by Nicole Helm
She blew out a breath, willing herself not to throw up. She was sitting on the cold floor, and her arms were behind her back. Which meant they were tied together. She catalogued the rest of her body as much as she could with her eyes closed and her brain still scrambled.
There was something around her ankles as well. Something hard and cold behind her back. She was cold. So cold.
Focus.
Except she must have said that out loud, or moved, or something.
“She’s conscious,” the angrier man muttered.
Laurel blinked her eyes open. The man all in black was pulling his mask back down, and she missed any identifying markers. The other man wasn’t anywhere she could see, but she was afraid to turn her head to fully search the room.
“Where am I?”
The man in black laughed. “Jupiter, sweetheart.”
Dark eyes glittered behind the ski mask and Laurel knew without a shadow of a doubt she had to escape quickly. Even if the other man didn’t want to kill her, this one did.
“I’m going to throw up.”
He rolled his eyes, turning to somewhere just outside Laurel’s vision. She tried to turn her head but pain pierced her skull.
“Just kill her,” Angry Man was saying. “You this time. So we’re both in this and I know you’re not going to try and pawn this all off on me.”
“Take her outside until she’s done. Then bring her back. If we decide to kill her, we need to make sure we have everything we need first.”
Angry Man grumbled, but he walked over to her. Laurel was shaking, and no amount of breathing helped that. When two rough hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, she swayed and closed her eyes.
He pushed her back roughly against the wall, and she leaned against it, trying to make the world stop spinning. She realized somewhat belatedly he’d untied her legs.
“Walk,” he ordered gruffly.
Weaving and swaying, Laurel began to walk. She didn’t make an effort to change her weakened gait. The weaker he thought she was, the better. But moving helped. Stepping outside helped.
Except for the fact nothing around her gave her any clue as to where she was. There were trees and sky and rocky ground.
“Well? You gonna throw up or not?”
Laurel bent forward. “I need my hands. I have to use the bathroom.”
The man laughed harshly. “Like hell. Stop talking and start retching or we’re going back in there right this second.” He waved his gun in her face. “If I wasn’t trying to prove a point, I would’ve blown your brains out hours ago.”
Hours. Had it been hours? She didn’t recognize this place, though it still looked like Wyoming. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she was far away from home and help.
She bent over, pretending to gag, trying not to cry. Slowly she raised her gaze, trying to find...something. Anything. A place to run and hide. A clue as to where she was.
“You run, I’ll only shoot you. Somewhere that’ll take a long time to bleed out so you can die a long and terrible death.”
She turned her head to look at this man. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
Something rustled behind them and the man pushed her down. Since her hands were tied behind her, she couldn’t stop the fall. She could only turn her head and brace her body for impact. The sound that came out of her when she hit the hard, cold ground was loud and involuntary.
“Shut up,” Angry Man said, giving her a swift, painful kick to the leg. “And don’t move.”
Laurel sucked in a breath and tried not to sob as she blew it back out. She tilted her head to see where Angry Man had gone. He was slinking around the side of the building, gun held at the ready.
Laurel couldn’t help but think it was a squirrel or raccoon or something. Who would stumble upon this...
She looked around her as best she could in her prone position. It was a clearing, the building behind her stone and clearly abandoned for a long time. Windows gone, any clue to what it could have been completely gone.
Except the cross at the very top of the roof.
Oh, God, she knew where she was. She and Vanessa had snuck up here once as kids and spent the night telling each other ghost stories. One of the few times she’d been convinced breaking the rules wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
That time was long past, but that church was Wyoming. It was home. She was so close to the Carson Ranch she still had a chance, a real chance, to escape. As long as Angry Man didn’t shoot her first.
But he’d disappeared around the corner of the building. And yes, he could likely outrun her in her current injured and tied-up state, but maybe...
A shot rang out, jolting her. She rolled herself onto her side and managed to leverage herself up to her knees. Her vision blurred, but she pushed through it and up onto her feet. She had to... She had to...
When a figure rushed around the corner of the building, Laurel thought for sure she was hallucinating. She had to be. Maybe she’d died. Or was unconscious and dreaming.
Grady stopped short, then swore roughly. Before she could blink, he was in front of her, gingerly touching her shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“There’s another one, Grady,” Laurel said, surveying the stone church. They were like sitting ducks out here, and the man inside had to have heard the gunshot.
Except in the next moment, a man was stepping out of the church. He didn’t wear a mask or all black and she didn’t even see a weapon on him.
“Thank God. Thank God. I was so scared,” he said, moving toward her and Grady.
Grady pushed her behind him, holding his pistol up. “Don’t come any closer,” he ordered the man. “Hold on to me,” he whispered to her.
“Please, you’ve got to help me,” the man implored.
Laurel frowned, holding on to Grady’s shirt. From everything she’d heard, this man was the leader of the whole debacle. But maybe in her jumbled head she’d been confused.
“That man you shot was holding me captive, much like you.” The middle-aged man looked imploringly at her. “Thank God we’re both all right.”
“Laurel?” Grady asked.
It didn’t feel right, but everything was so topsy-turvy and she couldn’t trust what she’d heard and what she hadn’t.
“The police are on their way. They can sort out whether or not that’s true,” Grady said firmly, his aim of the gun not wavering from the man’s chest.
“Something isn’t right,” Laurel whispered, more to herself than to Grady.
“What isn’t right?” he returned, as quietly and under-his-breath as she’d spoken.
“I don’t know.” She just didn’t know.
* * *
GRADY WASN’T ABOUT to lower his weapon on this guy, no matter what he said. Or Laurel said, for that matter. While he wasn’t dressed like the man he’d shot on the other side of the church—no mask, no weapon—he was still here. Unharmed, while Laurel’s entire face was streaked with blood.
He couldn’t think about that, though. If he did he might sink to his knees at the sheer pain of it. That she’d been this hurt, and was somehow still alive. Still here. He had to get her safe.
“I’d feel so much better if you put the gun down,” the guy said with a nervous chuckle.
Grady didn’t move. “I wouldn’t.”
“Then maybe I should just go back inside until the police—”
“Don’t move.”
Something about the guy’s expression didn’t sit right with Grady. Something about this whole thing didn’t sit right, and if the cops didn’t get here soon, he’d be forced to act. Because he wasn’t going to make Laurel stand through much more of this.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Grady said. When the man started to bend his knees, Grady rolled his eyes. “Not
you. Her.”
“Oh,” Laurel breathed behind him. “I better stay standing.”
“Laurel!”
If Grady wasn’t mistaken, it was Dylan’s voice, which meant Dylan and Noah had arrived. The cops couldn’t be too far back.
“Someone call an ambulance,” Grady barked. “Noah, can you ride Laurel out of here without banging her up any more?”
Noah dismounted, about five seconds after Dylan. Both men charged up the hill, taking in the scene around them.
“I’ll take her myself,” Dylan said hotly.
“I don’t know if a horse ride would be the best thing for her in this condition,” Noah said calmly. “Head injury—”
“She’ll be fine. She needs a doctor fast.”
“If all the men could stop posturing and listen to what I have to say,” Laurel interjected, but she was leaning against Grady and shaking.
“I’m sorry, are any of you a police officer? Or someone who could convince this man to stop pointing his gun at me?” the man Grady hadn’t taken his eyes off said.
Grady exchanged a look with Noah, but Noah didn’t seem too keen on the idea, either. “How’d you get up here?” Noah asked.
The man tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I...I don’t know. I was brought here against my will.”
“How?” Laurel asked from behind Grady.
“W-what?” the man said.
“How did one man bring you and me here against our will?” Laurel asked, her voice sounding stronger and clearer than it had.
“I’m not sure how you arrived, but I was brought here yesterday. Now—”
“Why weren’t you tied up?”
The man stood stock-still, everything about him frozen. “I...was.”
“No you weren’t,” Laurel returned, and she moved from where she’d been leaning against Grady’s back, to stand next to him. She leaned on him for support, which was certainly a concern, but she stood there, determined. “I saw you. I heard you.”
The man’s eyes darted around where they all stood in the clearing.
“There isn’t anywhere to go,” Grady said fiercely, noting that Noah and Dylan had raised their rifles to aim at the man as well.
“And even if you got out of here, I’d find you,” Noah said calmly. “I can find anything in these mountains.”
The man licked his lips nervously. “I...I don’t know what you’re all talking about. I don’t... I’m a victim. And I haven’t done anything wrong. If you do anything to me, I will sue you.”
“And who will I sue for paying that man to run me off the road?”
“I did no such thing—” he smirked a little “—that you’ll be able to prove.”
“Do you own a black sedan, Nebraska license plate 85A GHX?”
The man visibly paled, and it was Grady’s turn to smirk. “I think you might be on to something, Deputy,” he offered cheerfully.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re employed by the company that runs Evergreen Mining.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“But I do,” Laurel said. “I heard your conversation with the other man, and I’ve got so much evidence built up. All I needed was the man behind it, and here you are.”
“You can’t...” He shook his head, looking around more desperately. “You’re lying.”
“I guess we’ll find out how much when the police arrive. Noah or Dylan, will you walk around and see if you can find the car?”
“Gladly,” Dylan said, sounding about as lethal as Grady felt.
The only thing that kept Grady in place was Laurel leaning against him. Otherwise he’d be more than a little tempted to beat this guy to a bloody pulp.
“You can’t do this. My lawyers will have a field day with this. None of you know what you’re talking about and...and... This is ludicrous. I’ll take you for everything you’re worth.”
“That supposed to be scary?”
“You have nothing to hold me on. Nothing.”
“Cops are here,” Dylan called from the other side of the stone church. “And I found the car. Just as Laurel described.”
The man darted for the woods, but Grady fired his weapon, hitting him in the upper thigh. The man fell to the ground with a howl. And again, Grady would have gladly gone over and gotten a few kicks in, but Laurel was leaning, saying his name.
“Grady.”
He glanced down at her. Her eyes were drooping, and underneath the awful blood all over her, her complexion was gray.
“Open your eyes, baby.”
She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Can’t.”
“Come on, princess. Stay with me here.” He moved the arm not holding a gun around her waist, holding her up. She clutched his shirt, but it was as though her legs didn’t hold her up. Her legs buckled.
“I really don’t feel well.”
“Laurel.” But her eyes had rolled back, her body going limp. Grady looked up wildly, heart beating with panic against his chest. “Hart,” he barked when the deputy came into view. “Get your car up here now.”
Grady had to hand it to the young deputy—he didn’t balk at taking orders from a civilian. Hart turned and ran back down the hill, shouting orders to the other deputies with him.
Chapter Eighteen
Laurel wasn’t a fan of waking up from unconsciousness not knowing where she was or what had happened. She vaguely remembered the stone church, something about the man who’d been responsible for all this.
She definitely remembered Grady. He’d held her up and kept her safe.
“Grady?” Whatever sound that came out of her mouth certainly didn’t sound like his name. She cleared her raw throat and tried again. “Grady?” She tried to open her eyes but it was all too bright.
“Shh. We’re right here.” Jen’s voice. Her sister.
“Jen. Where’s Grady?”
“I can’t believe she’s saying that Carson’s name. She must be delirious.”
“Hello to you, too, Dad.” She felt a large hand on her arm. She imagined it was her father’s, and despite all his blustering she was sure he was worried sick. “Can someone dim the lights.”
“That should be better,” another male voice said.
Laurel’s eyes flew open. “Cam.” Her brother closest in age to her had been deployed for a while and she hadn’t seen him in over a year. But here he was, in her hospital room.
Hospital. Why was everyone here?
“Oh, God, am I dying?”
Jen took her hand. “No, but you certainly gave us all a scare. You lost a lot of blood and needed a lot of stitches. Collapsed lung, bruised ribs and a broken nose.” Jen let out a shaky breath. “And Dylan said it could have been so much worse.”
Laurel looked around at her family in the hospital room, and she knew she should want this and this alone. She was healing and her family was here because they loved her.
“I need to see Grady.” She turned to Jen, imploringly, figuring Jen would be her best, softest-hearted bet. “Please. He saved me, you know.” She looked around at her stone-faced father and an even stonier-faced Cam. “He saved me. I need to speak with him.”
“I’ll get him,” Dylan surprised her by saying.
Dad sputtered, Jen soothed him, and Cam ushered all of them out of the room, pausing at the door to look back at her. “I didn’t expect to come home and find you looking like hell, sis.”
“Are you home to stay?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m very glad,” she said, feeling overly emotional. She’d blame that on whatever machines she was hooked up to or whatever was in the IV.
“Me, too.” And then he disappeared, and only seconds later, Grady stepped in. He was big and strong and she wanted to weep. Because he was here, and he’d sav
ed her. “You’re here,” she managed to rasp.
“Where else would I be, princess?” he asked gruffly.
“What happened?”
“You were hurt—”
“With the guy. The head guy. It’s all a blur after I told him I had evidence and—”
“He made a break for it.”
She squeaked in outrage.
Grady’s mouth curved grimly. “I shot him.”
“Oh. I don’t remember that. Is he dead?”
“No. Fared better than you. Other guy’s in critical. The leader of this whole thing has a million lawyers crawling all over the place, but you built a pretty tight case against the guy. Evidence all over his car that he had Lizzie. And while the other guy may have been driving the car, it’s registered to the main guy. Not quite the criminal mastermind he fancied himself.”
“So who was the not-head guy?”
“Hired muscle. Basically a hit man he was using however necessary to try and cover all this up.”
“Was he really doing all this for EPA violations?”
Grady shrugged, still standing near the door. “We don’t know. He’s got enough lawyers to block every cop in America, I think.”
“Why are you standing all the way over there?” she demanded.
“Because I want to touch you so bad it hurts,” he said, hands jammed in his pockets, something like but not quite fury vibrating off him.
“You can touch me.”
“You look terrible, princess.”
“I’ll heal. Come here.”
Slowly, he took a step forward, and then another, until he was standing over her, looking at her face as though she’d jabbed a knife in his chest.
He put a fingertip to her collarbone, she assumed since it wasn’t bruised or scraped.
“You gave me quite the scare,” he murmured, his fingertip warm and gentle on her skin.
“It wasn’t exactly roses and unicorns from where I stood, either.”
“Laurel.” He looked so grim, so serious. Like he was about to deliver the most terrible news on the face of the planet. With her actual name to boot. “I love you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You heard me,” he returned grumpily, shoving his hands back in his pockets.