The Marshal's Hostage

by Delores Fossen

  Dallas didn’t waste a moment getting her inside before he drove away, still keeping watch of the area. She looked, too, but when they were away from the house, she pulled down the visor and checked herself in the vanity mirror.

  And there it was.

  Definitely a love bite. Maybe two.

  “Sorry,” Dallas said, obviously noticing them, too.

  She was about to say there was no need for an apology, that she’d gotten a lot of pleasure from those bites, and everything else he’d done to her in bed, but she didn’t have time to answer.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said. And he didn’t sound very happy about that. Didn’t look happy, either.

  Of course he wasn’t.

  He was still trying to come to terms with the child they’d lost. With the secret she’d kept. One night of great sex wasn’t going to undo all of that, but Joelle hoped it was a start.

  However, she rethought that.

  Maybe a start wasn’t even possible. The sex had always been good between them. Still was. But sex alone wasn’t going to heal their wounds.

  That sent a jolt of pain through her heart. Mercy. Hadn’t she learned to shield her heart any better than this?

  Apparently not.

  Because here she was falling hard all over again for Dallas.

  His phone buzzed, and while the truck slogged down the gravel and dirt road, Dallas took the call on speaker.

  “It’s me, Clayton,” he said. “The CSIs got that safe open.”

  Joelle certainly hadn’t forgotten about the floor safe that the CSIs had found, but with everything else going on, she’d put it on the mental back burner.

  “There was some cash in it,” Clayton explained. “About five grand and a passport.”

  Joelle thought about that for a moment. “You think Webb was planning on leaving the country or something?”

  “Maybe. There were also some account books that’ll probably prove he was skimming money from the state.”

  Definitely not a surprise, but maybe the contents of the safe was just his getaway kit. Something he could grab in a hurry if he came under scrutiny.

  Which was about to happen.

  Because Kirby had been on the verge of launching a full-scale investigation. Of course, if they were to believe Sarah, Webb hadn’t been concerned about that investigation because he’d already gotten approval to keep Rocky Creek open.

  “One more thing,” Clayton said. “Owen still hasn’t produced the so-called real knife that he claims he received.”

  And with Owen hurt, maybe dead, it might take the marshals a while to find the knife or anything else Owen had hidden away. Not good. Because maybe if all the pieces of this case came to light, it would be better than keeping things hidden away.

  While Joelle mulled that over, she felt a jolt of a different kind. A real one. Dallas must have hit a massive pothole or something, and the truck lurched forward so quickly that Joelle’s head hit the ceiling.

  “What the hell now?” Dallas growled.

  He brought his truck to a jarring stop and threw open the door so he could look out. He immediately snapped back toward her, grabbed onto her and shoved her down on the seat.

  Joelle didn’t even have time to ask what was wrong before Dallas drew his gun.

  * * *

  DALLAS DIDN’T SEE ANYONE OUT there, but someone had to be. Someone with bad intentions, and he had the flat tires to prove it.

  “What’s happening?” Joelle asked.

  Dallas pushed her lower onto the seat, covering her as best he could with his body, and he tried to pick through the darkness and the rain to see if he could spot anyone.

  He didn’t.

  “Someone put a spike strip across the road,” he explained. “The kind that cops use to flatten the tires of someone trying to escape.”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  Yeah. That was basically his reaction, too.

  Dallas wanted to hope for the best and believe this was some kind of prank, but his luck wasn’t that good. Plus, coupled with Lindsey’s call that had ultimately gotten them out of the house, he figured things could get ugly fast.

  But had Lindsey orchestrated this? Whatever this was? He wouldn’t put anything past the woman, not with her insane jealousy when it came to Owen. Of course, there were other immediate suspects who came to mind.

  Rudy and Sarah.

  Owen, too.

  Because now that Dallas had time to think about it, Owen might not be shot. He might have been the one who put Lindsey up to doing this.

  He reached in his pocket, grabbed his cell and handed it to Joelle. “Call Harlan and let him know someone just disabled my tires. Tell him what’s going on but that I don’t want him to come outside.” Because this might be some kind of an attempt to get to Kirby. “Have him phone Clayton or Declan so they can drive out here.”

  It would take a while for either of them to arrive since they were both at the marshals’ office in town. Calling Slade and Wyatt wouldn’t speed things along, either, since both were out of the county on assignments.

  Joelle made the call, and even though her voice was shaky, she gave Harlan the information.

  “What now?” she asked, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

  “We wait.”

  It wasn’t the best of plans, sitting out on a ranch road in the dark. There were trees and fences. A lot of places for an attacker to hide. Still, the alternative was trying to get back to the house with his tires disabled. He could maybe do it, creeping along at a speed where anyone could catch them. But he didn’t want to risk leading someone dangerous back to the house where Kirby was.

  Of course, he might not have a choice.

  He didn’t want to put Joelle at further risk, either.

  Because he was practically wrapped around Joelle, he could feel her tense muscles and knew she was scared. Over the past couple of days, she’d been put in too many positions like this, and he wanted to put an end to threats. Unfortunately, the only way to do that was to catch the person responsible.

  Maybe the person who’d put down that strip to shred his tires.

  The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when the movement caught his eye. At first he thought it was the motion of the wipers slashing across the windshield, but he had a closer look. Not the wipers.

  There appeared to be someone ducked down behind the fence.

  Even though the truck headlights were still on, they weren’t aimed in the right direction for him to confirm his theory, and he definitely wasn’t getting out and leaving Joelle alone. If Lindsey was behind this, it was exactly what she would want him to do so she’d stand a better chance of getting her hands on Joelle.

  His phone buzzed, and Joelle took it out for him. “It’s Harlan,” she relayed in a whisper.

  “Put it on speaker,” Dallas instructed. He wanted to keep his hands free in case someone out there had bad intentions.

  “Don’t go to Owen’s,” Harlan immediately said. “I just got a call from the deputy who responded, and neither Lindsey nor Owen is there.”

  Hell. Dallas was hoping they were not only there but that both had been either arrested or contained in some sort of way.

  “You need help where you are?” Harlan asked.

  “No.” Not yet, anyway. “Stay put. I don’t want Kirby left alone. How long before the others get out here?”

  “Twenty minutes maybe. The bottom part of Durham Road is flooded so they’ll have to drive around.”

  Another complication he didn’t need, but Dallas had no choice but to end the call and wait. If there was someone armed out there, he wanted backup.

  “Maybe it’s my imagination,” Joelle whispered, “but I think I smell smoke.”

  Dallas lifted his head, sniffed. Yeah, there was a the faint smell of smoke, but he thought it might be lingering from what had happened the day before at Rocky Creek.

  He looked out but didn’t see any signs of fire or smoke, and even i
f there had been, the rain would have likely doused it. But the smell got stronger, and Dallas finally saw something he didn’t want to see.

  The wisps drifting up from beneath his truck.

  “It’s smoke,” he confirmed.

  Joelle automatically lifted her head to have a look, but he pushed her right back down. Dallas mumbled some profanity and inched closer to the side mirror so he could try to see what was going on. Still no flames, but he was getting a bad sense of déjà vu. Maybe the person who’d orchestrated that smoke at Rocky Creek had managed to do the same beneath his truck. Of course, it could be a real fire, too.

  Either way, he had to move Joelle.

  He couldn’t wait twenty minutes for backup because they might be dead by then.

  Since that shadow was on his side of the truck, Dallas figured they needed to go out Joelle’s side. He reached across her and slightly cracked the door.

  “I’ll go first,” he instructed, “and the second your feet hit the ground, I want us away from the truck.”

  She gave a shaky nod, and even though he could feel her fear, there was nothing he could do to lessen it right now. “Run where?” she asked.

  There were several trees. Not good cover. But maybe they wouldn’t need it. “Just stay next to me,” Dallas said.

  He crawled over her and used his shoulder to fully open the door. In the same motion, he caught her by the arm and helped her scramble from the truck. Dallas had already told her to hit the ground running, but they’d barely made it a step when a shot blasted through the air.

  Joelle made a gasping sound, and both Dallas and she dived to the ground. It was like landing in a massive mud puddle, and he had to roll to the side and keep his gun lifted so that it wouldn’t get wet.

  “I’m Marshal Walker,” he called out just in case this was a stray hunter.

  But no such luck.

  Another shot came right away, cracking through the rain, and this one slammed into the truck. Not the driver’s side where he’d last seen that shadowy figure. No, this bullet tore into the back.

  Dallas made a quick adjustment, slinging Joelle behind him so that he’d be between the shooter and her. It wasn’t enough because from the sound of the shots, their attacker was using a rifle. A high-powered bullet could easily go through him and into Joelle.

  Still, it was too risky to move.

  Or maybe not.

  The next shots weren’t single rounds but three bullets that came back to back, and each of them smacked into the ground between the truck and them.

  The shooter was moving. Getting closer. And that meant Dallas had to do something. He tried to pinpoint where he thought their attacker was, then he levered himself up and fired. He wasn’t sure where his shot went, but it hadn’t hit a person.

  Joelle was shaking now. Probably a combination of the fear and the fact she was lying in cold, muddy water. Dallas was cold, too, but he tried to keep his hands steady, and he also tried to listen for the sound of any footsteps or movement.

  He finally saw something.

  The shadowy figure was back. Someone wearing dark clothes and moving from the side pasture and ducking into the trees that lined that part of the fence.

  Another shot came at them.

  But this time Dallas saw the person lift the rifle. Not an ordinary lift, either. Their attacker didn’t even aim. He blindly shot toward them and kept moving. And he wasn’t moving in a direction that Dallas wanted him to go.

  The shooter was headed straight for the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joelle felt every muscle in Dallas’s body tense, and he cursed. Even though he had her pressed against the soggy ground, Joelle managed to lift her head enough so she could try to see what had caused his reaction.

  She saw the blurry figure, cloaked in the rain and carrying a rifle. But the person was no longer shooting at them but rather making a beeline for the ranch house.

  Where Kirby was.

  Oh, mercy.

  Kirby was much too weak to fight off an attacker. Yes, Harlan was there as well, but the shooter might fire into the house before Harlan even realized what was happening.

  Dallas dug his heels into the mud so he could get to his feet, but he remained in a crouching position. He fired at the figure. The blast jolted through her, making her nerves even more raw than they already were.

  However, whoever it was must have been expecting Dallas to shoot because the person ducked out of sight behind one of the trees.

  “I have to go to the house,” Dallas whispered. “And I have to take you with me.” It was definitely an apology.

  One that she didn’t need.

  Because Joelle was already getting to her feet, too. Whoever this shooter was, she couldn’t let Kirby become the target of an attack.

  Dallas grabbed her wrist with his left hand and started leading her up the side of the road. The mud was so thick that her shoe got stuck in it, and she finally just stepped out of the heels and left them behind.

  The rain spat at them, almost blinding them at times, and it didn’t help that it was still practically pitch-black. The farther they moved from the truck headlights, the worse it got.

  Ahead, she could see the spot where the shooter had disappeared, but she saw no movement to indicate he or she was still there.

  He. Or. She.

  She mentally repeated that. Because in the darkness, it had been impossible for her to tell if the shooter was male or female. It could be Lindsey or Sarah. Of course, it could also be Owen or Rudy. Whoever it was, the person clearly meant to do them or someone in the house harm.

  She and Dallas seemed to be running at a snail’s pace, mostly because of her. Joelle just couldn’t keep up, and with every step she took, she landed in a deeper and deeper bog. It didn’t help that the mud was now caked on her feet and legs because that only slowed her down more.

  She caught another glimpse of movement. The person came out from cover for just a second before ducking back behind another tree. Definitely moving toward the ranch house.

  But what did he or she want?

  If it was one of their suspects, none of them had a beef with Kirby or Harlan. Well, not that Joelle knew of, anyway. Unless...

  “Owen could try to hurt Kirby to get back at us,” she blurted.

  She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but it was clear from Dallas’s reaction that he’d already considered it. Probably because Owen hadn’t hesitated to hurt Dallas with the baby’s birth certificate.

  Dallas kept them moving, but so did the person ahead of them. Joelle figured they could catch up with this shooter, but they were nearing the point where catching up wouldn’t help if the person fired that rifle into the house.

  Behind them, she saw the slash of lights, and for a moment, Joelle thought the lightning had returned. But this light wasn’t coming from the sky but rather the road, and it was the headlights of a vehicle. She prayed it was one of Dallas’s brothers, but she was scared to the bone that it was help coming for the person who’d shot at them. After all, their attacker had hired those gunmen in the woods and could have called them back in to finish the job.

  “Keep watch behind us,” Dallas told her.

  She did, allowing him to lead her along the edge of the road. “Can you still see the person with the rifle?”

  “Yeah.” And since that was all Dallas said, she figured that meant the person was still heading for the house.

  Joelle pinned her attention to the headlights, watching them bounce over the watery road. She was breathing through her mouth now, waiting, and she saw the vehicle when it turned onto the road that would soon—very soon—take them to where Dallas had left his truck.

  The lights slashed right in her eyes, blinding her, and Dallas yanked her out of the way. He pulled her into some shrubs that fronted a few massive oaks. The oaks were too far away to use for cover, but maybe the shrubs would protect them enough if there were gunmen in that vehicle.

  Joelle stumble
d, one of the thorny shrubs clawing at her arm, and she had to hold on to Dallas to keep from falling. But somehow, he kept them moving.

  Even over the slapping sound of the rain, she heard his phone buzz. Maybe it was one of his brothers letting him know they were the ones in that vehicle. Joelle reached for the phone to answer it, but then she heard another sound. Not buzzing. But footsteps, as if someone were running just to their left.

  She turned in that direction just as someone grabbed her by the arm and jerked her violently toward them. If it hadn’t been for the mud and her bare feet, she might have been able to keep her balance. But the motion caught her off guard and she went flying in the direction of the person who’d grabbed her.

  Dallas snapped toward her and raised his weapon, but it was too late.

  Someone jammed a gun against Joelle’s back.

  * * *

  DALLAS’S HEART WENT TO HIS knees.

  Hell.

  This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, and here he’d let it happen right next to him. He’d had his attention so focused on the rifle-toting person ahead of them that he hadn’t taken enough precautions to make sure the shooter was acting alone.

  And now Dallas had proof that he wasn’t.

  Before someone had grabbed Joelle, he’d gotten a glimpse of the rifleman, and there was no way the guy could have doubled back and gotten to them this quickly.

  So who was the SOB who now had Joelle locked in a chokehold? Judging from the guy’s beefy arms, it wasn’t one of their suspects.

  His phone stopped buzzing, which meant the call had probably gone to voice mail. He already had too much to deal with right in front of him, but he prayed that the call hadn’t been from Harlan to say that he and Kirby were under attack.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Dallas tried. Yeah, it wasn’t much of a threat, but he took aim in the general direction of the guy’s head. The problem was that it was also in the direction of Joelle’s head.

  Dallas didn’t have anything resembling a clean shot.

  And that was just the first of his concerns. The guy was already dragging Joelle back, toward the trees, trying to take her God knows where. Plus there was a rifleman out there somewhere. And that vehicle. If his brothers weren’t in there, then he and Joelle were in big trouble.