Montana Heat: Escape to You

by Jennifer Ryan

  What they shared went deeper than two people needing a distraction or release. It wasn’t just mutual attraction or lust. He’d had that and found it felt good in the moment, but never lasted long after it was over. Even now, he wanted more with Ashley. Not just to feel her body move over and against his again, but to feel the connection they shared even now flare to life and take them both to a place that only existed for them.

  He loved her. It surprised him how quickly and completely it came to him. He never expected it. Never thought he’d be blessed to have something this good and right in his life. But here she was, lying in his arms. And even though he didn’t think he deserved her, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of all she offered him or die trying. He’d wished to find the kind of love and companionship Caden found with Mia. He had it. Now all he had to do was hold on to it. Her. For the rest of his life.

  The thought didn’t even make one nerve twinge with anxiety. Thinking of the rest of his life without her, this kind of happiness, made his future seem bleak.

  He brushed his fingers over her cheek, hoping he didn’t wake her but needing to touch her. She snuggled in closer to his chest and tossed her leg over his, pulling him close so not even a breath of air was between their bodies.

  She read him so well. Better than anyone. Caden got him, but Ashley saw right into him, found all the broken pieces, and with her words and hard-to-come-by smiles and the way she loved him with an open heart that she had every reason to protect, she healed him.

  He wanted to heal her, but the best he could do right now was hide her away. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promised, hoping nothing and no one made him break that promise.

  The quiet finally settled into him as he listened to Ashley’s soft breath whispering across his skin. Nearly asleep, he jolted when his phone vibrated. Ashley bolted upright in bed, her hands up to ward off an attack as she gasped for a breath.

  “You’re okay,” he assured her, putting one hand on her thigh and grabbing his phone off the bedside table with the other. He might have spoken too soon.

  King: One on foot North two o’clock out back door

  Beck rolled out of bed, grabbed his jeans off the floor, and dragged them up his legs before Ashley even spoke. “What is it?”

  “Someone is on the property.”

  “How do you know?”

  I have a sniper on the roof. He didn’t think she’d like hearing that. “Someone is watching over us.”

  “A guard?”

  “A friend from the DEA. Get dressed.” He tossed her the pants and T-shirt he found on the floor. She dressed quickly while he checked the clip in his gun, pulled two more out of the bedside drawer, and stuffed them in his back pocket. He took her hand, pulling her along after him through the house to the kitchen. The fire in the living room had died to embers leaving the house in total darkness.

  Ashley’s hand trembled in his as he pulled her through the kitchen to the pantry door. “I need you to be brave. I hate to do this to you, but I need to know you’re safe.”

  “Beck, please don’t leave me.” Her voice cracked. “Stay. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “It won’t. I promise. I need you to get inside the pantry.”

  Her eyes went wide with fear. He hated panicking her, but he needed to move and make sure the asshole who dared trespass on his land and came after his woman didn’t make it within a thousand yards of her.

  “If he’s coming, you have to get me out of here.”

  “It could just be a reporter, a fan, or some photog hoping to get a picture of you. I don’t have time to find out and get you out of here. Please, sweetheart, I need to protect you and this is the only way I can do what I have to do without being distracted that you’re not where I put you.” He didn’t need to say anything more. He was so proud of her for conquering her fear. She opened the door and stepped inside. “The door is steel and locks from the inside.”

  Her eyes narrowed with that bit of news. Yes, if someone got in, he had his own safe room with food, water, and a bulletproof door to give him time to call for help and survive until it got here. He lived a pretty fucked-up life to need something like this to make him feel safe, but right now he thanked his paranoia for a means to keep Ashley alive and safe.

  “Do not open this door unless I tell you to, or a man named King comes for you. He’s six-two, blond, has a scar on his left bicep that looks like a lightning bolt. We shoot together. He beat me last time with a shot at a green apple dead center at a thousand meters. If the guy can’t answer all that for you accurately, don’t open this door.” He kissed her fast and hard, putting everything he wanted to say in the brief kiss. He shoved her in the door and pulled it closed. He didn’t move until he heard the click of both locks. “Good girl. I’m coming back for you,” he promised, stomping his feet into his snow boots, tying them off, and grabbing his jacket. He went through the house to the window in his office with the huge bush growing in front of it. Anyone watching the house might see him come out of the doors, so he’d use the cover of night, the shadows the bush cast on the house and window, and sneak out that way.

  As quiet as he was, King chirped like a bird to let him know he was clear to run for the target. Beck took an indirect route, King sending him texts to give him the location of the man still working his way through the deep snow toward the house.

  Only one man. Beck didn’t think Brice would be this stupid to come looking for her here after the news reported that she was with a DEA agent. His boss threatened every news station that if they let out his name they’d find themselves in deep shit. Luckily, all of them complied. So far. Beck wasn’t under any illusions he’d keep his identity a secret. They may not have his name, but everyone saw his face. It wouldn’t be long before those who knew Trigger figured out the DEA guy and him were one and the same.

  The dumbshit walking straight across his land to the house didn’t even try to conceal his tracks, hide in the shadows, or be quiet. Beck circled around, drawing closer to him. With a ski mask covering his face, Beck couldn’t ID the guy, but he was the right height. With the bulky coat and snow pants, Beck couldn’t guess accurately at his weight. It could be Brice. Or some paparazzi asshole, although Beck didn’t see a camera with a telephoto lens, or some other recording device. The guy could have something in his stuffed backpack.

  Beck snuck up behind the guy, leveled his gun, and put a stop to amateur hour in the woods. “DEA. Stop right there and put your hands up.”

  The guy didn’t follow directions and spun around, his eyes wide. Beck caught a glint of metal a second before he fired, hitting the guy in the chest, and another bullet ripped through his back and exploded out his shoulder, making him drop the gun before his knees even hit the ground and he fell face forward gasping for a breath.

  Beck waved his hand over his head to let King know he wasn’t hit despite the close call.

  The guy sputtered and tried to roll over. Beck took hold of his good arm and dragged him over so he fell on his back beside the bloodstained snow. Blood seeped out of the hole in his shoulder. The guy grabbed his chest where Beck shot him and pulled his hands away and held them up, blood dripping down his fingers.

  “You sh-hot m-m-me.” The words came out stilted with pain.

  Yeah, looks like he didn’t get through the month without shooting someone.

  “You pulled a gun on me, idiot. I told you I’m DEA. What did you think would happen?”

  He sat up and grabbed the front of Beck’s coat in both his bloody hands and pulled Beck close, getting in his face. “You took her from him. He’s coming for you. He’ll kill you for taking what is his.”

  “Let him come. He’ll get exactly what you got and worse.” Beck shoved the guy back to the ground before King took another shot at him. He snatched the black ski mask off his face, confirming he wasn’t Brice Mooney, but the same guy who came with him looking for Ashley. Some thirtyish guy with light brown hair, thick brows, an
d a baby face that made his feral frown seem petulant instead of mean. “Who are you?”

  “He will come for her. She belongs to him.”

  “He’ll have to get past me and that’s not going to happen.”

  “He will.”

  “You didn’t,” Beck pointed out.

  The guy let loose a hysterical laugh as blood spewed out of his mouth. They must have hit a lung. He’d die if they didn’t get him medical help in time. King would have called in the troops by now.

  “He’ll get you, and then he’ll take her back.” The guy sputtered, gasped for a breath that ended in a watery-sounding gurgle, then he died.

  Beck swore, turned toward the house, stood and waved his fingers across his neck a couple times to let King know the guy didn’t make it.

  If Brice sent this guy, who was he? Not a professional hit man, that’s for sure. Beck pried the backpack off him, unzipped it, and pulled out the contents one by one, his gut tightening and his rage intensifying with each item. Duct tape. Rope. A knife. Apparently, the gun was to take Beck out, so he could take Ashley.

  He wanted to keep this from Ashley, but he’d have to tell her. Maybe she could ID the guy. He needed to go and get her, but first he had to make sure no one came with this asshole. If Brice was waiting for the dead man to bring Ashley to him, he’d find hell came looking for him instead.

  The tracks led straight back through the woods to a fire road that bordered his property. He had security set up in that direction. Either the guy saw it and avoided it—not likely—or, as he’d feared, the cold temps disabled it. He’d checked everything himself, but with temps dropping at night some of the sensors were bound to go out. Either way, he’d posted King on guard as backup.

  Beck took a winding path back to the road and spotted the rental car. He discreetly circled the area, checking to be sure no one was around. With no other tracks in the snow, no sight of anyone else hiding in the vehicle, Beck approached and breathed a sigh of relief that Brice wasn’t out there trying to get to Ashley and frustrated he couldn’t take the bastard down right now.

  Beck went through the front of the car and found a gas and hotel room receipt, but nothing else. He popped the trunk and went to the back to take a look. Among Brice’s legal and financial papers he must have cleaned out of the house before he torched it, Beck found several other interesting files, confirming Ashley’s account that Brice liked to take pictures of his guests, unbeknownst to them until it was too late. He grabbed the whole lot, stuffed them inside his jacket, and because his guilt over leaving Ashley in the pantry ate away at him, he ran back to get her.

  He needed to see her. He needed to be sure she was okay. Hurting her like that, stuffing her in a dark room, killed him. He’d make it up to her. He couldn’t ease her mind about her claustrophobia, but he could eliminate the thing that caused her nightmares.

  He’d find Brice and make him pay for making Beck do this to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ashley huddled on the floor with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. The crack of gunfire pierced the quiet with two sharp pops, then everything went quiet again. She wanted to run to Beck, but stayed put, knowing there was nothing she could do to help, but getting in his way would put him in danger.

  She made herself breathe, slowly and evenly as she listened to every tiny sound, any sign that Beck, or someone else, had come for her. The silence terrified her. Her mind tried to take her back to the days, weeks, months she was kept in that awful cell. But she fought off those memories with her fear for Beck’s safety.

  Please be okay.

  Her one and only prayer.

  She thought about him out there trying to take down her enemy and protect her. Memories of them making love in front of the fire, his gentle hands on her body, making her feel warm and safe and loved, and all the while she felt his strength in every hard muscle pressed against her. He’d use that strength and his training to stay safe.

  He had to be all right.

  “Ashley, open up.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t Brice, or Beck’s deep voice either. She didn’t answer, but held her breath and her knees tighter to her chest as her heart slammed into her ribs over and over again.

  “Beck sent me. You probably heard the shots. He’s okay. You can come out.” His voice was soft and gentle, but she still hesitated.

  “I’m King. I work with him at the DEA. We’re old friends.”

  She found her voice. “Who won the shooting match?”

  “I did.” The triumph in his voice told her the rivalry meant a great deal to him.

  “How far?”

  “A thousand meters, dead center. I kicked Beck’s ass.” Pride made it sound like he smiled when he said that.

  “What was the target?”

  “An apple.”

  “What color?”

  “Green,” he said without hesitation.

  Ashley rose from the cold, hard floor, unbolted the door, and opened it slowly. The man stepped back, giving her room to come out and enough space not to seem threatening.

  “Show me the scar on your arm.”

  He pulled his thick black ski jacket down his arm and his sleeve up. A lightning bolt scar zigzagged over his bicep.

  “You can put the rolling pin down now.”

  She found the solid piece of wood on the shelf and thought Beck left it there more as a weapon than a means to make a pie. He definitely wasn’t the pie-making kind of guy.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’ll be here soon and so will reinforcements. I checked the perimeter and inside the house already. We’re safe here, but I’ll stay with you until Beck gets back.”

  She spotted the rifle with a scope propped beside the back door. “The shots?”

  “One man down. Beck is not hurt,” he assured her again.

  “Brice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to see him.” She ran to the front door and grabbed her jacket and stuffed her feet in her boots.

  “We need to stay here.”

  “No.” She needed to know if they shot Brice, if he was really dead. Her need to see Beck and make sure he was okay became an urgency that drove her right past the big man trying to block her from running out the back door. She hit the yard and ran toward the dark figure coming out of the wooded area to her right. King’s footsteps sounded behind her as he ran with her to Beck. She didn’t slow when she got close, but launched herself into Beck’s open arms.

  He crushed her in a hug and held her tight, letting loose a second after he kissed her head two times fast. He held her face and leaned down and kissed her hard. “I’m sorry I put you in that dark room.” He kissed her again. “I’m sorry.”

  She pressed her forehead to his and looked him in the eye. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  “Fine. It wasn’t him.” Disappointment filled his eyes. “I don’t know who the guy is but I think Brice sent him for you.”

  “Where is he?”

  “You don’t want to see him, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe I can tell you who he is.”

  “No.” Beck didn’t want to traumatize her even more.

  “I can handle it, Beck. If I can tell you who he is, it will save you time trying to figure it out and why he’d help Brice.”

  “She’s got a point.” King added his agreement.

  Beck’s face pinched into angry lines on his forehead and around his mouth, but he gave in and turned toward the direction he came from earlier. He didn’t walk in that direction, just waited for her to make the first move.

  She took Beck’s hand and walked forward. He fell in step and directed her where to go. The white snow turned red as she moved closer to the body splayed out on the ground beside the open backpack with a roll of tape, rope, and a huge knife beside them. A gun lay in the snow several feet away.

  It didn’t take much imagination to put the scene together and act it out in her mind and s
ee what this guy intended and how he’d ended up dead. It took her a minute to bring her gaze to his face, and when she did, she sucked in a surprised breath and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Do you know him?” Beck asked, squeezing her hand.

  “His name is Darren. He’s Brice’s assistant. Brice treats him like crap, but Darren thinks Brice walks on water. He’s obsessed with making sure no one treats Brice as anything less than a god. It’s weird, but you see it in the business. I’ve had lots of people want to work with me who claimed to be my biggest fan and would work hard to get me everything I wanted. He’s a people pleaser to the extreme when it comes to Brice.”

  “Do you think Brice ordered him to come and get you?”

  “I think he’d do just about anything to get Brice’s attention and earn the appreciation Brice would never show him.”

  “Asshole.” King spun around and walked back toward the house.

  Beck called after him, “Did she make you prove who you were?”

  “And then some, I had to strip down to prove it.” King gave Beck a wicked grin, taunting him.

  Beck eyed her.

  “He’s got a huge . . .”

  Beck’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Frame. You were right, six-two.”

  Beck growled his frustration and pulled her into his side.

  “And a scar on his bicep just like you said.” She hugged him close. “I did just what you said.” She tapped his belly in a playful punch, but hit something hard instead. “What is that?”

  Beck unzipped his jacket and pulled out the folders. “Hold on to these. I want to go through them before the cops get here. Maybe we can use something in there. I saw the guardianship papers for Adam.”

  “I have the file on Adam’s father,” King added.

  “What?” Ashley couldn’t believe they’d found him. She stopped walking back to the house and looked up at Beck. “You’ve been looking for Adam’s father?”