by Nicole Snow
Oh, God.
His bleeding shins.
They look like they’ve gone through a shredder, a spinning walkway of knives that slashed up his skin without tearing deep into muscle. Small comfort.
“You’re both fussing too much,” Tobin says in his staunch, righteous way, despite his voice being no louder than a rustling leaf.
I’m slightly relieved he still has some fight left in him after the brutal beatdown he took from the accident.
“Hush. Let me see if we need a doctor or not,” Jackie tells him sternly.
“No, no doctor. The airbags went off,” Tobin says. “They kept me from...from truly getting hurt.”
“They saved you from dying,” Jackie throws back, shaking her head so fast her hair ripples. “Make no mistake, you’re plenty hurt. I was there to pull you out of it. Your legs were trapped under that dash. If it wasn’t for those farm boys who stopped, we wouldn’t have gotten you out. Don’t be ridiculous.”
My insides curdle, knowing if those local boys hadn’t come along when they had, Clay’s men might’ve easily just mowed down Tobin, and then Jackie and Nelson a little ways behind him on the road.
God, I knew this wasn’t going to work, but I’d gotten so caught up in my own life, in being Ridge’s fiancée—fake fiancée—that I’d forgotten how nothing stops Clay.
He’s a slow-moving brute force of nature.
I don’t care what Ridge says.
I should’ve shot that bastard in the head when I had the chance.
But now people are going to die.
Die because of me.
All because I’d gotten swept up in a fantasy with a man who takes me on a detour from hell. That’s all it can ever be, an escape.
Not a permanent solution.
“Those farm boys wanted to call the cops,” Dad says. “I told them no. I know the game, and I said you’d have your friend come tow the truck.”
“I’ll call Jess now,” Ridge growls.
He hasn’t put his phone down since helping Tobin into the house.
I bite my teeth together hard to keep from screaming. Pissed at the growing list of people sucked into my problem and now suffering just like poor Tobin.
“Dad, I need another bowl of clean water,” I snap.
The water in the bowl I’d carried in is already coppery red, full of the blood I’ve been wiping off of Tobin’s legs.
Ridge sets his phone on the table. “I’ll get more towels.”
I don’t respond, just keep washing, adrift in my own pain, listening for whatever else Jackie tells me to do.
No surprise, she’s as thorough with Tobin’s care as she was with Dad’s.
She assesses every scratch, scrape, cut, and bruise.
She bandages them and forces Tobin to take some pain meds.
She doesn’t even take a breath.
I’m right by her side, frantically working, wondering every second if she’ll run into some complication that’ll force her to call a doctor—exactly the thing I know Dad, Ridge, and his entire crew want to avoid.
If Clay hoped to hit us with a diversion so monstrous we can’t tell up from down, let alone go after him...then mission accomplished.
“Okay,” Jackie finally says, standing up and looking Tobin over. “He’ll be sore for several days, but he’s going to be fine. I’d still like Dr. Abrams to look at those ribs.”
I heave out a huge sigh of relief.
Not for me, but for Tobin.
I just wish—God, how I wish!—there could be a reason to breathe easy, but it’s beyond impossible right now. Whatever faint flicker of hope I had inside me winks out.
“I’ll help him to his room,” Ridge says, moving to his friend and valet. “You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.”
Tobin agrees without complaint this time.
Poor guy.
Poor Ridge.
There’s a bitter sadness in his starry blue eyes that sends a dagger through my heart. But I saw something else, too. A violent urge, the eyes of a god driven to obliterate everyone who tried to murder his friend and demolish his household.
Talk about scary.
I hurry ahead of them, through the kitchen and down the hall to where Tobin’s room is located not far from the sunroom. After turning down the bed, I leave the room, giving Tobin his privacy as Ridge and Jackie lay him down and help remove what’s left of his black trousers and hunter-green shirt.
So much blood, just like the towels.
They’re bound to be permanently stained.
I tear myself away from the awful scene before wretched, panicked sobs make it impossible to do anything.
I’m in the kitchen, washing the bowls, when Ridge grabs my shoulders.
Of course I try shrugging off his hold, but it’s too strong.
“He’s going to be fine, Grace,” Ridge says, no hint of doubt in his fierce voice. “You heard Jackie.”
I’m already lost for words, so I shake my head, brushing his arm with my hair.
“Darlin’, listen,” he whispers. “I’ve got this covered.”
That breath I’d been holding hisses out.
I can’t even look at him, knowing if I do I’m dead.
“No, Ridge, you really don’t. This is...it isn’t some movie script! You’re not living this neat story where the bad guy gets caught and the good guy wins the girl and they all live happily ever—” I pinch my lips together.
I know.
I know I’m being ridiculous and mouthing off like I shouldn’t.
But I know, more than anything, how petrified with fear I am, deep down.
I’m terrified he’s about to get himself killed.
There’s no victory, not for anyone, and I’m most certainly not the girl a man like him deserves to win. Ridge, on the other hand...
He’s the type of thief who steals hearts without knowing it.
I couldn’t even pinpoint when he stole mine, but he did, and I’ll never get it back.
“No time to back down now. Not when it’s getting real,” he says, his voice like low thunder, midnight-blue lightning flashing in his eyes. “Chin up, girl. I’m pulling my guys together, and this evening we’ll—”
“Excuse me.” Jackie’s voice rings out as she steps into the room. “I hate to interrupt but...have either of you two seen Nelson?”
My spine quivers as I do a slow turn and see her standing in the doorway, wearing a worried look.
“He’s not in the house or the cabin. I wanted to check up on him now that Tobin’s stable, but I couldn’t find him any—”
I don’t need to hear more. I just take off running.
I’m racing through the house, out the front, barely grabbing hold of the railing on the front porch when I see the overhead door on the shed hanging open, our old Ford gone.
Everything—and I mean everything—goes to pieces inside me.
“Jesus, no,” I whisper.
I hardly realize Ridge’s tall blur running past me, down the steps. He doesn’t stop until he stands near the shed. The empty effing shed.
“Got this covered, do you?” I shout, tears bursting from my eyes. “I knew this wasn’t going to work! I told you.”
The worst part is, I don’t even know how long Dad’s been gone.
I last remember seeing him when he brought me more water for Tobin.
Ridge arrives on the steps in front of me, his brows low, fury etched on his face of stone.
“Darlin’, it has to, just—”
“Don’t. Don’t darlin’ me. I’m not your darlin’ or your fiancée! That was all a freaking act that’s gone up in flames. But this—this?” I point at the empty shed. “That’s real life and there’s no happy ending.”
“I’ve got backup on the way,” Ridge says, ice-faced and eerily calm, staring down my freakout. “They’ll intercept Nelson.”
“Not before Clay does,” I mutter, my voice breaking.
“Grace.” He reaches for me.
I’m done.
At some point, if we live through this, I swear I’ll calm down.
But right now there’s a better chance of convincing a thunderstorm to pass over without a grumble than getting me to dial it back.
I push off the rail, spin around, and press my hand against my pounding head.
“Get inside, Grace,” Jackie says, standing in the doorway. “Come sit down. We’re in this together. It’ll all work itself out.”
No.
Chaos doesn’t bow to wishes, however well-meaning.
Still, my sour, jerky movements don’t deter Jackie Owens.
She swings her arm around my shoulders and forces me to walk with her.
“I know it’s scary, hon.”
I shake my head. She has no idea how scary, how frightening, how entirely my fault.
“I’m worried for him, too,” she whispers. “He told me all about it, you know. The trouble he’s in with that group, how you lost everything...”
Stunned, I stumble and face her again, blinking back hot tears.
“He...he did?”
“Everything,” she says. “He trusted Ridge with his plan, though, and I believe he still does. You should, too.”
If only it were so simple.
I don’t see how I can trust in a scheme that’s already ruined, that might’ve done us more damage.
Right now, my instinct screams don’t trust anyone.
“Dad trusted Clay Grendal once, too,” I say bitterly.
“True, but he learned from that fast, didn’t he?” Jackie pushes me into the living room, gently but firmly making me well aware she’s done with my pity party.
I wish I could believe her, zip it, and trust.
Trouble is, I’m not convinced she’s right.
If Dad trusted the plan, where is he? Looking for Clay?
A sickness knots my stomach. I know that’s where he’s gone.
Sighing, I sit down, plant my elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands.
What’s he even thinking?
If there’s anyone who’s horribly conscious of what Clay can do, it’s Dad.
He has absolutely nothing to gain by chasing down that man.
And if he’s thinking about surrender, throwing himself on a madman’s altar, trying to save me...then he doesn’t get it. There’s one prize he wants, and one prize only that’ll ever satisfy him.
Me.
The cell phone in my back pocket buzzes then, just as it has since morning.
Amy and Alicia are excited about the shindig, all the famous people who’ll be there.
I’d foolishly gotten caught up in that, too. The party planning. And in their friendship...
Maybe this is what I get for accepting a little normalcy in my life.
Dreading what’s on the screen, I force myself to wake the phone and tap the text messenger icon.
It’s an attachment from a number I don’t recognize.
I consider not opening it, but bite my lip and do it anyway.
My heart stops.
My only instinct is to scream.
“Ridge!”
He’s at my side a second later, grabbing the phone from my numb hands, staring at the picture.
Our old Ford, half-sunken in the ditch, rolled over, its window shattered like busted teeth.
I’m too mortified to even shudder.
The Ford probably didn’t even have functioning airbags. No updated safety features whatsoever.
Nothing like the new truck Tobin was in when they ran him off the road.
Ridge makes a dash for his phone, rips it off the table, and starts thumb-punching at the screen.
I don’t know why he bothers. It’s too late. There’s no one to help Dad now.
“Here, look at this,” he says, holding his phone in front of my face.
A short video starts up, two pickup trucks, one red and one green, both waiting just off to the side at the end of the driveway as Dad sped by. Of course they pursued.
Ridge clicks on another button.
Bile rises in my throat.
It’s another short clip, Dad being pulled out of our Ford—alive, thank God—and shoved in the back of the red truck. Then another video plays with the green truck ramming the side of the Ford, spinning it across the highway and into the ditch, where it bows up on one side.
I look at him, nostrils flaring, unsure why he thinks these nightmare clips will bring any comfort.
“Those kids who helped Tobin weren’t farm boys. They’re undercover agents Faulk brought in, shaved clean and dressed like townies.” Ridge sits down beside me. “They’re still out there, Grace. They’ll be keeping an eye out for Nelson and those damn trucks.” He puts an arm around me.
I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “The FBI? I thought you said Faulk was working independently?”
“He also owns his own PI company and still works closely with the Feds.”
My throat burns.
“Awesome. So even if Dad survives, he’ll be arrested on the spot.” I shake my head, thoroughly disgusted. “If Clay doesn’t kill him first.”
“No. Faulk told me they can set him up with a plea deal. No jail time. Full exoneration for cooperating in the case. No ill-gotten assets left to seize in his case, either. They’ve had flashes of the Old Town Boys on their radar for years, but nothing definitive like we’ve dredged up. Grendal, his uncle, and his cousin have been working designer drugs for years, but they could never get anyone to talk. Faulk wouldn’t let us down. Trust me.”
My skin crawls as I shake my head, blinking back tears.
I’m so flipping done with crying.
Tears won’t do anything to end this.
Still, I let Ridge wrap his arms around me, folding me up in the shelter of his body. I bury my face in solid muscle, howling inwardly to get my crap together, to regain the self-control to slog through this.
To help him help me.
Jackie’s right.
Trust in Ridge—isn’t it all that’s left?
And when I’m deep in his arms with his chin tucked against the top of my head so sweetly, so tight...that’s where I find my answer.
The same strength I found in our farmhouse that night, after shooting at Clay. I had to clean up the house, including Mom’s ashes, because Dad was a teary-eyed mess after he saw the carnage.
I was strong for him, for Rosie, for Stern, for Mom’s memory, for me.
And I think I can be stronger now for Ridge.
Fake or not, there’s nothing fabricated about the way he’s stepped into my life and fought to give me a second chance. And even a man with his acting prowess couldn’t fake the passion he gives me around the clock.
It finally happens—a little more hits in every breath—probably because Ridge is so powerful that some of his courage slips into me by osmosis.
I lift my head and breathe.
Hold it.
Release.
“There’s more I don’t know, isn’t there?” I whisper, not even a real question. “Tell me everything.”
His eyes shine down with this kindness as he takes my hand, laying everything out.
He tells me about Bebe ordering drugs for the party, hard evidence the FBI can use to nail their operation.
He gives me the latest on Faulkner’s informants, FBI men who’ve tracked Clay ever since he’d left Milwaukee. And how, right now, those men are coming here on horses borrowed from Drake and Bella Larkin, riding across open country to the ranch, under Clay’s radar so that when he shows, no doubt bringing Dad along as ransom, we won’t be alone.
We won’t be surprised again.
He also mentions Grady, the huge bearded bartender, who’d taken up position across from the hotel with a sniper rifle and the sheriff’s approval. But he’s on his way here now, where he’ll find a new spot to regroup and make sure we’re covered if Clay can’t be captured fast.
“So, wait. All this, Dad leaving, was
part of your plan?” I ask, wondering if I’ve missed something.
“No, Nelson bolting was his own doing,” he says, giving me a look that says he hopes there’s some thought behind it. “Seeing Tobin injured was a gut-punch, I bet. I don’t know what he’s thinking, honestly, but whatever it is, he’s not out there alone.”
I nod, praying he’s right.
Undaunted, Ridge kisses my forehead. “Neither are you, Grace. We didn’t know if they’d actually show up at the hotel, so we had several alternate choke points in place. Judging by where they hit your old man, odds are they’re coming here, and we’ll be ready.”
“Here?” My heart climbs into my throat, vibrating like a hummingbird.
“Not ideal, but we’ll manage. They’ll never make it inside. It’s just a waiting game until Grendal shows his hand. Can you be patient a little while longer and follow my lead?” he whispers, his eyes so dark and fierce. “Can you pretend for me one more time?”
I nod, purse my lips, and put on my bravest face.
For him, I mean it, even though I’m still sick to my stomach.
22
No Counting Chickens (Ridge)
An hour later, my phone pings constantly with texts, confirming men are in place at several locations across my ranch.
I see a tree bending outside, a shadow through the window, and tense until I see a burly fist come out and give me a thumbs-up.
Grady.
Thank fuck. He’s ahead of schedule and heading for the roof, ready to give his sniper rifle a VIP spot at this party. I hope like hell we won’t need it.
All this fucking around, waiting for Grendal, feels downright torturous.
I’m utilizing my acting skills and putting on my bravest face for Grace, but I’m concerned, very concerned, about Nelson going AWOL.
Dammit. I bet he panicked.
I should’ve told him more about the backup options if the big bash at the hotel fell through, but part of me feared he’d convince Grace to run now that he’s on his feet and feeling better.
I’m sure it was the FBI rumblings that scared him off. I’d hinted at full exoneration, but in his stubborn way, he swore up and down it would never be possible.
Can’t blame a man for believing he’s being set up after he’s been in the trenches, suffering Grendal’s shit for over a decade.
