Lone Rider (7 page)

She shook her head in disbelief or denial. She couldn't tell which.

“With modern science, memories can be created—and erased. It's possible now to wipe out only certain memories. Doesn't that feel like what has happened to you?”

She crossed her arms, chilled. “You don't know Buck.”

“No, but do you? These memories you have of him—how can you be sure that they're even real?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “If you're right, I don't want ever to remember.”

“But you
are
remembering, and whatever it is you're seeing, I know it's scaring you.”

She swallowed and made a swipe at a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “Think about what you're saying about the man I married. Even with me showing up like I did, Buck's popularity in the polls is still strong. Maybe even stronger since people see him as a saint for supporting two wives. Unless he pulls out of the race, Buckmaster Hamilton is going to be our next president.”

“Exactly, and if I'm right about him, then I hate to think what kind of president he's going to be. It terrifies me. Doesn't it you?”

Sarah shook her head. “I had six children with the man. I
know
him. He isn't the monster you want to make him out to be.”

“I hear your words of denial, but I know you're scared. Because if I'm right, you and I both know he can't let you remember. If he thought you were starting to...”

Sarah shuddered, tears again filling her eyes, as she looked at him. “Buck would never hurt me.”

“He already has.”

She fought what Russell was saying. She still loved Buckmaster Hamilton. But if she was wrong, then trusting him would be her downfall—and Russell's, too, if he didn't quit digging into the past.

* * *

B
UCKMASTER
COULDN
'
T
SLEEP
. He stood in the darkness on the deck outside his bedroom, looking at the Crazies. He could just make out the silhouette of the towering snowcapped mountain range against the dark sky. The formidable range dominated its surroundings, covering six hundred square miles.

He had always lived in its shadow. At fifteen miles wide and forty miles long, its highest point, Crazy Peak, rose to over eleven thousand feet. It was the kind of place a person could disappear into without a trace—and had.

Buckmaster had heard several explanations as to how the mountain range had gotten its name. The mountains were rumored to have scared the first Native Americans who ventured into them. One story was that they named the range Crazy Mountains for the maniacal storms that raged in the unforgiving terrain. Another story was that the Crow Indians called them the Crazy Woman Mountains because of a woman who went insane and lived in them after her family was killed during the westward settlement movement.

All he knew was that he had great respect for the wilderness beyond his ranch. And right now, his daughter was back in there somewhere. Had Jace Calder found her? Buckmaster feared he'd made a mistake by not calling the sheriff and sending up a posse to bring her back. The only reason he hadn't was that it was premature. He needed to give his daughter a chance to come back on her own given the current situation. He had faith that she would.

He'd never worried about his girls taking horseback camping trips into the mountains. When they were young, he'd go with them. The Crazies were his daughters' backyard. They probably knew those mountains better than he did.

That's why he told himself not to worry. But he couldn't help his growing panic. Bo was in trouble. If not up on the mountain, definitely back at the foundation. He'd thought about calling the auditor, but he didn't want it to appear that he didn't trust his daughter. As much as he would have liked to try to fix things for her, he knew Bo would never forgive him. None of the board members had been contacted yet. As long as Bo returned by tomorrow... But what if she didn't?

“Do you know what time it is?” Angelina asked.

“Do I care what time it is?” he returned as she joined him on the deck. She'd pulled on a robe and stood hugging herself from the cold. Even Montana summers were chilly at night. They were even colder up in the mountains. “I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed.”

“You didn't wake me,” she said, looking toward the Crazies. “I can't sleep, either.”

“You can't be worried about Bo.”

“Why not?” she asked, looking over him. “Do you really think I am so cold and uncaring that I'm not worried about her, too?”

She'd never bonded with his daughters, who called her the Ice Queen behind her back. He'd thought the nickname apt, actually. “If she isn't back by tomorrow noon, I'm calling the sheriff.”

He'd expected Angelina to put up a fight. She often complained that his daughters did everything possible to interfere with his political career.

But she said nothing as she looked toward the mountains and visibly shivered. Was she thinking of Bo up there, possibly hurt, alone and scared? He'd certainly imagined that—and worse.

“Come to bed.”

He glanced at her, surprised by the tenderness in her tone. Even more surprised by the touch of her hand. Three months of sleeping on his own side of the bed made him ache for a woman's soft, supple body. Desire stirred in him.

But it was Sarah he wanted naked against him. It had always been Sarah. He closed his eyes against the pain of loving a woman he could no longer have.

Angelina took his hand. He let her lead him back into the dark bedroom.

* * *

R
AY
COOKED
A
can of beans over the fire, adding some dried meat and a wild onion. “Used to come up here with my old man,” he said as he stirred. The large metal spoon clinked against the side of the equally battered pan. She wondered where he'd gotten the supplies. The pan was black with soot as if it had been used over many campfires—and not just in the past three weeks.

“My old man'd talked about livin' up here,” he was saying. “He was gonna build a cabin way back in where nobody'd ever find us.”

So he knew these mountains, she realized as her heart dropped into her empty, growling stomach. He'd grown up on the other side of the drainage, he'd told her.

“I was huntin' by the time I could hold a rifle. I weren't never as good as my old man, though. He just don't miss. That's why they made him a sniper when he joined up in the service.”

She heard pride in his voice, and both awe and something else. Fear?

“I growed up eatin' venison year-round. Never ate no beef 'til I left home. Hell, elk was as fancy as it got at our house.”

Bo let him talk as she watched him. He seemed agitated. She took that as a bad sign. Things could go seriously wrong yet tonight.

“Here,” he said, shoving the handle of the pot into her hand. “Ya eat what ya want first. Just leave me a little.”

She took the spoon he offered her. It didn't matter that it was canned beans. She would have eaten anything at this point. She was ravenous. Her stomach growled loudly, making him smile.

“I'm a pretty good cook. Not this, but once we get settled way back where no one'll come lookin' for us, I'll kill what we need. There's grouse up here, deer, elk, even bears.” He sounded excited about the prospect. “Ya can grow a garden. I can get ya seeds. I can get ya whatever ya need.”

Bo blew on the spoonful of beans and took a bite. They tasted slightly burned but, starving as she was, she gobbled spoonful after spoonful as he talked about his plans for the two of them.

“I can't never go back down there, not to live, but that ain't really livin' anyway, you know what I mean? I'm happiest up here in the mountains. Ya must be, too, or ya wouldn't a come up here.”

She could feel his eyes searching her face. She took another bite of the beans. She could hardly keep her eyes open. The warm beans hit her stomach and made her even more sleepy. He seemed more relaxed, too. She could only hope he would leave her alone tonight.

After a few more bites, she handed him the pot and spoon.

“Ya rest. We gotta git up early and travel a lot farther tomorrow,” he said after he'd finished off the meal. “But 'til we understand each other...” He picked up the rope from the ground.

“Please—”

“I ain't gonna tie ya tight if ya promise not to try to git away.”

She nodded, wincing as he bound her wrists and ankles. He spread out a dirty sleeping bag for her to lie on. She curled up and closed her eyes, opening them only a crack to watch him, still terrified he would change his mind and assault her before the night was over.

He took the pot down to the creek and came back with it sloshing water that splashed at his feet as he walked. He set it on the fire and dropped the dirty spoon into it. “I ain't been takin' care of myself.” He glanced in her direction. She didn't move. Didn't even breathe. “I got reason to now. I kin take care a both a us.”

Bo fought sleep, afraid if she gave up to it, something worse might happen. But in the end, exhaustion won out, dragging her down into the darkest of dreams.

CHAPTER EIGHT

B
EFORE
ANY
OF
the hired help arrived early the next morning, Buckmaster picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed the sheriff's office. He'd sworn he would wait until noon, but Bo hadn't come home last night. He'd checked first thing this morning, but neither she nor her horse had returned. When he'd tried her cell, it went straight to voice mail, not that he was surprised. This morning, he'd found her cell phone in her vehicle parked in front of the bunkhouse.

That she hadn't taken her cell phone shouldn't have upset him. Service was sketchy at best in the area, let alone up in the mountains. Bo would know that.

But if you got in trouble, often times you could find a mountain peak and get enough bars to call for help. Also, you could sometimes track a phone in an emergency through the GPS.

He told himself it was her stubborn pride. From the time she was little, she was determined to do everything on her own. He'd never seen such a pigheaded child who would just plain refuse to ask for help. It was why she hadn't come to him when she'd realized there was trouble at the foundation. So no wonder she wouldn't take her cell phone. She wasn't about to call even if she got in trouble.

Either that or she hadn't wanted to be found.

Either way, it scared him. His daughter hadn't returned from the mountains, knowing that by now she'd not only be missed, but also that an auditor was waiting for her.

The line to the sheriff's department dispatcher began to ring. From the other side of the room, Angelina sipped a fresh cup of coffee and watched him, her face a mask.

Last night they'd made love. It hadn't started that way. He'd been thinking about Sarah, but that had changed at some point. He'd held his wife, and for a while, he'd felt again the affection he'd had for her when he'd first married her.

It had taken him a while to fall in love with Angelina. She wasn't an easy woman to love. Also, he'd still been mourning Sarah's death even after seven years. But Angelina had wound her way into his heart and his bed. He couldn't discount what she'd brought to his life, if not the lives of his girls.

“Sheriff's department.”

“I need to speak with Sheriff Curry. This is Senator Hamilton calling. It's important I speak with him.”

“Just one moment, please.”

Frank, probably still at home, came on the line right away. “Senator?”

“My daughter Bo went up into the mountains on a camping trip Saturday afternoon. She hasn't returned, and I'm worried,” he said without preamble.

“Have you sent anyone up to look for her?” the sheriff asked.

“Jace Calder volunteered. He left yesterday afternoon. I promised to give him twenty-four hours, but I'm worried something has happened up there.”

“When was she expected back?” Frank asked.

“Yesterday morning.” Buckmaster hesitated. “She had an appointment at her office she didn't show up for.”

Silence. He could almost hear the sheriff thinking. “You know that we usually wait forty-eight hours on a missing adult unless there are extenuating circumstances.” Bo had been missing not even twenty-four from the time she was supposed to return. “Are there extenuating circumstances?”

Buckmaster thought about the missing money and his daughter. But if he told the sheriff, there was no way he would want to send search and rescue to look for her even after forty-eight hours.

“No,” he said. “But if she isn't back by this afternoon or I haven't heard from Jace...”

“Then you let me know,” the sheriff said. “As it is, why don't I see if we can't do a flyover? If she's in trouble, she'd know to try to signal the pilot.”

Buckmaster felt a little better. “Thank you, Frank. I'd appreciate that.”

As he hung up, he looked at Angelina. She'd pulled on a thin negligee and now stood against the light of the window. She really did have a wonderful body.

“You didn't tell him about the problem at the foundation.”

“No.” He refused to admit that Bo would run away, and if she had, then he had to believe she would come to her senses and return of her own accord. He might not have done a good job raising her, but she still had his blood running through her veins. She wouldn't take the easy way out. She'd come back and face up to whatever was going on at the foundation. Bo was strong like him.

Stepping to his wife, he took the coffee cup from her hand and placed it on the counter. Then he pressed her against the wall.

“In the kitchen?” she asked, sounding breathless but also excited as he slipped his hand under the silken fabric to feel the heat of her bare skin.

As he brushed his lips over the warm skin at her throat, he had trouble even admitting it to himself, but he was running scared. The ground under him no longer felt solid. The life he'd built felt as if it could topple over in the first good gust of wind. He could sense a fierce storm coming, one much worse than what had already hit him and his home.

For a while, he lost himself in the primitive, age-old act of passion. Later, spent and under the spray of the shower, he got down on his knees and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He prayed for Bo and the rest of his family. He prayed for Sarah and for Angelina. Then he prayed for his own soul.

Mostly, he prayed for guidance. While he'd taken a short hiatus, now he needed to get back to Washington, back on the campaign trail. But he couldn't leave until he knew Bo was safe.

Since he'd begun running for president, he'd felt cursed. Was this how his father had felt? Was this why he'd backed out of the presidential race?

He knew it was foolish to pray for a sign from God as to what he should do, but he prayed for it anyway, terrified the curse that had destroyed his father was now on him—and his family.

* * *

B
O
WOKE
TO
the sounds and smells of a crackling fire. She opened her eyes and blinked. For a moment, she thought she was still camped in the woods alone. But then she felt the rope biting into her ankles and wrists, and remembered. Her stomach twisted, and she thought she might throw up as her gaze went to the man hunched over the fire. Her skin broke out in a cold sweat. She gulped down breaths to keep from sobbing hysterically again.
He wants to keep me for a mate.

As he started to turn in her direction, she hurriedly closed her eyes tight and bit back a cry of desolation. Maybe if he thought she was still asleep...

The kick to her thigh was anything but gentle. “Daylight's burnin',” he said. “Hafta get movin'. I cooked ya somethin'.”

She opened her eyes, pretending that his kick had awakened her. She tried to sit up. Her muscles ached. It was all she could do not to groan in pain. But he'd seemed to like it when he thought she was tougher than she looked, so she held silent.

She had to play along.
He wants to win me over. If I agree too quickly...
Well, she knew how that could go. But if she fought him...

He bent down to untie the rope at her ankles, his gaze stealing to hers every few seconds. She could tell he was trying to gauge how she was feeling about him this morning. He'd opened up to her last night, telling her a lot about himself and about his life with his father. Did he now regret being that vulnerable with her?

She tried hard to keep her expression pleasant. “What did you cook?”

“Beans. That's all we got, so no complainin'. I'll kill somethin' in a day or two, once we get settled farther in where no one'll hear the gunshot.”

Bo nodded, realizing that he planned to make her hike miles and miles back into the mountains as far from civilization as the Crazies went.

He untied her wrists. “I s'pose ya gotta go.”

At first she didn't understand.

“Can't let ya go by yerself,” he said, pulling her up by one arm. She was still barefoot. As she looked around for her socks and boots, he shook his head. “No shoes. Not 'til I kin trust ya.” He made it sound as if he planned to keep her barefoot for a very long time.

Again she nodded, and she let him lead her away from camp to a stand of thick pines. She limped across the dried pine needles and twigs that hurt the soles of her bare feet, but again she did everything possible not to react to the pain.

“In there,” he said and handed her a small roll of toilet paper. “I'll be right here. If I hear ya try to run—”

“I won't,” she said, taking the paper and limping into the center of the cluster of trees.

She'd had so little to eat that all she had to do was pee, but she left enough of the toilet paper that she thought someone might see it and at least know she'd been here. She'd thought about trying to leave a message, but she knew Ray was listening, half expecting her to do something to lose his trust.

“Ya done?” he asked when she came out and handed him the rest of the roll. He seemed a little surprised and maybe pleased that she hadn't given him any trouble as he led her back to the campfire. The fire he'd built was small, making her wonder if he was worried that her family would be searching for her. What would her father do if someone from the foundation called?

She knew what everyone would think. That she'd run away. How long, though, before her father would send someone up to find her? Or would he wait, assuring himself that eventually she would have to come out of the mountains and face things?

Days, she thought as Ray handed her the pot and spoon. She ate a few bites, knowing she needed to keep up her strength. Ray had made it clear he would be dragging her farther back into the mountains today.

She couldn't bear the thought. Her legs and feet still ached from yesterday's hike—not to mention her wrists, which were raw and painful. Last night, he'd tied the rope on her wrists looser, but still the rough sisal had rubbed against her raw skin every time she moved.

Tears blurred her eyes at the thought of another day of torture, and all the while he would be watching her, waiting. Anything could set him off. She took a few more bites of the beans and handed back the pot and spoon. “I'm not sure I can walk as far as I did yesterday,” she said in a small voice, trying hard not to cry. She feared tears would trigger his anger. Or his lust. As she raised her gaze to his, for a moment she thought he might hit her—or worse.

But he just dumped the beans into the fire and stepped to the creek to rinse the pot and the spoon. His back was to her as he squatted by the stream. She glanced over and saw her socks and boots.

Desperately she wanted to run, to go screaming through the forest. Her gaze fell on the crude circle of rocks around the fire pit. Her hands itched to pick up one of the rocks and charge him, slamming the rock down on his head as he crouched over the water.

He wants you to try to get away. He's waiting for you to do it so he can hurt you.

Bo chocked back a sob as she crawled closer to the fire pit. She glanced toward him. Saw him freeze. He was listening. Expecting it. She busied herself by putting out the fire. Slowly she began to scoop up dirt and dump it on the last of the coals as her chest ached with unshed tears and smoke curled up from the dying fire.

Ray rose slowly next to the creek and walked back to her. He glanced at her as she put more dirt on the embers. Smothered, the fire sputtered out, the smoke thinning into a narrow ribbon as it wound up into Montana's clear blue big sky.

He handed her the pot full of icy-cold creek water. “Here, wash yer hands.” She did, drying them on her jeans as he reached over and picked up her socks and her boots. “Put these on.” He took the pot from her, trading her for her socks and boots.

She watched him pack up everything, knowing he was watching her, as well. Somehow she'd stilled the need to do something risky that would only make her situation worse. She felt stronger, more capable this morning after having lived through the night. But how could she continue with this unbearable situation much longer?

Bo knew that Ray would eventually rape her. She'd seen the hunger in his eyes after weeks alone in these mountains. The man hadn't become an escaped criminal because he could control his impulses. It was only a matter of time.

Her mind whirled as she plotted. She would get him to trust her. Then she would find her chance to escape, and she would take it.

She realized she could never outrun him. If she was lucky enough to get on her horse... But she couldn't depend on that. He would expect her to go for the horse. He would make sure she didn't get the chance.

No, she thought. She would have to disable him. That thought turned her stomach. She'd never hurt anyone—at least not physically, she thought, reminded of Jace Calder. Disabling such a large man would take a great deal of force. A great deal of violence. And even that might not be enough.

Could she kill Ray?

She finished pulling on her socks and boots and looked up at him.

The naked lust was back in his eyes even stronger than yesterday. He scratched his stubbled jaw for a moment, his look burning her flesh. She dropped her gaze to the dusty ground, tried not to move, tried not to cringe, as out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull the duct tape from his jacket pocket and step toward her.