by Kait Nolan
Shoving the phone into her back pocket, she headed up the stairs, sipping at her wine and stripping out of the cardigan she’d worn under her lab coat. She dropped the sweater into a chair and toed off her shoes, already dreaming of fragrant bubbles. The phone began to ring. The flash of Ethan’s name across the screen and had her smiling.
“Hey Cowboy, I was just—”
“Where are you?” The urgency in his tone had her going stock still, one hand stretched toward the faucet.
“I just got home. What’s wrong?”
“Stay put and make sure the doors are locked.”
Had she locked the garage door on her way inside? Miranda couldn’t remember. Doing an about-face, she went to check. “I’m going to check the door. What’s going on?”
He blew out a breath. “I found out who trashed your clinic.”
“Who?”
“Johnny.”
The shock almost had her stopping again. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. Harley coerced him into harassing you by threatening his mother.”
“That bastard.” She checked the front door. “Front door is locked with the deadbolt. Why the hell is Harley harassing me?” She hurried into the kitchen.
“Short version: He’s pissed we convinced Rene to leave him and is targeting you to get back at me.”
The door into the garage wasn’t locked. She twisted the knob and quickly threw the deadbolt before making a beeline toward the den. “Garage door is locked. What does he hope to gain from all of this?”
“I don’t know. But even if he’s been acting through Johnny as proxy, he’s escalated. I don’t want you alone until I can bring him in.”
In the den, she started to reach for the light and hesitated, the hair on her arms standing up. Something was wrong. Miranda scanned the room. In the ambient light spilling out of the kitchen, she could just make out the glitter of shattered glass on the carpet. One of the panes had been broken out of the French door.
Her hand tightened around the phone. “Ethan, someone’s—”
A hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her off balance, up against a solid male body. The glass dropped out of her hand. Miranda felt the splash of wine on her leg as she automatically reached for the hand. She struck out at her assailant with the phone. It connected with his head, causing the fingers to loosen just enough for her to get out a short, sharp scream.
“Ow! Stupid bitch.”
Harley.
Snaking another arm around her throat, he cranked down. The phone fell from her fingers as her oxygen was cut off. Her hands scrabbled at his arm, unable to slacken his grip.
Think. Think!
She struggled to remember anything from the self-defense course she’d taken years ago, when she’d moved to Chicago. But there was no thought, only panic. She began to hit, kick, and claw, aiming for whatever she could reach. But her blows just bounced off him, causing nothing more than grunts, even as pain radiated up the elbows she tried to jab into his ribs.
Harley hauled her backward, jerking her off her feet. She kicked out, hoping to meet the wall for some kind of leverage. As they struggled, her foot connected with something solid. It hit the floor and shattered. On a snarl, Harley squeezed harder, applying pressure to her carotid.
Miranda felt consciousness begin to flicker
Ethan. Ethan was on the phone. He’d come for her.
But as her limbs stopped cooperating, her brain starved for blood and air, she wondered if he’d make it in time.
“Ethan, someone’s—”
At the abrupt cutoff of her words, Ethan’s stomach dropped. “Miranda? Miranda!”
Something thumped and Miranda screamed. The sound sent ice cascading through Ethan’s veins, already propelling him into motion, as a muffled male voice growled, “Stupid bitch!”
His heart all but stopped. Harley was at the house. He shouted orders on the way to the door. “All units to Miranda’s. He’s got her. The son of a bitch has got her.”
Bursting out of the station, he pelted toward his police cruiser, hearing sounds of a struggle over the line. “Hang on, baby. Keep fighting. I’m coming. I’m coming.”
He threw himself into the driver’s seat, peeling out of the lot, sirens blaring. Drawing on every shred of defensive driving he’d ever learned, he flew through town, skidding around corners, flying around cars, coaxing every ounce of speed from the engine.
Something shattered. Then the only thing Ethan could hear was the roaring in his ears. Fear gripped him by the throat. Had the line gone silent?
Too far. He was too goddamned far away.
Why hadn’t he insisted she work on some self defense? Why hadn’t he installed that alarm system? Why hadn’t he posted a full-time guard on her? He’d known in his gut that this whole situation was going south. That it was more than just vandalism.
Seconds stretched out like hours as he closed the distance, not knowing what he’d find. Backup was en route, but he didn’t wait, whipping into the driveway on screaming tires. There was no sign of another car or of Harley’s beat-to-shit truck. Only a handful of lights were on inside.
Drawing his service weapon, he headed for the front door. Two swift kicks had the door slamming open, cracking against the interior wall. Shoving down the terror, he stepped into the house, forcing himself to follow protocol and clear each room, even as he listened for sounds of struggle or escape. A lamp lay broken on the floor. A few feet beyond that, a glass lay on the carpet, a dark stain splattered out from it. The scent of wine was sharp in his nose. A pane was broken out of the French door. Obviously, the point of entry. Moving into the kitchen, he saw the open bottle of wine and the corkscrew on the counter. A light was on in the garage. The empty garage. Miranda’s Jeep was gone, the garage door down. Not letting himself think about that yet, Ethan raced upstairs, heart pounding with every step. Nothing appeared disturbed up here, save for the shoes and sweater Miranda had obviously ditched, when she got home. Whatever had happened had gone down in the den and hallway.
“Chief!” Darius called out from downstairs.
He met his officer halfway down. “She’s not here.” A part of him had known that as soon as he entered the house, but he’d needed to clear it, needed to make sure there wasn’t a body.
Harley hadn’t killed her. Yet.
Terror and fury over what the bastard had planned for her all but brought Ethan to his knees. All his training, all his skills, and the son of a bitch had still managed to kidnap his woman. He hadn’t been able to keep her safe.
But he’d sure as hell be bringing her home.
Darius watched him, expression horrified. “I shouldn’t have left her. I thought she’d be safe in the house, and I got a call—”
“Not your fault. I didn’t give you orders to stay.”
Ethan let out a long, slow breath, locking away emotion. He’d be no good to her if he was freaking out. He needed to be calm, cold, and collected—a hunter of men. He’d spent the better part of his Marshal career doing exactly that against criminals far smarter and far deadlier than Harley Forbes.
“Secure the scene.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rowan hustled across the yard as Ethan hit the porch.
“Beale, I want you canvassing the neighborhood. Find out from the neighbors if they’ve seen a beat-up GMC pickup or Miranda’s Grand Cherokee. In particular, I want to know if they saw her vehicle leave in the last fifteen minutes, and if so, which way it went. I also want to check with the neighbors on the street behind her house. He broke in through the back, which means he slipped through somebody’s yard to get there. If anybody saw anybody, I want to know about it.”
“Yes, Chief.” She fell into step beside him as he skirted the cruiser. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”
Ethan held up a finger as he reached for the handset of the radio. “Cleveland, this is Greer. Come back.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Issue a BOLO for H
arley Forbes.”
Rowan hissed and nodded before hustling toward the nearest neighbor.
“Pull his details from his file,” Ethan continued. “The son of a bitch is wanted for kidnapping, and should be presumed armed and dangerous. His victim is Dr. Miranda Campbell.” Ethan’s voice skipped a beat on her name. “Caucasian female, dark blonde hair, hazel eyes. 5’10”, approximately 170 pounds. Presumed to be injured or under duress. It is believed he may be in her vehicle, a black Jeep Grand Cherokee.” He reeled off the license plate.
There was a beat of silence, and Ethan could hear Cleveland audibly swallow. “Yes, Chief. Anything else?”
“Call Clint and have him track down Rene Forbes. She’s probably out at Monarch House. Have her brought into the station. And bring in Nash and Reuben. I want every able-bodied cop in this town working on this.”
“On it.”
Replacing the handset, Ethan grabbed his cell phone. It was still connected to Miranda’s. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had it on her, if they could triangulate her position. Then he heard Darius call his name, heard the echo of the other man’s voice through the speaker, and knew it had been left behind.
Hang on, Legs. I’m coming.
Hanging up the call, he popped the trunk and grabbed some gloves and booties before returning to the scene. Then he made the call he’d prayed he’d never have to make.
Judd picked up on the second ring. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“I need you. Miranda’s been kidnapped.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 22
Miranda struggled to keep her breathing slow and even, so he wouldn’t know she was awake again. Fighting through the fog of pain, she took stock. Her mouth was covered. Taped. Flexing her numb fingers, it seemed her wrists and ankles were bound with that as well. The son of a bitch had hog tied her with duct tape. He might even have used the big roll in her garage. Some kind of blindfold was tied around her eyes.
Another bump threw her body. They were moving. In a car? Then he was probably in the driver’s seat. She shifted, feeling a roughness against her face. Carpet. Trunk or the back of an SUV? The road noise didn’t sound as muffled as she imagined a trunk would. As they continued jolting down what she now recognized as a rutted gravel road, she strained, trying to hear past the ringing in her ears.
Was that Harley breathing? Surely if she could hear him breathing, she was in the back of an SUV instead of a car. Maybe her own Jeep. Didn’t Harley have a truck? Miranda couldn’t remember.
How long had she been out?
Where were they going?
With aching slowness, she rolled her ankles and wrists, struggling to get the blood flowing again without making noise. If an opportunity to escape presented itself, she’d never be able to run like this. Her limbs felt like painful blocks of ice. How was she going to get free? Duct tape was universal, utilitarian, and damned near impossible to tear.
Think.
What had Ethan said? Harley was angry they’d finally convinced Rene to leave him. He’d been targeting her to get back at Ethan. Every harassment had been an escalation, and nearly every one had involved a knife. Would Harley go so far as to use it on her? What exactly was his plan here? Did he even have one? Kidnapping wasn’t something he’d get out of. If he’d been smart enough to coerce his step-son into acting on his behalf, he’d be smart enough to know that. Which meant he probably didn’t plan on her surviving to press charges.
A fresh dose of adrenaline dumped into her system. Harley Forbes was going to kill her.
The vehicle turned, skidding to a stop a few seconds later. A driveway?
It took everything she had not to whimper when Harley got out of the vehicle and slammed the door.
How long did she have before he came around to get her? His footsteps seemed to go away from the car. For a few frantic seconds she struggled against the tape, feeling it dig into her wrists. There was no way she’d get out of this without a knife or something sharp. If this was her Jeep, did she keep anything in the back that might be useful? Could she even reach it if she did?
Something loud scraped outside, as if a large door were being shoved open. The sound of returning footsteps had her going still again, fighting to slow her breath.
The back hatch popped. Even behind the blindfold, she could see the rear cabin light pop on. Hands grabbed her arms and legs, dragging her to the edge of the cargo compartment. She briefly considered thrashing, but what good would that do? If he dropped her, she’d just get further injured and would probably piss him off. Better to keep playing possum for now.
He tapped none too gently at her face, then ripped the tape from her mouth. It took everything she had not to scream. Apparently satisfied, he threw her over his shoulder, and she forced herself to be deadweight, despite the steadying hand on her ass. Every muscle screamed at the awkward strain of the hold.
Steps moved from gravel to dirt. The scent of moldy hay tickled her nose. A sneeze built at the back of her throat.
No. No no no no. I can’t—
She sneezed.
Harley dumped her unceremoniously on the ground. “Glad to know you’re back among the land of the living. This will be a lot more fun with you awake.”
Miranda turned her head and tried to spit out the dirt in her mouth. “What the hell are you doing, Harley?”
“Just taking my due. You’re an interfering bitch, you know that? A man’s got rights to his wife. But you just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to go giving Rene ideas.” He said the last word as if pronouncing a venereal disease.
“You’re the one who beat her.” The words were out before she could think better of them.
Harley slammed his booted foot into her stomach in a swift kick that drove the air from her lungs and made her whole body seize up.
“You drove her off. She was a proper, well-trained woman.” He emphasized every last descriptor with another well-aimed kick to her gut.
Tears poured from her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound. Couldn’t. She couldn’t seem to suck air into her lungs. Not even when Harley yanked off the blindfold and she saw the knife in his hand.
This was it. She’d always been told her smart mouth was going to get her in trouble. Now it finally had.
Harley crouched down, turning the blade in the flickering light of the old barn, as if admiring its craftsmanship. Then he quickly sliced through the tape connecting her wrists and ankles.
If there’d been any breath left in her body, she’d have exhaled it in a gush. Instead, she wheezed.
Stepping over her, Harley opened another door. Scooping her up like a sack of feed, he carried her inside, dumping her into a chair. Her back almost screamed with relief. Using a length of rope, he attached her bound hands and wrists to the spindles of the chair. With her arms pinioned behind her back, her breasts were thrust forward.
Harley’s eyes raked over them. “You drove her off,” he repeated, following his gaze with a drag of the knife. The blade sliced open her shirt, revealing the swell of one breast. “So now you’re gonna pay. You and that chump cop.”
Ethan. Where was Ethan?
He’d know something was wrong. He’d been on the phone. He’d have been coming. How much lead did Harley have? How far away from home were they? He knew it was Harley. So he’d narrow his search from there. But how the hell would he find her?
He was a U.S. Marshal. He hunted fugitives for a living. He’s going to find you. You just need to buy yourself some time for him to get here.
“I don’t understand. You had an alibi for the clinic, and for the fire.” Play dumb, get him talking. TV villains always liked to talk about their superiority.
A satisfied smirk crossed his face. “I had my boy take care of that for me. He’s been getting ideas, too, but I set him straight. Reminded him who’s in charge in our family. Gave the little bastard my name. He owes me.”
“The harassment started before Rene left you. Was t
hat you, too? The slashing of my tires?”
“Lot of fun, that one. It was a favor to a friend. You know Ralph. He was pretty pissed you denied him more drugs. So I helped him out with that—as I often do—as a thank you for being a good client.”
“You’ve been supplying Ralph with opiates?”
“Him and anybody else who doesn’t like the new laws. It’s a lucrative business. Had to do something once the factory closed, and I wasn’t much keen on traditional employment. Too much stress for too little pay.”
Was he involved with the drug thefts over in Lawley? Was that how he had the idea to trash the clinic?
“And the raccoon?”
“I thought that was obvious. Dead meat. It was a warning, after you’d moved my wife out of our house. Your cop boyfriend understood, but not you. You just assumed everything was fine. Stupid, naive bitch. Not that it would’ve made any difference. I’ve been watching you for weeks. Just waiting for my chance. And now here we are, all alone. No bodyguard in blue in sight.” He reached out with the tip of the blade again, drawing it down her cheek in a slow caress. “We’re gonna get to know each other real well, Doc. Just you wait and see.”
Ethan saw the fist flying at his face and made no move to stop it. Peter Campbell’s right cross slammed into his jaw, whipping his head back and rocking him back a step. Blood flooded his mouth. The older man had a helluva punch.
Several women gasped, and Liz Campbell tried to grab her husband by the arm.
“You were supposed to keep her safe!” Grief-stricken hazel eyes bored into him from a face reddened with anger. Fists still clenched, Pete took another step closer.
Reuben Blanchard, Ethan’s other reserve officer started toward them, but Ethan held up a hand, staying the former SEAL’s progress. He spit blood into a nearby trash can and turned back to Miranda’s father. “You get one for free because I understand you’re upset, and there’s nothing you can say or do to me that I haven’t wanted to do to myself. But kicking my ass the rest of the way is going to have to wait because I have a job to do, and I don’t have a moment to waste going over my failures.”