Pledged To Protect Complete Box Set: Three Romantic Suspense Romances

by Vella Day

  “Does she know he came here?”

  “No. She said she didn't know when he'd be home either.”

  Richard paced in front of the sofa. “Doesn't give us much to go on. I wonder if Peter Caravello hired this Ronnie guy.”

  “To kill Susan?”

  “Yes. I'm sure he won't stop at Susan either.” Now wasn't the time to push the Jake-is-guilty claim. Richard decided to toss the proverbial ball to Stanton's court. “How do you think we should proceed?”

  “We'll need some gear if we want to go after them.”

  “Shouldn't be a problem. We went passed a hiking store on the way in. The place might still be open.”

  “I hope they have a map of the woods.”

  Richard wondered how far Stanton would make it in the forest, given he sat at a desk all day and his middle was spreading. Wouldn't it be a shame if he slipped off a mountain and died?

  His own life meant little. Ending up in a jail cell for the rest of his life wasn't on his to-do list. He'd take them all down, and then disappear. Who better equipped at creating a new identity than him?

  **

  Susan had wrapped Jake's leg twice now, but the damn thing kept seeping blood. If they didn't rest, he'd be useless to her.

  Jake spotted an indent in the side of a hill, partially covered by an outcropping of rock. “It looks like we might get a little snow. I think we should call it a night and hunker down here.”

  If he didn't insist he needed the rest, Susan would want to keep moving. From the way she was favoring her right leg, she had blisters on her feet, which, if they became infected, could cause a lot of trouble.

  “We can't stop now, not when someone is chasing us.”

  “Without the proper gear, they won't last the night out here. We need our strength for the big push tomorrow. It's nearly dark. I think we're pretty safe from capture for a while. Besides, we took about four forks.”

  “That makes me feel a little better.” After climbing the rather steep embankment, she dropped her pack when they reached a flat area. “Ouch.”

  “You okay?” He stepped next to her.

  “The backpack straps rubbed against my injured chest.”

  Damn it. He should have been more considerate. “I can carry both for us.”

  “Don't be silly. You're leg is worse off than my injuries.”

  They didn't need to waste the energy arguing over who was more debilitated. He should have seen Blondie's arm swing low and moved out of the way. He was slipping and that fact was eating away at him.

  She sat on her pack and leaned against a tree. “Not to complain, but how must farther do we have tomorrow?”

  He was glad they were onto future plans. “Probably six or seven miles. And before you ask, at about one mile per hour, it will take us most of tomorrow to reach the highway.”

  She faced him, the scant light defining the drawn lines on her face. “We can move faster than that. When I power walk, I can go a good four miles an hour.”

  “Not when we're going up and down mountains. Besides, your feet are hurting and my leg isn't at full strength.”

  “Sorry.” She hugged her middle and dropped her chin into the top of her jacket for warmth. “Do we have a tent or something? Or do you expect us to sleep sitting up? I was the only girl in my town who flunked girl scouts.”

  He chuckled. He doubted she failed at anything. “I don't know what's in the gear bags. I never had time to look, but Tom was always Mr. Ready. He'll have some kind of protection against the elements.”

  He dumped out the contents of his pack and fumbled through the gear until he found a flashlight. He clicked it on.

  “Wow, that's bright,” she said.

  “Our eyes have gotten used to the darkness. Help me look through your stuff.”

  She stood and tilted the bag upside down. He found a nylon tarp that would keep out the snow but not any wandering animals, two sleeping bags, a water purifier, a collapsible shovel and a cook set.

  “Wow. Score one for Tom, but no stove?” Her mouth formed a big O and her eyes widened.

  “Can't pack everything. We don't need to cook sandwiches or power bars.”

  “Good point.”

  As if they'd worked together for a lifetime, they set up the tarp by stringing the covering between four trees. The overhang would help keep the rain or snow at bay from the east.

  “We'll be warmer,” he said, “if we zip the two bags together.”

  Her brow rose. “Take your mind out of the gutter. I'm not getting naked.”

  He closed the space between them and lifted her chin. “While I'd like nothing more than to make love with you in the woods, I don't think my leg could handle the stress.”

  “I'm sorry. I forgot.”

  They didn't need to dwell on more negatives. He broke the connection. “Let's split the sandwich. Afterwards, I want to safeguard our little camp.”

  “How?”

  “You'll see.”

  When they finished their meal, Jake dug out his pocketknife. “I need you to collect sticks, maybe half-inch in diameter and ten inches long.”

  “How many do you need?”

  “Maybe twenty.”

  “I better hurry.”

  He appreciated her not wasting time to question his request.

  Keeping one ear for the sounds of her footsteps as she gathered the wood, he picked up the shovel and headed back down the path. The ground would be too hard to dig, except near the stream.

  When he located the perfect spot, he scratched the dirt with the tip. He picked, stabbed, and cursed until he managed to cut a small trench two feet wide and one foot deep. Sweat beaded off his forehead from the exertion and his thigh rebelled when he squatted, but the manual labor took his mind off their situation. At least he was being proactive and not the victim.

  As Jake trekked back to their small camp, he met Susan coming from the opposite direction.

  “Here.” She handed him a pile of perfect sticks.

  “Great. Now we need to whittle the ends into spikes.”

  She slapped her hands on her hips. “Why?”

  “You'll see.” He handed her a knife. “There's another knife in one of the packs. Be right back.”

  Susan found a log to sit on while he scrounged through the side pockets for the extra Leatherman. When he returned, he sat opposite her, and they carved away. In less than a half hour, all of the sticks were seriously sharp.

  “Now what?” she asked with less agitation in her voice. “These look really dangerous.”

  “They are. But we're dealing with killers. Follow me.”

  They hiked back the two hundred yards to the stream. Jake knelt down and stabbed the non-pointed ends of the sticks into the hole. Some were horizontal to the ground, others straight up.

  Susan's eyes had widened every time he glanced up at her. “Gather some leaves to cover the pit, will ya?”

  She raced off. With her sharp mind, she seemed to understand how this trap worked.

  After a few trips, the hole was completely camouflaged.

  “You sure this will work? Someone could step over this trap.”

  He'd expected the question. “The person will probably jump across the two-foot wide stream. I dug the hole one step past the river's edge. He can't step right or left since the trench is the width of the path. He'll step in the hole. Trust me. The sudden drop will either break his ankle and/or cut him severely either going in or pulling it out.”

  “Where did you learn to make this kind of thing?”

  He snickered. “Actually, Nick Caravello taught me.”

  “Figures.”

  “'Uncle' Nicki isn't a bad person. He served in Nam. He told me the Army instructed them to dip the sticks in animal dung. When the enemy landed in the hole, the sticks would break the skin's surface and the feces would get into the bloodstream. Death followed shortly thereafter.”

  “Nice.”

  “Come on. Let's finish setting up camp.” />
  They put the sleeping bags together and shoved them under the tarp.

  “I guess we can't have a fire, huh?” she asked.

  “Ah, no. We might as well have a loud speaker announcing where we are.”

  “Too bad.”

  He would have liked one too. Nothing was more romantic that a hot fire, but tonight wasn't for love. It was for survival.

  She took a sip of her water and crawled into bed. “Should we take turns staying awake?”

  “Sure. I'll take first watch.” Jake placed his weapon on the ground behind them. “You ever shoot a gun before?”

  “As a matter of fact, I took lessons after my father was killed by someone he prosecuted.”

  “Christ. And you still wanted to practice law?” The woman had less sense than he did.

  “Now you sound like my mother, brother and ex-husband, except he liked the paycheck too much to complain a lot.”

  Her bitter tone sent his body on alert. “What was he like?”

  He couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed because she'd laid her arm across her forehead.

  “There's not much to tell. He turned out to be a deadbeat and a cheat. I left him after he turned violent.”

  He swallowed hard, the pain rolling off her. His fists balled at his side. The image of anyone hurting her tore at his gut. Jake needed to find out if she was vulnerable with regards to her ex-husband, so he leaned closer. “Do you still love him?”

  “No! He used me.” She flipped over to face him again. “Could you love someone who cheated on you? Or hit you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She sat up and bumped her head on the nylon overhang. A rustling in the woods echoed down the path. “Shh.” He wanted to learn more about her, her disappointments, her dreams, but that priority dropped when the noise filtered into his conscious.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  Jake snatched up the gun and slithered out of the bag. “Wait here.”

  21

  Using his years of hunting experience in this forest, Jake crept through the woods without making a sound. From the moans and curses coming from the direction of the river, he figured he'd trapped someone and prayed that person wasn't an innocent bystander who'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Instead of following the path directly to the spot, Jake climbed a small hill and cut along the ridge careful not give to away his position.

  Looking down from above, he spotted a man in a beige jacket struggling to free himself from the trap. Moonbeams reflected off his blond hair. Bingo. He appeared to be the man with the knife. One down, one to go.

  After Jake sliced off a few sapling braches with which to tie up the man should he try to escape, he headed toward the river, his weapon fixed on the man's head. With the moon behind him, he bet the man wouldn't recognize him right away.

  “Need help?” Jake said, trying to gauge the seriousness of the injury.

  The man fell back onto his elbows. “Oh, thank God. I thought I'd never see another human being again. I broke my ankle.” His breaths came out rapid. “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  Jake spotted the man's sniper rifle next to him. “You out hunting at night?” Though no hunter would use such a weapon.

  Blondie looked up, pain creasing his forehead. “It's you.”

  Before the captive could reach his gun, Jake raced toward him and kicked the rifle away. “Yeah, it's me.”

  “Yarnell, you got to help me. I'll die out here.” His voice didn't ring true. His partner in the plaid shirt had to be near.

  “Pity. You planned on me dying out here.”

  The man had the decency to look away. “What do you want for your help?”

  “Some answers.”

  “Fine.” His mouth dropped open, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

  “Who hired you?”

  Blondie tugged again on his leg, and his foot lifted out of the hole. Jake backed up, cocked his gun, and then lowered his arm when he saw the foot at an odd angle to the leg. It was definitely broken. The guy wasn't going anywhere.

  Blondie took several breaths, his lips in a grimace. “Dom hired me.”

  “Dom who?”

  “Francisco.”

  Jake's body stiffened at the familiar name. “Why would Francisco want me dead?”

  “Not you. The girl.”

  The girl was a woman, but he didn't need to point out that fact. “Why does he want her dead?”

  The Caravellos and Francisco's were sworn enemies like two pit bulls fighting for the same bone, or rather the same humans. Revenge for Caravellos' death wasn't a motive. Joseph Francisco probably threw a party the day his archenemy was executed.

  “She's a lose end.”

  “How?”

  Before he got his answer, a muffled scream came from the direction of the campground. Susan! Jake snatched Blondie's rifle and ran the best he could back toward the camp.

  “You can't leave me here, Yarnell. Come back. I'll tell you more.”

  Jake disregarded Blondie's pleas. Susan was in trouble, and she needed him.

  Leaves rustled, indicating a struggle. He dashed up the incline to the camp, ignoring the searing pain stabbing his wound. He'd failed to save his mother when she needed him. He wouldn't lose Susan too. Blood trickled down his leg from the cut.

  When he reached the rocky overhang, the tent was empty, and so was the camp. Shit. He stilled, willing his heart to slow so he could hear the sounds of the forest.

  Susan let out another sound, softer and more muffled than before. Adrenaline fueled him. He had to get to her before the bastard harmed her, or worse, killed her.

  There! Susan and her captor were high on the ridge above their campsite. Jake pictured the nearby fork on the path below and how it wound back to the other side of the ridge. Instead of taking the direct route upwards, he charged down the ridge and headed away from the river.

  He hoped to attack from the far side, surprising whoever had Susan. If Blondie could be trusted, that someone was Dominick Francisco, one mean son of a bitch.

  He was halfway around the bend when all noise stopped, and Jake stilled. Leaves blew in the wind but little else. With care, he moved onward, hoping Dominick was distracted by his captive to notice his approach.

  Jake neared the incline but waited to get an exact location before he continued his pursuit. He tucked the Glock into his jacket, deciding to use the rifle instead. At night, the red sniper beam would illuminate his mark. When he'd served in Desert Storm, he'd used the same kind of gear. Luckily, he knew the weapon by touch.

  “Don't move.” The command came from fifty feet above to his right.

  Jake's muscles locked.

  “What are you going to do with me?” His heart broke at the panic in Susan's voice, but he thrilled she was alive.

  Like a cat stalking its prey, Jake moved forward a step or two, halted, and then continued, stopping and starting. He hoped the random noise wouldn't alert the killer to his presence.

  “Where is he?” Dom whispered, his voice floating down the hill.

  “I don't know.” Susan sounded convincing. Good.

  What followed sounded like gunfire to his heart, but the impact was more of a slap than a shot. She didn't whimper or beg after the hard facial strike, and his pride bloomed.

  Inch by inch Jake moved toward them. The clouds separated, casting Francisco in moonlight.

  The moment Jake was high enough to take aim, Susan jerked her head toward him. Crap. He lifted his finger to his lips, hoping she could see he needed her to be silent.

  Dom twisted around, his gun raised.

  “Yarnell, that you?”

  So much for stealth. Before Jake could decide how to answer, Dom fired a shot. On instinct, Jake fired back—right after the red dot found its sniper mark.

  Francisco stumbled backward, and then collapsed after taking a bullet to the chest.

  Susan let out
a small scream and he raced toward her, thankful Francisco's aim was off. His leg buckled as he reached her.

  “Oh, God. Jake, are you hit?”

  “I'm okay. I'm okay.” He stood and grabbed her shoulders. “What about you?”

  “I'm fine, now that you're here.”

  Brave woman. He pulled his Leatherman from his pocket and cut the rope binding her hands. The moment he freed her, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Nothing ever felt so good. He kissed her forehead, and then her salty lips. He thanked God he'd reached her in time.

  “Where did he hurt you?” he asked.

  “Just my face, but I'll live.” She looked in Francisco's direction. “Is he dead?”

  Jake stepped over to the man. The whites of his eyes glowed. “He ought to be. I shot him in the heart.” To make sure, he nudged him with his foot, but his prey didn't move. Knowing two of the pursuers were out of commission boosted his flagging energy.

  “What about the other man?” She clung to Jake's arm.

  “He's injured. He won't be going anywhere.”

  “Do we know who they are or who they work for?”

  “This fellow,” Jake said, nodding his head toward the dead man, “is Dominick Francisco.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Joseph Francisco's son?”

  He was surprised she knew the name, but one of her colleagues probably had tried the SOB at one time. “The one and only.”

  “Why would he try to harm me?”

  “That's the mystery of the day.”

  “And the other man? Who was he?”

  “I never did ask his name, but he said Dominick, here, hired him to take you down. You screamed before I was able to extract any more information. When I knew you were in danger, I ran.”

  She dragged a hand down his shoulder. “My hero.”

  “I like the sound of that, but a true hero wouldn't have gotten you into this mess in the first place.”

  She leaned her head against his chest. “You didn't do anything to cause this mess.”

  He rubbed her back, trying not to get sucked into believing she'd be willing to stay in his arms. “I should have anticipated someone would figure out I used to stay at the Traynor's house every summer.”