by Rebecca Deel
The back of Trent’s neck prickled with awareness. Displaced air had him twisting to face the threat he felt approaching. Too late, he realized Satterfield wasn’t the real threat. The prissy lawyer was the distraction.
A single gunshot followed by an explosion of pain. The force of the bullet’s impact threw Trent back against his SUV. He fought to stay on his feet. Lost. He slid to the ground and into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Grace jerked, breath caught in her throat. A gunshot? Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Trent falling against the SUV and sliding out of sight. He’d been shot. There was no other explanation. Ron shot Trent.
The creepy lawyer stood there, laughing. Rage filled Grace. She had to help Trent despite his instruction to stay in the vehicle no matter what. She could lose him if she didn’t.
She yanked out her phone and sent a text to Zane, hoping he could get help to them before it was too late. After placing a call to him so he could hear what was going on, Grace shoved her phone into her pocket and zipped the opening.
She reached for the door handle, determined to render aid to her boyfriend even if she had to fight off Ron Satterfield to do it. Those lessons in self defense she’d been putting off? If she survived the encounter with Satterfield, signing up for lessons was her first priority.
As Grace’s fingers brushed the chrome finish, the door was yanked open. “There you are,” came a cheerful voice through the opening. “Been looking all over for you. Get out, Grace or I’ll shoot you where you’re hiding like the coward you are.”
Dragging her gaze away from the barrel of the black gun gleaming in the weak glow of a streetlight, Grace raised her head to stare at Clarice Bowen. Thankful she’d been able to text and call Zane before the door opened, she slowly climbed from the safety of the SUV. “You don’t want to do this, Clarice.”
“On the contrary, I can’t think of anything that will make me happier than to rid myself of you. You’ve ruined all my plans, you know.” She tilted her head. “The question is, how much do you care about your boyfriend? Is he just a boy toy or does he mean more to you?”
Did Grace admit she would die to protect him? Clarice already had that end in mind for her and maybe Nic, too. Adam couldn’t be far away. All she had to do was stall and stay alive long enough for Trent and Adam to find her. She trusted Mason to protect Nic if someone else involved tried to hurt her sister.
Was it possible Devin poisoned himself in an attempt to look innocent? Her blood ran cold. If so, Nic was in as much danger.
She backed away from Devin’s wife, a desperate need to help Trent burning in her gut. He might be dying a few feet away from her.
Grace fought off a wave of grief. Later. She’d deal with her emotions when he was safe. Trent had to be alive. She wanted the chance to fall apart in his arms. She wouldn’t accept another outcome.
“Where are you going, little troublemaker?” Clarice stalked after her. “You can’t slip away from us. There’s nowhere to run.”
“Don’t worry, darling. Grace wants to check on her man.” Ron’s voice was filled with disdain. “The big, bad Navy SEAL who isn’t so bad after all. You took him down with one shot.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Clarice said. “We have to hurry. The sun will rise soon. That means more traffic and people moving about.”
Trent had a first aid kit in his cargo hold. Grace saw it when he loaded their bags for the trip to Dumas. While Clarice and Ron argued, Grace opened the hatch and grabbed the kit. A bigger first aid kit than the ones civilians used. Made sense in light of the career choice of Trent and his friends.
After closing the hatch, she shoved past Ron and hurried to Trent’s side. She dropped to her knees. Her boyfriend was slumped on his side, unmoving, blood pooling under him.
Too much blood. She had to stop the flow of red or he’d bleed out before help arrived. When Grace eased him to his back, he groaned. “Sweetheart?” she whispered. “Talk to me, Trent.”
No response.
She grabbed Trent’s knife and sliced open his shirt. The blade rent the material with ease. She shoved aside the remnants of his shirt and examined the wound. A bullet had gone through his shoulder.
Grace opened the medical kit. Bandages, supplies to field stitch wounds, antibiotics, pain killers. Everything she needed except the time to use the supplies, because Ron was striding toward her, his expression hard. She only had seconds before they either took her to another location or killed her where she knelt.
Her gaze fell on a handful of white packets. QuikClot. She grabbed two, ripped open one and poured the contents into his wound. Rolling Trent onto his uninjured side, she dumped the white powder from the second packet onto the exit wound and prayed what she’d done would keep him alive until help arrived.
Grace leaned over his body as if checking her work and depressed the button at the side of Trent’s watch, a button that sent an emergency alert to Fortress along with his GPS coordinates. He’d told her about that feature of his watch on his last trip home.
Ron yanked Grace to her feet and pressed a gun to her side hard enough to leave a bruise. Nice. The two lovebirds had matching weaponry. What she wouldn’t give to have one of Trent’s guns in her hands. Wouldn’t do her any good, though. Her yoga pants didn’t have pockets and the weight in her sweatshirt would give her away.
“Come quietly to my truck and climb into the backseat,” Ron said in her ear, his voice a fraction above a growl. “If you make a peep, Clarice will put a bullet in your boyfriend’s head.”
She glanced back to see Devin’s wife now standing beside Trent, the barrel of her gun pointed at the injured SEAL. “Please, don’t hurt him more than you already have. You wanted me. Leave Trent alone.”
Clarice smiled. “You’re a weak woman, Grace Rutledge. That’s going to work to my advantage.”
Not weak. A woman who desperately loved the injured man at her feet and would do anything to give him a chance for survival.
Ron shoved Grace toward his truck. He jerked open the back door and motioned for her to climb in. “Face down on the floor, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “The only man who has that right is lying in a pool of blood in a dirty parking lot. How did you find us at Cutter’s?” Would Zane understand the message she was sending him?
“Easy, sweet cheeks. I put a tracker on your boyfriend’s vehicle when Clarice and I came to visit poor, sick Devin.”
Another shove from Ron sent her flying into the frame of the open back door. Grace yelped, the pain so bad tears stung her eyes. Her face was already bruised on that side.
Grace did as he directed and crawled onto the floorboard. Hard hands wrenched her arms behind her back. Thin, flexible ties bound her wrists together. Zip ties? She wiggled her wrists. No way she was getting out of the restraints without help. Something else she’d have Trent teach her.
“Don’t give me a reason to stop this truck, Grace,” he murmured, trailing his fingers down her arm. “You won’t like my response. I’m not squeamish about hurting you so don’t test me.” The door slammed behind her. Seconds later, Ron climbed behind the wheel and drove from the lot.
Grace tried to keep track of the turns, but there were so many, the effort was futile. Instead, she turned her attention to searching the floorboard for anything she could use to defend herself or to free her hands.
Each time the truck passed under a street light, she visually searched another section of the floor. Her jaw clenched. Nothing. Just her luck Ron was a neat freak. At the next fast turn, Grace rolled to her side and scooted as close as possible to the front seats. With the darkness so absolute in the back, she couldn’t see. Maybe she’d be able to check for something useful with her hands. If only she had longer arms.
Worry for Trent made breathing nearly impossible for Grace. Losing the man she adored would kill her. No. She couldn’t think about that or she would be paralyzed with grief. Focus mea
nt a better chance for survival.
Grace searched the carpet under the passenger seat with her hands until her fingers bumped against something skinny and metal. Frowning, she moved the object closer until she could grasp it with her hand. A screw driver. Not as good as a knife, but she’d take it. There were several places on the body with soft tissue.
All she needed to do now was free her hands to use the tool. What she wouldn’t give for even a fraction of Trent’s knowledge or experience right now. Since she didn’t have either, Grace settled for twisting her sweatshirt around until she could slip the tool into her empty pocket and zip it closed.
“What are you doing back there?” Ron glared at her over the top of his seat.
“The floorboard is uncomfortable. Since you tied my hands, I’m rolling around every time you turn a corner.”
“Guess you’ll have a few more bruises to accompany the ones I already gave you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
A pause. “I don’t suppose it matters if you know. You won’t be telling anyone. We’re going to my cabin where we won’t be interrupted.”
Had Zane heard? She prayed he had and would send Adam or someone else to rescue her. “You won’t get away with this, Ron.”
The lawyer laughed. “I already have, baby. I already have.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A familiar raw pain speared through the darkness and dragged Trent back to the surface of consciousness. He held himself still, fighting off the burgeoning nausea and waiting for the noises around him to sort themselves out.
“Trent, wake up, man.” The sharp words helped clear some of the fog from his thoughts.
Adam. He frowned. They’d separated so they could ditch their followers. Drawing in a deep breath, Trent forced his eyelids upward to see the other operative crouched beside him, weapon in hand as he scanned the area. His pulse pounded in his ears. Where was Grace? “Grace?”
“Gone. Satterfield and Clarice Bowen took her at gunpoint. Zane contacted me, said for you to call him on his secondary number as soon as you were able.”
Trent tried to move, groaned at the effort.
“Easy.” Adam laid his Sig on the ground within easy reach and helped Trent to a sit up and lean against his SUV. “Don’t undo your woman’s work.”
His gaze dropped to his shoulder, noted the liberal use of QuikClot. “Through and through?”
“Yeah. You lost a lot of blood before she stopped the bleeding.”
“How long since they took her?”
“About fifteen minutes. They were gone when I arrived and found you on the ground, out cold.”
“Get me up. I have to find her.”
“Whoa!” Adam pressed a hand to Trent’s chest to hold him in place. “You’re not going anywhere except a hospital, Trent. The wound is bad, man.”
He glared at his friend. “If the woman you loved had been kidnapped, would you go to the hospital before you rescued her?”
“Look, I understand. Grace is in trouble and she belongs to you. I don’t have the time or skills to stitch you. Grace couldn’t disinfect your wound before using the clotting agent. I’m not a medic, Trent, but even I know you probably need surgery to repair the damage.”
“Fine.” He tipped his chin at the open first-aid kit. “Throw some gauze over both sides and tape it. Once we have Grace, I’ll go to the hospital and let the doc patch me up.” Rio could do it if he were here. He wasn’t. That meant improvising.
Instead of arguing further, Adam found the duct tape and two packs of sterile gauze. He grabbed his Ka-Bar and sliced off the rest of Trent’s shirt. After a quick cleanup job, he ripped open one packet of gauze. “Hold this in place until I can slap some tape over it,” he muttered.
Between the two of them, they managed a decent patch job. Good thing Clarice had hit his left shoulder. His lips curled. The crazy woman had aimed for his heart and missed. Trent had full range of motion in his right arm and was able to use his left even though movement was painful. All he cared about was finding his girlfriend before Satterfield or Bowen hurt her. The possibility of them shooting Grace made him want to hurl all over Adam’s combat boots.
Adam shut the first-aid kit and stood, reaching down to haul Trent to his feet with one hand. “We’ll need to take my SUV. Satterfield attached a tracker to yours and we don’t have time to find it.”
They unloaded Trent’s SUV in under a minute, locked it, then climbed into Adam’s vehicle. “Did you see which direction they took Grace?” Trent asked as the other operative drove from the lot.
A head shake. “Call Zane. He’ll tell you what we know.”
Curious about the vague answer, Trent dug his cell phone from his pocket and called Zane. “It’s Trent.”
“How bad is your shoulder?”
“Don’t know or care.” Nothing mattered to him but saving Grace. “What can you tell me about Grace?”
“Your girlfriend is amazing. She saved your life.”
He glanced at Adam who was driving them away from downtown Dumas at speeds well over the legal limit. “So I hear.”
“Grace is one smart cookie, Trent. She sent me a text when you were shot, then called me. The phone is in her pocket so I can hear everything going on. She’s with Satterfield in his truck. They’re headed for his cabin.”
Trent scowled. “How did he find her? I told her to stay inside the SUV.”
“Clarice found her and forced her out at gunpoint. While Clarice and Satterfield were yammering, Grace got your med kit and did what she could to patch your shoulder.”
“She should have made a run for it.” His hand fisted. Why hadn’t she saved herself?
“The Bowen broad threatened to shoot you in the head. Your girlfriend bargained for your life. She dumped QuikClot into your wound and activated the emergency signal on your watch. If I wasn’t already married to the love of my life, I’d make a play for Grace myself.”
She traded her life for his? His stomach lurched in protest at the risk she was taking, depending on him and the others to rescue her in time to save her life. “She should have protected herself.”
“Grace protected the man she loved with the only thing available to her. Her own life.”
Trent’s eyes burned. If he lost Grace, his life would be over. He’d shatter on the inside. “Is she all right?”
A pause.
No. Just no. “Tell me.”
“Satterfield isn’t being gentle with her, Trent. He either hit her or shoved her into something hard enough to make her cry out in pain. From what I can tell, she’s in the backseat on the floorboard, hands restrained.”
Fury exploded in Trent’s gut. Satterfield was a dead man. “Can you talk to her?”
“Possibly. There’s a lot of road noise. If she speaks to me directly, I can pass her a message. Otherwise, I’m afraid to draw attention to the phone. If they discover and take it, you have no way of knowing what you’re walking into.”
“Tell her to stall, to do whatever it takes to survive until I get there. Make sure she knows I’m alive and coming for her.”
“I’ll try.” Zane ended the call.
Trent turned his face toward the side window and wiped his eyes. Grief hit him, the weight nearly crushing in its intensity. He’d miscalculated. Trent had suspected Devin of being behind the attacks and possibly Clarice. He never considered the lawyer a threat to anything but his pride. Yet Satterfield might be the biggest threat of them all.
“You’re a lucky man.” Adam changed lanes and zoomed onto the Interstate entrance ramp. “If you don’t marry that woman as soon as you’re out of the hospital, you don’t deserve to have her.”
“Agreed.” Trent waged a battle with his emotions for long minutes. Finally, he said, “After this, she may decide my life is too dangerous for her to live with.” And he wouldn’t blame her.
A snort from the driver. “No way, man. Your girlfriend is strong enough to take on anything life with you entails, in
cluding terrorists and wannabe terrorists. She won’t cut and run.”
Trent believed that as well. Would Grace consider him worth the risk? He’d do anything for her, he realized. If she wanted him to quit working for Fortress, he’d suck it up and find another career to support them financially. Trent loved his job. He loved Grace more.
They rode in silence for another thirty minutes when Zane called. “Is Grace safe?” Trent asked in greeting.
“So far. She found a screwdriver on the floorboard and she’s hidden it in her pocket.”
Thank God. Trent drew in a shuddering breath. “Did she say anything else?”
“She said to pass on two messages. Satterfield shoved her face first into the side of his truck and her eye is swelling shut. She didn’t want you to be unprepared when you saw her face.”
Love for Grace swelled in his gut. She knew how he’d react when he saw the injury. His Grace had known to prepare him ahead of time to help his control. “And the other message?”
“She loves you.” A pause. “Gotta go. The road noise stopped. I’ll contact you soon.”
Trent dragged his hand down his face, wishing Adam could drive faster. Impossible. The operative was already pushing ninety. Not attracting the attention of law enforcement yet was a miracle. “How much farther?”
“Twenty miles,” he said, his expression grim.
Twenty miles was a long way when the last fifteen were curvy mountain roads they couldn’t navigate at ninety miles an hour. Trent prayed they wouldn’t arrive too late.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Satterfield’s truck slowed to a stop. Thank goodness. Grace slumped against the back of the seats. The last few miles had been torturous, akin to riding over a washboard. Her relief was short lived, however.
Ron climbed from behind the wheel and opened the back door. “Out, Grace.” When she couldn’t sit up on her own because of the restraints and the awkward position she was in, Ron reached inside the cab of the truck and yanked her out.