Rancher's Hostage Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Wayne dragged her to the closet and shoved her inside, stopping long enough to use one of Helen’s silk scarves to tie her hands together around the clothes bar.

  “Wayne, don’t!” she pleaded. “You can’t drive in your condition and—”

  He slammed the door in her face, and she heard him tell Dave in a sneering tone, “Later, H’ro.”

  Chapter 10

  The closet was dark. Except for a tiny line of weak light at the bottom of the door, she was in complete blackness. Lilly gritted her teeth and concentrated on calming her racing heart and gathering her thoughts.

  “Lilly?” Dave called to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. But...he tied me up again. My hands, anyway. I—” She stopped when she heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, causing the house to shudder slightly. “Damn. He’s going to try to take your truck.”

  Dave muttered an expletive that echoed how she felt. She kept quiet, straining her ears to listen, and before long she heard an engine rev, tires squeal...

  And the terrifying thud of a crash, the shriek of crunching metal.

  She gasped in horror at the same time Dave bit out another scorching curse.

  The truck’s horn sounded, a constant blare that told her something was holding it down. Or someone. She could easily picture Wayne crumpled against the steering wheel, injured, unconscious. Maybe even dead.

  She held her breath. Waited. But the horn continued blasting, and Wayne didn’t return to the house.

  Finally Dave asked, “Do you think you can get free? How tightly did he tie you up? To what?”

  “It feels pretty tight. My fingers are tingling. It’s too dark in here to see anything. Do you remember where the light switch is for the closet?”

  “Umm...” Dave said. “It’s a pull string to a bulb on the ceiling.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” She turned her face up slightly and shifted her body to the right, left, back, forward, until she felt the tickle of a cord against her cheek. Angling her head, she caught the string in her mouth. With a jerk of her head to pull the cord, she turned on the light. “That’s better.”

  She focused on the knotted scarf and knew immediately she couldn’t untie the restraint by herself. So now what? She shifted her focus to the steel clothes bar. No way could she break it, but could she pull it down? Sliding the scarf down the bar to the end and head-butting Helen’s winter coat out of the way, Lilly examined how the bar was affixed to the wall. She grinned, finding the heavy rod wasn’t anchored at all but rather rested on a small, curved shelflike support bracket.

  Moving closer to the apparatus, she twisted her hands beneath the steel bar and pushed up, grunting with exertion. The bar, still laden with so many of Helen’s clothes, was far heavier than she expected. But she only needed to budge it an inch or so up and over...

  Freed from the support, the bar toppled to the floor, dragging her and all of Helen’s clothes with it. Lilly yelped as she tumbled onto the pile of clothes, wire hangers poking her.

  “Lilly?” Dave called again, his tone worried.

  “I’m okay. The clothes bar fell and...” She grunted as she tried to right herself, struggling to free her bound wrists from the bar and the tangle of hangers and blouses. After a moment of kicking clothes out of the way, she managed to slide the scarf off the end of the steel bar. With a weary huff, she flopped back in the pile of clothes to catch her breath. You really needed to get back to the gym. You’re in terrible shape!

  “Lilly?”

  “I’m free of the bar. Just...catching my breath.” She closed her eyes, thinking about her next step. Outside the truck horn was still blaring. As a nurse, she knew Wayne would likely need medical attention. But first things first. Her wrists, and Dave’s, were still tied.

  She climbed over the fallen clothes and opened the closet door. Using her teeth, she pulled at the knot in the scarf, freeing her hands with surprising ease.

  “All right then. Let’s give this another go.” As she rounded the bed to reach Dave, she dropped the scarf on the floor and crouched to pick at the knots in her bathrobe belt, which bound his hands.

  “If we get out of this alive, I’ll never—”

  “Ah!” she said, cutting him off. “First, it’s when we get out of this alive. We have to believe we will survive this. We have to make it happen.”

  He slid his mouth into a crooked grin. “Fine. When.”

  She squinted at the belt, trying to figure out the best way to unknot the tight tangle. “Second, never say never. That has proven a surefire way make something happen for me.”

  “Oh? As in?”

  She dug at the knot with her short fingernails but made little progress. “As in... I would never get a tattoo. Um, I would never use a public men’s room. My husband would never cheat on me.”

  She bit her lip as she worked. She hadn’t meant that last one to slip out.

  He grunted, a sympathetic hum from his throat, but said nothing until he asked, “What’s the tattoo of and where?”

  “A butterfly and somewhere you’ll never see.”

  He chuckled, and she realized belatedly what she’d said. She was about to make a snarky comment on her goof when he said, “The horn stopped.”

  Her breath snagged as she let that fact filter through the natural progression of assumptions. Wayne had revived. Moved off the horn. Would he return to the house? She had precious few seconds to get Dave free before—

  “Forget my hands. Get my feet free!” His tone was urgent.

  She suited his words to action, but he stopped her almost immediately. “No. Never mind. Get the gun!”

  She jerked a startled look to him, remembering his earlier instructions. Fire the gun. Use up the rounds.

  “Go!” His eyes echoed the imperative in his voice. “Hurry! Find the gun!”

  Acid crept up her throat. “But what if he has it with him?”

  Dave shook his head. “You’ll have to wing it. Sweet-talk him. Trick him. But get it from him. This may be our only chance.”

  “Oh, good. No pressure.” She shoved to her feet, her knees shaking. Pressing a hand to her swirling stomach, she edged toward the door.

  “You can do it, Lil. I have faith in you.”

  His encouragement surprised her. She cast a backward glance to him, and the look in his eyes matched his words. Warmth flowed through her, and she smiled her thanks. Taking a deep breath, she crept into the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky loose board that had given Wayne away earlier. Before she reached the living room, she plastered herself against the wall and peeked around the corner to look for Wayne. She heard him on the front porch, grumbling to himself, his gait still unsteady, but it was getting too dark outside for her to see what he was doing.

  Lilly swept her gaze around the living room, taking a mental inventory of where things were that she might need, searching for the revolver. Wayne had left the lamp by the sofa on, and its yellow glow illuminated the room. The scissors she’d been using to cut tape and plastic wrapping while she packed boxes were on the end table. Wayne had left plenty of dirty dishes scattered on the coffee table and floor. Two empty bottles of the craft beer she’d bought earlier that week were lying on their sides by the couch. She gritted her teeth, muffling a groan. Geez! Two pain pills and alcohol? Was the guy trying to kill himself? No wonder he’d crashed the truck.

  Before Wayne could get inside, she darted into the kitchen. The lights were off in that room, and the house was getting darker as night fell outside, but she did a quick inventory of what she could see. More dirty dishes, the peanut butter with the lid off...but no gun.

  Damn! Did that mean he had the weapon with him? Made sense. Even dangerously drugged and sedated, he’d obviously had the wherewithal to keep the weapon at hand.

  She heard the squeak of hinges as the front door opened,
and she peered around the kitchen wall just as Wayne stumbled inside. His nose was red, swollen and dripping blood. He had a large red mark on his forehead that Lilly figured would be a nasty black-and-blue bruise in the morning.

  He sniffed, then used the back of his hand to wipe the blood leaking from his bashed nose. The red smears on his arm and shirt indicated he’d been doing a good bit of blotting in the last couple of minutes. With lurching steps, he moved toward the couch, swaying into a small occasional table and knocking it over in the process. He blinked at the tumbled table as if confused why it had toppled, then continued to the couch. He dropped onto the cushions, grimaced, then reached behind him and...pulled the gun from somewhere near the small of his back.

  Bingo! She held her breath, as he set the weapon on the coffee table next to his dirty dishes and settled back on the couch, closing his eyes.

  Lilly said a quick prayer that he didn’t have a reason to come into the kitchen before he fell asleep. If she was quiet, maybe she could wait him out. When he fell asleep—which should only be a matter of moments considering how much sedation he had in his blood—she could sneak out to the coffee table and get the gun. She’d take it outside and fire it until the magazine was empty then throw the cursed thing as far into the woods as she could.

  She was watching Wayne, her heart thumping a wild rhythm as she mentally made her plan, when something bumped her leg.

  A small gasp of surprise escaped before she could stifle it. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she glanced at the floor to find Maddie winding around her legs and rubbing on her shin.

  “Me-ow!”

  She cringed at the volume of the cat’s request for dinner because she had no doubt that was what Maddie wanted. Maddie was a creature of habit and it was past dinnertime for her cat. Maddie would continue to complain in full voice until she had something to eat.

  Lilly cast a glance back in the living room. If Wayne had heard the cat, he’d ignored the sound. But she couldn’t count on that lasting. She had to risk a little noise in order to satisfy Maddie and quiet her meowing. As quickly as she could, she tiptoed across the kitchen, took a bowl from the cabinet, popped open a can of cat food and dumped it unceremoniously in the bowl. Maddie got a whiff of salmon pâté and voiced her approval. As soon as Lilly set the bowl on the floor, Maddie tucked in, and Lilly exhaled her relief.

  Now...the gun.

  Leaning to peer around the wall again, she studied Wayne for a moment. He didn’t move. At all. Alarm bells rang for the medical professional in her. She narrowed her eyes and tried to watch his chest. Was he breathing? Could she let him drift to sleep knowing he’d overmedicated? Two pills weren’t enough to kill him, but...

  She had a duty to check on him.

  But first, get the gun! she could hear Dave saying in her mind.

  She tiptoed out, stepping over the detritus of Wayne’s past few hours and her half-completed sorting, and reached for the gun on the coffee table. Before her hand closed around the grip, Wayne gave a loud snort and shifted on the couch.

  And his eyelids fluttered open.

  Chapter 11

  Lilly froze, her heart thundering.

  He narrowed his eyes, glancing from her to the gun. “What the—?”

  She snatched up the weapon and aimed it at him. “Don’t mo—”

  But before she could finish the warning, Wayne lunged. Faster than she had any idea a sedated man could move. He grabbed the gun’s muzzle as they crashed backward onto the floor.

  “Give me that, bitch!” he growled as he yanked the weapon from her hands.

  She scrabbled to retrieve it, but he held it out of her reach.

  New plan. Get away from him. With a firm shove to push him off her, she rolled away and clambered to her feet. She didn’t want to get in a wrestling match for the gun. He outweighed her and, even drugged, he was stronger.

  Her gut tightened, knowing she’d failed the most basic of tasks in the mission to free them. She eased away from Wayne as he rose to his feet, still swaying drunkenly and glaring at her.

  Maybe she could salvage the moment...

  “You’re hurt.” She held both hands out in a placating manner. “I want to help.”

  “Help? How?” Wayne sat down heavily on the couch, the gun still clutched in his hand. He leaned his head back with a groan and dabbed at his nose, watching her from hooded eyes.

  “You n-need an ice p-pack for your nose. I think it’s broken.” She balled her trembling hands at her sides as she assessed her options. She was untethered, after all.

  Did she make a run for it? No. She couldn’t outrun a bullet. And she wouldn’t leave Dave behind to contend with an irate, armed and unpredictable killer.

  So...what then? Wing it, Dave had said. Sweet-talk him. Trick him.

  “I’ll, uh—” she sidled away “—just get a rag and ice, um, from the kitchen.” She kicked a beer bottle accidentally as she backed away and it clattered as it struck the leg of the coffee table.

  As if waking from a stupor, Wayne sat straighter and aimed a finger at her. “Hold it!”

  Her breath stuttered from her. “Wayne, you need ice and—”

  “How’d you g’t...out h’re?” He blinked, swiped his hand under his dripping nose again, then winced. Furrowing his brow, he stared at the back of his hand as if startled to see the blood there.

  “You’re bleeding and need ice on your nose.” Stating the obvious was better than answering his question. She might convince him to let her help him, but could she distract him enough to get the gun from him?

  She moved again, slowly, and pointed to the kitchen. “I’m just gonna get that ice pack now.”

  When he said nothing, she eased into the next room and blew out a long breath. Maddie sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, licking her lips and grooming herself.

  She gave the cat a disgusted look and muttered, “Lassie would have gone for help and disarmed the bad guy.”

  Grabbing a towel from a drawer, she began filling it with ice. When she closed the freezer door, Wayne stood in the kitchen, just a few feet from her, gun aimed at her chest. Lilly gasped and dropped a few of the ice cubes.

  “Where’d th’cat co’ from?” he asked, jerking his head toward Maddie.

  “She’s been here the whole time, mostly hiding under the bed.” She swallowed hard, a new worry growing in her. How would Wayne treat Maddie? Someone with a complete disregard for human life, as he’d demonstrated when he shot the bank guard, could easily be as cruel to an animal.

  But he simply grunted a “huh” and returned his glare to her.

  She held out the towel bundle. “For your nose.”

  Instead of taking the ice pack, he seized her wrist. “Y’re not s’posed to be out ’ere.”

  His grip was surprisingly strong, and she winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. “I was just—”

  “Move it.” He nudged her with the muzzle of the gun, then started toward the door to the hall, dragging her with him.

  “Wayne, wait.” She tried to slow him down, digging in her heels and tugging against his shackling fingers. “You don’t have to do this. If you’d let us go, we promise to—”

  “Shut it!” He gave her arm a hard yank. “You’re giv’n me a headache.”

  Headache—right. She changed her tactic as she stumbled behind him down the hall. “You need a doctor. You hit your head when the truck crashed, and your nose is probably broken.” She still clenched the ice pack in the hand he’d seized. “Let me help you—”

  The bedroom door stood ajar, and he kicked it open wider, hauling her inside.

  Her gaze flew to Dave, whose eyes were bright with alarm. His posture was rigid and alert, and he was vibrating with tension.

  Wayne shoved her down on the bed and walked over to the dresser, where he’d left the roll of tape.

 
; Leaving the ice pack on the mattress, she stood and stepped forward, her hands spread. “Wayne, please, think about what you’re doing. This can only end badly. But if—”

  He swung around, raised the gun and fired at the wall behind her.

  Lilly yelped, and Dave bit out a curse.

  “Get on the bed. Hands behind you,” Wayne growled.

  Her heart sank. One step forward only to take three steps back. Body trembling with adrenaline and fear, she sat back down on the edge of the mattress and squeezed the bedspread with her fingers.

  Leaving the revolver on the dresser, Wayne staggered over and dropped onto the bed beside her, his expression angry. “Thought I c’d trust you.”

  “You can,” she pleaded. “If you’d—”

  “No.” He jerked her arms behind her back and began wrapping her wrists in tape. “You betrayed me.”

  “How? I’ve tried to help you, take care of your injuries. I should check your wound again. Change the bandage...”

  He was still taping...and taping. Layer after layer beyond what was needed to bind her securely. When the roll was empty, her threw the cardboard center across the room with a grunt. “There. Let’s see you get outta that!”

  “Wayne, your injuries need attention. I can help you, if you’d let me. I want to help,” she insisted, unwilling to accept defeat. She could still get through to him, reach some bit of humanity in him. Surely...

  He took her upper arm and dragged her to the head of the bed, where he found the discarded belt. He looped it around her throat like a noose before weaving the ends through the headboard again and buckling it.

  “Wayne,” she pleaded, letting the tears she’d held at bay fill her eyes. “Please.”

  He hesitated, his gaze narrowing on her when the first of her tears spilled on her cheek. But almost as quickly, his expression hardened, and he turned his back on her. Stumbling back to the dresser, he collected the gun, scooped the ice pack off the bed and wobbled to the door.