Montana Heat: Escape to You

by Jennifer Ryan

  “He might have already left the country.”

  “I don’t think so. Not without you.” Beck drove down the driveway and waited for the electronic gate to open and the sheriff’s deputies to push the reporters and photographers back so they could drive through without running over anyone. It didn’t stop them from shouting questions.

  Is it true Brice held you in a safe room?

  Did he only call you Aurora?

  That sent a chill up her spine.

  Did he beat you daily?

  Did it matter if it was daily, weekly, monthly? Once? Ten times? A thousand times? He did it.

  How many bones did he break?

  Twelve. Some more than once.

  Are you pregnant?

  Are you engaged?

  She turned to Beck. “Are they asking if I’m engaged to Brice or you?”

  “Is the baby mine?”

  She found she could laugh at the ridiculous. “The tabloids will probably say it’s an alien’s.”

  “Lucky bastard.”

  She glanced over at him. “Do you want to have kids?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Actually, no. You’re not the guy I met those first few days. You changed.”

  “You reminded me of who I really am and what I wanted but thought I couldn’t have—not doing the job I was doing. We both have a chance to have a different kind of life than what we had before we met each other.”

  “Boy or a girl?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled again. Even after what they discovered at Brice’s ranch, it was easy to smile when she was with Beck.

  “I like that answer.” She settled back in the seat, linked her fingers with Beck’s, held his hand tight, and enjoyed the pretty ride back to his place, dreaming about a future with Beck, Adam, and their children running over the grassy pastures and woods at home. Yes, their home. Here. A place where the kids could grow up without her crazy life interfering in their lives. Beck would find a new place in the DEA. She’d find a project that sparked her passion for acting again when she was ready. Stronger. With Beck beside her, she’d get there. They’d have that new life they both wanted.

  All they had to do was find and arrest Brice.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brice expected a bull riding competition or football game on the country bar TV. Instead he got tabloid news. Nothing but gossip overlaid with country music in this neon-beer-sign place. The done-me-wrong songs went well with the juicy lies being told on TV. That bitch Sharon Waters from Celebrity Centerfold droned on as a beautiful picture of Ashley in front of his burned-down home came on the screen beside Sharon’s surgically enhanced face.

  While Ashley Swan remains under protective custody on a Montana ranch, speculation mounts that the gorgeous DEA agent protecting her is much more than a bodyguard. Rumors circulate that her sexy rescuer is truly a knight in shining armor who swept her off her feet.

  Brice fisted his hand, trying to control the rage that swept through him at the thought of that man putting his hands on Ashley. The image of her being carried in his arms into the hospital burned in Brice’s brain. He’d pay for touching her.

  Sharon Waters dropped her voice, enticing people to believe the budding romance story. Why else would the DEA be involved in a kidnapping and murder?

  Brice nearly spit out the single malt eighteen-year-old Talisker. He refused to waste the only decent drink he could get in this shithole bar.

  Murder? No fucking way. Unless . . . No, they couldn’t know.

  The body of a woman was found at Brice’s private ranch estate this afternoon as Ashley Swan took the sheriff’s team on a tour of the house of hell she’d been held in for nearly a year by the once-beloved talk show host. Authorities are searching for more graves.

  Oh God, they know.

  The body has been identified by authorities, but her name is being held from the press until next of kin can be notified. An unidentified source close to the case reports the woman once worked for Brice at the property. Could she be another victim of Brice’s sick and twisted games that turned deadly? Time will tell as the investigation continues and we learn more about the depraved acts Brice inflicted on Ashley Swan and possibly the woman who worked for him. Did she die when Brice’s torture went too far, or did she try to help Ashley and paid the ultimate price? Maybe Brice will give authorities the answer when they finally arrest him. If he hasn’t already fled the country and gone into hiding, though authorities believe he is still here as they have all routes out of the country on guard for any sighting of the famous and very recognizable Brice Mooney.

  Brice’s hand clamped onto the cold glass. The ice clinked and dissolved into his single malt scotch, the only extravagance he had right now. If they found him, he’d never have a taste of the finer things in life behind bars. He needed to get out of here before they caught him. He should be out of the country, sitting on a white sand beach somewhere that didn’t extradite. He had money. Fame. Infamy, though he’d rather not have it for the crimes they wanted to pin on him because they didn’t understand what he’d done. He’d helped Jackie, the others, and Ashley become who they truly were meant to be.

  He downed his drink, welcoming the sting down his throat, tossed a twenty on the bar for the bartender who actually knew and stocked good scotch, and stood from the torn vinyl stool. A hand clamped onto his shoulder and shoved him back down. Brice looked down at the dirty hand on his last clean shirt. Being on the run sucked. He either needed to buy new clothes, or find a place with laundry service. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, not likely.

  “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  “Not interested.” He pulled the Dodgers cap low, ducked his head so he wasn’t recognized, and tried to swivel and get off the stool the other way. He ran straight into another beefy man in a biker vest blocking him in.

  Shit.

  “It wasn’t a request, Mr. Mooney.” The low deep voice didn’t carry, but if they knew who he was, it wouldn’t be long before everyone else in this dive would, too. For all his trying to blend in with his unshaven face, jeans, simple black T-shirt, and jean jacket, he stood out among the work-roughened men.

  Brice turned to face the men around him and had a moment to contemplate he might never see that beach or have his freedom if these four, no five, leather-, denim-, and tattoo-clad men took him out and shot him. For what, Brice didn’t know, but it seemed a real possibility.

  “Now,” the tall white-haired man ordered. Premature gray was one thing for a guy in his . . . early fifties, Brice guessed. Sixties? Who could tell with that white hair? Brice had never seen anything like it. Except for maybe Betty White, but she was in her nineties.

  “What do I call you?”

  “Iceman.”

  It fit. The hair. The cold attitude. Brice didn’t want to think what else it stood for. Certainly not a love for Val Kilmer’s character in Top Gun.

  He grabbed one of Brice’s arms. Another guy with a dragon tattoo flying up his neck clamped his fat fingers around Brice’s other arm.

  “Where are we going?” They led him out of the bar, not a single other soul bothering to look their way. One of the reasons he’d picked the place in the middle of nowhere. He’d hoped people would mind their own damn business. Getting noticed would get him arrested or killed at this point, so he went along with the men hoping to find an escape—from whatever this was.

  “What do you want with me? There’s no reward for turning me in. I’ll make it worth your while to let me go.”

  “Shut up and get in.” Iceman patted him down, took the gun from under his shirt at his back that Brice had taken from Deputy Foster, then shoved him toward a black Mercedes.

  The wall of brute force behind him didn’t bode well for him if he disobeyed, but it grated to be ordered around like some menial gopher.

  Brice opened the door, bent, and peeked inside. He’d never seen the man sitting on the plush, pale-gray leather backseat, but
his dark brown skin and jet-black hair spoke to his Mexican heritage. The exquisite black opal on his pinky said money just as loudly as his designer suit. Brice didn’t need more than one guess to know how this man with the biker gang entourage made his money.

  “Have a seat, friend.”

  Brice did as he was told again. The door closed with a respectful click, leaving him and his new “friend” in quiet peace.

  “I don’t believe we are acquainted.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. You know this saying?” the man said, his words heavily tinged with his Hispanic accent.

  “I do. But who is our common enemy?”

  “Special Agent Beck Cooke of the DEA. He is known to me as Trigger.”

  After Trigger shot at him on his property missing him by a mere inch, Brice understood why he’d been given the nickname.

  “He’s caused me a lot of trouble and cost me a great deal of money. He is also responsible for the death of my cousin Marco.” The man squeezed his hand into a fist on his thigh, the black opal sparkling blues and greens in the dome light overhead. “He took my family. He took your woman. This is a man who needs to be taught a lesson about loss.”

  Brice couldn’t agree more. “While we have a common interest in seeing this man put down, he’s out of reach. So is my Aurora.”

  “She is Ashley Swan, no? The famous actress. Such a beauty.”

  “Yes, but to me, she will always be Aurora.”

  The man’s lips dipped into a frown of understanding, if only to appease Brice. It irritated him.

  “You, my friend, were too easy to find. It is a wonder the police have not found you yet.”

  Brice didn’t comment. He’d taken a calculated risk going into the bar. He was tired of hiding out in dingy motel rooms, and his own company, and wanted a decent drink.

  “But you see I have resources they do not. I am a man who knows things and makes things happen.”

  “How can you get to someone who has proven that anyone getting close to that house will be shot and killed?” It’s why he’d curbed his need to go after her himself, though he’d been racking his brain for a way to get to her. He wouldn’t be impulsive and stupid, like Darren.

  “You will get your Aurora back and I will get my money and Beck.”

  Brice doubted it, but played along. “And how will that happen?”

  “He will come to us. This, I can promise and make happen.” The guy’s vague answer with no substance or details sounded like every politician promising voters results with absolutely no plan to back it up.

  Brice narrowed his eyes. “That’s all well and good, but he’ll be armed. Reporters will follow them.”

  “My men will take care of all that. It should spike the news ratings, no? You get this, yes?”

  “Yes.” The photogs would get an up-close view of Beck’s takedown and Ashley being captured by a group of unidentified men. They’d speculate that Brice hired them to kidnap her. “So what, you take them—how do I get Aurora back?”

  “I’m a businessman. This is a business deal. Trigger cost me two million dollars during the raid he executed on Marco’s land. If you want your Aurora, you will pay me two million dollars to get her back.”

  Brice had to admit, he hadn’t seen that one coming. Anxious to have her back now, he asked, “When and where?”

  The man handed over a black business card with a gold scorpion on the front and two sets of numbers handwritten on the back.

  “Tomorrow. My man will meet you here at three and take you to the meeting place. If the money is not in that account by the time you arrive, you will be of no use to me, and I will kill you and keep the girl. I’m sure others will pay for her safe return.”

  “You’ll have your money. Mr. . . .?”

  “Guzman. Do not forget it, for if you cross me, you will know the man who will see you dead.”

  Brice felt a chill of fear race up his spine along with the danger and excitement this man evoked in him. “You’ll have your money. I will have my Aurora.” He couldn’t wait. Tomorrow seemed so far away.

  “If you come through, I have a shipment leaving the country on a private plane to Mexico. Perhaps you would like to take your lady on a trip?”

  “Yes. Thank you for your generosity.”

  “I have a soft spot for lovers. Another reason I want Trigger dead. He killed Marco’s girlfriend during that raid. If not for that, I’d have gotten him out of jail, and Marco would be alive today.”

  “Sounds like the sooner I have Aurora away from Trigger the better.”

  Mr. Guzman handed him one of the small snifters of brandy set on the narrow bar in front of them. He held his glass aloft and toasted with, “Tomorrow, we will both have what we want.”

  Brice downed the shot. Two million was a small price to pay for his most precious treasure. The police would be watching his accounts. They’d see the transfer and probably figure out his location. By the time they tracked him and the money, he’d have Aurora back and they’d be out of the country.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ashley held the peppermint out to Berry. He took it and nudged his nose in her palm for more. She smashed the plastic wrapper in her hand and stuffed it in her jeans pocket.

  “Stop giving him so many of those,” Beck called from the other side of the barn where he worked on his Camaro.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She held her finger to her lips in front of Berry. “Shh. It’s our secret.”

  “Your secret is making him ornery. Every time I try to feed him, he nibbles at my pockets looking for those things.”

  Ashley gave Berry one last pat and headed down the aisle to the wide door that separated the horses from Beck’s garage and workshop. Berry nickered, calling her back so he could have another candy.

  Beck eyed her as she leaned against his car. “You’re spoiling him.”

  “I’m happy to spoil you, too.”

  Beck finished prepping the window frame for painting and winked at her. “You did last night.”

  “And this morning in the shower,” she added, her voice husky.

  Beck set aside the roll of tape and came to her, planting his hands on the car door on either side of her. She thought he’d lean in and kiss her, but his head dipped, missed her lips, and he kissed a path down her chest to the V in her sky-blue sweater. His lips settled warm and soft on the swell of her breast, his tongue sliding against her skin before his lips pressed another light kiss and moved on to the next oversensitive spot. She held his head to her. Eyes closed, her total focus on the feel of his mouth on her, she let her head fall back with the passion-filled sigh she let loose.

  Beck nuzzled her neck, kissed behind her ear, and smiled against her skin when he said, “We keep this up, there’s no telling how long it will be before we make it back up to the house.”

  “I don’t have anyplace else I need to be but right here with you.” She cupped his face and pulled him in for another searing kiss.

  Beck growled low in his throat, lifted her onto the side of the car, and swung her around to the front. He moved around the fender and right between her legs. She hooked her feet around his hips and pulled him close, losing herself in his taste and heat as his body pressed down on her and her back hit the hood.

  Beck’s big hands smoothed over her shoulders, down her chest, and covered her breasts, kneading them in his hands and driving her crazy. His hands trailed down her sides. She giggled when he hit the sensitive curve above her hips. Nothing deterred him from his mission as his hands rubbed down her thighs and legs to her feet. He pulled off her boots, smoothed his hands up her legs to the button and zipper on her jeans. He hooked his fingers in the denim and dragged the pants and her panties down and right off her feet.

  Her bottom settled on the cold hood. Goose bumps rose on her legs, but Beck warmed her, rubbing his big hands up and down them as he kissed her belly. One hand swept up the inside of her thigh. She rocked her hips into his
hand as it settled between her legs, his thumb rubbing against her soft folds, up and down as she rocked her hips to his rhythm.

  As desperate for her as she was for him, he undid his jeans, clamped his hands on her hips, and rubbed his hard cock against her slick core until she moaned, greedy for him to be inside her. His fingers clamped tight and pulled her down on him. His warm body settled over her as he thrust hard and deep into her wet center, filling her and making her want more.

  She stared up at him, his eyes intense and locked on hers as he held her hips gripped in his strong hands, pulling and pushing her as he thrust into her again and again. Harder. Faster. He didn’t relent until her body locked around his. She shattered right there on the hood of his car while he watched her, but he didn’t let her go alone. His gaze stayed steady on her as he buried himself deep and his body bucked against hers and he lost himself in her.

  His gray-blue eyes filled with intense emotion. Love. Possession. Raw desire. Longing. Neither of them said a thing. Words weren’t needed. Nothing they said would accurately convey what they both felt in this moment. They stared at each other, locked together, her heaving breath a match to his. Her body rippled with aftershocks as he held her hips tight against his. The connection they shared surrounded them like a living thing; she felt like a warm blanket wrapped around them. Her heart and soul pulsed out of her chest, captured the piece of Beck he sent out to her, and fell back within her, a piece of him now a part of her. No matter what happened between them, she’d carry that piece of him with her the rest of her life.

  “I love you. You know that, right?” Beck’s passionate gaze never left hers.

  She didn’t understand what came over him. Why he needed her to convince him that she did know how deeply he cared for her. But she knew those words and the emotion she saw in his eyes to be wholly true and indestructible. That’s the way Beck loved.

  “I know it. I feel it. I believe in it and us, Beck. I never thought I’d have someone like you as a part of my life. I feel lucky and unworthy, but I will love you with my whole heart until the day I die and hope that you feel the way you make me feel.”