I took off—lied about my age and joined the army. I haven’t been back to Tarenton, Georgia, since.’’
“Matt…’’ She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was hold him, stroke him, wordlessly tell him that she knew none of it was his fault. He stayed in her arms for another few moments, then pulled away. She saw a fine sheen of moisture in his eyes and knew he was struggling to hold back tears—probably because Coach Forester had drummed into him that real men didn’t cry. And they didn’t air the family’s dirty laundry in public, either.
She was sure of that when, without a word, he turned and fled the cabin, leaving the door ajar.
She saw him stomping off into the bushes and knew it would be a bad idea to follow. Instead she headed in the opposite direction, finding a thicket where she could take care of her own personal needs.
Then she found the mountain stream she’d heard the night before and bent to scoop up icy water to wash her hands and face.
She’d demanded that Matt tell her his motivation for hustling her away from her own ranch at gunpoint. Now she knew. The whole thing had nothing specifically to do with her. He’d heard Roy Logan talking, and he’d flashed back to the scene with his father.
An unmarried woman. Pregnant. Needing help. And this time he was going to do the right thing.
She dragged a breath and let it out. Well, it was better to know that from the beginning. Better to understand that his feelings regarding her were nothing personal.
She stood for a moment with her fist pressed against her mouth, sorry she’d gotten the answers she’d demanded. Then she went back to the Cherokee and pulled out some emergency supplies. Since the time she’d gotten stuck in a flash flood, she’d prided herself on being prepared for any eventuality. So she was able to pull out a knapsack with some food and a change of clothing.
She ate a handful of dried apples and nuts as she walked back to the cabin. Quickly closing the door, she exchanged her gown and robe for a plaid shirt and a pair of elastic-waist jeans.
Matt was still making himself scarce, and at the moment, she was grateful for that. She’d been spinning fantasies about the man who had kidnapped her. It was time to get back to reality.
Setting the gun within reach of the counter in the kitchen area, she checked the contents of the storage cabinets. The cabin was fairly well stocked. Using bottled water and powdered milk, she was able to make oatmeal on the propane stove. Then she stirred
in some of the dried apples.
She heard footsteps coming toward the door just as she was finished boiling the hot cereal. Her hand was on the gun before she saw that it was Matt filling the doorway.
He stood watching her intently. “You would have been great on the frontier,’’ he commented.
“My father taught me to be careful out in the back country.’’
“I’m glad,’’ he answered, then sniffed in the direction of the stove. Moving toward the pot, he looked in at the apple-flavored oatmeal. “How did you manage this?’’
“There were some supplies in the cabinets. And I keep some stuff in the car.’’
“Including a change of clothes.’’
“Yes.’’ Briskly she produced plastic spoons from her supplies. “Sorry. No coffee. Caffeine is bad for the baby.’’
“That’s okay. It’s probably bad for a concussion, too.’’
She winced. “I didn’t ask you how you’re feeling this morning.’’
“We got off onto other stuff.’’
“How’s your headache?’’ she persisted.
“A lot better. I have a hard head. And an iron constitution.’’
She studied him as she poured bottled water into paper cups, deciding that his assessment was probably true. Most men would have ended up in the hospital after Ed’s crack on the head.
They drank the bottled water and ate the oatmeal and apples, neither of them leaning toward idle conversation. Instead of remaining at the table after he finished, Matt got up, set his bowl in the sink and began poking through the cabinets, inventorying the contents.
“What are you doing?’’
“Seeing if there’s anything we can use. Maybe we’ll take some of Logan’s food when we leave.’’
She nodded.
“We should get out of here soon,’’ he said. “I have to get to a bank. If it’s not already too late.’’
“What do you mean?’’
He made a wry face. “If I were Logan, I’d try to have my funds frozen.’’
She nodded tightly. “I have some money.’’
“I wasn’t planning to sponge off you.’’
“What were you planning?’’ she asked.
“Getting you out of the state, for starters.’’
“Then what?’’ she pressed, leaning forward across the table.
“I’m considering a couple of options.’’
She gave him a direct look. “I’d appreciate it if you would share them with me,’’ she said, hearing the sharp tone of her voice.
Instead of answering, he turned and started rolling up the blankets they’d used the night before.
Amanda got up and set her crockery bowl in the sink with a clunk.
Matt looked up questioningly.
“I’m not accustomed to just going along with a strange man’s plans. I’d like to know what you have in mind. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.’’
“I get the feeling you’re not accustomed to going along with any man’s plans.’’
“What’s that supposed to mean?’’ she demanded, aware that the tension zinging back and forth between them all morning was finally finding an outlet. The wrong outlet.
When he cocked his hip against the edge of the counter, she knew she wasn’t going to like his next words. And she wasn’t disappointed.
“Well, most women who want to get pregnant do it in bed—with a guy.’’
The rejoinder stung, but she wasn’t going to let him see that he’d hurt her, not when hiding her hurt had become second nature. “I’m not most women,’’ she shot back.
“That’s what I heard in town. Apparently you can’t get anywhere near a guy without getting into competition with him.’’
Her face burned. “Who said that?’’
Before he could decide what to answer, a whirring, chopping sound from above made them both freeze where they stood. The helicopter was back.
Only now there were two helicopters swooping low over the cabin.
Chapter Five
Matt snapped his mouth shut. Moments ago he’d been lashing out at Amanda, acting defensive because she was asking him basic questions—questions that he was chagrined he couldn’t answer. When he’d driven to her house last night, he’d only been thinking of whisking her out of harm’s way. This morning he’d been embarrassed to admit that he still hadn’t figured out what he was going to do from here on out.
In the space of a few heartbeats, everything changed.
Reaching for her, he pulled her close, feeling her body tremble as he wrapped her protectively in his arms.
“God, this is my fault,’’ she wheezed. “They must have seen the Cherokee.’’
“More likely they got some help from your friend Ed. Maybe he was willing to speculate on how your mind works.’’
“He wouldn’t sell me out,’’ she answered, her voice sounding wounded.
Matt shrugged.
“I’m sorry,’’ she whispered. “I’m sorry for getting you into my mess.’’
“I got myself into it.’’
Above the sound of the blades, an amplified voice rang from above. “Matthew Forester, come out with your hands up.’’
Even with the distortion of the loudspeaker, he knew the voice. Cursing low and harshly under his breath, he clenched his arms more tightly around Amanda.
“Logan,’’ she breathed.
“No. That’s Hunter Kelley from Randolph Security, the outfit I work for. Logan must have been on the phone to them in the middle of the night to get them here from Baltimore already.’’ A hollow laugh bubbled in his throat. “Apparently he’s convinced them I’ve gone off the deep end.’’
“Matthew Forester, we have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up. You will not be harmed.’’
“Yeah,’’ he muttered, the pounding in his head a thousand times worse than it had been a few minutes. “You’ll just take me straight to the funny farm and throw the key away. Or maybe one of Logan’s men will arrange for me to have an accident.’’
He looked at the gun on the counter, then around the cabin, knowing he was trapped—and Amanda with him. When his gaze came back to her, he saw the terror in her eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I can fight Logan’s goons with a clear conscience, but I can’t take a chance on my friends getting caught in the cross fire because of me.’’ He held her hands. “I’ll draw Logan’s guys away. Then you surrender to the Randolph men. Hunter Kelley. Maybe Jason Zacharias or Jed Prentiss is with him. They’re all good guys. Honorable. Ask them for sanctuary. Tell them you don’t want to go with Logan, under any circumstances. If you stick with them, you’ll be okay,’’ he told her, hoping his hands had the power to make it true.
“No!’’ When he started toward the door, she grabbed his arm and held him with an incredible fierceness. “Don’t go outside. You could get shot. There’s another way. Let me show you,’’ she insisted, her voice taking on the tone of steely determination that he knew was etched into her soul.
Still, he wondered if she were the one who’d gone off the deep end as she whirled to the cabinet beside the sink and produced a crowbar. Kneeling, she started prying frantically at a crack he hadn’t spotted in the floor. To his amazement a section of the rough planking came up, revealing a ladder that descended into a dark pit.
“A tunnel. There’s a tunnel down there,’’ she told him urgently as the loudspeaker blared again, this time directly overhead. “I found it last night before you came inside.’’
He stared into the yawning darkness. “Are you sure it’s not just a cellar?’’
“It’s an escape hatch. I climbed down it to have a look. It goes off somewhere—I just don’t know where it comes out.’’ She looked at him pleadingly. “Please, we don’t know what wild story Logan told Randolph Security.’’ She waved her arm in exasperation. “And there’s no guarantee that Logan won’t whisk me away before your friends can do anything.’’
He g
ave a tight nod, acknowledging she was right even as his mind began recalculating their chances of escape. Logan undoubtedly knew about the tunnel. Which meant taking some precautions to make sure he couldn’t follow them down there.
“Okay,’’ he told her. “This is the way we’ll do it. You climb down and start along the tunnel. I’ll try to slow them down.’’
“How?’’
“Just get going. I want you as far away as possible if they storm the cabin.’’
“Come with me now,’’ she pleaded as she snatched up her purse and backpack where they lay on the floor. After shoving the purse inside the pack, she picked up the flashlight she’d used the night before.
“No. I’ve got to stop them from finding the trapdoor.’’
“How?’’
“You go on. I’ll catch up with you.’’ He tightened the muscles of his face, wordlessly telling her they didn’t have time for an extended explanation.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, she started down the ladder.
He watched her, thinking how remarkable she was. The helicopter circling the cabin and the bullhorn would have reduced the average woman to tears. But Amanda was too stubborn to give in to such weakness.
He waited tensely until she was out of sight, then crossed to the cabinet where he’d seen a gasoline can. Sloshing it, he found it partly full. It would have to do.
Next he found a box of old-fashioned kitchen matches above the stove and set them beside the can on the floor.
His preparations made, he strode toward the door. Before he could change his mind, he stepped into the morning sunlight and looked up. Even when he shaded his eyes, the glint of the sun off one of the helicopters sent a surge of pain through his skull.
The pain was a vivid reminder of his present vulnerability. Probably he was taking an unacceptable risk. But he couldn’t put his plan into action if Hunter landed too soon. So he strode half a dozen yards from the small building, where he’s be in plain sight, then waved both arms, attracting the attention of the helicopter pilots, who both swung back in his direction.
He didn’t know which chopper Hunter was in. So he turned in a circle, using several of the Randolph hand signals that had been developed among the operatives for silent communication in just such a situation. First he held his right hand straight up, palm out, indicating that his message was urgent. Then he executed a chopping motion, right hand across the left, warning his friends of danger.