by Pam Godwin
I pull, and her body falls against mine in a delicious blanket of velvety hair and warm skin. We already showered, and I’m stripped down to my briefs.
Gripping her nightgown, I lift it up and off. Then I position her in the center of the bed and extinguish the light.
“How are you getting along with the security guard?” I curl into her and trail my fingers along her hipbone, eliciting a shiver along her skin.
“Erin is…different.”
Erin is ex-military. And a very stern woman. I should’ve known Jake wouldn’t hire a man to watch Conor on the cameras. But that’s not all Erin does.
She has an extensive technical background and improved the functionality of our surveillance equipment. She’s able to shadow Raina’s every move while monitoring Conor on a mobile device.
I still worry every time Raina leaves my sight, but Erin has enabled me to focus on the cattle and the tasks that must be finished.
“Only a few more days.” I run my fingers through her hair.
She releases the sweetest sound, a whispering moan of comfort, and snuggles deeper into my chest.
She makes me ache. An ache that twinges as much as it soothes.
Sometimes, when I wake at night and feel her motionless against me, I can’t breathe until I check her pulse. Or when I come home for dinner and she’s at the back door waiting for me, I’m paralyzed by an unguarded pang of longing.
I can’t compartmentalize the depth of these feelings. I’ve never experienced anything so exquisitely intense or as terrifyingly vulnerable as the love I feel for her.
More than anything, I want to shackle her to our bed while I hunt down and fight John Holsten to the death.
Because if I lost her…
I can’t. I won’t let it happen.
I fill my lungs with that conviction, but the dread doesn’t recede. It multiplies.
The next afternoon, I climb the rails of the steel fence around a temporary corral and scan the sea of twitching ears and mooing mouths. Sweat trickles between my breasts. My limbs shake with exhaustion, and to think, we only have eight excruciating hours of work left today.
I’ve been manning the chutes with Maybe since before dawn, operating the gates and herding cattle from one location to another. The heat from the sun and the endless walking and lifting is taking its toll on my body. I can’t wait to crawl into bed tonight with my cowboy and sleep away the aches.
But right now, I need to get some food in these ranchers before they pass out.
I spot Lorne’s black Stetson near the standing stocks, where the cattle await examinations, branding, and vaccinations.
He crouches beside a calf, his handsome face shadowed with fatigue and tension.
When I climb another rung and rise above the herd, he goes still, as if sensing me all the way across the corral.
His head lifts, followed by those green eyes, and my stomach buzzes like a bee hive. There’s such a powerful, self-confident aura around him I can feel him all the way from here.
“Lunch,” I mouth.
He rubs his nape and scowls in the direction of the estate, at the security guard standing off to my side, and back to me.
Yes, I have to run to the house to grab food. Yes, Erin will be with me at all times. And yes, I’ll hurry right back.
He hears me. He doesn’t like it, but he gives me a nod of assent.
Since Erin doesn’t ride horses, she drives me back in her SUV.
At the house, I hurry through the kitchen, chopping fruit and slapping together barbecue sandwiches.
Erin sits at the table, staring at the device in her hand with a pinched expression. She never initiates conversations and usually only responds with single-syllable answers.
Her brown hair smooths into a ponytail that sits high on her head. Minimal makeup highlights her sharp cheekbones, and cargo pants bunch around her slim frame. She’s pretty in a stern, militant way.
If I had to guess, she’s in her late-thirties and single.
“So…” I stuff the food into a large cooler. “Are you married? Any kids?”
“No,” she says absently, her eyes fixated on the screen. Then her teeth clench. “Dammit.”
A cold jolt flashes in my skull. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Yet.”
My feet carry me to the table, and my skin chills as I lean over her shoulder.
The screen in her hand is divided into multiple camera views of the vet clinic. Inside, outside, the footage doesn’t show Conor anywhere.
“An older woman brought in a Basset Hound.” Erin flips between camera angles, enlarging portions of each one. “She and Conor exited through the back door with the dog on a leash.”
“Oh.” A relieved breath slips out. “They’re just getting a stool sample.”
“Yes, I know. But the damn dog led the woman out of view. A minute later, Conor followed.” Frustration leaks into her voice. “I specifically told her not to leave the camera’s field of view. I even showed her where the boundaries are.”
“Call her.” My pulse quickens, and I clench my fingers on the back of her chair.
“Her phone’s on the counter.” She changes the screen to show the back room of the clinic, zooming in on the cell phone.
She returns to the view of the lawn behind the clinic. Trees encircle the area. The same woodland that once formed a canopy over the ravine.
The live feed of grass and dirt is so still it could be a photo. Nothing moves. Seconds tick by and Conor doesn’t return.
It could take minutes or longer for the dog to do its business. Even as I tell myself this, my stomach twists into a knot.
“I need to go check.” Erin stands, grabs her keys, and pauses to consider me. “I can’t leave you here.”
I’m already moving. I chase her out of the house and skid to a stop halfway to her SUV. “I’m going to run back and grab a gun.”
“No.” She glances at the screen in her hand, without slowing her swift gait. “She’s still not back, and I’m not waiting. Get in the car.”
Her usual blank expression creases, her complexion a terrible shade of pale. She’s worried.
My throat stings as I hurry into the SUV.
The only information Jake gave her about this assignment is that his abusive father has been threating Conor and me. Erin has John’s physical description, and she knows he could be armed and not working alone. But she doesn’t know how truly dangerous and cunning he is.
The clinic is only a couple of miles away, near the south pasture. Conor usually walks it or takes her motorcycle. But Jake’s been dropping her off and picking her up all week.
Erin pulls onto the road in front of the estate and takes the quickest route there, her sharp gaze darting between the screen on her lap and the windshield.
“I need you to call Jake.” She calmly lifts her phone, glances at it, and returns it to her pocket. “Never mind. There’s no signal.”
I hug an arm around my waist as painful trembling rips through me. “Do you think something happened to her?”
“I’m paid to be hyper-aware and open to every possibility.”
That’s not an answer.
She turns onto a gravel path that cuts through dense trees. Knee-high weeds grow between the tire tracks, and every bump rattles my rioting nerves.
She veers around the next corner and slams on the brakes. A few feet ahead, something lies in the road. Something human.
My muscles lock up, and my breath freezes in my chest.
Conor sprawls face down in the gravel, red hair shrouding her face, her body motionless and twisted, as if she collapsed in the middle of a sprint.
“Oh no oh no oh no.” Panic grips my spine, and my lungs slam together.
Was she running from someone? Is she hurt? Dead?
No. No, that’s not possible.
I fumble for the door handle with numb fingers.
“Stay in the car.” Erin removes a handgun from her shoulder holster
and turns her flinty gaze to me. “Lock the doors and do not get out. No matter what happens. Understood?”
With a nod, I release the door handle and clap a hand over the sob crawling from my mouth.
I’m unarmed and nearing hysterics. Lorne’s paying this woman to protect me, and her cool composure is testament to the fact she knows what she’s doing.
She leaves the car running as she exits, closes the door, and trains the gun in a ready stance. I hit the locks. Then she moves.
Light footsteps, weapon sweeping with the shift of her body, she creeps toward Conor without taking her attention off the surrounding trees.
As she approaches, Conor doesn’t stir. Not a twitch.
She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead.
My mind floods with horror. Nausea grips my gut, and my ears ring with godawful pounding.
Please, Conor. Please, wake up.
Erin stops beside her but doesn’t look down. Her eyes probe and scrutinize the perimeter, the gun steady in her outstretched hands.
The span of stillness turns me inside out.
Finally, she crouches and places two fingers against Conor’s throat.
I hold my breath.
Her jaw angles toward me, and I watch her mouth form the word, Alive.
My lungs release in a great rush of relief, bringing forth a well of tears.
She stands, and her gun jerks toward the trees a millisecond before the boom of gunfire shudders the air.
The reverberation punches through me as Erin drops in a slow-falling crumple of knees, hips, shoulders. When her head hits the ground, the hole between her eyes spurts blood across the gravel.
My hand flies to my throat. My jaw locks to the point of pain, and my breaths explode in hyperventilating gasps.
A woman emerges from the tree line, gray hair pulled into a loose bun and a pistol trained on Conor’s catatonic body.
Her unfamiliar eyes lift to mine, and her thin pale lips shape the command, Get out.
Lorne is miles away on the other side of the property. No amount of gunfire would alert him. Have I been gone long enough for him to come looking for me?
Erin took her phone with her, so I can’t make an emergency call. The SUV is still running, but if I try to drive away, she’ll shoot Conor.
If I step out of this car, they’ll take me.
The thought hits me with a wave of dizziness, shooting black dots across my vision. I feel like I’m going to puke.
Without moving my upper body, I slide my hands around, searching the glove box and the spaces between the seats and console. Locked. Empty. No weapons. Nothing I can use to defend myself.
How badly is Conor injured? There’s no visible blood or injuries. Did they knock her out? What if she wakes in the middle of this?
She’s a fighter. She’ll get herself killed.
An engine sounds in the distance. Up ahead? Heart racing, I lean forward as a sedan tears around the corner in reverse, coming straight at us.
The woman doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t move the gun away from Conor. Doesn’t take her finger off the trigger.
The car stops a few feet away from her. A man climbs out of the driver’s seat, and the trunk pops open. Silver hair and dusty jeans, he looks around the same age as the woman.
They don’t glance at each other as he ambles to Erin’s body, lifts her, and tosses her into the trunk.
Pain stabs through my chest and simmers bile in my throat.
John’s behind this. He sent these people for me, and if I don’t cooperate, Conor won’t live.
I would choose death over going back to him, but I would never choose Conor’s death.
He knows that.
They brought Conor here to ensure I go quietly.
“Get out of the car!” The woman bellows, shaking me into full-body tremors.
Instinct screams at me to run, to jump behind the wheel and slam the SUV in reverse.
But Conor… I can’t leave her.
The woman leans down, touches the gun to Conor’s head, and meets my eyes through the windshield.
My body refuses to move, my limbs frozen and unresponsive.
Until she applies pressure to the trigger.
I launch toward the door, smacking at the lock and handle, and tumbling out. “Don’t shoot. Please, don’t shoot.”
“Listen up, little girl.” The woman eases back on the trigger, but the gun remains against Conor’s head. “John doesn’t want the redhead to die. He said he’d hate to do that to his son. But if you don’t do as you’re told, I’m pulling this trigger.”
She already killed Erin without remorse, and she looks dead set on adding Conor to the trunk of that car.
I hold up my hands as my heart jangles in a block of ice. “Whatever he’s paying you, we’ll pay more. Name the price.”
Lorne and Jake would sell the ranch in exchange for our lives.
“Not everything has a price.” She sneers.
So John offered them something invaluable. It’s either blackmail or he’s dangling the life of a loved one over their heads.
“Is he threatening one of your children?” I glance between them. “A son? A daughter?”
The man tenses, and his eyes lose focus.
“Is this woman your wife?” I ask him.
His hand forms a fist at his side, fingers curling around a wedding band.
“John told me he’d save my baby sister.” I take a cautious step toward Conor. “Three years old. Huge brown eyes. She had this smile…” I draw in a breath, and my mouth quivers into my own smile. “You just felt it, you know? Every time she looked at me, I felt that precious smile way down deep. But I’ll never experience it again. She died eight months ago.”
The couple shares a look of pain and resolve before the woman turns back to me.
“My husband’s going to give you a shot to make you sleep. If you fight him…” She lowers to a squat, straddling Conor’s legs, and digs the gun into the tangle of red hair. “This one joins your sister.”
My entire body becomes one throbbing heartbeat, increasing my sensitivity to the rumble of the motor beside me, the crunch of gravel beneath the man’s shoes, and the sprinkle of sunlight filtering through the canopy.
The man removes a syringe from his breast pocket and advances. Is that what they used to knock out Conor?
“She’ll wake up from this?” My knees wobble. “You won’t kill her.”
“She’ll wake soon. We’ll even drag her off the road so she doesn’t get hit.”
What am I supposed to do? Self-defense training and shooting practice didn’t prepare me for this. If I attack, Conor’s dead. If I scream and run, Conor’s dead.
There’s only one way to save her.
Shaking uncontrollably, I grip the bracelet on my wrist, slide it above my elbow, and wedge it high on my arm. I don’t want to lose it. Whatever happens, I need a piece of him with me.
I’m so sorry, Lorne.
I step forward, holding my gaze on Conor and my arms up.
The man reaches my side and stabs the syringe into my neck while pressing the plunger.
The sting brings my hand up to slap at it. I’m certain he hit a major blood vessel, because all movement and thought instantly slows down.
I take a step, and fuck, that’s hard. Everything seems like too big of a task.
I wave a hand out in front of me, reaching for something to grip as I float, spin, and tumble into blackness.
With clenched teeth, I wrestle a calf into position and sweep my gaze over the corrals for the hundredth time. Raina’s been gone a while.
How long? Thirty minutes? Longer?
My chest tightens. She should’ve been back by now.
I drop the branding tools and jog toward the chutes, dialing Erin’s phone along the way.
It goes to voicemail.
My scalp chills. If Erin stayed between here and the house, she wouldn’t be out of service range.
I try again.
Voicemail.
“Jake!” I search for his wide shoulders amid the chaos of herding and sorting cattle and spot him near the trailers. “Jake!”
He wraps up his conversation with a ranch hand and strides toward me.
“Raina’s been gone too long.” My heart hammers as I approach him. “Erin isn’t answering my calls.”
His gaze drifts across the field, and his eyebrows knit beneath the hat.
“Fuck.” He removes his phone and makes a call.
An eternity comes and goes before his dark eyes flick to mine. “Conor isn’t picking up.”
We alert Jarret and race to the house on horseback.
It’s the longest ride I’ve ever taken. Longer than the ride to hunt down Conor’s rapist. Longer than the ride in the police car after I killed Wyatt Longley. Longer than the eight years I spent behind bars.
My mind plunges into a howling abyss of nightmares that ends with Raina and Conor lying bloody and lifeless on the kitchen floor.
Jake and I reach the back porch, dismount, and charge into the house.
Music blasts into us as we open the door. Deafening and eerie, the raspy voice croons an alternate version of Ain’t No Sunshine through the speakers.
I know the song well, but this isn’t a cover I’ve ever heard.
“Raina!” I bellow over the din.
Jake takes off toward the office, and the chilling melody follows me into the empty kitchen.
A partially packed cooler of food sits on the floor. Unfinished meal preparations scatter the counters.
My stomach bottoms out.
I check the mudroom, common areas, bedrooms, and both porches. No one’s here. No sign of struggle.
And Erin’s SUV is gone.
Did they run an errand? Raina’s not supposed to leave the property.
I try Erin’s phone again and get voicemail.
Don’t panic.
In the background of my roaring pulse, Ain’t No Sunshine comes to an end and starts again.
The humming instrumentals have an undertone of Native American influence. The original song is haunting, but this version laces my bones with ice-cold dread.
I storm toward the stereo to put my fist through it, but I pull back as Jake runs out of the office.
“Conor’s not at the clinic.” He rips his hat off and shoves his fingers through his hair. “I went through the video recordings. She stepped outside with a customer—a woman and her dog—and didn’t return.”