Holding On

by Pamela Clare

  What the fuck is wrong with you?

  His mother’s words came back to him.

  If you find someone you love, don’t walk away from her. Don’t turn your back on her. Fight for her. Don’t make my mistake.

  He needed to call Kenzie right now. No, he needed to apologize to her face. He needed to ask her if she could forgive him and give him a second chance.

  It was true. He was in love with her—headfirst in love.

  But would she take him back?

  If she didn’t, he’d have no one but himself to blame.

  He made himself an omelet of four egg whites and one egg and sat down with a cup of coffee, hoping the protein and caffeine would help him pull his head out of his ass—or at least take the edge off his hangover. Then he took a long, hot shower and shaved off two weeks of stubble, Megs’ note there in front of him.

  You promised me you’d call Esri.

  When he was dressed, he sat on the sofa and picked up his cellphone.

  He had a promise to keep.

  Kenzie got back to the kennel from her depressing private lesson with poor little Prince. Mari, the puppy’s owner, had hinted that Kenzie should take the dog. When Kenzie had asked her what she’d tell her children, Mari had said she’d tell them that the dog had run away. Kenzie wanted to help little Prince, but she couldn’t be a part of that.

  “Can I take my lunch now?” Quinn asked. “It’s supposed to snow, and I’d like to get a jog in before the paths get icy.”

  “Sure.” Kenzie had gotten her splint off last week and could manage now. Besides, she had nothing going on these days, no crazy lunchtime sex that made the rest of the afternoon float by. “How much accumulation are we expecting?”

  “Up to six inches.”

  It would be their first major snowstorm of the season. Colorado needed the moisture, and the ski resorts needed the snow.

  Kenzie cleaned up the play yard, washed her hands, then played with the dogs—all except for Gabby, who sat by the door.

  “You miss him, too, don’t you, Gabby girl?”

  Gabby looked over at Kenzie with big brown eyes, her tail thumping against the floor at the mention of her name.

  Kenzie let the other dogs out into the play yard, taking a few minutes to sit with Gabby, petting her, playing with her. Then she settled the puppy in her crate for a nap and started sweeping out kennels.

  The door behind her opened, and she thought for a split second that Quinn was already back from her run.

  The sound of a man’s voice made her jump.

  “Are you Kenzie Morgan—the woman who trains search dogs?” A man with a baseball cap stood just inside the door, wearing a black down jacket and jeans. His jaw was covered with stubble, and there was the faint scent of wood smoke about him.

  He held up a copy of the newspaper with her photo on it, his gaze moving around the room. “I read about you.”

  “Yes, I’m Kenzie. Can I help you with something?”

  “How good are dogs when it comes to finding people?” He glanced over his shoulder out the door.

  “It depends on the…” Her heart gave a hard kick.

  He had a gun—and he was pointing it straight at her. Where had that come from? “Which one of these dogs is yours? Which one found that dead woman?”

  Oh, God! Oh, God!

  She swallowed hard, willing herself to look calm. “You can aim that gun at me, but that won’t get you an answer. Why are you asking?”

  He glanced over his shoulder again, clearly nervous. “I need your help finding someone, and if you don’t help me, I’ll shoot every damned dog in this place and you along with them.”

  He aimed his gun at Gabby inside her crate.

  Kenzie’s mouth went dry.

  “I’ll help you.” She moved to stand between Gabby and the barrel of his gun, hands raised, heart slamming in her chest. “But only if you leave the dogs alone. Hurt even one of them, and you’ll have to kill me, and then who will help you? No one else around here does what I do.”

  A part of her couldn’t believe what she’d just said, but she meant it. She would die before she’d let him hurt these dogs.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a smart mouth for such a little lady.”

  She glared at him. “And you’ve got despicable manners.”

  He grinned. “Okay. I promise I won’t hurt you or the dogs. Now, which one found that dead chick? I need you and it to come with me.”

  She didn’t want Gizmo anywhere near this son of a bitch, but what choice did she have? “Lower the gun, and I’ll call him in. You don’t need to point it at me. We both know you have it.”

  Slowly, the bastard lowered the gun.

  Kenzie walked over to the door that led to the play yard and called the dogs in. “Come here, Gizmo. Come here, boy.”

  He whimpered, surely sensing her fear.

  “I need to put the other dogs in their kennels.” Her mind raced, trying to figure out how she could pull out her cellphone and call 911.

  But he watched her like a hawk. “Don’t try anything.”

  The security cameras.

  He hadn’t noticed them. They had a view of this entire room. Surely, they’d gotten a clear image of him. Or did his baseball cap hide his face?

  Regardless, she needed to get him out of here before he hurt the dogs—and before Quinn got back from her run with Sheba or Dree walked in.

  When Tiny was in his kennel, she turned to face the man who was about to become her abductor. “My search-and-rescue gear is in the back of my truck.”

  “We’ll take your truck then.”

  She leashed Gizmo, fear leaving her queasy. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself. “Let’s go, boy.”

  As she led Gizmo out to her truck, the jerk walking close behind her, she held onto one thought.

  She still had her cellphone.

  Dree held her breath and tiptoed back up the hallway to the store, her pulse like thunder in her ears. She hurried toward the shop’s front door, but there was a bell on it. If she opened it, he would hear. Instead, she ran into the stock room and hid behind the shelves, fumbling to get her cellphone out of her pocket.

  She dialed 911, whispering to the dispatcher. “I-I’m at the Scarlet Canine Care. You have to hurry! A man with a gun is kidnapping my boss and her dog.”

  Conrad put on his best pair of jeans and his black cable-knit sweater and then grabbed his parka and the keys to his 4Runner. He drove to Food Mart to pick up a dozen red roses from the floral department, pulling over along the way to let a sheriff’s vehicle go by. It was running silent, lights flashing.

  Something was up.

  By the time he got to the store, doubt assailed him. Did Kenzie even like roses? Maybe he should get ice cream instead. He knew she liked ice cream.

  But what would ice cream or roses matter if she told him to get lost?

  He wouldn’t blame her. He’d told her that he was ending things because he cared about her, but that was bullshit. He’d been running—from himself, from the nightmares, from the truth that she’d laid out for him that day.

  She’d been right. He did need help.

  He’d kept his promise to Megs and called Esri. She had offered to see him today during her noon meditation time. But he hadn’t been able to wait to see Kenzie, so he’d scheduled an appointment for tomorrow.

  Truth be told, the idea of talking with a therapist—even Esri—terrified him. But what scared him more was the prospect of a life without Kenzie. He needed to unfuck himself so he could be the man she deserved.

  In the end, he picked up a pint of cookie dough ice cream to go with the roses, paid, and drove straight toward her place. He’d just neared Bear’s roundabout when he saw several sheriff’s vehicles converged in front of Kenzie’s store.

  Probably some traffic stop. Drugs. Maybe poachers.

  He yielded to traffic, which was backed up thanks to everyone slowing down to stare, then turned onto h
er street and parked out front.

  Her truck was gone.

  Damn it.

  He let out a frustrated breath. He would just have to come back tonight when she was home.

  Maybe you should call first.

  He had just restarted his engine when Deputy Marcs stepped out of Kenzie’s house wearing blue nitrile gloves.

  What the fuck?

  Forgetting the ice cream and roses, he turned off his engine and strode up Kenzie’s front walk. “What’s going on?”

  The expression on Deputy Marcs’ face made his pulse skip.

  “A man abducted Kenzie and Gizmo at gunpoint about fifteen minutes ago. From the description given by a witness, I think it was one of the two men who robbed the armored vehicle last month.”

  Conrad’s heart hit the back of his sternum, adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, turning his blood to ice. “What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you go after them?”

  Deputy Marcs put her hand on his arm. “We’ve got deputies in pursuit and a call into SWAT, but we don’t want this to turn into a hostage situation. We’ve got a few things on our side. We just got a ping on her cellphone, so we know exactly where they are and which direction they’re headed. Also, we know the make, model, and license plate number of the vehicle.”

  Conrad looked over at the empty driveway. “Her truck.”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze snapped back to Marcs. “Where’s Gabby? Where’s the puppy?”

  “The little golden retriever? She’s safe with the rest of the dogs at the kennel.”

  Thank God for that at least.

  “You said there were a few things on our side. You named two.”

  “The witness overheard the suspect tell Kenzie that he needed her to find someone for him. He wants her and Gizmo to track someone. That means he needs the two of them whole and alive—at least until he finds whoever he’s looking for.”

  Conrad wasn’t reassured by that. A man could do a lot of things to a woman without killing her. “I want to ride along.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “She needs me.”

  “If you want to help her, you need to let us do our job.”

  But Conrad couldn’t just sit on his ass, not when Kenzie’s life was on the line. “Just tell me which way they went. Did they head up the canyon?”

  Deputy Marcs shook her head. “I’m not authorized to share that information.”

  Conrad nodded, pretending to understand. “I know you’ll do your best.”

  An idea half-formed in his mind, he started through Kenzie’s front door.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Deputy Marcs moved to stop him.

  “I live here most of the time now. I’m coming home.” He walked around her and stepped into the familiar warmth of Kenzie’s house, locking the door behind him.

  For a moment, he stood there, breathing deeply, trying to clear his mind and get control of his fear. If anything happened to Kenzie…

  He banished that possibility from his thoughts and set off in search of her laptop. If the sheriff was using her cellphone to track her, he could, too.

  “Pull off the road here.”

  Kenzie did what her captor, who said his name was Don, told her to do, signaling and pulling off the main highway onto a dirt road. So far, he hadn’t done more than reach over and touch her thigh. She had smacked his hand away and told him that if he touched her again, she would refuse to help him.

  Since then, he’d kept his hands to himself.

  “Keep driving.”

  By now someone must have noticed she was missing. Quinn would have come back, found the dogs in their kennels. She would wonder why Kenzie wasn’t there. But would she tell the police? If Quinn didn’t report it…

  Kenzie didn’t have any classes tonight. No one was expecting her. If Quinn didn’t think anything was wrong, if she didn’t call the police, then it would be sometime tomorrow before anyone would start looking for her.

  She was on her own.

  Fighting despair, she headed up a narrow, steep road until it came to an end. She knew the mountains well, but she wasn’t familiar with this area. “What now?”

  “We find my buddy.”

  “I’ll need a scent article.”

  “A what?”

  “A scent article—something that he wore, something of his that carries his scent. Gizmo can’t track a scent he can’t identify.” In her back pocket, her cellphone buzzed again, but the sound was muted by the bounty of her butt.

  Another reason to eat more ice cream.

  “Get out.”

  But her cellphone was still buzzing. “Hang on.”

  She put on her emergency brake, checked herself in her mirror, put on lip balm, waiting for the call to end.

  “Hurry the fuck up!”

  “Fine.” She climbed out, quickly pulling her phone out of her jeans, lowering the volume to silent to mute the buzz, and concealing it in her bra, certain he’d see the outline of it against the denim fabric of her pocket.

  A frigid wind was blowing from the northwest, dark clouds moving in, bringing snow. She didn’t want to get caught in the storm. She wasn’t dressed for freezing temps, and the bastard who’d abducted her hadn’t let her change her clothes.

  She met Don—if that truly was his name—at the back of the truck, opened the tailgate and topper, and got Gizmo out of his crate. “Hey, there buddy. Are you ready to go to work?”

  Gizmo whined, licked her hand, his ears down.

  He knew something was wrong.

  It broke her heart to bring him out here, to expose him to danger. If anything were to happen to Gizmo…

  Feeling like she was betraying his trust, she slipped him into his vest, leashed him, and took out her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.

  “What’s that?” Don started to yank the pack away from her.

  She held on tight. “It’s the backpack I carry when I work. It’s got first aid supplies, food, water, an emergency blanket, and stuff for Gizmo—dog food, treats, his favorite toy. That’s how I get him to search. To him, it’s a game.”

  “You got a cellphone in there?”

  “A cellphone? I wish!” She jerked it away from him. “Do you want my help or not? I won’t take my dog out without this. He can’t work without food and water.”

  “I’m going to search it, and if I find a cellphone, you’re in deep shit.”

  “Search it if you want, but I’m holding onto it.” She held one of the straps while he dug through the pockets.

  “Nice.” He took out a granola bar, tore open the wrapper, and shoved in his mouth. “Okay. This shit could be useful. Get going. This way.”

  She settled the backpack on her shoulders and followed Don uphill through stands of spruce and Douglas fir. After maybe ten minutes, they came to what looked like a makeshift campsite. A plastic tarp was slung over some low-lying branches to make a tent, a sleeping bag beneath it on top another tarp, soot-blackened rocks surrounding a recently dug fire pit. A short distance away lay several empty money bags, the kind used by banks—or armored car services.

  Chills skittered down her spine.

  The men who robbed the armored vehicle.

  Don must be one of them. Where was the other?

  “What kind of scent thing do you need?”

  “I need something that belonged to your partner in crime, something that was close to his skin.”

  Don grinned. “So you know who I am?”

  “I know what you are.”

  His grin disappeared behind a scowl. “For a prisoner, you sure are a mouthy bitch. My partner took off in the middle of the night with the money. You’re going to help me find him so I can get my share back—and make him pay.”

  “I won’t help you if you’re planning to kill…”

  The gun was out before she had finished speaking. “You’ll help me, or I’ll put you down right now and take your fucking dog to find him myself.”


  Staring down the barrel of that gun, her pulse thrumming in her ears, Kenzie fought to find her courage. Like an aggressive dog, this asshole would become more dangerous if he sensed her fear. But, damn, she was scared.

  She made herself laugh. “You know nothing about search dogs. You wouldn’t succeed without me. Lower that damned gun, or fuck off.”

  Slowly, he lowered the weapon. “You better be worth all this trouble.”

  Kenzie would find a way out of this. She had no choice. But for now, she had to play along. “Do you have a scent article or not?”

  Chapter 22

  Conrad stood with Megs, Hawke, Herrera, Belcourt, and Acharya, looking from Kenzie’s Find My Phone app on her computer to the big topographical map of the Indian Peaks Wilderness that hung on the wall. “It looks like they’re headed toward the old Hastings mine.”

  Hawke tapped the site of the old mine with his finger. “That’s the only thing up there. If this asshole is forcing her to track someone, it could be that the person she’s tracking is hiding there.”

  A knot of dread formed in Conrad’s chest, dropping like a rock into his stomach.

  Son of a bitch.

  “That’s a long damned climb for someone who isn’t used to it.” Conrad pointed to a dark line on the map. “There’s an exposed ridge here—a knife’s edge with a thousand-foot drop on either side. When it’s windy, it’s hard for me at six-five and two-ten to make it across. Kenzie is one-ten at the most. If he forces her to cross, she could get blown off the mountain—and Gizmo with her.”

  When it was icy, it was a full-on technical climb. No inexperienced person could possibly make it across.

  “The miner’s cabin is still there, isn’t it?” Herrera asked.

  Conrad nodded. “Last time I was up there, it was still standing, but they’re going to have to cross that razor’s edge to reach it.”