by D'Ann Lindun
Her fear, too. They had to find a way to get out of this cabin. “He will.”
A shiver ran down her spine. Although she’d worn the borrowed raincoat, taken off the back of the saddle, a chill had still worked its way into her bones. January stuffed her hands into the pockets. Her fingers brushed something hard. Jamie’s keys. When she’d parked the truck and trailer, she’d stuffed them in her pocket.
Pulling them free, she gasped. Among the keys was a mini Leatherman. Thank God for Jamie English. January wished the sheriff was there right now so she could hug her. Of course if she were there, they wouldn’t be trapped like rats in a maze.
“Look.” She showed Kyra her prize.
“What is it?” She swiped her nose across her sleeve.
“A Leatherman.” January opened it. “See? There’s a knife, tweezers, and best of all, a Philips head screwdriver.”
“Are we going to stab him?”
“If it comes to it, yes. But I’m going to try and unscrew that plywood over the window first.”
Kyra nodded. “Okay.”
With a weary sigh, January pushed to her feet. “Come on. I need you to hold the phone so I can see.”
“We have a cell? Oh my God. Let me have it. I’m going to call my mother—”
“No service,” January said.
“Oh.” As fast as Kyra lit up she deflated.
January held out her hand. “Come on. I need your help.”
Allowing January to tug her to her feet, Kyra stumbled to the window. January followed and handed her the phone. “Okay, hold this close enough that I can see. I don’t know how long the battery will hold out, so we’ve got to work fast.”
At the window, the ugly truth came out.
The board had been nailed on from the outside. There was no unscrewing it from the inside. Tears of defeat slid down January’s cheeks. “This won’t work.”
Kyra stared at her in dumbfounded silence.
January meant what she’d said—if she had to stab Deputy Tad Carver with the nail file when he returned, she’d do it. The humiliating memories of what Dominic had made her do flooded her mind. Never again would she do what she’d had to with Dominic—promising him sex on the top deck of his boat, then performing disgusting acts before jumping overboard, not caring if she’d died in the water. Luckily that hadn’t happened. She’d been rescued by a fisherman who spotted her unconscious body floating on the open sea.
With renewed resolve, she looked around again.
The door.
Boarded from the outside, it had hinges on the inside.
“The door.”
Kyra glanced that way. “What about it?”
“Hinges.” January held up the Leatherman. “I think we can unscrew it.”
Together, they stumbled across the cabin to the door. Kyra held up the cell phone as January fit the tiny screwdriver into the first screw and turned it. “It’s going to work.”
Turn by turn, January inched the first screw out of the bottom hinge.
Finally, it fell free into her palm. “Got it!”
“How many now?” Kyra held the cell phone closer. “Five.”
January’s right arm felt like it might fall off, but she lifted it to the next screw. “Five more here, six in the top hinge.” She glanced at Kyra. “Just in case we’re not done by the time that deputy comes back, we should make a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” The light wobbled as Kyra’s hands shook.
“I don’t want to bargain with him. I think we should have a plan of attack.”
“Okay,” Kyra said in a small voice. “What do we do?”
“Hit him over the head with the chairs.” January made another twist, then shook her hand. “My arm is killing me. Let’s trade for awhile.”
They traded instruments.
“You want to bash him over the head?” Kyra asked.
“Yeah,” January said. “I do. This is what we’re going to do. I’ll hide beside the door and you get behind it. When he comes in, you crack him over the head. When he doubles over, I’ll hit him again. Then we run like hell for his car.”
“What if he has a gun?”
“Doesn’t matter,” January said bravely. “We strike first.”
“He could still shoot us,” Kyra said. “If we miss…”
“We won’t miss, and we’ll hit him hard enough to knock him out,” January said grimly.
“Okay,” Kyra said. Another screw came out of the door. “I don’t get what’s going on. That cop should be helping us, not locking us up and leaving us here in the dark.” Her voice caught.
“I don’t know either. But I’m not sticking around here to find out.” January knew all too well what a man who imprisoned a woman wanted. Sex games. Ones she would not play. She’d survived it once, twice would kill her. And Kyra. The poor girl was already at the end of her mental endurance. She wouldn’t be able to endure five minutes with a sadistic rapist. “Let me have that screwdriver.”
Kyra handed it over and took the cell phone. The light from the screen flickered. “The battery’s dying.”
“Shit. Turn it off. We’ll need it when we get free.”
“Can you do it in the dark?”
In spite of the circumstances, a corner of January’s mouth lifted. “Sure.”
The process took longer than expected in the total dark and January’s arms began to shake. “I’ve got to rest. Can you take over for a while?”
“Yeah.” Kyra took the small tool and fumbled with it in the dark.
“Can you get it?” January sat cross legged on the floor.
“Got it.”
January close her eyes. Her adrenaline had run down, leaving her drained. A short nap might revive her, although she feared if she closed her eyes, she might never wake up. They couldn’t risk Deputy Carver getting the jump on them. They’d have one chance to beat him. If they didn’t get the jump on him, they would die. His claims they were here for their own protection were nothing but a lie. He was as bad as Dominic, and for all they knew, he might have the same kind of games in mind.
That thought sent a rush of fear shooting through her and she climbed to her feet. With her fingertips, she traced the walls, looking for any kind of crack, but found nothing. Halfway around the room, she bumped into the counter and something fell to the floor.
Kneeling, she reached for whatever had fallen. A jug of liquid. Water? She unscrewed the lid and sniffed. It had no odor. Hours ago had been the last time they had drank anything—stale coffee from Jamie’s thermos in her saddlebags. Taking a leap of faith, January sipped. A little warm, but okay. She drank again. “You thirsty? There’s water over here.”
“January?” Anguish filled Kyra’s voice. “The tool just broke.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jamie woke, groggy. All she wanted to do was sleep. Hours and hours. Maybe even a few days. But nature called, forcing her to open her eyes. She moved a little and Austin tightened his grip around her. For a few minutes, she lay still, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms.
Last night had been incredible.
Austin had made her feel things she’d never experienced before.
A shiver ran down her back and settled between her legs just thinking about it. She wished they could make love all day long. He’d made no promises. Maybe if circumstances were different… Had she made a mistake? He wasn’t the staying put kind. No more than Lance had been. Older. More experienced, but still not one to stick around.
A shift in position sent a shaft of pain through her ankle. “Ouch.”
“You okay?”
She’d woken Austin. “Yeah. My ankle.”
“Hurts?”
“Like a bitch.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. My God, he was sexy. Messy, short hair, a five o’clock shadow, all hard and manly. She swallowed. “I need to get up.”
“Okay.” He rustled around, and in a minute stood. Because they’d gotten chilled, they’d redressed and slept
in the borrowed clothing. She wasn’t the only one aroused. His sweats, too short for him with too-snug gray material, showed off his erection. She averted her gaze as he pulled on his coat. “Let me help you.”
He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She braced against his chest while attempting to put weight on her foot. “Oh, damn.”
“You’re not going to be able to walk out of here.”
“I don’t think I can hobble to the trees,” Jamie muttered. “There’s no way I’m getting my boot on over this foot.”
“I’ll carry you.”
Jamie shook her head. “You’re not carrying me to the bathroom.”
“You have a better idea?”
Unfortunately, she did not. She grabbed a small pack of wet wipes and stuffed them in her pocket. “I can’t wait.”
Austin helped pull her coat around her shoulders, then picked her up with amazing ease. She wasn’t short, but he had no difficulty hefting her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he carried her a short distance from the tent to the trees. He set her on her feet, next to a thin aspen she used for support, then walked a few feet away and turned his back. Goosebumps covered her exposed skin when she lowered her pants. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but showed no signs of letting up with socked-in clouds hanging low. She hurried to finish.
“I’m done,” she called.
Austin returned, swung her into his arms again, carried her back to the tent and placed her on the bed. Although not warm, the interior felt a whole lot better than the cold air outside. Jamie shrugged out of her coat and slipped inside the covers, wishing Austin would join her.
Instead, he said, “My turn,” and slipped back out.
Her body ached in places for reasons she didn’t want to think about. Her eyes drifted closed. There wasn’t anything else to do but sleep until the posse showed up. If they showed. She cut off that line of thought. As soon as she didn’t arrive at work, they’d call Rae, and when they found out Jamie hadn’t checked on Dani, they’d know something was wrong and send help.
Someone poked her in the cheek with something hard and cold.
Her eyes popped open. “Austin?”
“No.” He sounded funny. Sick.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
She pried open her eyes. A man wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses and a bandana over the bottom half of his face held a handgun to her cheek. What the hell? Jamie fought panic and cut her gaze toward Austin, who sat beside her with his head bleeding again. His eyes looked like death—cold and fixed on the intruder.
“That’s better. Now get up.”
Jamie struggled to a sitting position, glad she had dressed. “What do you want?”
He chuckled. “You, sheriff.”
“What do you mean, me?”
“You’ve been a pain in the pendejo for some time now.” He removed the gun from her cheek and backed up a step, still aiming at her. “It’s time to get rid of you.”
Austin, who had been sitting very still, suddenly lunged, reaching for the pistol he’d stashed at the head of the bed. He shoved Jamie and she fell onto the side of her injured foot.
Jamie grabbed her ankle. “Ouch.”
“Not so fast, pendejo.” The gunman fired, the sound like an explosion in the small confines of the tent. Jamie screamed. Austin shouted and fell backward, his shoulder blooming bright red with blood.
“God, no.” Jamie crawled toward him, praying. “Austin, no. Don’t be dead. I just found you. I can’t lose you now.”
Before she touched him, the gunman grabbed her hair, yanking her backward and against his body. Still holding her by the hair, he bent and picked up Austin’s holster and hung it over his shoulder. “Shut up.”
She struggled against him, the pain in her ankle forgotten. “You killed him, you son-of-a-bitch.”
“And I’m going to do the same to you if you don’t shut up and stay still,” he muttered into her ear.
Jamie froze. If she was going to get out of this, she had to focus.
“That’s better. Now get your shoes on.” He pulled her to her feet, his fingers still wrapped in her hair.
She grabbed his hand tangled in her hair. “Ouch. Let go. I can’t get on my shoes. I have a sprained ankle.”
He pointed at Austin. “Wear his.”
Avoiding looking at him until now, Jamie forced herself to face Austin’s body. He lay on his back, eyes closed, blood soaking his shirt. His hand lay over the wound. She swayed as grief filled her. “I can’t take Austin’s boots. They won’t fit anyway.”
“Get your own then. I don’t care how you do it, but just get shoes on or walk barefoot.” He suddenly let go of her hair, shoving her forward onto her knees. “Do it.”
Forcing back her sobs, she reached for her right boot and slid her foot into it. With a moan, she tugged her other one onto her left foot. Stars swam in front of her eyes as she forced it over her swollen, taped ankle.
“That’s better. Now, get your coat.”
How the hell was she going to get out of this? Jamie’s mind raced. He had Austin’s gun. Hers was full of mud, still in her chaps’ pocket. Nothing else to use for a weapon. Her team had to be on the way. Maybe she could stall. “Who are you?”
“Don’t recognize me?”
His voice seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “No. Afraid to show me your face?”
He sneered. “I guess there’s no harm in letting you know who I am. Where you’re going, there’s no coming back.”
Although the venom in his voice sent a streak of fear skittering down her spine, Jamie refused to show how much he frightened her. “Go ahead. I dare you.”
He untied the bandana and dropped it. With his gaze locked on hers, he reached for the sunglasses. When he drew them away from his face, she gasped. His left eye was glass. She’d had no idea.
“Alejandro Vasquez?”
“Surprised, chica?”
She had to admit the man standing in front of her was not who she would have ever suspected as a killer. “Yes.”
He laughed. “No one knows who calls the shots. Not even—”
“Not even who?”
“Never mind.” He pointed the gun at her. “Move it.”
As Jamie pulled on her jacket, she mulled over the identity of the man who held her hostage. Although she didn’t know him well, she’d seen Alejandro, along with his pretty young wife and children, around town. They’d seemed like an attractive, happy family. He’d never crossed her desk as a criminal suspect.
Now he’d murdered a CBI agent.
He planned to kill her.
“Why?”
“Never mind.” He moved aside and pointed toward the door. “March.”
With one last glance at Austin, she froze when his fingers lifted slightly. She blinked. Had she imagined movement? Wishful thinking? Alejandro gestured toward the entrance and she slipped through the tent flap. The rain had picked up again and she drew her coat close. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. Now, go.” He pushed her in the back with the gun barrel.
With no choice, she limped away from the tent.
With her head down against the driving wind, she asked again, “Where are we going?”
“Eventually Mexico,” he said. “But for now, hit the trail. I have an appointment to keep with a certain lady whose been eluding me for awhile.”
She stumbled to a stop and turned around. “Mexico?”
He nodded. “Si, there’s a big market for bella damas.” He reached out and touched a piece of her hair. “Especially gueras.”
Jamie jerked her head away from his fingers. “A big market?” Her mouth opened and closed. “You plan to sell me?”
His sadistic grin gave her chills. “Smart and pretty, too.”
“Where’s the girl from the tent? Is she dead, too? And why did you kill that man?” None of this made any sense. A man from her town murdered str
angers and planned to march her to Mexico and sell her? She shook her head. Unbelievable.
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I eliminated him because he foolishly tried to stop me. Much like your lover back there.”
Austin.
Her heart twisted.
She would not think about him right now. Survival first, then revenge. “Where’s the girl?”
“She escaped. The senorita was far more clever than I gave her credit for. Something she’ll pay dearly for later.” The venom in his voice made her skin crawl.
“She’s alive?”
“As far as I know.” He pointed the gun toward the trail. “Enough talk.”
She hobbled along with her ankle throbbing. Her team should be heading out any minute. But, even if they left an hour ago, they still had three or four hours riding ahead of them. She couldn’t stand here that long. Thoughts whirled around in her head so fast she couldn’t seem to grasp any of them.
One prevailed—Alejandro Vasquez planned to take her to Mexico and sell her like a pig.
He was a human trafficker.
She couldn’t be his first victim.
She wasn’t.
Two teenage girls. A young mom. A waitress. The girl who had gone on a camping trip. Their names and faces scrolled through Jamie’s head like a movie trailer: Carly. Tina. Monique. Rosie.
They hadn’t been killed; they’d been stolen.
She whirled around and screamed into the face of Evil. “You took them all! The girls. You robbed them from their families and home and my town!”
He laughed. “Very clever, Sheriff. But I didn’t take anyone. I merely brokered some deals.”
Her knees shook. “Deals? You’re talking about human beings. People. In some cases, just kids. And you’re talking about them as if they’re no more than livestock.” Her stomach rolled. “Are they all sex slaves somewhere in South America?” The chances of finding them were next to zero.
His mouth became an angry slash. “Who cares? The way you Americanos have treated my people for decades? Letting old men, pregnant women and tiny niňos work in your fields for pennies, while you sit in air conditioned offices and eat the food they harvest? Sending them back across the border because they have no papers?” He sneered. “Yet, any Chinese, Afghan, or Russian cross the border and they cry amnesty and it’s instantly granted. No questions asked.”