by Linda Turner
“It’s a living nightmare,” Buck said flatly. “Whatever you do, don’t bring Priscilla home. The ranch has been under attack ever since she was kidnapped, and it’s only getting worse. Yesterday, Hunter was shot in the arm when he and Katherine went to town for groceries, and someone tried to kidnap her.”
“What?!”
“They were both damn lucky,” he said. “If Hunter hadn’t turned unexpectedly to say something to Katherine when he was putting the groceries in the Jeep, he would have been shot in the heart.”
Donovan swore softly. “Someone tried to kill him right in the middle of town? What happened? Did the police catch the bastard?”
Buck laughed, without humor. “Yeah, right. One thing you need to know is you can’t depend on the authorities for anything. Oh, they try,” he added, “but they’re not exactly swift if you get my drift, and whoever’s orchestrating all of this is damn clever. He’s left very few clues, and no one ever seems to see anything.”
“Are you saying no one saw a shooting right in the middle of town? At the grocery store? C’mon, Buck, someone must have seen something! There was a jackass walking around with a gun! What about your sister? Didn’t she see the shooter?”
“She was talking to Hunter, and the shot came from behind her. And the second the shooting started, Hunter pulled her into the Jeep with him and drove to the hospital. She didn’t see anything except the other customers in the parking lot running for cover.”
“And the police don’t have a clue who the shooter is?”
“If they do, they’re not talking,” he retorted. “Someone at the grocery store claims they saw a black pickup race down the alley behind the grocery store, but the windows were dark and they couldn’t see the driver. And the truck had no license plates,” he added in disgust. “Do you know how many black pickups there are just in this county alone? And we don’t even know if this particular truck is even from around here. Without a license number or vehicle identification number, there’s no way to track it down.”
“After that, I imagine no one’s going to town anytime soon,” Donovan said dryly.
“Not unless it’s an emergency,” Buck said. “We’re all hunkering down here and battening down the hatches. From now on, until this nightmare is over, we’re having whatever groceries we need delivered. I’ve already made arrangements with the grocer.”
“Be careful,” Donovan warned. “Once the word gets out about that, someone could ambush you.”
“I’ve already talked to the sheriff and convinced him to escort the grocer out here.”
“How’d you manage to do that?” he asked. “I would have thought he’d have told you to hire a private security company.”
“He did,” Buck replied, “but I put his feet to the fire and reminded him that the only reason we were in danger was because he was doing such a sorry job. And it’s an election year. If he wants to keep his job, he’d better step up to the plate and do the right thing, or he’s going to be bombarded with a hell of a lot of bad press.”
Surprised, Donovan said, “Obviously, you’re not afraid of ticking off the sheriff.”
“If he’s not going to do his job, then we’re on our own and have to do whatever’s necessary to keep ourselves safe.”
Donovan couldn’t argue with that. “I’d do the same thing if I were in your shoes. Hell, I guess I am in your shoes. Keeping your sister safe isn’t always easy.”
“Where will you go from there?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Obviously, anywhere but Colorado—unless, of course, you need her at the ranch.”
“Not unless whoever’s after the Broken Arrow finds a way to kidnap me and Elizabeth and Katherine. If that happens, you’re going to have to get Cilla home damn fast.”
“You have my cell phone number,” Donovan told him. “Call me if there’s a problem, and we’ll head for Colorado. And I’ll keep in touch, of course. If we run into any problems, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Fair enough,” he said gruffly. “Take good care of my sister.”
Assuring him he would, Donovan hung up, his thoughts already jumping ahead to his next plan of action. As much as he would have liked to hole up in his apartment with Priscilla and ride out the next few weeks until the ranch was safely in the Wyatts’ name, he knew that was out of the question. If whoever was after the Broken Arrow discovered that Buck had hired him to keep Priscilla safe, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered who he was and where he lived. His phone number was unlisted—his property taxes weren’t even in his name—but anyone could find anyone if they knew where to look. He was going to make damn sure no one found Priscilla.
They would leave at dawn, he decided. While she was sleeping, he’d map out their strategy, collect everything they would need, then load his truck. Somewhere down the road, he knew they would have to switch vehicles again, just to make sure they couldn’t be tracked; but for now, at least, the truck was the best bet. Since he had a camper on the back of his pickup, they could avoid motels and camp in national and state forests. If they were lucky, Priscilla’s kidnappers wouldn’t have a clue where they were until the deadline was past and the Broken Arrow was in the hands of the Wyatts for good.
Leaving Priscilla sleeping in his bedroom, he went outside to check his camper, only to discover that the battery had gone dead on his truck while he was in London. Not surprised, he hooked it up to the charger, then checked the supplies inside the camper. He normally kept it packed with canned goods, towels and clean sheets, not to mention several changes of clothes, but the temperatures in the mountains would be cool, so they would need extra blankets.
Get real, a voice in his head drawled. There’s only one bed—you’re not going to get cold.
Too late, he realized just how flawed his plan was. He’d already slept with Priscilla in his arms. If he shared a bed with her again, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from making love to her. And that could only be a mistake. Sharing the camper—and its one bed—was out. They’d have to get a hotel room.
But that wouldn’t be nearly as safe as camping in the middle of a national forest where it would be impossible to trace them, he thought. Damn! There had to be a way he could keep the woman safe without going quietly out of his mind from wanting her!
The thought nagged at him for hours, but he still didn’t have any answers when he soundlessly opened the door to his bedroom right before dawn and found Priscilla exactly where he’d left her—in his bed like Sleeping Beauty. And all he wanted to do was kiss her awake.
He should have turned around right then and there and left her to wake up on her own. But he couldn’t. With a will of their own, his feet led him straight to her.
Chapter 7
“C’mon, Princess, time to rise and shine. We’ve got to hit the road.”
Lost in a dreamless sleep, Priscilla stirred slightly at the sound of the unintelligible male voice that called to her from a distant, shadowy world. Her eyes fluttered, and for a fleeting moment, she tried to swim to consciousness, but then she groggily realized she was dreaming. With an inaudible sigh, she sank back into the warm, intoxicating depths of slumber.
Before she was completely lost to the world, however, the voice was back, nagging her again, refusing to be ignored. “I’m serious,” her tormentor said. “I know you’re exhausted, but you can’t lie around in bed all day. The truck’s all packed. It’s time to go.”
Confused, she frowned in her sleep. Go? Go where? She’d been running for her life for what seemed like a week. She wasn’t going anywhere. “No,” she mumbled. “Go away.”
“Not without you, sweetheart.”
The cocky, masculine drawl cleared the last of the sleep from her head as nothing else could. Hugging her pillow to her, she rolled over and opened her eyes a crack to find Donovan grinning at her from the bedroom doorway. “Are you always a pest, or do I just bring out the worst in you?”
Far from offended, he on
ly laughed. “Me? A pest? You must be joking. Everyone knows I’m a sweetheart.”
“Uh-huh,” she said dryly, “and I’m Snow White.”
“No, you’re Sleeping Beauty. And you know what happened to her.”
Confused, she frowned. “The wicked witch got her?”
“No, silly. The prince kissed her until she woke up.”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Don’t even think about going there, mister. You’re no Prince Charming.”
She knew the second the words were out of her mouth that she’d made a mistake. He wasn’t the kind of man that ignored a challenge. His blue eyes gleaming with purpose, he started toward her like a jungle cat on the prowl, stirring need in her before he ever got close enough to touch her.
Scrambling up on the bed, the pillow clutched to her breast with one hand and the other held out to stop him, she gasped, “I didn’t mean it! You’re right. We have to go.”
“Too late.” He chuckled, and reached for her. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms.
An instant before his mouth covered hers, she saw roguish sparks dancing in his eyes. Then he was ravishing her with a playful kiss that was nothing like a kiss in a fairy tale. Laughter bubbling up inside her, she gasped, “That is not the way you kiss a princess!”
“Oh, really?” he growled, and tugged the pillow away from her to toss it across the room. “And what makes you an expert on how a prince kisses a princess?”
“I’m a princess, silly! Even without my crown, you should know that.”
“I beg your pardon, your highness,” he teased. “I’ll try to do better.”
His lips brushed hers ever so softly with a sensuous promise of heat…passion…need. And just that easily, he made her ache. Her smile faded, as did his. And when he pulled back just far enough to see her eyes, she was the one who reached for him. “Donovan…please…”
He could resist a lot of things, but not, he discovered, Priscilla Wyatt when she looked at him with eyes dark with need and said please. With a groan, he kissed her and completely forgot that he’d only been teasing when he’d threatened to kiss her if she didn’t get out of bed. Then she kissed him back, and he forgot his own name.
Later, he couldn’t have said how long he kissed her. It could have been seconds…hours. Days wouldn’t have been enough.
Stunned by the thought, he abruptly came to his senses, but even as he pulled back, he knew he was in serious trouble. And he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do about it—except put some distance between them immediately.
“We need to get going,” he said hoarsely, jumping up from the bed like she’d lit a fire under him. “I’ve already got the truck packed. While you get ready, I’ll make some coffee to take with us.”
Donovan had never run from a woman in his life, but he did then, and it was all Buck’s fault. His sister was downright dangerous. Without even trying, she turned him inside out. And he couldn’t take her home for weeks, he thought in frustration. Did Buck have a clue what he was asking of him?
Shaken, Priscilla stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. She looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed, and she could still see the need darkening her eyes. If Donovan hadn’t stopped when he had…
Her heart thundering at the thought, she told herself she couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep kissing him, sharing a bed with him, dreaming about him. He’d been hired to save her from her kidnappers and protect her until she could go home again—nothing more. He wasn’t her boyfriend, her lover, even a friend. She knew nothing about him except that he tracked down the scum of the earth and brought them back to justice…and that he could melt her bones with just a kiss.
What if he had a wife and a couple of kids stashed away somewhere? her common sense pointed out. Her sister Katherine had a two-year relationship with a man who had a wife and child in Paris, and she’d never suspected a thing. She was devastated when she discovered the truth, and with good reason. She was in love with Nigel and had planned to spend the rest of her life with him.
Was Donovan another Nigel? He, himself, had said that he had homes in Brazil and London and San Diego. Did he have a woman in every port? Was he that kind of man?
When every instinct she had rejected the idea, she told herself that it didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t looking for a man. The only thing she was interested in was starting her career in fashion design as soon as she finished her internship with Jean Pierre. No man was interfering with that. Her mother had loved her father dearly, but her one regret was that she’d given up her budding career in design when she’d met Andrew Wyatt and fallen in love with him. Because of that, she’d urged all her children to go after their dreams. And that was exactly what Priscilla intended to do.
No more kissing, she told herself firmly as she washed her face, then brushed her teeth and hair. No more touching, no more sharing a bed with the man. Their race halfway across the world wasn’t a romantic adventure. He was her hired protector—nothing more. As long as she remembered that, she’d be fine.
Holding onto her resolve, she headed for the kitchen. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said coolly. “How’s the coffee?”
“Strong,” he retorted. “I figured we could both use it, but if you want cream—”
A sudden sharp knock at the door echoed through the apartment, surprising them both. Her stomach dropping, Priscilla whirled and looked at him with wild eyes. “Who—”
Silently holding an index finger to his mouth, he soundlessly stepped over to the door and looked through the peephole. The last thing he expected to see was a Federal Express deliveryman standing on the other side of the door.
There’d been a time when he was much younger when he would have automatically unlocked the door and opened it without a second thought. Over the years, however, he’d learned the hard way to be a hell of a lot more cautious.
“Who’s there?” he grumbled through the door.
“Federal Express,” the visitor replied. “I’ve got a delivery for you that has to be signed for.”
Alarm bells clanged in Donovan’s head. He hadn’t been in the country in three months, and he certainly hadn’t ordered anything. All his mail was being sent to England, for the moment, but he had no intention of telling that to the imposter at his door. “Just a minute,” he called through the door. “I’m not dressed.”
“I haven’t got all day,” the man retorted. “I’ve got other packages to deliver.”
“Twenty seconds,” he replied. “I’ll be right back.”
Whirling, he grabbed his car keys and wallet from the small table in the entryway, then took Priscilla by the arm and rushed her into his bedroom. “C’mon,” he told her, throwing open the bedroom window. “We’re getting out of here.”
Alarmed, she paled. “Who—”
Their visitor pounded on the door so fiercely that he nearly broke it open with his fist alone. “Open up!”
“Damn!” Donovan cursed. Putting a hand on the top of Priscilla’s head so she wouldn’t hit it on the window, he pushed her out on the fire escape landing and followed her out. “C’mon!”
Grabbing her hand, he towed her after him, but they were only down three steps when they heard a shout from Donovan’s apartment. A split second later, the door was kicked in.
Donovan didn’t wait to hear more. “Run!” he shouted and pulled her down the stairs two at a time.
Less than ten seconds later, they reached the ground…just as the “deliveryman” upstairs in Donovan’s apartment found the open window in the bedroom. Swearing, he struggled through the window out onto the landing. “Stop!” he cried.
It wasn’t until a bullet missed Priscilla’s head by inches that they realized he had a gun.
Screaming, she never saw Donovan draw his own gun and fire back. Suddenly, it seemed like a hail of bullets was coming down on them and there was nowhere to run—until Donovan jerked her around the corner of the building.
“Get in the truck,” he shouted. “Now!”
Terrified, she jerked open the passenger door and tumbled inside just as he threw himself into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t even shoved the key in the ignition when a bullet shattered the window in the back door of the camper on the back of Donovan’s truck.
“Son of a bitch!” he cursed. “Get down!”
Not waiting to see if she obeyed, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her head down to her knees. Her heart slamming against her ribs, Priscilla didn’t offer a word of protest.
Later, she couldn’t have said how long she hugged her knees. Donovan hit the accelerator, sending them shooting out of the apartment complex driveway like a drunk on a mad tear. Horns honked sharply, and over the squeal of brakes, Priscilla heard cursing, but she didn’t dare lift her head. Not yet. Not until it was safe.
Then it hit her. They might have left their attacker behind, but they were far from safe. Whoever had just tried to kill them had not only a description of Donovan’s pickup and camper but also the truck’s license plate number. Anyone who had the connections to do a search of the Department of Motor Vehicles records could discover Donovan’s name, pretend to be him and call to report the vehicle stolen. Every cop in the state of California would be looking for them within the hour.
“Oh, God!”
“What?” Donovan demanded, never taking his eyes from the road as he whipped through the traffic. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s nowhere to hide,” she said hoarsely as she cautiously sat up. “They know what kind of vehicle we’re in.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “We’re ditching this the first chance we get.”
That did little to reassure her. Suddenly more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, she found herself fighting tears. “What good will it do? They’ll just find us anyway.”
Frowning, he shot her a sharp look. “Hey, don’t be that way. We’re making progress. I got you out of England, didn’t I?”