by Linda Howard
“I didn’t know,” she said, pressing her hands to her lips. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I thought maybe you were a married woman and … and I just wanted to protect Zeke.”
Zeke asked, his voice calm, “What did you do?”
“I did a search for Carlin Jane Reed on your office computer, just an hour or so ago.”
It was a good thing that Zeke was holding her, because Carlin’s legs went weak again. She clung to him, knowing this was it, knowing she had to leave. Tonight.
But Zeke was calm when he used his finger to grab her chin and tip her face toward his. His eyes were dangerous, but calm, that damned determination obvious in his expression. “You think he’s coming here?”
Carlin couldn’t speak; she could only nod her head as she tried to figure out how to say goodbye to this man she loved.
But Zeke gave a smile that chilled her blood, a smile that had nothing humorous in it and a whole lot that seemed as cold and deadly as when he’d beat the snot out of Darby. He said one word. “Good.”
ZEKE STOOD IN the doorway and watched Carlin pack. After a few minutes of studying her as she ran back and forth between the closet and the bed where a suitcase lay open, he walked to the bed and started unpacking her things, taking them out of the suitcase as fast as she could throw them in.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said calmly.
“I have to,” she said frenziedly. “I don’t want to go, but I won’t bring my problems down on you.”
“If you’re right about his skills as a hacker, the damage has been done and he’s on his way. Let’s take the opportunity to end it now.”
“End it how?” Her tone was bitter, her cry heartfelt. “What are you going to do, shoot him? As far as the law is concerned, Brad hasn’t done anything illegal. There’s nothing you can do. Trust me, I tried. I really did try.”
Since the PI hadn’t been able to track Brad, the bastard could be anywhere. He could show up here in a day, a week, a month. Maybe he’d moved on to another victim and wouldn’t show up at all.
More than anything, Zeke wanted Brad to show up; he wanted to end this nightmare for Carlin, once and for all.
“I have to go,” Carlin said, her hands shaking as she repacked a sweater he’d removed from her suitcase. “You don’t need this, I never meant to bring my grief to your door—”
Zeke placed his hands on Carlin’s shoulders and turned her around. She had never seemed more fragile than she did at this moment, and he would do anything—anything—to protect her. And to keep her, once and for all.
“I’m tired of being alone,” he said firmly. “I want a wife and kids, I want this ranch to be more than a business.”
“Any woman in the world would be happy to—”
“I don’t want any woman. I want you.”
He kissed her, because he could, because he needed it, because she needed it. When the kiss was finished, Carlin fell into him and sighed. He stroked her hair, held her close.
“Libby is leaving on the Saturday bus. She feels bad, Carlin, she really does.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t blame her. She doesn’t have to leave on my account. She was trying to protect you, she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt you. And that’s all I’ve done is hurt you. You would’ve been better off if I’d never come here, if we’d never—”
“Not true. The past two months have been the best of my life. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
Carlin slipped her arms around his waist, and he felt her relax. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Love you, too.” The words came easy.
“And you’re right that Brad’s coming here whether I stay or not. We can’t undo what’s been done.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “I won’t leave you here to face him alone.”
Zeke smiled. He saw the truth in her eyes, and he also saw how much courage it took for her to say those words. “That’s my girl.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
WHAT KIND OF a shit-hole town all but shut down just because it was Sunday? Brad parked on the almost deserted main street, walked past business after business. They were all dark, the doors locked.
He’d lucked out, considering where he was. The temperature had skyrocketed all the way into the upper thirties in the past couple of days. As he walked he ducked his head against the cold wind. He hadn’t needed his snow chains, and while he was colder than he’d like to be, he didn’t feel like he was putting his life in danger just by being outside. It was definitely too cold for a leisurely stroll, though.
Maybe the downtown shops were closed, but the gas station he’d passed heading into town had been open. Someone would be there, maybe someone who would recognize Carlin’s photograph. With everything else closed, the gas station would have more people around than usual, so that was the place to go.
He knew where the search had originated, and it was a good distance from town. A couple of things stopped him from heading directly to the site of the search. One, just because someone there had searched Carlin’s name didn’t mean she was there. She’d slipped up, and someone had found out her name. It made sense that she was close by, and Battle Ridge was the closest town—if you could call this dead-end bump in the road a town.
Two, he hadn’t made it this far by underestimating Carlin. She knew what he could do with a computer. For all he knew she’d purposely plugged her name into the search engine in order to draw him into the open. The PI who’d been looking into Brad could be a part of the same plan. Maybe Carlin was as tired of running as he was of chasing her. If he headed out to the house where the search had originated, would she be waiting for him? Maybe she wouldn’t be alone. Maybe she’d have a weapon.
Maybe she wanted this to end as much as he did. It was going to end, all right, but not the way she planned. He thought about that possibility for a minute, that she’d deliberately pulled him here, but it didn’t feel right. From the beginning, she’d run. She hadn’t tried to mend things with him, she’d simply run. That was what she did. But she didn’t know he was here, so he was in control now. And Carlin was so close he could almost smell her.
TROUBLE WAS COMING, one way or another. Zeke called the hands together in the bunkhouse and laid it all on the line. They deserved to know, they deserved to be given the chance to walk away. When he was finished, he waited for the accusations and questions to start, but the men all just nodded and asked what they could do to help.
He’d realized they were all good men, and still he was surprised that to a man they were ready to defend Carlin.
In addition to those chores which couldn’t wait—those that were animal-related—the men would be watching the house, as well as the main road, until Brad showed up or they learned he’d been detained elsewhere. If Carlin was right about the man, they shouldn’t have long to wait: a few days, probably, since he’d need to drive from wherever his search had taken him. They would all be armed, each man choosing his own weapon.
Spencer walked back to the house with Zeke, where they’d grab coffee and sandwiches before heading out to the pasture. He’d volunteered to take the first watch, but Zeke needed Spencer’s expertise with the bull this afternoon. As soon as Patrick took care of a few things, he’d be patrolling the house.
Halfway there, Zeke said, “You weren’t surprised to hear what was going on with Carlin.”
“Nope. I’m not stupid, boss,” Spencer said. “I knew right away that something was going on with Miss Carly. At first she was more skittish than she should’ve been, and nothing personal, but why would a pretty woman like that be content to live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere? She never asked nobody to take her to the mall in Cheyenne, she wasn’t texting girlfriends all the time, and she never complained about not going to the movies. I have sisters. I know what women are like.” He shook his head. “But I figured she had a good reason for being here so I didn’t say anything. And I also figured God had a good reason for sending
her to us.”
When Zeke didn’t reply, Spencer added, “Don’t you worry, boss. We’ll take good care of her.”
BRAD PULLED UP to the curb and parked his truck near a plain mailbox with the name “Bailey” on it. The man at the gas station had recognized Carlin’s photo, and had bought Brad’s story about a long-lost aunt and a substantial inheritance. Lucky for him most people were so gullible, the stupid fucks. He’d never have fallen for a story like that.
The house was on a quiet road. There were neighbors, closer than he liked, maybe a couple of hundred yards between houses—maybe too far to hear a scream, but definitely close enough to hear a shot. Even a scream might be audible, if anyone was outside. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean anything.
The woman who lived in this small house was apparently not only a friend of Carlin’s, she was cousin to the man, Zeke Decker, that Carlin was working for as a cook and housekeeper. A cook! He distinctly remembered Carlin saying she could barely boil water. Either that had been one of her lies, or the people here weren’t very particular about their food.
Not that it mattered much now. She’d had her chance, and she’d blown it. He couldn’t bear knowing she was in the world, happy without him, living her own life when she was supposed to be his.
If she wasn’t his, no one would have her.
Brad left the truck, watching the windows at the front of the Bailey house for movement, a sign that the woman inside might be watching. The drapes were closed tight, and nothing fluttered as he proceeded up the walk to her front porch. Four steps, and he was at her front door. That door was solid, painted a dark green, and there was also a storm door to keep out the wind. He imagined both were locked, though normally locks on a storm door like this one were flimsy.
Since he was certain Kat Bailey hadn’t been watching his approach, he could spin a tale for her—if necessary.
He knocked firmly on the door, and listened to the footsteps approaching. Sure enough, instead of the door opening a woman’s voice called out. “Who is it?”
Brad smiled, then looked down to the porch to the right of his boots. He leaned in that direction, too, and shook his shoulder as if struggling to hold on to something that was trying to get away. Odds were the woman in the house was watching him through the peephole in her door, and he had to sell this. “Is this your dog? I almost hit him right in front of your house, and I hate to just drive on and leave him out there.”
His smile remained nonthreatening and impassive as he heard a deadbolt in the door click.
GREAT. IT WAS probably Shelly Kane’s dog that had gotten loose and was running the roads again. He was a sweet dog, but he was a pain in the ass. Kat unbolted and opened the door to confirm her suspicions and give the man who’d stopped directions to Shelly’s house.
In an instant, she immediately noticed everything that was wrong, but it was too late. No dog, no smile, and the man yanked her storm door open, breaking the lock without much effort and rushing at her. He was big, dark-haired, all muscle and determination as he slammed the door behind him. He grabbed her arm, but she jerked it away and ran for the kitchen and the back door. Her heart was pounding wildly, frenzied thoughts darting through her mind. Home invasion! Robbery? Rape? Murder? God, help me! She knew how to hit, she’d taken some self-defense classes, but this guy was too freakin’ big and she knew her limitations. There was a time to fight and a time to run. It was time to run.
He caught her before she reached the kitchen, grabbing her hair and then her shoulder, throwing her hard to the floor. The breath was knocked out of her, and her vision swam. He stared down at her, and when she struggled to rise he placed one large, booted foot on her midsection.
“Where is she?” he asked, and in a blinding flash Kat knew who he was. This was Brad, the man who’d made Carlin change her name and run. “Where’s Carlin?”
Kat shook her head and gasped for breath. His foot was pressing down hard, cutting off her air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He kicked her hard in the side. Sharp pain radiated down her side, and nausea made her gag. For a long moment, Kat couldn’t breathe.
“Does she live at the ranch where she works?” He leaned closer. “Yeah, I know that much.” He kicked her again and she screamed.
He came down on his knees beside her, his hand clamped over her mouth. “No screaming. We don’t want to alarm your neighbors, do we?”
He removed his hand from her mouth. “If you don’t want me to scream, don’t break another rib.” She wanted to sound tough, but she was breathless and scared and angry. Even if she screamed, would anyone hear? No one was really close by, it would have to be a freak of atmospherics or sheer chance—
“You have nice eyes, Kat Bailey. Very … pretty.” He cocked his head to one side, as if considering them. “Tell me what I want to know, or you might lose one of them.”
The thought made her sick to her stomach, but she had to focus. No matter what she told him, eventually he was going to kill her. He’d have to, if he expected to get away with whatever he had planned. How could she protect Carlin and stay alive? How could she get both of them out of this? Her mind was spinning, but it finally settled on one fact.
Zeke would know what to do. Zeke would be prepared for this.
“She’s at the ranch. I can … give you directions.”
He scoffed. “She wouldn’t be alone there, would she? Let’s see. There’s the ranch owner, and his family. I guess there’s a family. Or is he some old-fart bachelor who thinks he’s died and gone to heaven because he’s got a pretty girl there to clean his pipes? And let’s not forget the ranch hands, too. How many?”
“Not many on a Sunday,” she said, trying to sound helpful. “Maybe … one or two.” Five, minimum. Brad wouldn’t get far once he stepped onto Decker land. It made her feel a tiny slice of hope that he didn’t know anything about Zeke. If he did, he’d never have used the words “old-fart bachelor.”
Brad glanced around the small living room. “No, I think I want Carlin to come to me. It’ll be safer that way.” He looked down and smiled again; it was not the innocuous smile he’d put on for her when he’d been standing on her front porch. It was evil, his eyes shining. “You’re going to call and ask her to come over. Tell her you need a little girl time, tell her to come alone.”
They’d both be dead, that way. Kat gathered all her courage and said “No.”
He hit her in the face. There wasn’t a lot of power behind the blow, given her position on the floor and his, kneeling; maybe he pulled the punch a little, not wanting to knock her out, but it was enough to make her see stars.
“Did that change your mind?” he whispered.
Kat shook her head. She closed her eyes and waited for another blow. Instead he laughed. She opened her eyes just in time to see him stand and move away from her. Her brain screamed Run! but her body didn’t respond. She could barely move, much less actually run.
But if he moved far enough away, if he thought she was down for the count—
But he didn’t go far. He saw her purse sitting on an end table, picked it up, and pawed through it, smiling as his hand came out with her cellphone. He began to punch buttons, stopping his search and smiling when he found what he was looking for.
“Zeke home,” he read aloud from her Contacts list. He came back and stood over her, one booted foot on her aching midsection, as he hit one more button.
CARLIN JUMPED WHEN the phone rang. Damn Brad for doing this to her all over again! She was alone in the house. Zeke was working—the ranch didn’t shut down for Sunday, or any other day of the year. Patrick was at the back door, just in case, occasionally walking the perimeter and making sure all was well. Another hand—she didn’t know which one—was watching the road in. They both had radios. She didn’t think Brad would show up so soon, even if he had been monitoring Google searches for her. He wouldn’t fly, because traveling that way would leave a paper trail and Brad was nothing if
not careful. She figured it would be several days before she had to worry about the possibility that he might actually show up.
She’d need to warn Kat to be on the lookout for strangers in town. If he didn’t come straight to the ranch, he’d go to The Pie Hole. Just about everyone in town knew she used to work there. Maybe Kat should come here and stay, just close the café until this was over.
She didn’t answer the phone. It was never for her, and whoever was calling Zeke could leave a message on his voice mail. The ringing stopped; just a few seconds later it started all over again.
Well, this could get annoying if it went on and on. Carlin grabbed the kitchen phone off the cradle and looked at the CID. Kat! Talk about coincidences. Strange that she’d just been thinking about calling Kat, and Kat had decided at the same moment to call her. She thumbed the “On” button and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hi!” she answered brightly. “Sorry I didn’t answer the first time.” She waited for Kat to say something, but for a long moment all was silent. “Hello?”
She’d begun to think Kat’s cell had dropped the call when she heard the breath, the sigh. That wasn’t Kat. The fine hairs on her arms stood up. Even before he spoke, Carlin knew who was on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Carlin.” Brad sounded so happy, so smug and content. “I’m at your friend’s house. Come join us and come alone or things will get very ugly for Miss Bailey. No police, no ranchers, just the three of us. Understand?”
Her knees gave way. Carlin sank down to the floor, phone in hand. What she’d been so terrified of happening was actually happening … again. A friend was in mortal danger because of this crazy dickhead, and— She stopped herself. She had to think. “Is Kat okay? Did you—” Hurt her, kill her, oh God not again …
“She’s alive, for now. Whether or not she stays that way is entirely up to you.”
Carlin could feel her heart beating, too hard, too fast. She reached deep inside for some control. She couldn’t allow Brad to steal her reason, her ability to function. He’d stolen far too much from her already.