by Rita Herron
The memory of Holly talking about the night of the kidnapping surfaced. She had been out with Sanders. She was upset with him and her father because they’d made a deal. She’d taken a sedative—no, she’d been given a sedative. She’d thought the maid had slipped it to her, but…what if it had been someone else?
When Holly had turned down Sanders’s proposal, had he been angry? Would he have helped Grace to seek revenge for her rebuff?
Another possibility—Todd Houghton had not been happy to relinquish his title of governor to Joshua. Would he try to kill Holly to get revenge on the Langworthys?
Night’s head was spinning, a bad feeling clawing at his gut. He was just about to call the Langworthy house when his phone rang.
“Hello. Night Walker.”
“Agent Walker, this is Celia Langworthy.”
Her voice sounded agitated. “What’s wrong?”
“Holly left for the cabin a few hours ago. She was upset. I’m worried.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I tried to talk her into taking a bodyguard, but she’s so stubborn.”
Damn. What if she was still in danger?
“She was upset, too,” Celia continued. “She found out about your conversation with her father. I don’t know what to make of everything, Agent Walker. Frankly, I’m not sure if you care about my daughter, or if you simply used her, but she’s acting recklessly because of you. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Night’s fingers tightened around the phone. What had Langworthy told Holly about him and their conversation? Had he convinced them all that Night didn’t care about his son?
“Agent Walker?”
“I’m on my way to the cabin now,” he said. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Langworthy, I’ll make and Schyler are safe.”
“And make sure you don’t break her heart again, too, will you?”
Night gritted his teeth. “Yes, Ma’am.” He hung up, his earlier bad premonition returning.
He hoped his instincts were wrong this time, that Holly and the baby were snuggled in bed sound asleep when he arrived.
But if his instincts were right, they could be in grave danger.
BARRING HOLLY’S roller-coaster emotions, the ride to Aspen had been uneventful. There she had bundled Schyler up with their supplies and decided to take the snowmobile instead of going to the cabin on horseback. It would be faster and safer. She had to consider both now that she had a child.
It wasn’t until she neared the cabin that she remembered the last time she had come here and wondered at her own sanity for returning to the place where she had been kidnapped. But Grace and Bertram were in prison and no one else knew her whereabouts. Still, she wished she hadn’t left in such a hurry. She hadn’t replaced her pistol.
Schyler looked around, eyes wide, from the safety seat, obviously enjoying the ride through the snow-laden Colorado woods. He would love the cabin, too, watching the animals come to feed, the peace and quiet. She drove slowly and carefully to keep her son safe.
Parking the snowmobile in front of the house, she noticed a deer hovering close to the trees at the edge of the cabin. Schyler saw it, too, and yelped. Instead of scaring away the animal though, the doe stopped and cocked its head as if listening. Would Schyler be able to communicate with the animals as Night had?
She carried Schyler in and put him in the playpen her parents had brought to the cabin. He found a rattle and shook it, laughing at the sound.
“Mommy will be right back,” she said. “Then I’ll get a fire going so it’ll get nice and toasty in here.”
She brought in the groceries and placed them on the counter, then started the fire. The wood crackled and popped as she fed Schyler rice cereal and fruit. Then she heated a can of soup for herself. After dinner, they played on the braided rug on the floor in front of the fireplace until Schyler yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Then she dragged the playpen to the bedroom, and settled him inside to sleep. He looked around the room and once again, Holly wondered if he was searching for his father.
Once Sky was asleep, she sat in front of the fire, staring into the leaping flames, struggling for answers. How could her father have bribed Night to leave? Why hadn’t Night told her? And why had he so readily given up his son when in the beginning, he’d proclaimed his intentions to make him a part of his life?
Did he really believe his little boy was better off without him? Without his father and his heritage?
She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and stretched out against the pillows, too restless to go to bed but too lethargic to do anything else. Even if Night couldn’t love her, she was determined her baby not suffer the trauma of thinking his father abandoned him.
She finally fell asleep on the floreams of making love to Night filling her sleep. Then she was being kidnapped again. Grace…he’d escaped and come back for her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He had another hypodermic, this time he was going to kill her with the virus, and Mary, crazy Mary would take Schyler and raise him….
She jerked awake. A scratching sound at the window sent chills up her spine. Cold air brushed her cheek. She turned toward the bedroom to look for the source. The window was open, the curtain fluttering in the breeze. It had been shut when she’d put Schyler to bed.
The floor creaked. Footsteps echoed on the surface.
Someone was in the cabin.
Chapter Fifteen
Night had flown to Aspen, then rented a snowmobile and raced toward the cabin, cutting across the less inhabited areas as a shortcut. Although he had never been to the Langworthy’s private getaway, he had a map and a rudimentary knowledge of the area and terrain. His mind hummed with questions as he crossed the miles. Before he’d hung up the phone, he had asked Holly’s mother who had given her the sedative the night Sky was kidnapped, but no one seemed to know the answer. The maid had denied it. Her parents had been convinced Holly had taken it herself because she was so distraught and had simply forgotten. But Night knew she hadn’t.
So, who had put it in her drink? And why?
Someone who wanted her to sleep through the kidnapping?
According to Grace’s statements, Bertram had slipped into the house to steal the infant. He claimed to know nothing about a sedative, but he could have been lying.
Since the call, Night had also tried to locate Sanders and Houghton, but neither one could be found.
The runners of the snowmobile shattered the snow, sending icy particles flying. Cold air beat against his face, but he didn’t slow down. He had to reach Holly and his son.
He had to know they were all right.
HOLLY FOUGHT panic as she scanned the darkness for some way to protect herself, but the intruder pounced on her before she could reach for the fire poker. She slammed her fist against the man’s nose, kicking and struggling, but he punched her in the jaw, and her head snapped back. She tasted blood. But she couldn’t give up. If he killed her, what would happen to her son?
“Your family will be sorry for what you’ve done to me.”
Her stomach pitched in disbelief as she recognized the voice. Sweet Jesus, no one would believe her if she survived. He was entrenched in Denver politics, had been a public figure.
“Why are you doing this?” she hissed between dizzying spells.
He yanked her by the hair, his two hundred pounds pinning her to the floor. “Because the Langworthys crossed me. That’s reason enough.”
She shuddered at the pure venom in his voice and tried to focus on a p. Maybe if she cajoled him, convinced him she could help him…
“If you want money, we can strike a deal. My father will pay—”
“Yes, your father will pay, but it’s too late for money. He has to suffer.”
He wound a fishing line around her wrists. She tried to pull loose, but he snagged the cord so tightly he cut off the circulation. She bucked upwards, aiming for his groin. But he punched her in the jaw again, this time so hard star
s swirled in front of her eyes, and she thought her jawbone might have cracked.
“Please,” Holly begged. “My baby…”
Tears clogged her voice. She didn’t care if she died, but she had to save her son. Even if this maniac didn’t kill him, if he left him here alone in the elements, the fire would dwindle, her son would starve to death or freeze…. Dear God, this couldn’t be happening. She had been stupid to come here alone.
NIGHT COASTED into the clearing a half mile from the cabin, and cut the engine, listening for sounds. He didn’t want to disturb or frighten Holly, yet the voice that had whispered to him on the cliff the day they had taken that leap had returned.
Trust what you sense, not what you see.
His senses warned him something was very wrong. That everything he loved and held dear was in danger.
He parked the snowmobile beneath a cluster of trees, and hiked toward the cabin, listening. Sounds of wild animals rent the night. A lone wolf. An eagle’s cry. The sound of fear echoing off the ice-laden branches as they popped and crackled in the night.
Was his son all right?
Slipping through the tunnel of pines bordering the property, he glanced around the perimeter. A single snowmobile. Holly’s? Were she and Schyler inside, safe and sound?
A shudder gripped him, the primal fear that had dogged him all day tightening his spine.
Scanning the outer edges of the cabin, he stalked toward it slowly, registering every sound and nuance of animal life. Firelight flickered from the front room, framed in the unshaded window. The front door creaked as it swung back and forth, scraping against the wood floor inside.
Something was definitely wrong.
It was past midnight. Alone in the wilderness, Holly would never leave the door wide open.
One step. Two. He inched up the front porch, weapon drawn, breath hissing into the starless night. The wood flooring squeaked. He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. He was getting sloppy.
Forcing his breathing to slow, he crept inside, his eyes sweeping the room. Empty. His heart pounded as he inched his way to the other room. A dark bedroom, lit by a night-light. An empty bed. His son, asleep in the playpen.
A breath hitched out. Relief. His son was fine. Sleeping peacefully.
But where was his mother?
Then he heard her cry. It pierced the night.
And he took off running to the forest.
HOLLY STRUGGLED against the tree where Carlton Sanders had tied her, the rough edges of the bark scraping her skin until she felt the blood trickling down her arms. She didn’t care. She had to get free and save Schyler.
“You won’t get away with this,” she said, trying to sound sultry. But her voice cracked, sounding vulnerable instead. “Why don’t we make a deal? It’s not too late.”
He circled her in a wide arc, knife blade drawn, gun at his hip. He looked like a primitive animal, vengeance darkening his soulless eyes. She couldn’t believe her family had ever trusted this man, that she had. But he had that smooth politician’s smile. A smile that did not meet his evil eyes.
He lifted the knife to her cheek, slid the edge down in a caress, dragged it over her chin, across her neck, taunting her. Then he slid it below the top button of her shirt. Popped it off with a flick of his wrist. Then the others, one by one. He snapped them away from the fabric. The brittle sound cut into the charged silence. His foul breath chased across her skin as he ran the knife over her bare neck.
The blade stung. Pricked at her flesh. She felt blood trickle down in a thin stream.
Tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around her vocal cords. Choking her.
“Please, just do whatever you want and get it over with. B-but pro—promise me you’ll call someone to get the baby.”
His eyes gleamed with the essence of power, the sharp laugh he emitted more painful than the knife blade threatening to pierce her skin.
Then a loud feral sound tore through the air. A wolf attacking? A wild cat in this part of the mountains? Was this his plan, to make her bleed enough to attract the wild animals and let them finish her off?
The sound pierced the air again. A man lunged from the darkness of the forest. Like a black panther, he growled with menace.
Night.
She had never seen him look so powerful. Like a Native warrior from another time.
He dove on top of Carlton and took him down. Bones cracked in the silence. Holly sobbed aloud, rocking back and forth to free herself from her ties. Frantic, she scraped harder and harder against the jagged bark to break the cord, mindless that her blood dripped onto the ground where the two men rolled.
NIGHT LASHED OUT with all the anger and fear he’d kept at bay for the past few months. The sight of this man torturing Holly felt like a brutal blow to his own chest. Sanders screeched with pain as bones shattered. Careening, he rolled to a submissive fetal position and covered his face to protect himself.
The bastard cut a deal to marry Holly. And now he’d tried to kill her.
“You gave Holly that sedative, didn’t you? You were working with Grace?”
“I just wanted to be Joshua’s right-hand man,” Sanders hiLangworthy promised.” He spat blood on the ground, his evil glare finding Holly, who hung by the tree, her arms bleeding, her shirt torn. God help him, but he wanted to mutilate this man.
“But you helped with the kidnapping?” he ground out.
“I agreed to marry Holly to get the job as Langworthy’s assistant,” Sanders said, his words biting. “But I sure as hell didn’t plan on playing father to an illegitimate half breed.”
Holly’s pained gaze met his, tears overflowing her eyes.
“And then she ruined your plans by turning you down, didn’t she?” Night asked.
“The spoiled little bitch.”
Night landed another blow to his midsection to shut him up.
“You’re not good enough to be my son’s father,” Holly said, her voice cold. “Only one man could fill that role. His real father.”
Night’s gaze locked with hers, the distance that had seemed so wide between them suddenly closing. He reached inside his jacket pocket, removed a pair of handcuffs and cuffed Sanders to a tree.
Then he stood, wiped the dirt off his hands and went to free Holly.
IT WAS another two hours before the authorities arrived to retrieve Sanders and take him into custody. Meanwhile, Night tended Holly’s wounds. Thank God they had only been superficial. Still, she was shaken, and he forced her to lie down.
Finally, the sheriff left with Sanders in tow. The sheriff had taken their statement, then agreed to let them stay in the cabin, so long as they made themselves available for further questioning later.
Night stoked the fire, then removed his coat and walked to the bedroom. He didn’t have a right to touch her, not after the way he’d left things before, not when Holly had been nothing but giving and he had let pride and past hurts get in the way.
But he could not stop himself.
He had to hold her tonight.
He hesitated at the doorway, firelight from the front room casting a golden glow over the bed where she lay. As if she sensed his presence, she stood and came to him. She wore a simple white nightshirt that made her look young and innocent, the virginal princess that he had taken that first night so long ago.
But she wasn’t innocent any longer.
And she wasn’t the princess he had labeled her to be.
No, she was far more wonderful, more real, more honest, more strong and courageous than he’d ever imagined a woman could be.
“Night…”
“I love you, Holly.” The words tumbled from his lips, freeing him, the emotions he’d masked for so long no longer held in protective custody. If she stomped on his heart, he’d survive. But he had to be honest. “God, when I thought he was going to kill you…”
He dropped his head forward, shame and fear pouring out. “I wanted to murder him. To make him pay for hurting you like that.�
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She clutched his hand. “I’m okay now,” she whispered, although fear still tinged her voice. “Schyler’s okay. You saved us again.”
He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I’ve been miserable without you. I thought that our son would be better off raised as a Langworthy…” His voice choked then, and she lifted a hand, the bloody scarring on her wrists tangling his throat into more knots. “I can’t stay away though. I want to be there to protect you, to protect him, if he has trouble being Cheyenne…”
“I don’t want you to stay away,” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Your father thought Schyler would be better off, and I thought maybe he would be, too.”
“How could he be better off without his father? How can I be better off without you in my life?” She wet her lips with her tongue. “I love you, Night. Only you.”
She reached for his shirt, unbuttoned it and dropped it to the floor. “I want our son to know you, to know his heritage, to be proud of the Cheyenne ways, to see the wonderful man you are.” She rose on her toes and kissed him. “And I want us to raise him together.”
How could he ever have thought her manipulative or spoiled? How could he ever have doubted the reason she hadn’t stood up to her father? She had been waiting on some sign from him, while he had allowed his pride to guide his actions, pride that had almost cost her and his son their lives.
He stripped the remainder of his clothes, then slowly undressed her, until the only thing that he wore was the name beads that he never removed. And all she wore were the bruises another man had given her. He had to take away the pain and memory of those.
He knelt before her, kissed her hand reverently, then bowed his head and whispered one of the Cheyenne prayers. She squeezed his hand, then knelt in front of him, her breasts swaying, the rosy peaks budding at his loving caress.