“Oh, but I will,” Brad replied confidently, his smile widening. “In fact, this makes the scenario even more believable. I’ll just change my story a bit. Explain to everyone that Isabelle got cold feet prior to our wedding. Understandable,” he said, with a sympathetic look Isabelle’s way, “considering the poor dear’s fragile emotional state. A kidnapping does leave its mark on a child,” he added, arching a pointed brow at Link.
When Link remained silent, refusing to rise to the bait, Brad sighed and continued. “As the time drew near for our wedding ceremony to begin, Isabelle grew more and more distraught, more unstable. She was a virgin, after all, and fearful of her wedding night. So, she ran away…and straight into the arms of one of Pueblo’s finest.” He lifted a shoulder. “Of course, once everyone learns of your history and your involvement in the first kidnapping, it won’t be difficult to convince them that you’ve held a grudge all these years and were determined to make Isabelle pay for the time your stepbrother has spent behind bars.”
“No!” Isabelle cried. “Don’t listen to him, Link! No one will ever believe him.”
Brad lifted a brow. “Won’t they?” He smiled at Link. “What do you think? Think the D.A. can come up with the evidence he needs to convict me? Think he can prove, without a shadow of doubt, that I killed both you and Isabelle? Don’t you think there might be just one juror who might be affected by your past? By your association with known felons and kidnappers? Don’t you think there’s just the slightest chance that I might get away with murder a second time?”
When Link remained silent, Brad laughed, the demonic sound echoing around them in the cave’s chamber. He kept the knife tipped beneath Isabelle’s chin, the sharp blade curved toward her neck, and gave his own chin a slight jerk, indicating the pit behind him. “Do you know what’s down there, Templeton? Rattlesnakes,” he said smugly, not waiting for an answer. “Hundreds of them just waiting to greet you, to sink their fangs into your flesh. I’ll be a hero for trying to save Isabelle from you.”
Link never once took his eyes off Brad’s face. To do so, to spare even one look at Isabelle, would break his concentration, jeopardize whatever chance he might have to save her. “Then what?” Link posed. “If I fall into the pit and the snakes kill me, how will you explain Isabelle’s death? No one will believe that we both fell into the pit, while you walk out alive, unharmed.”
Brad arched a brow. “Did I fail to mention that Isabelle will die of a gunshot? To her heart,” he clarified, then nodded toward the pistol lying on the floor of the cave. “And from your gun. You went crazy when you saw Isabelle leave the dedication with me and followed us here. You shot her in a jealous rage. I fought with you, trying to wrestle the gun away from you before you could kill me, too. Unfortunately, you lost your balance in the struggle and fell into the pit. The perfect crime,” he said, his smile broadening. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
When Link didn’t respond, Brad lifted his hand slightly from Isabelle’s waist, gesturing for Link to join them at the edge of the pit. “Now, come along. Time’s a-wasting. And my hand is growing stiff from holding this knife to Isabelle’s throat. Keep your distance, though,” he warned. “If you should get too close, I might become nervous and my hand might slip. We wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would we?” His gaze on Link, measuring his response, he pressed the razor-sharp point of the knife against Isabelle’s skin. A drop of blood swelled around the tip and dropped onto his hand. He laughed, the sound that of a maniac, a cold-blooded killer.
Link kept his gaze leveled on Brad, steeling himself against the sound of Isabelle’s sob as the blade nicked her flesh, sending a fresh stream of blood coursing down her neck. He locked his emotions away, kept his expression blank and focused his mind on escape, searching for a way to get Isabelle out of the cave alive. He had but two weapons available to him. His fists and his gun. But his gun lay on the ground out of reach. The five or so feet between it and his feet stretched like a mile.
He mentally pictured himself making a dive for it, lifting the gun and aiming it at Brad’s chest, pulling the trigger. He’d have only seconds to accomplish the move. In his mind’s eye, he could see Brad’s face, slack with surprise, his eyes wide as the bullet burned a path through his chest. Brad pitching backward over the edge of the pit, driven by the force of the bullet. The thud of his body striking the rocks far below.
But if he succeeded in getting his hands on the gun, would he be endangering Isabelle more? Link asked himself. If he managed to get off a shot, would Brad take Isabelle with him into the pit when he fell?
Link couldn’t be sure. And it was that uncertainty that made him hesitate, his gaze locked on Brad’s. Help was coming, he told himself. Riley would find Hank and tell him that Rowan had Isabelle and that Link had gone after them. Hank would see the hole in the fence that Brad’s vehicle had left, and he would know where Brad had taken Isabelle, just as Link had known. It was just a matter of time before Hank arrived at Lightfoot’s Plateau.
Link just had to stall a while longer.
Eight
Link took a step toward the pit, pretending to follow Brad’s instructions. “Why’d you kill Mike, Brad?”
Brad’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “What difference does it make? Dead is dead. Dodd’s no longer an issue.”
Link lifted a shoulder but kept walking, keeping his steps slow and cautious, fighting for time. “Just curious. Seems stupid to have killed him. If money was your only goal, you had the perfect setup. You were stealing the Fortunes blind right beneath their noses. Embezzling funds from the hospital construction site. Pretty clever scheme.”
Brad’s expression turned smug. “Which became unnecessary to continue once Isabelle agreed to marry me. My marriage to her would have assured me a free hand in the Fortune coffers.”
Isabelle’s shriek of fury took both Brad and Link by surprise. Before either could recover, she whacked her hand across Brad’s arm, knocking the knife away from her throat and out of his hand. It clattered against the rocks at his feet.
Cursing, Brad grabbed for her as she lunged for the gun, managed to grab a fistful of her dress and yanked her back as he stooped to snatch the dropped knife from the ground.
Seeing an opportunity, perhaps the only one he’d have to save Isabelle, Link made a wild dive for Brad. His chest slammed against Rowan’s shoulder, breaking the man’s hold on Isabelle.
“Run!” Link yelled as he closed a hand around Brad’s wrist and slammed it down hard against the rocks. As she scrambled away, he squeezed his fingers around Brad’s wrist, grinding his teeth as he strained to break Brad’s grip on the knife.
Brad struggled beneath him and managed to ram an elbow into Link’s chest. Link choked, gasping, as his breath whooshed out of him. Using the advantage, Brad humped his back and sent Link stumbling back a step, then leaped to his feet with a growl and whirled to face Link, his arms held out at his sides, the knife clutched tightly in his right hand. They circled, their eyes locked on each other. Brad lunged, stabbing wildly at Link, but Link dodged the blade and locked a hand around Brad’s wrist again, shoving it high in the air. Chest to chest, they strained for control of the knife.
“Drop the knife, Brad, or I’ll shoot.”
At the sound of Isabelle’s voice, Link glanced over to see her standing a few feet away, both hands gripped tightly around his pistol’s butt, its barrel aimed at Brad’s chest.
Brad snorted at her threat. “You haven’t got the guts,” he sneered.
She narrowed her eyes, her finger trembling on the trigger. “That’s what you think.”
Just as she squeezed the trigger, Brad leaped back, jerking Link with him. The sound of the gun’s explosive blast blended with Isabelle’s scream as Link caught the bullet she’d meant for Brad.
Pain burned through Link, stunning him for a moment, his ears ringing with the pistol’s loud report. He could hear Isabelle’s scream echoing around him, her broken sobs, the sound of metal striking sto
ne as she dropped the gun to the ground, all of it sounding as if it came from a long distance away. He couldn’t quit, he told himself, feeling the seductive darkness sucking at him. Not until Isabelle was safe. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he set his jaw, tightened his grip on Brad’s wrist, twisted higher.
Rock shifted beneath his feet and he blinked furiously, trying to keep Brad’s swimming face in focus as they fought for control of the knife. The pit, he remembered dully as he felt his left foot slide toward its edge. They were standing at the edge of the pit. One wrong move and they would both go over the rim.
He shook his head, trying to clear the webs that clouded his vision, his mind, knowing that he had to stay alert, that he couldn’t give in to the pain. If he did, Brad would win.
And Isabelle would die.
A hand closed around his throat, fingers squeezing brutally around his windpipe, cutting off his air. He tried to raise his free hand to fend off the attack, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate, hung limply at his side. Darkness pushed at him from every direction and he could feel his knees weakening, the strength leaking from his body right along with the blood that leaked from the wound in his chest. His grip on Brad’s wrist weakened, slipped, and Brad jerked free, releasing his hold on Link’s neck as he took a step back. Gasping, Link dropped weakly to his hands and knees, his head bowed low as he tried to draw in much-needed air.
“You’re going to die, Templeton,” Brad warned darkly as he lifted the knife high, preparing to embed the blade in Link’s back.
“No!” Isabelle screamed, and ran forward, dropping to the ground beside Link and throwing her arms around him to protect him from the blow.
“Drop the knife, Rowan.”
Brad whirled at the barked command to find Hank standing where Isabelle had stood only moments before. But the quick move was his downfall. His eyes shot wide, his arms arcing out, as the ground beneath his feet began to crumble. He flapped his arms wildly, trying to regain a footing. His terror-filled scream rent the air as he pitched backward and the darkness swallowed him whole.
His breath coming in hard, pain-filled gasps, Link tugged Isabelle’s head against his neck, covering her ear with his palm to block out the nightmarish sound of Brad’s scream.
Seconds later, the thud of Brad’s body against the rocks below silenced his scream, though the sound continued to echo around the cave’s chamber, blending eerily with that of the deadly snakes’ rattles as they moved in for the kill.
Then there was only silence.
“You okay?”
Link glanced up to find Hank stooped over him, his face creased with concern. Four uniformed policemen stood behind him. Link opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as nausea rose. He dropped his hand from Isabelle. “Get her out of here.” He barely managed to choke the words out. “She needs a doctor.”
Hank hunkered down and caught Isabelle by the shoulders and tried to ease her away from Link.
“No,” she cried, clinging to him. “I’m staying with Link.”
“Take it easy,” Hank soothed as he pried her fingers from around Link’s neck. “I just need to see how badly you’re hurt.” He took one look at the blood smeared on Isabelle’s neck and that which soaked her dress and glanced over his shoulder at the four men behind him, giving his head a jerk. Two of the men immediately turned and headed for the entrance to the cave.
Hank stood, wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s waist and drew her to her feet. “I want you to go with these men, Isabelle,” he ordered firmly.
She tugged free and dropped to her knees again, wrapping her arms around Link and burying her face in the curve of his neck. “No,” she sobbed. “He’s hurt. It’s my fault. I shot him.”
Squeezing his eyes shut at the guilt he heard in her voice, Link dipped his head lower between his elbows as she clung to him. The pain currently knifing through him had nothing to do with the bullet Isabelle had unintentionally fired into him and everything to do with the woman who held him, her tears scalding his neck. He wanted so badly to haul her into his arms, cover her face with kisses, bury his face in her hair and inhale her sweetness. He’d almost lost her. If he’d arrived even seconds later, Brad might have already killed her, sent her plunging to her death into the pit of rattlesnakes. A shudder racked his body at the thought.
But she wasn’t his to lose, he reminded himself. She was a Fortune. And he was a nobody. He hauled in a ragged breath and forced his eyes open.
His job had been to protect her from Brad Rowan, he told himself.
And now his job was done.
Drawing deep for the strength he’d need to do what he knew needed to be done, he sank back on his heels, grimacing at the pain that seared through him as he reached to drag her arms from around his neck. “Go home, Isabelle,” he growled, and pushed her away. “Go back to your royal castle where you belong.”
Her face paled even more as she stared at him. “No, Link, please—”
“Go!” he shouted, waving her away. “I don’t want you here.”
He turned his face away, unable to bear the ravaged look in her eyes, the tears that streamed down her face. He squeezed his own eyes shut as he listened to the faint rustle of her dress on the stone as she struggled to her feet, her strangled sob as she turned and hurried away.
On a moan, he fell forward, planting his hands against the ground, curling his fingers against the rough stone.
Hank sank down to a knee beside his bent form and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “How bad is it, buddy?”
Link squeezed his eyes shut. “The gunshot wound?” he asked, then gulped a breath. “Or my heart?”
Link stood in front of the sliding door in his condominium, staring out at his postage-stamp-size backyard. The arrests of the two men who had been in on the scam with Rowan, working from inside Fortune Construction and falsifying purchase orders for materials used in the construction of the children’s hospital, thus embezzling funds from Fortune Construction, were now behind bars. Though not directly involved in the murder of Mike Dodd, their knowledge and silence made them accessories to the crime and had posed a potential threat to Isabelle until they were apprehended. Sighing, Link braced an arm high on the door frame. The other was strapped against his chest in a sling. Beneath it, tape bound his chest. He’d been lucky, the doctors had told him. The bullet had entered his left arm just below his shoulder, exited after tearing through some muscle and nerves, then reentered his body, shattering a rib.
A little nerve damage. A busted rib. Not much damage when compared to what the bullet could have done. Nothing if compared to the pain in his heart.
He straightened, trying to shake off the thoughts of Isabelle before they could fully form. But they stubbornly pushed themselves into his mind, shaping themselves into images that grew stronger with each ragged breath he drew. Waking to find her sitting beside his hospital bed, her fingers gripped tightly around his. The gauze and tape on her neck that covered the wounds Brad had inflicted with his knife. The paleness of her face. The guilt that haunted her violet eyes.
He’d stared at her for a moment, memorizing each detail of her face, regret a lead weight on his chest, before he’d pulled his hand from hers and turned his face away.
He’d heard her whispered, tear-filled “I’m sorry” and wanted desperately to tell her that he didn’t blame her for the bullet he’d taken. That he loved her more than life itself. Instead, he’d clamped his lips together and stared at the view beyond the window until he’d heard the door close softly behind her. His view of the hospital parking lot had blurred a bit when he heard her leave, knowing that he’d probably never see her again. Never touch her. Never hold her. Never…
The doorbell rang, interrupting his thoughts, but he ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away. It rang again and he swore, angling his head to glare at the front door. It rang a third time and he spun to march across the room. He jerked open the door, snarling.
Kate Fortune, the mat
riarch of the Fortune family, stood on the small stoop, her finger poised over the bell to ring it again. She straightened and arched a regal brow as she raked her gaze over Link, noting his scraggly appearance. “Well!” she said with a sniff of disapproval. “I certainly would have thought that you’d have recuperated enough after three weeks to properly dress yourself and shave.”
Link dragged a hand self-consciously over his jaw, two days of stubble scraping against his palm. He dropped his hand and scowled. “What do you want?”
She pushed a hand against his chest as she swept past him and into his living room. “To talk to you.”
His scowl deepened as he watched her stop and glance curiously around. “About what?” he growled rudely, and slammed the door.
She turned to peer at him. “About my Isabelle.”
“What about her?”
She arched a brow. “Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?”
Link scowled at the reminder of his lack of manners but gestured toward the sofa. “Sit.”
She pursed her lips. “Why, thank you. I believe I will.”
Anxious to send the woman on her way, Link pushed himself away from the wall. “You said you wanted to talk about Isabelle.”
“Yes,” she agreed with a brisk nod. “Though she wouldn’t be very happy if she knew I was here. She’s a bit like you,” she said, and gave him a pointed look over her brow. “Stubborn as a mule and just as thick-headed.”
Link snorted. “Isabelle?” At her nod, he shook his head. “You don’t know her very well. She’s as meek as a lamb.”
“Really?” Kate drawled, then laughed. “I guess it’s true, then. Love really is blind.”
Link tensed. “Who said anything about love?”
“Well, I did, you silly man,” she scolded. “And if you had any sense at all, you’d realize that Isabelle is head over heels in love with you, as well.”
Link slapped a hand against the back of his neck and paced away. “She just thinks she is. She’ll get over it.”
Groom 0f Fortune (Fortune's Children: The Grooms Book 5) Page 13