Treacherous Trails

by Dana Mentink

  Mission firmly in place, he followed her back through the tall grasses with only the barest lingering warmth on his mouth left by her kiss.

  * * *

  Ella’s head was still spinning as she returned from a fruitless search for her thermos. She’d scoured the shoulder of the road for as long as she could, stopping home every few hours to check on Betsy. Her cheeks went hot every time someone drove by, no doubt staring at the jailbird plowing through the fallen leaves.

  Her hands were scratched, bones chilled by the winter temperatures. She was grateful to find that Peg and Mary from the Sunrise Café had delivered some clam chowder and a crusty loaf of sourdough in her absence, after visiting a bit with Betsy. She was pleased she had given them a key to her place. Her heart swelled to know that she still had a few friends in Gold Bar.

  Praying for you, their note said. She’d take all the prayers she could get.

  She watched a few minutes of Jeopardy! with Betsy and set to work reheating the soup, the fragrance making her mouth water.

  Betsy giggled at something she heard on the TV and Ella felt a pang. What would happen to Betsy if Ella went to prison? Her sister was born with an AVM, arteriovenous malformation, a tangle of blood vessels in her brain that ruptured and caused a stroke. Doctors saved her life but the damage was done: partial paralysis, aphasia, vision loss, loss of understanding. What scared Ella even more was that it could happen again.

  She realized she was holding the ceramic bowls in a death grip. Forcing her fingers to relax, she brought the meal to the little tray table, earning a smile from her sister. As they watched and ate, she wondered how to prepare Betsy for the possible worst-case scenario. What should she say to her sweet, trusting sister to explain why her little sis, her best friend, her caretaker, might wind up spending the rest of her life in jail?

  She was still trying to wrestle with the idea when she heard a soft mewling. She turned the TV down. “Did you hear that?”

  Betsy nodded.

  There had been a pregnant tabby cat prowling her yard earlier. She had hoped it had gone somewhere else to have babies, but the space underneath the wheelchair ramp seemed to be just cozy enough to attract all manner of critters. The last thing she needed was a litter of kittens to worry about.

  With a sigh, she put the soup aside, turned the TV back up and looked out the front window. The yard was dark, lit only by a sliver of moonlight. She turned on the porch light. There was no sign of a kitty, or any other signs of life, but the plaintive mewing remained.

  With a sigh she grabbed a flashlight and opened the door. Closing it behind her to keep in the expensive heat, she walked to the end of the ramp, shining the flashlight underneath.

  A gloved hand fastened on her wrist. She screamed, dropping the flashlight, but the grip on her wrist held like an iron band and she was imprisoned, looking into the face of Bruce Reed.

  EIGHT

  “Let go,” Ella hissed.

  “Not until we come to an understanding,” Reed said. His eyes were black slits in the glare of the porch light, teeth eerily white.

  “Did you play the kitten sounds to lure me outside?”

  “I wanted to talk. I knew you wouldn’t open the door.”

  She tried to yank her wrist away, but he twisted her arm, marching her backward until she smacked into the railing. “You remind me of my ex-wife. So small and so stubborn.”

  Ella pitied whomever Bruce Reed had conned into marrying him. She sucked in a breath to scream.

  He laughed. “Go ahead. No one out here to notice.”

  “Betsy will call the police.” Ella had taught her how to dial 9-1-1 on their phone.

  “Oh, then in that case you’d better not scream,” he said with a smile. “Or I might have to go in there and persuade her not to.”

  Her breath caught. “Don’t. I won’t scream.”

  “Okay, then.” He kept her wrist with one hand in a grip that never lessened. With the other, he traced a finger along the collar of her jacket. She recoiled.

  If she could aim a kick, an elbow...but her body was numb with fear. She knew without question that Bruce Reed was the one who had drugged her, positioned her behind the wheel of her van, the killer who had ended Luke Baker’s life and tried to frame her for it. If she had any doubts at all, they vanished as she looked into his cold eyes.

  She had to play for time, until she could force her body to overcome the fear. “Why did you kill him?”

  “That’s not what we are going to talk about, Ella. These accusations about me you’re spreading with the help of your boyfriend, they won’t do.”

  She stayed quiet.

  “Accusations that I drugged you...” His tone was casual but there was steel underneath. “So silly, all this talk from an accused killer. Just makes you look desperate.”

  “I’m going to prove you did it.”

  “No,” he said, shoving her harder against the railing, his hands going around her throat. “You are going to keep your mouth shut and if you don’t, you will die.”

  She tried to pry away his fingers as he cut off her oxygen.

  “I’m not going to kill you now, you understand,” he said, squeezing. “This is just a message, a warning, because I believe every nag should have a chance to run, you know?” His face was close to hers. “I’m poised for the score of a lifetime, and no scrawny little low-class girl is going to mess things up for me.”

  She shot out a knee, but he deflected it. She tried to answer, but only a gargling croak came from her throat.

  “I am telling you to keep your mouth shut and stop spreading manure about me. Maybe you’ll get out of the murder rap, or maybe you won’t, but if you make more trouble for me, I will kill you.” With each word he tightened his grip on her throat.

  She felt herself starting to go limp. Desperately she tried to wriggle free.

  He put his mouth to her ear and held his lips along the side of her face. “I love the ones that fight back,” he whispered.

  She fought against the closing darkness, trying to scratch at his hands, his face, but terror and oxygen depletion robbed her of strength.

  Help me.

  “And if you go to the cops, guess what will happen to your sister?”

  Specks of light danced in front of her eyes. Betsy. Not Betsy.

  “So vulnerable, isn’t she?” he breathed. “Trapped in that chair. Confused, so trusting, like a little newborn foal. It wouldn’t be hard, not hard at all. It would look like a tragic accident. I can make anything look like an accident.”

  With shaking hands she raised up a finger to gouge at his eye but her muscles trembled so much she couldn’t manage it.

  She collapsed to her knees. Her clouded senses picked up a familiar sound, but her brain was too addled to decipher it.

  “You know,” he said, “maybe I’ll just take care of that part now. Sounds like Jeopardy! is almost over. I’ll just go inside and pay Betsy a visit.”

  “No,” she rasped. “No, no.”

  He laughed, slid his hands to her shoulders, bent close and pressed a kiss to her temple. Bile filled her, disgust so thick it was almost smothering.

  Then he was moving away, toward the door, toward Betsy.

  Panic enabled her to get to her knees. Crawl if you have to. Get a knife, the baseball bat in the hall closet, anything. But her limbs were shaking so bad, she sprawled to the ground.

  Get up, she silently screamed. Save your sister.

  Tires echoed along the road leading to her cabin.

  A neighbor coming to check on her?

  The sound of a car door flung open.

  Running feet.

  The scream remained locked in her swollen throat.

  Forcing herself onto all fours, she crawled two painful steps.

  The front door lock clicked into place.
Reed was inside with her sister.

  * * *

  Owen ran. He saw just enough glint of moonlight to see Ella pulling herself up from the ground. I never should have left her here unprotected.

  Nerves exploded as he skidded to a stop next to her.

  “Ella...”

  She grabbed his arm with such force her nails dug into his skin.

  “Betsy,” she rasped. “He’s inside with my sister.”

  He? Bruce Reed? Owen ran to the truck, grabbed his rifle and pounded to the front door. It was locked. He hammered as hard as he could.

  “Open up, Reed. Right now.”

  There was no sound from inside. Options. Police would take too long. He could break a window, but that would take time and Betsy might catch flying glass if she was near. The door was a simple bolt lock kind. He would have kicked it in before his injury.

  Not the marine you used to be.

  Shoving that thought away, he set aside the gun and rammed his shoulder into the wood, just above the doorknob. The panel shuddered, enough to let him know it would give way eventually.

  Again and again he hit the door with the full weight of his body. Bits of wood splintered off and he knew it was weakening. But the moments were precious with Reed inside. Two more vicious rams with his throbbing shoulder and the door gave, the lock shearing off with a shrill creak. He kicked it open, grabbed his rifle and charged through.

  “Reed,” he bellowed. “I’m coming for you.”

  Silence, except for a whimper.

  He crawled to the end of the pony wall, ducked low, counted to three and hurtled around the partition, gun aimed.

  Betsy screamed.

  He pulled up, scanning the room.

  “Betsy, where’s the man?”

  She pointed a shaking finger toward the back sliding door, which was open, the breeze blowing the curtains aside.

  “He left?” Owen said.

  She nodded, eyes wide with fear.

  He ran to the open door in time to see taillights vanishing into the darkness.

  When he returned, Ella was inside, kneeling next to Betsy, sobbing on her sister’s lap.

  He left the gun accessible, but far enough away that it wouldn’t scare Betsy unnecessarily. When Ella lifted her head at his approach, his heart seized up. Red welts stood out on her throat, finger marks where Reed must have tried to strangle her.

  He went hot all over as he helped her up, easing her onto the chair next to her sister. As far as he could tell, Betsy appeared unharmed, but fear had robbed her face of any color. “It’s okay, Betsy,” he whispered. “Your sister is hurt. I’m just going to take care of her for a minute, okay?”

  Betsy nodded, still clutching Ella’s hand.

  Ella sat, sucking in air, coughing, struggling for breath. He knelt next to her, pushed her hair back, grazing fingers over her bruised skin. Her pulse hammered a frantic beat under her touch.

  Rage, hot and caustic, bubbled through him, but now was not the time to let it run free. “I’m calling an ambulance, the cops,” he managed.

  Now she came to life, clutching his shirt, holding him in place. “No.”

  It was the shock talking. “It will be okay. I’ll stay with you every minute. I’ll get Mom to stay with your sister.”

  She tugged at his shirt, bringing his face next to hers, pulling his head down to her mouth. “Reed will hurt her if I go to the cops,” she breathed in his ear.

  He clasped her to him. “They can protect you. I will protect you.”

  The new phone she’d gotten after her release from jail buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped it, but the message on the screen drew a gasp from her.

  Turning the screen to Owen, she showed him. “He must have gotten my cell phone number from Candy.”

  It was a photo of Betsy. She looked perplexed, confused. The text that accompanied it was only two words: so easy.

  “Don’t let him intimidate you,” Owen said. “The cops can trace this phone number, find his DNA here.” But even as he said it, Owen knew the flimsy promise his words carried. Reed could be sending the photo from a disposable phone. He’d likely been smart enough not to leave prints anywhere.

  The house phone rang and both women jumped. “I’ll get it,” Owen said.

  He snatched it up, half hoping it was Reed.

  “What are you doing in my sister’s house at this hour?”

  Owen huffed out a breath. “Hey, Ray.”

  “Don’t ‘hey, Ray,’ me, Marine. What are you doing there?”

  Though the tone was jovial, the question underneath was not. Ray didn’t want a former marine, especially a former marine fighting a painkiller addiction, having a relationship with his sister. While he was contemplating how to explain what had just occurred, Ella reached past him and took the phone.

  “Ray,” she said. “He was helping me get the front door open, that’s all.”

  In actuality, he’d been unable to sleep and he figured a drive by Ella’s place might help him visualize how Reed had managed to pull off killing Baker and planting the body in Ella’s van. Owen cocked his head at her. “Tell him,” he mouthed. He knew why she didn’t. Ray was half a world away and his work required his full and complete concentration. Worrying about Ella might compromise his own safety. Still, he thought. Ray had a right to know.

  She held the phone between them so Owen could hear Ray’s next question.

  “Are you sick? Got a sore throat or something?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My throat does hurt at the moment.”

  “So the legal thing is okay, then? You’re out of jail and Owen’s taking care of getting your case overturned, right?”

  “I’m doing my best,” Owen said.

  “I’m trying to arrange some leave, but it’s taking a while.”

  “Betsy and I are okay,” Ella said, blinking back tears. “Thanks to Owen.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get too cozy with that jarhead,” Ray said.

  “Nice, coming from a fellow jarhead.”

  Ray dropped the teasing tone. “We make bad partner material. You know that and so do I.”

  Owen felt a stab of pain. Ella’s kiss resurfaced in his mind.

  I’m built for war.

  You’re made for more than that.

  Ella was talking, trying to pry info from her brother who was giving her everything but the serious details that no deployed marine would think of burdening their loved ones with. She kept one hand pressed to her throat, as if to ease the pain.

  “I gotta go now, Ells,” Ray said. “Take care of yourself and Betsy and I’ll get back as soon as I can. Give the phone to Owen, would you?”

  She did.

  Owen pressed it to his ear.

  “I’m trusting you, man,” Ray said. “Get her out of the mess and keep them safe until I get home.”

  “I will,” Owen said.

  “That’s what I needed to hear.”

  “Keep your head down, Ray.”

  “You too, brother.”

  The call ended and he hung up the phone.

  Ella was chewing her lip, pacing the floor. Every few laps she would stop at Betsy’s wheelchair to smooth her sister’s hair or straighten the blanket over her knees.

  Ray had reminded him of the crux of the mission.

  Keep them safe. Period.

  He would not be distracted by ricocheting emotions.

  End of story.

  NINE

  It took all Ella’s remaining strength to convince Owen that she would not involve the police.

  “He will kill her,” Ella said. “I saw the truth in his eyes.” Her own eyes burned with tears that she held in check through force of will. The marks on her throat would not prove anything to Lar
raby who had already decided she was guilty. The only option, her only choice, was to somehow save herself, and if she could not do that, at least she would go to prison knowing that Reed had no reason to harm Betsy.

  Frustrated, Owen had finally stalked outside to make some phone calls after she made him promise he would not involve Larraby against her wishes. She tried sipping some ice water to ease the ache in her throat. Betsy had gone to bed for the night after Ella had promised to lie down with her as soon as Owen left.

  “The bad man isn’t going to come back,” she assured her sister, praying that it was true. Her skin crawled at the memory of his touch, his delight at her powerlessness, the crush of his fingers squeezing the air out of her.

  Owen came back inside.

  “You’re coming to stay at the ranch. Barrett and Shelby are away so you and Betsy can stay in Grandad’s cabin.”

  She goggled at him. “Owen Thorn...”

  He stared at her. “Don’t even bother to argue, Ella. You’re not staying here with a busted door and no help for miles.”

  “But...”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “But what?”

  “You’re treating me like a child.”

  “I’m pulling rank.”

  “You’re not on active duty. You don’t have a rank.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Once a marine...”

  “Always a marine, I know,” she groaned.

  “Let your pride take a back seat to common sense for a minute. You know I’m right.”

  Hands on hips, she glared at him. “Well, aren’t you supposed to ask a woman what she wants rather than tell her how it’s going to be?”

  “If I’d asked, would you have agreed?”

  She sighed. “No.” It irritated her to no end that he was right. “I can’t impose.”

  “You’re not. We’ve got sixty horses that need your help, remember? You’re still on the books as our farrier, last I looked.”

  It made her feel somewhat better to know that she would be contributing at the Gold Bar in some small way. “I can’t yank Betsy out of bed. She’s finally gone to sleep.”