by Unknown
The insecurity in Danger’s voice broke her heart. They had a long way to go to mend the bridges they’d destroyed. He had to have faith in her or this would never work.
“Trust me,” she said quietly.
He nodded. He felt as unsure as she did.
Maybe that was a good thing, but she didn’t want him to have any doubts about how she felt. There was only one way to prove she wanted him back in her life. She turned to face him. “I love you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you. I won’t let him talk me into anything…especially leaving you.”
Relief washed over his face. The worry lines that had creased his brows smoothed away. He slowly exhaled as if he’d been standing there afraid to breathe. His eyes lit up. Lacey knew in that instant she’d made the right choice. This was her man. She loved him with every fiber of her being.
“I’ll be right here. Right here. Waiting. Hurry.”
Lacey nodded and moved away from her husband. Straightening her shoulders, she took a big breath, slowly expelled it and headed across the street toward Rafe.
“Watch out! She has a gun!”
The startled shout from the parking area near the courthouse distracted her, that, and the resounding blast of a gunshot. The biting sting in her upper left arm at first surprised her, but it was so damn familiar, like a swarm of bees had stung her. Her fingers tingled. She recognized this pain, this very special pain, but her mind wasn’t catching up to what she felt.
Curious, she looked down at her hand.
What in the world?
Her fingers suddenly felt numb, as if they’d frozen in the short time she’d been outside. Stunned, she watched a river of crimson drip from her fingertips onto the frozen ground. Odd. Where was that coming from? And why did her arm feel so strange?
Nausea bubbled in her stomach. The ground blurred and faded. Blurred and faded. Lacey staggered a couple of steps before regaining her momentum. She couldn’t think, not with this burning in her arm or the odd buzzing in her head. A woman’s hysterical screams penetrated the blankness of her mind, obscene words shouted at her that didn’t make sense.
“You killed my husband, you bitch,” the woman shouted, “murdered my Smitt. You’re gonna pay! I’m gonna make you pay!”
Karen?
Dear God, somehow the insane woman had got a gun and was pointing it at her.
“Lacey, get down!” The warning shout came from Danger, but it was Rafe who knocked her flying at the sound of a second and third gunshot.
Lacey crashed to the ground hard. Her breath escaped in one big, oomph, leaving her lungs empty and deflated as a balloon. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t draw a single breath into her aching lungs. Her stomach felt empty, as if every bit of air whooshed out and left her body hollow as a reed.
Breathe. Breathe.
She struggled to obey the voice in her head, but nothing inside her complied. Her lungs were empty, hollow, and felt ready to explode. “Uuuuuh…uuuuuh.”
Was that her gasping for air?
Air, sweet as a kiss spread slowly through her lungs, first one breath, another, and another until finally she no longer felt like a withered leaf. She slowly exhaled. Drew a fourth and fifth breath. Exhale. Exhale.
She moaned as everything came alive at once. God, it felt like she’d been hit by a stampede of wild mustangs. Lacey lay there unable to move.
Lying there, she blinked trying to orientate herself, unable to move, pinned beneath Rafe’s solid weight. Astonished, Lacey couldn’t take it all in. Something warm and wet trickled down the side of her face and into her eyes. She turned her head. She heard shouts, but couldn’t see anyone.
Where was everyone?
Swiping a hand down her face, she stared at the blood smeared across her palm and fingertips. An old pain, one she was quite familiar with from the day Smitt Davis shot her, spread from her shoulder to the end of her fingertips. Ah yeah, she was definitely alive.
She’d been shot.
How many times?
Why was there blood on her face?
She thought she’d only been shot once, so why was there so much blood on her? She must have been shot more than once. Lacey tried to wiggle out from beneath Rafe, but he had her crushed beneath him.
“Rafe?”
It slowly dawned on her that he hadn’t moved or made an attempt to get off her.
“Rafe?” She touched his back, but the thick denim coat he had on didn’t reveal much. She couldn’t even determine if he was breathing.
“Rafe?” she said again.
Chilling silence filled the air around her.
“Rafe!” Her voice rose on the edge of hysteria.
No response.
“Lacey! Are you okay?”
Danger’s shaky voice penetrated the dark haze blanking her mind. She couldn’t do this, she thought. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t bear to know that someone died because of her.
And someone had died.
The pain pinched her all the way to her soul.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please-please-please. Don’t be dead.”
There had been a third gunshot. A third. Who had the third bullet struck? She remembered a small crowd standing in front of the walk-in theatre waiting for tickets. Had there been children on the sidewalks? She couldn’t remember.
She didn’t want to remember, and she desperately wanted up.
Then Danger was there kneeling at her side. Gently, he rolled Rafe off her, pulled her into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. He rocked back and forth, sobbing, and calling her name.
“Lacey, talk to me. Open your eyes, sweetheart, and talk to me,” he said in a shaky voice. “Please, God, don’t take her from me.”
“I’m okay,” Lacey muttered on a broken sob. “I–I think I’m okay.”
“Then open your eyes.”
“I can’t. I can’t,” she said, her voice wavering on the edge of hysteria. “He’s dead and I can’t bear to see that. Rafe’s dead. Isn’t he?” Her voice cracked. She could no longer hold back the tears dammed inside her.
“Lacey, baby—”
“Tell me,” she shouted, locking her fingers in his shirt. “He’s dead. I know he is. Just tell me. Say the words.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. Yes. He’s gone.”
Tears spilled down her face. “It isn’t right,” she said in a shaky voice. “I–I didn’t…I didn’t tell him.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“No, you don’t know. You don’t know.”
Danger turned her enough to check her back. “There’s no exit wound.” Gingerly he lowered her back to the ground. Somebody shoved a bandanna in his hand and he quickly wadded it up and pressed it against the wound on her upper shoulder.
“Don’t move. Help’s on the way. You’re losing a lot of blood. A chopper’s on the way from Havre.”
“I didn’t tell him about the baby,” she cried. “I didn’t get to tell him, and now…it’s too late.”
“Don’t talk, honey. Don’t think about it. The helicopter will be here in about fifteen minutes,” another man said.
The voice sounded familiar. Lacey turned her head and stared at Blake Hardesty, Danger’s brother-in-law. Blake, who’d loved and lost Anna Leigh, Danger’s sister, to Smitt Davis on the same day the vicious killer attacked her.
“Blake,” she said faintly. “I’m sorry…about…everything.”
He squatted beside her and gripped her hand. “None of it was your fault, sweetheart. I never blamed you. Never.”
“Karen?”
“She’s dead,” Danger said grimly, frowning at the amount of blood on the bandanna.
“She was going to have a baby,” Lacey replied on a tortured note. “Oh, God, you killed her and her child?”
“I did,” Blake said, squeezing her hand. “Danger didn’t kill her. I did. I had no choice. She was shooting at anyone who got in her way. There were kids in the crowd. I couldn’t let her do that. I
shot her.” His voice cracked. He bowed his head, but she’d seen a tear slip down his face. “God forgive me, I hate what happened, but I can’t find it in me to regret that she’s dead.”
* * * *
Rimrock, Montana
February 20, Friday
5:55 p.m.
Kane Masters opened the door to his motel room and stepped back, startled to see a shadowy movement from within. “How the hell did you get inside my room?”
“I have my ways.” Zaden, mercenary and assassin for hire, beckoned him in. “Close the door,” he snapped. “It’s damned cold.” He rubbed his hands. “I thought you said Rimrock is a quiet little Podunk of a town with nothing happening.”
“I did say that. It is.” Kane closed and locked the door behind him.
“Then what the hell is going on? There are cops everywhere on the street, a chopper, two bodies covered with sheets and a woman being airlifted. That doesn’t sound very peaceful.”
Kane pulled the bottle out of the plain brown paper bag he’d carried in with him and twisted off the cap. He poured scotch into two plastic glasses the motel provided, added ice, and pressed one into Zaden’s hands. “There was some kind of shootout on Main Street.” He grinned. “Just like the Old West.”
Zaden snatched the glass from Kane and downed the amber liquid in one swallow. “Yeah, just like the old fucking west. I warn you my friend, there were a couple of those lawmen who looked about as cold and dangerous as Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid rolled in one.”
He laughed. “That would be the sheriff and deputy. They won’t be a problem. If they are, take them out of the equation.”
“With pleasure.” He tilted his glass, sucked up an ice cube and nibbled on it. “They watched my car all the way down the street. They know I came here.”
“So what?” Kane said impatiently. “If anyone asks, we’re two old friends who decided to take a hunting trip together.”
“Hunting trip?”
Kane lifted a dark brow. “We don’t have to disclose what we’re hunting. Do we?”
“I guess not. You got a refill on that scotch?” He rattled the glass. “My arm’s killing me.”
“Sure thing.” Kane took the empty glass and refilled it. Zaden grabbed it, but this time, he took his time sipping the amber courage. “So when do we get to work?”
Kane shook his head. “We can’t do anything until this predicted blizzard passes and your shoulder mends.”
Zaden swore, killed the scotch, and set the empty glass aside. “Tell me about this wild Montana cowboy we gotta whack.”
Kane threw back his head and laughed.
“What’s the joke?”
Sobering, he poured himself a drink and plopped down on the side of one of the queen-sized beds. “Funny you used the term wild. That’s the cowboy’s name. Wild.”
“Really?” Zaden sat down on the opposite bed and pondered. “Let’s hope he doesn’t live up to his name and goes down without a fight.”
“He won’t. From what I hear, he’s a hard ass with attitude. Doesn’t start trouble, but doesn’t back down from it either. He isn’t much liked in town.”
“Why not?” Zaden wondered aloud.
“The good citizens would like for him to go away, but he isn’t accommodating them.”
“I like him. Too bad we have to take him down. Why do they want him gone?” Zaden asked, curious.
“He’s an ex-convict. I doubt he knows the meaning of going down without a fight.” Kane finished off his drink and set the plastic glass on the nightstand.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. It isn’t going to be easy.”
Zaden rubbed his shoulder. “Of course not. This shoulder’s going to be useless for a while. Have you heard anything about the agent I shot?”
Kane grinned. “Duel Remington? He’s out of the way. One of the bullets lodged near his spine. He won’t be a problem anytime soon.”
“The red-haired witch who shot me with that fucking crossbow? I’m gonna enjoy killing her.”
“We’ll take care of her as soon as we get rid of this cowboy and Jayla.”
“I’m gonna cut out her heart,” Zaden said. “I’m gonna cut it out real slow.”
“Which one?”
“What?” Zaden turned his gaze on Kane and frowned.
“Which woman’s heart are you planning to cut out?”
“Might as well do both of them…unless you have some objection?”
“None at all, a man has to take his pleasure where he can find it.”
“I’ve waited a long time for Jayla Ross,” Zaden said, closing his eyes and rubbing his crotch in a slow movement. “I waited for you to get tired of her,” he added. “You sure you don’t mind me carving out her heart to add to my collection?” He opened his eyes, a silent challenge in the cold depths.
Kane eyed the man’s crotch where he obviously had the makings of a hard-on rising behind his zipper. He shrugged. “You plan to fuck her?”
Zaden laughed. “Maybe. She’s a tempting little thing.” He rubbed his cock, groaning when it rose to press tautly against his zipper. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to do her. Like I said, I was just waiting until you had your fill of her.”
“I’ve had my fill. I want her to suffer.”
“Oh, she will, but what did she do to make you hate her so much?”
“She murdered my daughter.”
“I didn’t think you gave a shit about that brat.”
“I didn’t. No one destroys something that’s mine unless I say so. Jayla killed my child. I want the bitch dead.”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter Eleven
We had discovered an accursed country. We had found the Home of the Blizzard.
~Douglas Mawson
Montana
West side of Dancing Star
February 20, Friday
7:00 p.m.
Jayla opened her eyes to the keen wailing of the wind raising hell around the outside corners of the house. While she’d slept, the blizzard arrived in all its glorious, bone-numbing ferocity. Icy fear froze the blood in her veins and refused to sludge on. Trapped in the snowbound mountains of Montana was not her idea of fun.
She sat up and flung back the covers. Crap, she forgot she was naked, except for the pad Wild had made her. Yawning, she scooted to the edge and padded across the wood floor to the bathroom. Relieved to note the bleeding had stopped, Jayla sighed. Thank God.
What a difference a few hours of bed rest sometimes made. She’d hoped being off her feet and less stress to deal with, like constantly watching over her shoulder and driving hour-after-hour would help.
A miracle that might not hold, but she’d take whatever she could get.
Miracles worked just fine for her.
It was also nice that the cramps had settled into an occasional twinge, a reminder that she still had to slow down and take things a little easier or she’d be right back in that bed. Now, if the throbbing in her shoulder would just go away, she’d almost feel like her old self again.
She took a moment to pull on the sweats and T-shirt Wild loaned her and finger combed her dark hair.
Shivering, she hurried back to the living room and paused in front of the fireplace. Nothing left of the fire but a few soft embers. No wonder the room felt like a deep freezer. Jayla stirred the coals and tossed some kindling along with a couple of small pieces of wood on them. She glanced at her watch. Wild said he’d be back within an hour. It had been at least two.
Oh, God, what if something bad had happened to him?
What if his horse had thrown him?
What if he’d broken a leg or fallen over a mountain edge.
She should never have asked him to go after her insulin.
Jayla stood up, hurried to the door, and flung it open. The icy wind snatched the breath out of her lungs. Her hair whipped around her face. Snow slapped across her toes and wet the wood floor near her feet. Bracing her hands against the door, it t
ook all her strength to push it shut against the driving force of the wind.
Panic swamped her. Dear God, Wild wouldn’t be able to see a foot in front of his face.
What if he’d lost his way?
He was out there in this, all because she’d been too stupid to remember to grab her medical supplies. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.
Nibbling on her thumb, she paced and tried to think of a way to help him. What could she do to make it easier for him to find his way home in a blinding blizzard? Jayla halted in front of the fire. She chewed on her thumb until the nail was clean into the quick. Damn it! Where was he?
The generator.
Of course.
He’d said it was on, which was why there was electricity, but she hadn’t bothered to turn a light switch. Could he see lights through the thick falling snow?
Well he sure couldn’t if she didn’t turn them on. Idiot.
She was such a useless human being.
Jayla raced from light switch to light switch, flipping them on, all three of them, one in the combination living and bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom.
Now what?
It was such a small cabin, three rooms to light up. That was hardly anything to guide her man home safely.
What else could she do to help him?
Jayla thrust fingers through her tangled hair. For the love of God, she couldn’t think. Heck, she’d never been in this kind of situation before. Wild would never hear her if she stood on the front porch and yelled. No way. The wind was fiercer than her voice could carry. It’d simply snatch her cries and carry them away with the wind.
So what noise could she make?
Jayla stared at the nightstand. A gun. She remembered Wild placing the pistol inside the drawer. She’d fire it. Maybe he’d hear the shots. At any rate, it was the only noisemaker she had.
Desperate, she rushed over to the stand and jerked open the drawer. Yes! The revolver was there. Jayla took a moment to slip on her shoes, then hefted the pistol and crossed the room.