by Jamie DeBree
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glint in the sun at the base of the hill, and she forced herself to move for a better vantage point. As she walked out of the trees and peered around a large boulder, a slow smile spread across her lips.
* * *
Betsy scrambled down the slope, nearly losing her footing several times in her haste. She approached the two newer-looking trucks cautiously, wondering just how far away the owners were. Seeing no one, she opened the driver's side door of the closest vehicle as quietly as she could, only wide enough to allow her to slide under the wheel. Laying across the seat, she pulled the wires from the ignition down, took a breath, and tapped them together a few times, hoping the truck had fuel. As the engine roared to life, she sat up and threw the transmission into drive, stepping on the gas as two half-dressed teens came around the corner of the hill, yelling and waving their arms.
Glancing in the rear view mirror as she headed towards the highway, she saw one of the kids put a phone to his ear. She didn't have much time, and when she reached the ramp to get on the interstate, she hesitated. If she went toward the city, she'd have to pass the accident, and all the law enforcement people who were probably still there. By now, dispatch had probably already radioed the truck description out. Damn cell phones.
Derek was dead though, or close to it - either way, he wouldn't be visiting their daughter anytime soon. And if she went back to the ranch, there was a chance she might be able to find Ian before...
The phone in her pocket buzzed, and she dug it out, her heart in her throat as she read the text on the screen.
"Feds are here. Gotta move. Meet at location B."
Betsy swore. Cranking the wheel to the south, she got on the highway headed back toward the ranch. There was a turnoff a few miles further, and if she could reach that, she could disappear on the back roads for the remainder of the drive. Grabbing the phone off the seat, she punched in a number she'd memorized years ago, but had never used.
"Hello?" A woman's voice came on the line, and thankfully she sounded like an adult. Betsy took a breath.
"One of your children might be in danger. If you see anyone suspicious hanging around outside, call the police right away. It's important."
She hung up before any questions could be asked, and tossed the phone back on the seat, flicking away a stray tear. It was all she could do right now, but it felt like too little. Hopefully it wouldn't be too late.
Around the next bend, she saw the exit coming up and breathed a sigh of relief. Veering off the interstate, she turned onto an empty two-lane frontage road and floored it, thinking of all the places on the ranch someone could hide out. Derek had mentioned awhile back that he'd been staying out there, so obviously he'd found a spot. Unfortunately, it was probably in the cave-system below, considering he'd managed to stay hidden so long. She shivered at the thought of going back down there, but it was the only logical choice, especially if there were federal agents on the ranch.
Wondering briefly why that would be, she frowned. Was Harley in some sort of trouble? Maybe that's why he hadn't answered.
She turned onto an old mining road just inside the ranch boundary and stopped the truck in a clearing about twenty feet in. She'd have to move it later, but for now, it should be fine. Climbing out, she ran a few feet into the trees until she found the vine-covered wooden door, and used the spare key hidden under a log to unlock it. Replacing the key, she stepped over the threshold and found the flashlight on the floor to her right before locking the door behind her.
Steeling herself with a long sigh, she pointed the flashlight ahead and began her descent back into the tunnel system.
* * *
Ian woke to brighter light coming in through translucent white curtains. His throat was dry and he rolled to his side, wincing at the dull ache that banded his torso. Remembering his captor, he looked toward the chair in the corner, but it was empty. A quick glance around the room told him he was alone, which suited him fine. Judging from the simple furnishings, he was in one of the guest rooms of the mansion - rooms that weren't rented out to just anyone. Normally reserved for people with a lot more money than Derek had, Ian assumed no one knew the room was occupied.
He fought his way to a sitting position, barely succeeding at holding in a groan. He'd only been in these upper suites once before, but he remembered that each room had it's own restroom, and after carefully rising to his feet, he shuffled in the direction it should be. Thankful he remembered correctly, he relieved himself and then got a drink of water, splashing some over his face while he was at it.
A clock on the counter read four in the afternoon, and he frowned. If memory served, that meant he'd been there a whole day. But where was Betsy?
A click outside the bathroom door signified the return of his captor. Ian looked around the small room, trying to find something, anything he could use as a weapon. Settling on the towel bar, he dropped the towel on the floor and yanked up, then out to break it free from its anchor. He turned just as the bathroom door burst open.
He brought the rod up hard underneath the man's wrists, catching him by surprise and knocking the gun into the air. The weapon landed with a loud crash in the bathtub behind him, but aside from being grateful it didn't go off, Ian didn't have time to grab it. Driven by pure adrenaline, he raised the bar with both hands and brought it down in the other man's right thigh, earning a squeal of pain and some room as the man stumbled back. Ian raised the metal again, intending to strike in the center of the chest.
In that instant, he was aware of two things: The man was reaching for another gun strapped to his ankle, and Ian didn't want to kill anyone.
The man raised the gun, his finger on the trigger.
Ian brought the bar down hard, piercing the man's belly. Blood splashed up over Ian's hands as the man cried out, the gun dropping from his fingers as he passed out. Ian yanked the bar back out and tossed it aside, gathering the two guns and stepping over the dying guard. His mind felt strangely numb, as though he was seeing everything play out in slow motion. Knowing the man would die but unable to watch, he closed the bathroom door and hobbled across the room, fresh stripes of pain twisting his ribs and head.
"God forgive me," he whispered, shoving the guns under the pillow and laying back on the bed. He needed to rest, just for a minute. Then he'd find his way out.
A minute later, he was asleep.
Chapter 11
Exhausted, Betsy slid down the cool dirt wall and aimed the flashlight beam on a map. It felt like she'd been walking for hours, but there was no sign of Ian or even anyone suspicious that might lead her to him. The tunnels beneath the ranch were cold and eerily quiet, the lack of sound and companionship getting to her more than anything else. If Ian was down here, there was no way she'd find him by herself. She needed help.
If she'd followed the landmarks correctly, which she wasn't at all sure of, the tunnel that began directly in front of her should lead to the access door under the mansion. Exhaling long and slow, she forced herself to get up and started down the dark passageway. Swinging the light from side to side, she moved as quickly as she dared, trying to be quiet. Then she saw it - a sliver of brightness piercing the dark several feet ahead.
Panic was her first reaction, because down here, there shouldn't be any open doors or light penetrating. Either someone had entered or left the tunnels there recently, or a door had been left open - something no one who knew about them would dare to do. Her heart beating fast, Betsy switched off the light and hugged the wall, inching slowly closer. By the time she was near enough to peer around the corner, her mouth was so dry and her pulse so quick she could barely swallow.
Half-expecting a large hand to reach out for her, she leaned against the corner and twisted around until she could see. Her eyes widened as she took in the jagged edges of rock that framed a small, crudely shaped opening. There was no door, but on the other side of the opening she could swear she saw...
Shower tile?
Her i
nstincts told her the area was empty, and she moved toward the opening, flashlight held ready as a weapon. Stopping just outside the portal she waited, listening for any sound at all before stepping through into a large shower area she recognized as her brother's.
"What on earth has he been up to?" she mused softly, making her way to the bathroom door. She pressed her ear against it, listening for several seconds before pulling it open.
The place felt deserted, and her panic subsided as she went through the living room and got a glass of water in the kitchen. Remembering the cell phone, she tried to call Harley again, but he still didn't answer. Gulping down more fluid, she brought up the text messages Derek's goon had sent her earlier, and pressed the button to reply.
"I'm here - where are you?" she typed in, hoping he'd take the bait. Expecting a quick reply, she stared at the screen for several minutes, sipping water as a clock ticked somewhere in the next room.
The minute she gave up and laid the phone on the counter, it buzzed. Snatching it up, she read the words on the screen with a grin.
"Upstairs, mansion. Hurry."
* * *
Ian set the phone on a low table near the door, glad it had woke him up in time to get the text from Derek. Looking around for a weapon, he settled on the thick wooden dowel that served as a closet rod. He considered getting one of the guns, but he didn't want to risk killing Derek before he found out where Betsy was. With any luck, she was here at the ranch too, but it didn't matter. He'd do whatever he had to do to get her back, no matter where Derek had stashed her.
The floor creaked in the hall, and Ian sucked in a breath. There was a short hall between the door and the main part of the room, and he braced his back against the wall on one side of the opening. The door handle jiggled, and he wondered for a minute if he'd locked it, but then a beam of light penetrated the darkness as the door swung open. He waited, his heart thudding in his chest as he held the dowel ready to swing like a bat.
A taller, thinner figure stepped into the room, and even as he started to swing, he realized it wasn't - couldn't be - Derek standing just two feet away. There was definitely something familiar about the person though, and he dropped the dowel mid-swing as he recognized her scent.
"Betsy?"
She turned just as he stepped forward, and a sharp zing of pain sliced through his stomach like a giant paper cut.
"Oh my god - Ian!" She pulled her arm back, tossing the knife she'd been holding on the bed as he fell against the wall and slid down. His stomach felt like it was on fire as she turned on a light, then knelt beside him on the floor.
"I was expecting one of Derek's men, or more," she explained pulling at the bandages already wrapped around his middle. "I had no idea - why didn't you say something when I came in?"
Ian looked down as she finally tore the cotton strips, wincing as the pressure on his ribs released.
"I was expecting Derek," he said, watching her probe at the wound. "Is it deep? It doesn't feel deep..." He closed his eyes, focusing on his stomach, but the pain seemed localized in his skin. When he opened his eyes, he found Betsy looking at him with a strange clarity in her eyes. It was beautiful and mesmerizing all at once, with a hint of sadness as well.
"It's not deep, thank goodness," she said finally, breaking eye contact to glance around the room. "I can sew it up if we have any supplies.
Ian pointed toward the bed. "All the stuff they used on me is in that table. Maybe there's something there." He watched her rifle through a plain cardboard box before she came back with a small white first aid kit.
"I don't think they intended for you to survive," she said, opening the kit and dumping the contents on the floor. "There's nothing here except band aids and a lot of gauze and wipes. I guess I could pull it together with band aids for now.
Ian chuckled. "Don't sound so excited." He watched as she worked, doing his best to stay still, though his ribs were throbbing. When she finished, she leaned back, but he caught her wrist and pulled her off balance so she had no choice but to sit next to him, under the curve of his arm.
She looked up at him, that mesmerizing look back, and he couldn't help himself.
"Come here," he whispered, pulling his arm tighter and her head closer at the same time. Her eyes drifted shut, and he pressed his lips to hers, reveling in the tiny sigh she gave before opening to him completely.
* * *
In the back of her mind, Betsy knew she should pull away. Ian was hurt, and she didn't want to make anything worse - especially since she was responsible for one of his injuries. But when he pulled her close and his lips touched hers, she was powerless to resist the indulgence.
He nibbled gently at her lips, teasing with a flick of the tongue as she opened for him, her body molding to his side as his grip tightened. She marveled at how perfectly they fit, how wonderful it felt to be snuggled up close to this man. She'd die a happy woman if she never moved again.
A loud, harsh noise filled the room, and Ian groaned even as he pulled away. Betsy blinked her eyes, confused and annoyed by the interruption as she watched Ian pull a cell phone out of his pocket.
"I took this off the guy guarding me," he said, holding up the phone before he checked the small screen. "It's the one you sent that text to."
Betsy nodded, leaning in to look at the screen as well. "Another text?"
Ian nodded. "Derek wants to know if I'm still alive."
"That's not possible," she said, pulling back and shaking her head. "When I left him, Derek was hanging upside down bloody and unconscious at the bottom of a ravine. There's no way he could have survived it. No way."
"Did you check his pulse?"
Betsy tried to remember. Had she? She'd been so worried about getting out of there before the emergency crews arrived...and he'd looked pretty bad. She'd grabbed his phone and ran.
"I don't think so, now that you ask. I just had to get out of there. Away from him. And I knew that if the emergency crews caught me there, I'd be hauled off to the hospital or jail and I wouldn't be able to find you or check on...what is it?"
Ian's jaw tightened, and something in her gut told her this wasn't over yet. He turned the phone so she could easily read the entire screen.
"Kill the preacher. Meet at cabin 1 hour. D."
She sat up, regretting the loss of his warmth. "If he's still alive, Ainsley is still in danger. We need to find that cabin."
Ian frowned. "Who's Ainsley? And why is she in danger?"
Betsy froze. She'd forgotten he didn't know. Looking down at her hands, she tried to ignore the panic that made her hands shake. Would he think less of her for giving up her own daughter? Would he understand why she'd had no choice? The clock on the wall ticked away precious seconds she knew they couldn't afford.
"Ainsley is my daughter," she said, rising to pace in front of him. "It's a long story, but the short version is, I gave her up for adoption so Derek couldn't get to her. He found out, and now he wants her back. The adoption details were--"
"With the treasure." Ian nodded. "You should have told me. I thought we were better friends than that."
"I'm sorry. I'm not used to trusting people. But none of that matters now. Can't we talk about this later? What if he already has her?" She reached down to help Ian off the floor. "I called her adoptive parents, but I couldn't say much. We have to go now. What if we're too late? I should have destroyed those papers." She turned toward the door, her flight stopped only by Ian's firm grip on her arm.
"Hang on," he said, his hold unrelenting. "Running off in a panic isn't going to help. Call your daughter's family - there's a phone on the nightstand there - and tell them to get to safety. I'll see if maybe this goon was stupid enough to put the cabin's location in the GPS of this cell. Then we can decide where to go first."
Adrenaline flooding her system, Betsy balked at the wait, but she knew he was right. Calm and logical, as always. Reluctantly she nodded and then went to the phone, dialing the number as she watched Ian start se
arching through the cell phone programs.
After six unanswered rings, she hung up. "No one's answering, Ian. I don't know..."
He held up the cell phone for her to see. "The last destination this guy went to before the ranch seems to be out in the middle of nowhere. I bet that's where the cabin is. Lucky for us, he left the coordinates in his address book." He turned off the phone and shoved it in his pocket, then gave her a sympathetic look. "I know you want to go check on Ainsley, but I really think we should meet Derek at the cabin first. If he's got her, going to the house won't make any difference, and he'll probably bring her with him to meet us. If he doesn't have her, they're not home which will make them harder to find. Win-win."
She nodded, knowing it made the most sense. "You're right. Let's go. He took me in his car, so mine should still be in the lot. We can take that." Leading the way to the hall, she stopped abruptly, frowning.
"You really should stay here. You're hurt. Let me call Harley or someone else to go. Heck, we should call the police so they can meet us there."
"I'm going with you," Ian said, his tone firm. "And I don't think we should call just yet. If I'm wrong, and we have the wrong place, it will just go badly for us. We can call when we're sure he's there." He brushed past her, leading the way to the stairs with one arm wrapped around his middle. "Any idea where Harley might have a spare weapon stashed?"
She nodded, hurrying to follow him. "Dad's collection is in the parlor. We can get whatever we need there." She led the way to the back of the mansion, peeking through the old lace curtains before opening the French doors. Punching in the combination, she opened the glass case and let Ian choose a handgun, then got a smaller model for herself. Locking the cabinet, she found ammunition, and then followed Ian out the back.
They kept to the trees, and Betsy was impressed at the speed Ian was able to maintain. Ten minutes later, they were headed down the highway. She desperately hoped Derek had gone directly to the cabin, instead of chasing Ainsley.