In The Arms Of Danger

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  Danger.

  Her brain shut down. Her eyes drifted shut, and an image of the man clad only in a loincloth danced through her mind.

  ***

  The rocking movement of the Jeep startled Lacey awake. For a moment, she thought she’d dreamed the awkward motion, and then, she felt it again.

  Dear God, what is happening?

  The terrible pounding on the top of the Jeep sounded like a waterfall crashing down from heaven or rising from hell, depending on one’s point of view, since she could hear the rush of water moving beneath the vehicle also.

  Beneath?

  Crap. She hadn’t considered the possibility of becoming trapped in a flood, even though Mr. Totem Pole had warned her about snowmelt. She should have paid closer attention to his warning. She knew Montana had problems with flooding at times, and floods were swift and dangerous, especially this time of year. She had no one to blame, but herself for this fine mess.

  It was just that worrying about floods hadn’t been one of her major concerns at the time.

  The Jeep suddenly lurched and groaned like an old lady with stiff bones. The water outside it rumbled with an answering challenge. The vehicle moved, an awkward creature awaking from a deep sleep. Lacey screamed, but the shrill sound was lost in the sliding, bucking movement of the Jeep. The abrupt motion hurled her forward, then slammed her sideways against the door on the driver’s side. Excruciating pain shot through her left shoulder and elbow as she slammed against the metal frame. Her heart thundered with terror. She clawed her way toward the passenger door. “Oh, my Lord.”

  Panic rushed over her along with icy water that felt like it had bounced its way up from the Antarctic. The cumbersome vehicle sprung back at an awkward, ungraceful angle, and then tilted precariously onto the driver’s side.

  Lacey toppled sideways slamming into the driver’s door once again. Something popped and sharp pain tore through her left shoulder. The agony of dislocating it punched a hole in her belly and filled the yawning cavity with greasy, green bubbles of nausea. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t give up now.

  If she didn’t escape this tin can, she would drown inside the confining walls of the Jeep.

  Clawing her way upward with one hand, she reached the opposite door a second time. Suddenly the Jeep started rotating, spinning wildly like a top out of control. Lacey toppled forward. Her forehead struck the hard frame of the dash. For a moment, she saw stars, bright, dancing stars that splintered a path through her skull.

  Then the icy water sloshed upward, wetting her from beneath. It flooded the interior, surging up to her breasts in seconds.

  God was punishing her. Oh, yes. He was collecting His dues.

  She was going to die right here inside the damned Jeep she’d stolen.

  Lacey kicked frantically at the door on the passenger side until it popped open. Then, she pulled herself upward one-handed until she could see out the open door. “Oh God.”

  Rain slapped her in the face with vicious ferocity as though attacking her for daring to poke her head out the iron shell she was encased in. Lacey’s lips worked in prayer, but all she managed to croak was, “She-eet.” Then, her throat clamped tight.

  She couldn’t make the tiniest sound after that, but she knew she wouldn’t drown inside the Jeep. Oh, no. She was going to drown outside the Jeep in the river of rushing water that surrounded her and the cumbersome vehicle.

  The shallow creek was no longer ankle deep, but had become a maelstrom of churning, boiling, muddy waters that looked as wide and lethal as the Mississippi River.

  Lacey sucked in a sharp breath. All right. Okay. She was a good swimmer under normal conditions. Normal conditions? These were floodwaters, for Pete’s sake, icy, mountain snowmelt, floodwaters, way beyond her scope of experience, raging, angry, bubbling water with—things swimming in it, unknown, unidentifiable—living—things. Monsters with claws, pinchers and sharp little teeth—creepy, crawly, things!

  She shuddered at the idea of joining whatever hungry fiends were taking a swim.

  However, as what seemed to be her way of life lately, she lacked a choice.

  Sucking in a self-encouraging breath, Lacey straddled the door frame. She gave a yelp as her fingers slipped off the wet metal, and she nearly toppled head first into the raging water.

  Daringly, she stretched out one slender, jeans-clad leg, and placed her booted foot in the water. The frigid water swirled over the tops of the boots soaking her feet and congealing the breath in her lungs. Forget drowning. Oh, no, she wouldn’t drown. She would simply ice over in the refrigerated water instead.

  The Jeep lurched, heaving farther onto its side. Her fingers slipped, and she toppled headfirst into the freezing waters. She rose from the churning mass, gasping and slapping at the hair blinding her. Looking around, panic engulfed her. It was a moment before she realized her boots were touching the rocky bottom.

  The water wasn’t over her head. Not yet. But it was lethally cold, nearly up to her neck and rising like a tidal wave. Her blood slowed as if it had turned to gel. She struggled awkwardly with one good arm against the violent force pulling and sucking at her. At best, she wouldn’t drown as long as it wasn’t over her head, but hypothermia was a mean possibility in the lethally frigid water.

  Taking measure of her options, Lacey started swimming, but it was more like she was flailing. She managed to draw a little closer to the bank where the Jeep finally came to rest, but the current was swifter and pulled her back to the core in what seemed like a heartbeat. Floundering, she opted for the other side, battling to keep her head above the churning water as she struggled slowly toward it. She was nearly to the bank, when she realized her mistake.

  Beneath her, the undercurrent churned, sucking at her boots. It was powerful and persistent, threatening to drag her under the hungry maelstrom. The temperature of the water left her arms and legs feeling like dead weights anchored to her body. She could barely move. The dragging heaviness of her soaked jeans and boots, along with the fierce waters swept her into exhaustion. It was like slugging her way through a giant, semi-frozen cloud, and she was getting nowhere fast.

  At last, she was close enough to the bank to reach out and grab onto a small bush. She gripped the flimsy limb and tried to heave herself up. The edge of the bank crumbled, her boots slipped in the mud, and the weak stem of the bush snapped in half.

  Lacey whimpered and clawed uselessly at thin air before toppling backward into the icy water. In those treacherous seconds when she’d been out of the watery grave, it had risen. She resurfaced, emerging through the roaring tide that held her hostage. Coughing, she treaded water. Lacey swiped a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and looked around.

  “Oh, Jesus!” She gasped at the wall of water looming down on her. The tremendous roar of racing water sounded like a freight train bounding toward her. Terror gripped her heart. Dear God, she would be hammered to pieces by such an almighty force.

  She whirled with some thought to escape, but barely had time to draw in a deep breath before it struck her. The violent impact crushed the breath out of her lungs and swept her under the powerful debris of shattered tree limbs and brush. Mud and water filled her ears, her mouth and throat. She couldn’t see as silt caked her eyes, leaving them filled with grit and burning.

  Lacey clawed her way to the surface, but the raging water beat her down. Down, until her lungs felt as if they would explode with the urgent need for air. Bits of broken tree limbs and bark slammed into her, scraping her face and arms, tangling in her hair, dragging her deeper beneath the conquering force.

  She spun helplessly in an angry vortex that finally tossed her to the surface as if it had tasted something sour and decided to spit her out. Lacey’s head bobbed up like an animated cork, breaking through the swirling mass. Ragged coughs tore from deep inside her. Gasping and choking, she gulped in deep breaths of air, desperate to soothe the raw hunger tearing at her scalding lungs.

  Frantically, she searched for
a way out. Nothing looked familiar. The wall of water had swept her miles downstream.

  Where she was now was anybody’s guess.

  The worst of the raging tide sped on past her, leaving her behind in a whirlpool of shattered tree limbs, bark and trash spinning in the brown, murky water.

  Her heart raced painfully in her chest.

  Thank you, God. Thank you.

  Exhilarated, she laughed out loud. She was alive! The worst was over. She would dance a jig, if she was able to move her legs.

  Lacey’s eyes widened in alarm as the shattered remains of a tree trunk shot out of the swirling water and straight at her with deadly accuracy. It smacked the side of her head with fierce momentum. White-hot pain flared through her skull and exploded like a bottle rocket on the Fourth of July.

  A tiny sound slipped past her frozen lips. She reached up and touched the warmth flowing down the side of her face and into her eyes. Bright red liquid stained her fingers. How odd. Why was she bleeding? She stared at the crimson stain, shivering. Funny, her hair seemed to have developed a life and will of its own, tangling in the protruding branches of a bobbing tree as it raced by on its journey to nowhere.

  Weak and exhausted, Lacey managed to wrap the arm that wasn’t injured around the limbs. God only knew where the tree was determined to take her.

  It would stop somewhere—eventually, she told herself as a kind of dull acceptance settled over her. After all, didn’t all creeks and rivers end somewhere?

  Yeah. The friggin’ ocean. Duh.

  Lacey sighed and gave into the darkness that closed around her.

  In The Arms Of Danger

  Chapter Eight

  Lettin’ the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier’n puttin’ it back in.

  WillRogers

  Rimrock Sheriff’s Dept. Sat.6:00 a.m.

  It was two hours before Danger’s relief made an appearance. When Coe Blackstone finally entered the tiny office, he froze in the open doorway, a comical expression flitting across his face.

  His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. He barely smothered a guffaw. Coe stared at his brother as if he’d never seen him before. “What the hell are you doing in there, Danger? Naked. Uh—nearly naked?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Get me outta here!”

  Coe folded his arms across his chest. His lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t know, Sheriff. You look kind of cute in there, wearing only handcuffs and—is that a breechcloth you’re sporting?” He wiggled his brows. “I didn’t know you were into the kinky stuff.”

  “You’re not funny, Coe,” Danger said through tight lips. He muttered a pithy comment beneath his breath. “What the hell are you doing coming in so late?”

  Coe arched silky brows. “Actually, it’s my day off. You’re lucky I’m even here. Looking at you, I’m damn glad I didn’t come in any sooner,” he teased. “I might have seen something I wouldn’t want to see.”

  He closed the door and headed for the desk. He riffled through the stacks of papers littered across it. “Where are the cell keys?”

  “Get the spare set out of the top drawer.”

  Coe hesitated, then snickered. “Who did this to you? The Mayor’s wife? She’s been tryin’ to get you outta your pants for years. So was it worth it? Is Cynthia any good?”

  “Hell no, it wasn’t Cynthia. And if you wanna know if she’s any good, find out for yourself.”

  Coe couldn’t contain several ripping snorts.

  “Don’t enjoy yourself so much, Coe. It’s not that damned funny.”

  “You’re not seeing it from this side of the bars. I’m not going to ask where the other set of keys are. Uh-uh. I’m not going there.”

  He unlocked the cell door and released the cuffs from around Danger’s wrists.

  “Stop cackling or I’m going to expect you to lay an egg. Christ, it’s not a bit funny. What it is—is humiliating.”

  Coe grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you caught with your pants down before.”

  Danger glared at his brother. “Shut up. Why are you here if it’s your day off?”

  Coe coughed, struggling to maintain a serious face. “I remembered it was Hank’s scheduled day to be here at four a.m. I wasn’t sure you would think about it, so I came on in, just in case. Sorry I’m late, but uh—I got tied up tracking Hank’s killer. I lost the tracks in the valley.”

  He paused, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter.

  Danger glared at him. Hell, any second now his brother just might cave in and fall down laughing.

  “I’m trying like hell not to snicker here—I just can’t help myself. How the hell did you end up naked and handcuffed in the cell?”

  Danger ignored the question, frowning instead. “You were in the valley, last night?”

  Coe nodded. “Yeah. All night. Let me tell you, it was dark as a mother humper out there, just a sliver of moon. I couldn’t see a damned thing for the clouds.”

  “You hear any gunshots? A woman screaming?”

  Reaching for the coffee pot, Coe sniffed the questionable brew, then grabbed Danger’s mug and filled it to the brim. “Nope. You going to tell me how you ended up a guest in your own cell? Naked? Where are your clothes?”

  At Danger’s warning glare, Coe held up a hand. “Sorry. Do I have to guess what happened?”

  “A woman took my gun. She held me at gunpoint, right after she rammed my balls up my throat. Satisfied?”

  Coe spewed coffee across the room and gave into hysterics. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he snickered. “You’re joking.” The rage he saw on Danger’s face convinced him otherwise. “You’re not joking. Uh—did she ram your balls up your throat before or after she stripped you of your clothes?”

  Danger grabbed a rifle from the gun cabinet and snatched an extra box of shells from the desk drawer. “It doesn’t matter. What matters, little brother, is the fact that we have trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Yeah, trouble.” Danger shoved his pistol back inside its holster and hoisted the gun belt around his waist. “The little hellion witnessed a murder out there, last night, or so she claims. She practically accused me of being the killer. Described me.”

  Coe sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, shit.”

  “Exactly,” Danger replied. “And since you were in the valley, and we are identical twins, guess whose ass is on the line?”

  “Hey. I haven’t killed anyone.” Coe ran a weary hand over his face. “I didn’t kill anyone. Hell, I didn’t see or hear anything. What are you doing?”

  “That should be obvious. I’m going after her.”

  “Who? The woman who locked you up? Like that? Naked, with just a—loaded gun?” Coe gave a half smile. “Ya gonna shoot her?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Coe.”

  Coe shrugged. His lips twitched. “I’ve never seen you so rattled before. Where are your clothes?”

  Danger glanced toward the bathroom. “She stuffed them in the toilet.”

  Coe lost it then. He gave a whoop of laughter and clutched his belly. “This is just too good to be true,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  Danger grimaced. “I need clothes. Go to the ranch and saddle Diablo and bring back a couple of pack horses with enough supplies for a week. Pack me a couple of extra pair of jeans and several shirts. Bring me back some extra socks and another pair of moccasins. I can’t believe the little witch stuffed my clothes in the toilet.” Danger paused. “I’ll call Jim Waters and get him to open his store early. I’ll need extra supplies.”

  Coe arched a brow. “You figure on this taking awhile?”

  “Yep,” Danger replied, a feral curl to his top lip. “I think this may take a good long while, and I think I’ll have a fight on my hands just getting the little witch back to Rimrock.”

  “I’ll see you, when I get back with the horses then.” Coe waggled his brows. “And some pants for you, can’t have the sheriff running around naked. It would frighten the ladies.”
He paused. “Any messages for Blake or Anna Leigh?”

  Danger shook his head absently. “Tell Blake I’m sorry, but I might not be back in time for Hank’s funeral. And pack some extra blankets.”

  “Blankets?”

  “It gets damn chilly at night.”

  Coe grinned. “Right. Blankets. Anything else?” His lips twisted with laughter. “Condoms?”

  Danger snorted. “For what? I’m not planning to fuck her. I wouldn’t touch her—no, no condoms. And stop grinning. I owe her, but sex isn’t what I have on my mind.”

  Coe hooted. “Uh-huh. Sex is what I’d have on my mind if a female stripped me of my pants. I haven’t seen you in this much of a tizzy in years. What did she do to you, besides lock you in jail, and kick you in the ba—”