B.J. Daniels

by Forsaken

  Maddie told herself that as long as they were locked together like this he couldn’t hurt her. Unless he found the knife with his free hand. She shuddered at the thought as she heard him groping around behind him for it.

  If he found the knife—

  In the distance, Lucy began to bark. Someone was coming.

  The sound of a helicopter filled the air. Alex heard it, too—just an instant before, closer, she heard the snick of the switchblade.

  She screamed for help, but her scream turned to a shriek as Alex buried the knife in her thigh.

  * * *

  JAMISON WOULD NEVER forget the horrible shriek of pain that came from the tent as he rode up. And still he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he threw open the flap. He’d ridden into camp, jumping down from his horse and running breakneck to the tent. He’d seen the unfamiliar horse a few yards away. Common sense told him not to go busting in.

  But common sense went out the window at the thought of Maddie being in such pain. Even with all his training, nothing could have kept him from getting into that tent.

  The sight before him, though, brought him up short.

  “Take another step and I will slice her from ear to ear,” said the man with the knife at Maddie’s throat. The two lay on the floor between the cots. The man had his back against the supply box and Maddie held down with one arm locked around her, the knife to her throat and her arms trapped against her sides with his legs.

  Jamison took in the scene in a split second—especially Maddie’s expression. He couldn’t tell how badly she was hurt—just that she was. Maddie’s fingers were just inches from the .357 lying on the floor, useless because of the way he was holding her down.

  They both appeared wounded. Maddie’s jeans were soaked with blood on her right side. The man’s were blood-soaked as well on the right thigh. His shirt was also dark with blood on the other side.

  Clearly Maddie had put up one hell of a fight, but if the man moved that knife a quarter of an inch, that fight would have been for nothing.

  He met Maddie’s gaze. Beyond the pain in her expression, he’d seen relief and fear in her blue eyes as he’d burst in. She was fighting the pain, and the fear he saw was for him more than herself. There was steely determination in her expression even with a knife blade at her throat. If Jamison hadn’t known how he felt about her before that moment, he did now. He would die trying to save her if that was what it took.

  “Put down your gun,” the man ordered. “Now!” He sounded as if he was injured enough that he couldn’t stay in his awkward position much longer—but plenty long enough to cut Maddie’s throat if only out of spite.

  “Okay,” Jamison said and took a step forward as he started to slowly lower the pistol to the floor. He kept his eyes locked with Maddie’s.

  “No,” she cried. She tried to shake her head, but the knife was so close, she froze when she felt the bite of the blade. He saw her swallow and then seem to give up.

  The man must have loosened his hold on her, because an instant later, she shifted a little to the right as if giving him permission for what he had planned and had tried to telegraph in his gaze.

  She’d managed to move only a couple of inches. It wasn’t much because of the way the man held her. As the attacker tried to get a better grip on her, the blade caught the light. Jamison saw the tip of the knife cut into her skin and had to steady his pulse.

  He would get only one chance. He had to make it count. That he had no choice went without saying. Maddie had put up a fight for her life. Like him, she knew the man wouldn’t have come here unless he planned to kill her. Kill them both, once Jamison put the gun on the tent floor.

  He’d dealt with men like this one when he was a detective. He knew the look of a desperate man. For some macabre reason, when trapped and about to die, they always felt they needed to take as many people with them as they could.

  Only an instant had passed. The sound of the helicopter grew louder. Outside the tent, a horse whinnied, then another. Jamison heard the jangle of tack as he continued to lean down slowly to put the gun on the floor.

  Someone was approaching on a horse. The man heard it, as well. “Geoff?” he called out. “Is that you?” He sounded excited, more confident. “Tony?” Whoever had ridden up, they’d distracted the man and bought Jamison a few precious seconds.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. It was more risky than anything he’d ever done. He didn’t dare think about how badly it could go wrong.

  About to place the gun on the floor, he suddenly dropped to his knees and raised the pistol. He didn’t have time to take perfect aim. All he could do was pray that his many hours on the shooting range didn’t fail him now.

  He fired.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE BULLET SEEMED suspended in air for those heart-stopping moments before it plowed into the man’s head. Jamison saw Maddie close her eyes. Like him, she had to be praying.

  The sound was incredibly loud within the walls of the canvas tent even with the noise of the helicopter as it approached.

  Jamison must have blinked, because when he opened his eyes all he saw was blood. For a moment he thought Maddie had been hit. Or worse, that the man had cut her throat in that instant before the bullet entered his brain and stopped him dead.

  He stumbled toward her. Her eyes were still closed. She lay a little to the side like a broken doll. A broken doll covered with blood.

  Then her eyes opened, and he thought his heart would burst from his chest. She struggled to get free of the dead man and wipe away the blood that had splattered on her. He saw that her shirt was open, her breasts bare.

  Jamison started to reach for her to cover her when he remembered the horse and rider they’d heard just before he took the kill shot. He swung around at the sound of someone approaching the tent. As he grabbed the corner of the tent flap and jerked it back, his weapon ready, he saw a man he recognized.

  Clete Reynolds quickly lowered the gun he’d been holding as his gaze moved past Jamison to the dead man at the far end of the tent. “You got Alex. Good.”

  “Drop the gun,” Jamison said to the man, not sure if he was one of the drug runners or one of the good guys. Nor did he have time to find out. “Get down!”

  Clete did as he was told, lying flat in the snow, his hands behind him as Jamison picked up his gun and snapped on the cuffs.

  Overhead the helicopter circled, whirling the fresh new snow into a blinding storm.

  “Don’t move,” Jamison ordered and went back into the tent.

  Maddie stood where he’d left her, looking stunned. He rushed to her, took her in his arms and lowered her gently to one of the cots. He could see where her blood-soaked jeans had a slit in them. He could see torn flesh beneath the fabric.

  He took care of that first, taking a nearby towel and ripping off a strip to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, the blade hadn’t hit a main artery. Then he removed his coat and put it around her. She was shivering uncontrollably.

  As the helicopter engine shut off and the whomp whomp of the blades died down, he heard Undersheriff Dillon Lawson ordering Clete to stay down.

  “We’ll get you out of here to a doctor as soon as possible,” Jamison told Maddie as he drew her into his arms, holding her and thanking God that he’d gotten back to camp when he had. He held her tightly, more grateful than she could know that his prayers had been answered.

  “I’m all right.” Her words sounded hollow. He’d seen the dazed look in her eyes as she’d struggled to her feet, struggled to wipe the man’s blood from her face.

  She had the .357 clutched in her right hand. He could hear the undersheriff calling his name. Jamison gently took the gun from her and, seeing that she was crying, wiped away the blood and her tears with his shirttail. With her dead husband’s shirttail, he thought.

  * * *

  WHEN NETTIE CAME down to the store early that morning, she saw J.D. loading a suitcase into his pickup. She was still sore from her acc
ident yesterday and not moving all that well. Last night, she’d had trouble getting to sleep and blamed both Frank and J.D. for that.

  “Are you going on a trip?” she asked, even though she knew better.

  He turned quickly as if startled. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

  “J.D.? What’s going on?” She hated that her voice broke. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d miss him. She’d enjoyed his company and the attention he gave her. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was.

  But at the same time, she didn’t trust him, knew she never could.

  “I was going to drive up to your house before I left,” he said as he closed his pickup door and came toward her. “I was going to say goodbye.”

  “So it’s goodbye?” She wasn’t surprised. He’d never been the type to stick around long. For all these years he hadn’t needed Beartooth. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “I have some business I need to take care of and it can’t wait.” He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and finally stuffed them into the front pockets of his jeans.

  He looked sheepish, and she wondered if it was from what had happened between them or because she’d caught him before he could escape. She didn’t believe he’d planned to say goodbye to her. Unfortunately, J. D. West was also the kind of man who would rather sneak out of town than face any consequences.

  “I didn’t want you to think...”

  “Think what, J.D.? That you sweet-talked your way into my bed? Or that I might think it meant more than it did?”

  “Nettie, darlin’—”

  “I’m not your darlin’ and I’m not a fool. What happened between us meant the same thing to me that I suspect it did you. Just old friends comforting each other.”

  “Is that how it was for you?” he asked, his gaze searching hers.

  She would never tell just what it had meant to her or how much she’d needed that reminder that she was still alive, still a healthy passionate woman who deserved better than she’d been getting.

  “Still, I owe you my life,” she said. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been killed by Frank’s crazy ex-wife.”

  “I was just in the right place at the right time. Like I told you, I’m no hero, Nettie.” He sounded sad about that, but it was probably the most sincere words the man had spoken to her.

  “You won’t be back, will you?”

  He looked toward the Crazies. “I wish I could stay.” His gaze came back to her. “I mean it, Nettie. If I could stay, I’d give Frank Curry a run for his money.”

  She shook her head. She’d never understand men. “That’s why you sweet-talked your way into my bed? It was only to make him jealous?”

  J.D. laughed. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the hell out of it, and if it made Frank jealous...” He looked behind her. “And it appears it worked like a charm.” He stepped to her and lowered his voice. “Don’t let Frank take you for granted anymore. You deserve a man who gives you what you need.” His gaze met hers again and she felt the heat of his look. “If things were different...” He kissed her quickly then stepped back.

  That was when Nettie saw Frank. “I need to speak with Nettie. Alone,” Frank said through gritted teeth.

  “Not a problem. I was just leaving town,” J.D. said. “She’s all yours.” He winked at Nettie before he opened his pickup door and slid behind the wheel.

  It wasn’t until after J.D. had driven away that Frank demanded, “What the hell do you see in him?”

  “Is that really what you wanted to talk to me about, Frank?”

  He pulled off his Stetson and combed his fingers through his hair in obvious irritation. When he spoke his voice was soft and calm. “Is he really gone?”

  “Looks that way.”

  He met her gaze. “Did you—”

  “Like him? I did. Am I heartbroken to see him go? No. It was just nice to be with a man who liked me.”

  “I like you.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Oh, come on, Lynette. You have to know the way I feel about you.”

  She stood firm. “Why don’t you tell me, Frank.”

  He swallowed and turned the brim of his Stetson nervously in his fingers. “I’d do anything for you. I think the world of you. I... Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

  “I have to open the store and I’m tired of hearing your platitudes,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Lynette!”

  She kept walking.

  “Lynette?”

  She’d just reached the porch steps when he finally said the words she’d been waiting years to hear.

  “Oh, hell, woman. I love you!”

  She stopped, her back to him.

  “I said ‘I love you,’” he repeated more softly. She could hear him approaching but waited until he touched her shoulder before turning around. “I said I love you.”

  “Are you just saying this now because J.D.—”

  “I’ve wanted to say it for a long time but I was afraid, and then Tiffany came to town and then Pam. I was worried if they knew how I felt, one of them would hurt you. As it was, Pam almost killed you.”

  “I take it she’s long gone?”

  “Every law-enforcement officer in the Northwest is looking for her. The truck she took from the Westfall ranch that she tried to run you down with was found in Williston, North Dakota, and a car was stolen there and later dropped in Minnesota. So we think she’s gone. At least for the time being.”

  “So, Frank.” She cupped his warm jaw. “Just tell me one thing, then. Are you going to kiss me or not?”

  He smiled and pulled her to him. The kiss was just as she remembered from when they were young. It felt so right being in his arms. She felt as if she’d finally come home and assured herself there was still time for the two of them.

  * * *

  JAMISON LEFT HER in the tent, promising to come back and get her flown out as soon as he could. Maddie tried to stop shaking. The air in the tent had turned ice-cold, but nothing like the cold that had taken hold of her.

  She knew she was in shock. No one could go through what she’d just experienced without coming out shell-shocked.

  Once he’d gotten her leg to quit bleeding, he’d taken his coat back and wrapped her instead in a sleeping bag with specific orders not to move. She had turned her face away from what was left of the dead man. But out of the corner of her eye she’d seen the dark red splattered on the side of the tent and shuddered.

  As much as she wanted to do as Jamison had said, she couldn’t bear to have the man’s blood on her. Getting up, she limped over to the stove. She barely felt her wounded leg, barely felt the other cuts and bruises on her body, the pain inside her was so intense.

  The pot of water on the stovetop had gone cold, but she dipped the remainder of the towel Jamison had used to bind her wound into the icy water and began to wash her face. She felt numb, and not even the freezing water could make her colder. When she’d finished, she dried her face with the towel they’d been using to dry the dishes.

  For the first time she felt as if she could breathe. Limping back to the cots and doing her best to ignore the body between them, she took off her cut flannel shirt and bra. The cold air in the tent skittered over her skin, dimpling it, as she drew out a fresh bra and shirt.

  Her fingers were still shaking, giving her trouble with the snaps. She finally gave up and climbed back up on the cot, drawing the sleeping bags around her.

  Outside the tent, she could hear Jamison filling the undersheriff in on everything, including the discovery of the downed plane and the load of drugs.

  She was thankful for these few minutes to herself so she could get her emotions in check. Her chest hurt from keeping in the tears. She still couldn’t cry, even when she thought about her relief at hearing the helicopter and realizing at least part of her ordeal was over.

  So much had happened. So much had c
hanged, she thought. Before Jamison had left the tent, she’d watched him search Alex’s body and pocket his cell phone, a set of keys and a map.

  Now she listened to the undersheriff calling for backup, ordering a second chopper, paramedics and DEA agents. “We also are going to need to get at least three bodies out at this count. Maybe more. We have one injured citizen, as well.”

  Jamison stuck his head into the tent. She pretended to be asleep and didn’t open her eyes. A few moments later she heard him being interviewed by the undersheriff. Clete gave his statement, as well. She listened as he gave Dillon the drug runners’ full names. Alex Branson. Tony Adams. Geoff Worthington.

  Apparently he had known them at college, played football with them. It had been Clete who’d provided them with horses and brought them into the mountains under the men’s ruse that they wanted to make the trip into Yellowstone Park just because it was something they’d always wanted to do.

  Geoff Worthington was dead, Clete explained. He’d been shot during an altercation involving Clete and Tony Adams. Tony had apparently shot Geoff by accident while attempting to kill Clete.

  “And where is this Tony Adams?” the undersheriff asked.

  “The last I saw of him, he was on a horse loaded with the coke headed for Gardiner,” Clete said.

  Maddie heard the silence before Dillon barked, “We have another one out there somewhere. Let’s find him.”

  “You might want to take a look at this,” she heard Jamison say. “This is Alex’s cell phone. There is one number he called numerous times.”

  “I suspect it is whoever Alex was getting his information from,” Clete said. “He made a couple of calls that I saw. They would need someone to pick them up when they brought the drugs out and let them know if there was anything up here they needed to worry about.”

  “Like Deputy Jamison and Mrs. Conner,” Dillon said.

  Maddie heard Dillon contact his office. “Got it,” he said a few minutes later. She listened as he made a call to Sheriff Frank Curry.