Lone Rider (16 page)

The man stumbled but didn't go down. Jace fired again, but the man abruptly turned and quickly disappeared into the cover of the trees.

How badly had he wounded him? He had no way of knowing. He watched for movement in the darkness at the edge of the camp. Nothing. “Are you sure he doesn't have another weapon?” he called to Bo.

“No, his gun and rifle are in his pack near the fire.” So that's why he had run toward the pack. But then he'd changed course, his intentions all too clear.

He could hear Bo sobbing. He had to get to her. As he advanced, keeping to the shadows in the trees and away from the moonlight, he heard the sound of a horse whinny.

“Where's your horse?” he called to Bo.

He heard her try to stop crying to answer. Her words came out barely intelligible. “Hidden in the trees.”

The man had gone for Bo's horse.

Jace reached her. Leaning his rifle against the tree, he pulled his knife and quickly cut the rope, freeing her.

She sank to the ground, sobs racking her body.

He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, tell her she was going to be all right now, but as long as whoever had done this to her was out there...

“Who was that bastard?” he demanded as he picked up his rifle again, still watching the dark trees around them.

“Ray Spencer,” she said in a hoarse whisper between sobs. He'd heard the name, but it took him a moment to realize where. Then he remembered the fugitive who'd been on the run for the past three weeks after a convenience story robbery in which someone had been killed. He swore under his breath as Bo sobbed, “He...kidnapped...me.”

“Did you see where he tied up your horse?”

“No.” She looked around as if terrified the man would reappear. Jace shared that same concern.

“He's alone?”

She nodded.

“What weapons does he have?”

“Just a knife.”

Jace glanced to the man's pack near the fire ring. He could see the stock of an old rifle and the barrel of a handgun shining in the moonlight.

Quickly stepping away from the darkness of the tree, Jace dragged the pack over to Bo. “Can you stand?”

She nodded but couldn't seem to stop the sobs. He helped her to her feet. “Can't...believe...you found me.” As she held out her wrists for him to cut the tape binding them, she said, “I...thought...” She cried harder as if she'd given up on ever being rescued.

“Listen to me,” he said, taking hold of her shoulder and giving it a shake. “I need you to be quiet. I have to be able to hear him if he comes back.”
When
he comes back, Jace thought. The man had left everything behind, including the woman he'd abducted.

“He wouldn't let me go.” She managed to stop crying, hugging herself but still looking terrified. She leaned against the trunk of a tree as if too weak to walk. He hated to leave her, but he had no choice.

He pulled the man's pistol from the pack, checked to make sure it was loaded and handed it to her. “Tell me you know how to use this,” he said.

She nodded, wide-eyed, as she held it tightly, her whole body trembling.

He reached down to flip off the safety for her. “Just don't shoot me. Stay right here.”

But as he started to step away, she grabbed his leg and cried, “Where are you going?”

“I just need to see how badly he was shot. I'll be right back.”

Letting go of his leg, she clutched the gun in both of her hands. She looked even more terrified as he moved cautiously to the spot where he thought he'd hit the man. In the bright moonlight, he could see the blood on the ground. Not a lot, though.

He saw that the drops had left a trail. He followed it to a spot where he picked up horseshoe tracks. The man had taken off on Bo's horse.

As Jace started back toward the camp, he looked to where he'd left Bo. She wasn't there.

His heart did a quick drop before he spotted her. She stood yards away in the moonlight, turning in a circle, the gun in her shaking hands. She looked distraught and beyond petrified. He doubted she could hit the broad side of a barn in the condition she was in, but he wasn't taking any chances.

“It's me,” he called, and she instantly slumped to the dirt.

He quickly stepped to her. “I have to go after him. He's wounded but not badly. If I don't—”

She grabbed hold of his leg and began to cry again. “You can't leave me.”

“You have the gun—”

“He'll kill you and then he'll come back for me.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said more gently as he pulled her to her feet.

Bo looked up into his face as if until that moment she hadn't recognized him.
“Jace Calder? Of course it would be you.”
Her reaction didn't surprise him given the bad blood between them. She began to cry again.

“Bo—” But he could feel time slipping away. “I have to go after him. If I don't go after him now—”

She took a step back, shaking her head, the gun clutched in both hands. Her words came out choked with fear. “You can't leave me. If you leave me...” She started to slump to the ground.

He grabbed for her, his fingers closing on her wrist. She let out a cry. He'd hurt her. Jace mentally kicked himself as he took her in his arms. She leaned into him as if terrified of letting him go. He hadn't had time to consider what she'd been through. Now, though, he took in the raw skin at her wrists and her neck. Those would heal. He feared her other injuries went much deeper than her bruised and scraped skin.

Looking toward the darkness of the trees, he cursed under his breath. If he left her and the man circled back around and got to her, he'd never forgive himself.

He knew what it took to kill a man. In her condition, he couldn't trust that she could pull the trigger.

“All right,” he said, knowing that this, too, was a mistake they both could live to regret. “I won't leave you alone, but we can't stay here. We have to get moving. He has your horse. We have to get to my horse before he finds it.”

She nodded mutely as if all the fight had gone out of her. He had to let her go to pick up the man's pack. No way was he leaving it so the man could get to the weapons. When he turned back, Bo stood like a small sapling rocking in the breeze. He could see how weak she was from her ordeal. He'd seen a can of beans in the doused fire. When was the last time she'd had something to eat? Lack of food was probably the least of it. He couldn't bear to think what the man had done to her.

“Can you walk?”

Bo glanced toward the darkness. She nodded and started to hand back the gun.

“Keep that. You may have to use it.”

She looked up at him. He saw a tremor move through her. “If I have to use it...”

He nodded. He would already be dead.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

B
O
FOLLOWED
J
ACE
from the moonlit camp into the darkness of the pines, half expecting that any moment she would wake up and this would have been nothing more than a dream.

What were the chances that Jace Calder would be the one to save her, given how she'd hurt him? She must have been hallucinating. Maybe Ray had stabbed her, and this was some subconscious fantasy. If she was dying, it made sense that she would think of Jace—and her biggest regret. Or this could be a nightmare in which things got even worse.

She stumbled as she trudged through the pines and almost fell. When she looked up, she didn't see Jace. Even when he appeared out of the trees for a moment, she thought it was Ray and all of this really was just delirium.

Jace had stopped ahead of her to wait. She'd tried to keep up with the long-legged cowboy, but she felt as if she was moving through quicksand. When she reached him, he didn't move for a long moment. She could tell he was listening.

Fear coiled again inside her. She was far from rescued. Ray Spencer was still out there. An eerie quiet had fallen over the night. She listened, terrified that Ray was tracking them like a mad dog. But all she could hear was the thunder of her pulse in her ears and the sound of the ground cover under them as they began walking again.

An owl hooted from a nearby limb, startling her. She stumbled on a root and fell face-first into the dirt. Jace quickly hoisted her to her feet.

“Try to stay up,” he whispered, impatience and worry in every line of his body.

She nodded. But exhaustion, lack of food and fear had left her limbs as weak as water. She wasn't sure how much farther she could go.

Just when she thought she couldn't take another step, she heard a horse nicker nearby. Fear spiked through her. What if it was her horse and Ray was waiting for them?

But ahead, Jace moved to a large bay horse tied to a tree. Swinging up in the saddle, he rode over to a downed log and reached for her. “Now,” he snapped. She stepped up on the log and he helped pull her up behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she held on as he reined the horse around.

“We're not going after him, right?” she had to ask.

“No. We're going to try to get out of these mountains before he finds us.”

“Maybe he's dead. Or running away. He knows you have a gun. He wouldn't be stupid enough to come after us.” She knew she was voicing her hopes, but still she wanted Jace to agree with her.

Instead, he said nothing. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. Numb, she let the rocking of the horse lull her into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
,
Emily was glad to drop Jodie off at day care where she knew she would be safe. By the time Emily had gone to Big Timber Java for her first coffee break of the day she had almost put the break-in out of her mind.

She hadn't realized how glad she was to see Alex Ross until he came out of the back and flashed her a smile. She saw him look past her to the street outside and frown.

Turning in her chair, she followed his gaze in time to see a battered large old dark-colored car go by. When she turned back, Alex was no longer frowning. He was looking at her, his eyes shiny and bright as he walked toward her.

“You should know I went to jail for a while,” she said when he joined her with two cups of coffee.

“Do you always blurt out details about your past?” he asked with a laugh.

“I've found it's best to be honest. It's taken me a while to learn that.”

“I'd heard.” She should know that news in a small town moved faster than mouth.

“And you still asked me out?”

Alex grinned shyly. “I like you.”

“You don't
know
me. Aren't you curious why I went to jail?”

“Tell me if you want. But you don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable?
It embarrassed her, made her feel stupid, and made her worry that no nice man would ever be interested in her.

“I had this boyfriend.”

He chuckled. “I already don't like it.”

“Yeah. I was on my way to work that morning. I was waitressing at this dive of a diner. Anyway, Harrison, that was his name, asked me to give him a ride.”

She went on to explain that he'd wanted her to stop in front of a jewelry store. She'd actually thought the jerk was going in to get her a ring to ask her to marry him.

That was until he came running out and she heard the wail of an alarm go off and he told her to drive!

She'd been young and foolish. Part of Harrison's appeal had been that he was dangerous. She never knew what he was going to do next, so it wasn't a big surprise that he'd also been moody and abusive one minute and sweet the next. She never knew which Harrison would come through the door.

“Where is he now?”

“Prison. He's not supposed to get out for a few more years.”

“Is he Jodie's father?” Alex asked.

She hadn't remembered telling him her daughter's name. “No. That's another story.”

A weighty silence fell between them. “You're having second thoughts, aren't you?” she asked.

He looked up in surprise. “No, I was just thinking how strong you are. To have lived through all of that, and look at you now.”

His words knocked her off balance. “I don't feel like I've accomplished anything yet.”

“You're wrong. I've seen you with your daughter. You're a great mom, and you have a good job.”

She eyed him warily. “I'm sorry, but when anyone is nice to me, I start looking for their motives.”

He laughed. “I only have one agenda. I want to get to know you. That's it.”

Still she eyed him skeptically. She considered telling him about the break-in at her house but hesitated. She didn't want him to think she was the kind of girl who knew the kind of men who would break into her house—even though she was.

Alex had to take a call, so Emily finished her coffee and went back to work. The foundation office was like a morgue with everyone waiting to see if they even had a job when Bo returned. Her mind miles away, Emily didn't notice the old brown car parked down the block or the man sitting behind the wheel.

* * *

R
USSELL
HATED
THAT
he woke up thinking about Buckmaster Hamilton. The man was adored by thousands, soon maybe millions. So wasn't it possible that Russell was wrong about the senator? His dislike for the man was based on nothing but speculation, admittedly. He'd never even given the man a thought—until the senator's first wife suddenly appeared in front of his pickup.

It all came down to why Sarah had tried to kill herself. It had to have been because Buckmaster had done something. True, public opinion had sympathized with the senator. The consensus was that Sarah probably had postpartum depression, but her disappearing from her children's lives had most people suspecting an underlying mental problem.

One reporter in particular, Chuck Barrow, from the
Herald
, had tagged her a bad mother for leaving behind her six daughters all these years. He questioned how long postpartum depression—if that was what it was—could be blamed.

The rest of the media had followed suit, making her sound deranged, especially given that she said she couldn't recall the past twenty-two years.

But they didn't know her, Russell argued with himself.

He had always considered himself a fair man. What did he really know about Sarah and Buckmaster's marriage? Nothing. When it came to marriage, only the two people in the marriage knew what really went on behind closed doors, he reminded himself.

He remembered when he was in high school and his fiftysomething teacher, Margaret Winslow, disappeared. Everyone talked about how her husband, Ed, had doted on her and wondered how he would be able to make it without her if, God forbid, something terrible had happened to her.

No one suspected foul play—especially from Ed. Nor could anyone believe she might have run away or committed suicide.

They found Margaret's car two hundred miles away, abandoned on a lonely stretch of gravel road in the middle of nowhere. They found her body twenty yards from it, the gun she'd used to blow her brains out lying next to her body. The suicide note was tucked in her underwear.

It read, “Don't blame Ed. I'm the one at fault. He deserved a better wife.”

It wasn't until the autopsy that the truth came out. Margaret was covered with bruises, some new, some old. She'd suffered numerous broken bones, many that had healed on their own. Ed had been beating her for years, leaving more scars than the ones hidden under her clothing. The woman must have been in horrible pain most of her married life before she couldn't take anymore and killed herself.

Russell thought of his own marriage. He would have said that after more than forty years, he knew Judy. But how well had he really known her? Did she have secrets she never told him? Desires she never expressed? Regrets and disappointments she'd kept bottled up?

He wondered what secrets were locked in Sarah Hamilton's brain. Whatever they were, they had something to do with Buckmaster Hamilton. Russell would stake his life on that. What had the man done to drive his wife to attempted suicide and into exile for the past twenty-two years?

If that's what had happened to her. Russell still believed that the person who had secreted her away after her failed suicide attempt was her not-so-loving husband, never dreaming she would ever escape.

But she hadn't just escaped. Someone had helped her return, he reminded himself. He had trouble believing she'd parachuted back into Beartooth. But apparently she had. So whoever had assisted her...

Who had those kind of resources? Senator Buckmaster Hamilton.

Russell shook his head. Or maybe someone just as powerful who didn't want the senator to win the presidential race?

His head ached from trying to figure out what had happened all those years ago. If he was right, though, Buckmaster had a lot to fear when Sarah finally remembered. He wondered what the senator was thinking now. Did he believe Sarah didn't remember? Or did he live in fear that she would remember and destroy his political career?

What had driven a mother of six daughters to suicide? Unfortunately, the only way they would ever know was if Sarah remembered.

“Can you talk about what you're remembering?” he'd asked Sarah recently.

She'd looked up. He'd seen the denial in her expression before she even opened her mouth. “I'm not...” She'd swallowed, and her gaze had locked with his. “They don't make any sense. They're just dark...images.” She'd shuddered. “Nightmares without any basis in reality.”

“I know they scare you, but don't push the memories away, if you can help it. You
need
to remember.”

Her smile had been full of sadness. “Do I?”

“Yes. Sarah, you have to remember before your...” He had been going to say husband, but Senator Buckmaster Hamilton was sharing another woman's bed, had another wife, the one he'd replaced her with. “Before Buckmaster wins the Republican presidential nomination. If I'm right about him, you can't let him become president.”

He was more convinced than ever that Buckmaster Hamilton had been behind Sarah's disappearance and memory loss. But he still didn't have proof.

Buckmaster was pushing for Sarah to move onto the Hamilton Ranch. All the polls had the man leading in the race for the Republican nomination and taking the presidency by a landslide.

What if there was only one person who could keep that from happening? He reminded himself that Sarah was still in love with the man. But once she remembered...

Russell could feel the clock ticking.

* * *

“W
HAT
'
S
WRONG
?” N
ETTIE
ASKED
when her husband came through the door. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders that it wasn't just the hour that had him dragging.

The sheriff shook his head as he lowered himself into a chair. “I'm just tired.”

“Frank,” she said as she sat down across from him and took both of his big hands in hers. “It's more than being tired. What are you so worried about? Tiffany?” When he was down, the cause was often thoughts of his deranged daughter who had tried to kill him. Fortunately she was safely locked up where she couldn't hurt anyone else.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “She's someone else's problem now. I'm riding up in the Crazies in the morning with search and rescue to look for Bo Hamilton and Jace Calder. Apparently he went looking for her and neither has been heard from since.” He met her gaze. “There's a chance an escaped killer is up in those same mountains.”

“You think they crossed paths?”

“I certainly hope not. It's big country. But it's odd that neither Bo or Jace has returned when Jace went up there with every intention of bringing her back.”

Nettie shook her head as she studied the man she'd loved since she was a teen. “But that isn't what's really worrying you.”

He opened his mouth as if to deny it, then seemed to stop himself. “It's one of my other cases. Hell, it's not really a case just my own investigation, and I can't get it out of my mind. Now I'm starting to question myself.”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

“That no matter what the state crime boys or the FBI says, I should keep investigating.”

She let go of his hands to sit back and study him. Her first thought was,
Frank, what have you gotten involved in?
But while she might worry about having a sheriff for a husband, she'd known when she married him that he was a lawman through and through. “If your instincts tell you to keep investigating, then you should. It must be something big for you to be this worried.”