Gin Fling: Bootleg Springs Book Five

by Score, Lucy

  He backed away and slashed the air with the knife, ranting incoherently.

  Okay, deep breaths. He’d bound my hands but not my feet. That was a good thing. The zip tie was good, too. But I needed to get that knife away from him long enough for me to break the tie and unlock the door.

  Difficult. Yes. But not impossible. I’d completed a damn triathlon today… yesterday? I was faster now than I was when I was twenty-two. Stronger, too.

  He’d tried this before, and I’d won. I had to win again.

  Dawn was breaking. The soft light chasing the dark.

  I needed the light so I could see where I was running. Focus on getting out of the cabin, I told myself.

  “We should have been together, Shelby. But you made me do this. You made me hurt you. And now it’s too late,” he raged.

  He hit me with a backhand, which I’d always detested in movies. It felt insulting, degrading. It was both in reality, and it hurt like hell. My face stung.

  I shook my head to clear my vision. The shadow was back at the window. But this time, it wasn’t just a shadow.

  It was a face peering cautiously through the dirty glass.

  Henrietta VanSickle.

  My heart lurched in my chest. I wasn’t all alone. It wasn’t up to just me.

  What was she going to do? What was I going to do? I needed seventeen plans for all the contingencies. Was she calling for help? Was she creating a diversion? How did people in movie action sequences always manage to communicate their intentions?

  God, my face hurt.

  My thoughts were scrambling, and I did my best to slow them down. I needed to disable Christian temporarily, break the zip tie, and make it out the front door. That meant I couldn’t be gentle, and I couldn’t miss.

  “How did you find me, Christian?” I said loudly. If things went bad, at least Henrietta would have a name to give authorities.

  “The man,” he said. “The man. The man.” He was chanting it now.

  “A man told you how to find me?” I didn’t know what was delusion, what was truth.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

  “Why? Why?” he roared. “Because you always were mine, and you just kept fighting it. You couldn’t just accept it.”

  He was back in my face. The knife pressed against my throat this time. I felt the tip of it prick my skin, felt the hot response of blood. He dragged the blade slowly, shallowly across my neck. I held my breath. One false move and—

  The window shattered.

  His head swiveled on his neck, the knife thankfully moving a few scant inches away from my flesh. I acted on instinct that would have had my self-defense instructor standing up and applauding. Leaning back, I snapped my head forward, connecting with Christian’s face.

  Oh my god. That hurt. If my head ever stopped hurting, it would be a miracle.

  I lashed out with my foot. Where the hell were my shoes? It wasn’t a good, clean shot. But it did the trick, sending the knife skittering across the floor.

  My next kick was to his groin, and as he fell, I rose from the chair. My legs were jelly. But I managed to step out of his reach and cross to the door. “Run!” I screamed to my hero Henrietta through the broken window.

  I reached for the knob, only remembering I was still bound when nothing happened.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” I hinged forward, watching as Christian came up on his hands and knees. He howled like a wounded animal. I didn’t know if I should kick him again to buy more time.

  But I needed to get the door open.

  I gritted my teeth and raised my wrists away from my back. Any shoulder flexibility I’d had previously was hindered by debilitating stiffness. I brought my wrists down against my back hard. God that hurt, and it didn’t work.

  Christian spit blood on the floor and started to crawl in my direction.

  I slammed my hands down again, this time breaking the tie. My shaking hands made a mess of trying to unlock the front door, but I managed to open the door and slam it behind me.

  I heard him hit the door a second later.

  “Run!” I yelled again in case Henrietta was still in the area. I took off, jumping the two steps to the ground. My feet hit the ground as the front door burst open behind me. I didn’t stop to look.

  I just ran.

  * * *

  Q. Do you have a favorite Bootlegger?

  Henrietta Van Sickle: While favoritism is not oft encouraged in relationships with friends, I would certainly be remiss if I did not mention Gibson Bodine. Neither one of us minds a good silence. He has a warm heart beating under the layers of gruffness and antipathy. You can count on him. And in the end, that’s what matters most. Consistency. Loyalty. Gibson is the definition of always.

  56

  Shelby

  I did not recommend running barefoot through unfamiliar woods with a mad man chasing me. Zero stars. Both thumbs down.

  I had started down the drive but worried that Christian would appear in the car—the same damn car that had toyed with me on Mountain Road. So after about a hundred yards, I scurried off the path and into the woods.

  Branches whipped me in the face, and I hoped to God I wouldn’t have escaped only to lose an eye.

  There was nothing ninja about my escape. It was either stealth or speed, and I opted for the latter. I barreled through the forest sounding like a herd of wildebeest.

  “Someone help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Literally anyone!”

  I could hear him behind me. He wasn’t as fast as I was, but the brush was getting thicker, and I was slowing down.

  I dodged back in what I hoped was the direction of the drive. If he was on foot, maybe I could beat him on even ground.

  It was still dim, too dim to see far enough ahead of me.

  A fallen tree caught me mid-shin, and I went down hard.

  All I wanted to do today was eat a bunch of dino nuggets and lay around watching horror movies. Was that asking too much? Instead I was hurling myself through the woods in a ruined dress and hoping to God someone would find me before Christian did.

  I dragged myself up and limped over the log.

  Something snapped behind me, and I could hear his ragged breathing. He was too close.

  I started to run again. Something big and black moved in my peripheral vision.

  On instinct, I glanced as I flew past. I caught a glimpse of fur and teeth, the glimmer of eyes.

  “Holy fucking shit!” I screamed as the bear lazily turned its head in my direction.

  The last of my adrenaline dumped into my system, and I turned into a sprinter. I hurdled another fallen tree, turning my ankle hard on the landing. But there was no way I was going to be a bear snack.

  I ran on, the trees parting to reveal what looked like trail or driveway. I heard Christian behind me and poured on the speed. There was a roar.

  And at first I thought bear, but somewhere a rational part of my brain identified it as souped-up pickup truck.

  I ran toward the sound.

  Headlights cut through the gloom of the woods. I was looking over my shoulder and didn’t realize the trail turned.

  I came to the turn nearly meeting the grill of the truck. It stopped so suddenly it stalled. I fell backward, and then Christian was on me. He hit me in the face again. Then his hands closed around my neck.

  Things got blurry at that point. There were voices. Angry ones. I bit and clawed at my captor fighting for my life, and then suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. The weight was lifted from my chest.

  “Shelby girl, open your eyes and look at me!” Someone snapped out the command.

  “There’s a…” I coughed, trying to clear my throat.

  “Are you okay? Open your eyes!”

  I pried one eye open and realized the other one was glued shut with blood or sap or a combination of the two.

  Gibson was looking down at me. GT pushed in on my range of vision.

  “There was a bear,” I murmured.<
br />
  “Did she say there was a fucking bear?” GT demanded.

  “Henrietta,” I rasped.

  “She called me,” Gibson said. “That’s how we found you.”

  “She okay? The bear didn’t get her, did it?”

  “We’ll find her,” Gibson promised.

  “Where’s Jonah?” I asked, trying to sit up.

  “He’s taking care of some business,” Gibson said, looking beyond us.

  “You stay right where you are,” GT insisted. “You almost ate grill.” He tapped the bumper of the truck.

  “He’s sick,” I whispered. “Christian. He’s mentally ill.”

  “Shelby, sweetheart? You okay?” Jameson came into my watery frame of vision.

  “My head hurts real bad, and I’m so hungry. My feet hurt, too. I think I stepped on every burr in the woods. Where’s Jonah? Where’s the bear?”

  “Jonah’s just fine,” Jameson promised.

  “Where is she?” I heard Scarlett’s shriek and more car doors.

  “Scarlett!” Devlin called.

  I heard sirens then. A lot of them. Morning arrived with flashes of blue and red. And I realized the Bodines had raced law enforcement and won.

  The faces above me jostled, and I was staring up into Jonah’s green eyes.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  He cupped my face in his hands. His breathing was ragged. There was rage and panic and fear in those beautiful eyes of his.

  “Why are your hands bleeding?” I asked.

  “Why is your head bleeding?” he countered.

  “Oh. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or sap. Do I still have both eyes?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Two of the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Jonah dropped his forehead to mine.

  “Ow.” I winced.

  “Sorry, Shelby honey,” he said, gathering me into his arms.

  “I head butted him,” I said, sighing into his chest. He was still wearing his groomsman shirt and suspenders. There was blood melting into the white. I wasn’t sure whose it was. “Then there was a bear.”

  “Can we get some EMTs over here?” Gibson yelled over the ruckus of sirens and new voices. “Think our girl’s got a concussion.”

  “Hey, Jonah,” I said.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Thanks for making me so fast.”

  “You scared the hell out of me, Shelby Thompson,” he whispered in my ear, gently brushing my hair back from my face.

  “Scared me a little bit, too. Henrietta saw me. She broke the window. Then you saved me.”

  “Gibs almost ran you over.”

  “Wouldn’t that have been ironic? Survive a kidnapping and murder attempt, a bear, and then get taken out by a pickup truck.” I gave a half-hearted snort-laugh.

  “That’s not gonna be funny for the next thirty years or so. So don’t be trying to joke about it.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” A burly woman in uniform came into my line of sight. She set an official-looking medical bag down next to me.

  “I’m a ma’am,” I insisted.

  Jonah gave a weak laugh. “She’s talking to me, Shelby. She wants me to give her a little room so she can get a look at you.”

  “Don’t leave me,” I demanded, clinging to him.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where is he?” Sheriff Tucker sounded weary beyond his years, and I realized there was a whole heck of a lot we had to tell him.

  “He’s over there,” Jameson said. “He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

  “Is he…” I didn’t want to finish the question. I didn’t really want the answer.

  “Just let the nice lady look you over, Shelby. We’ll worry about everything else later,” Jonah advised.

  I thought that sounded really smart.

  57

  Jonah

  I rode with Shelby in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The EMTs assured me about fifty-six times that she was okay. That the blood was mostly from her head wound. That the cut on her throat was not life-threatening.

  But my hands were still shaking.

  They bandaged my raw knuckles, and Shelby and I sported matching ice packs over blooming black eyes.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever stop seeing that moment when the man tore out of the woods and fell on her. Intent on removing the woman I loved from this world. That was going to take a long time to get past, to not see every time I closed my eyes.

  But it helped to look at Shelby smiling up at me like I was her hero.

  I’d pulled him off her, dragged him away, and unleashed the rage I was feeling on him.

  He’d got in a few lucky shots, but it wasn’t an even match. Jameson dragged me off him, though I wasn’t happy about it at the time. But Christian was still alive and now in police custody.

  He wasn’t answering questions like how he found Shelby, but I had a suspicion that I wanted to run by Sheriff Tucker.

  They wheeled Shelby into a room in the emergency department, and I planted myself in a chair in the corner while the staff poked and prodded her and asked her a million questions. I held her hand between tests.

  The verdict: A concussion, a ton of bruising, and residual soreness from her triathlon.

  “Shelby!” James and Darlene paused in the doorway, looking at their daughter on a gurney.

  “Hi, guys,” she said cheerfully.

  While the Thompsons fussed over Shelby, I spotted Sheriff Tucker outside and excused myself.

  “Had a long conversation with your mother about an hour ago,” Sheriff Tucker said mildly, handing me a cup of coffee. “She had some interesting theories regarding an ongoing investigation.”

  “I’ve got a few theories of my own,” I said, taking a sip. “It was a sealed record,” I told him. “How many people have access to sealed records?”

  “Shelby got into a sealed record,” the sheriff reminded me. “Can’t be that hard.”

  “But add it to the rest. Someone took out Abbie Gilbert. Someone scared Cece Benefiel enough to make her recant her statement and now leave her house. Those remains are not Callie Kendall, but someone changed the report. Harrell said a man sent him. I think that man was Judge Kendall. Maybe he didn’t do his own dirty work,” I said before the sheriff could argue. “Maybe he has people who don’t mind getting dirty.”

  Sheriff Tucker peered into his coffee as if he were looking for the answers. “The kid was off his meds. Hallucinations and delusions are common for his diagnosis.”

  Frustration brought my blood to a simmer. “Look, I know that we have a mountain of suspicion without a scrap of real evidence. But that’s your job. You connect these dots. He screwed up somewhere, and you need to catch him.”

  “If any of this is true—” The sheriff leaned in and lowered his voice. “Any one piece of it, we’re dealing with a very dangerous individual. And I am counting on you and the rest of your family to stay real quiet while I look into this. If we’re going to get this bastard in a cage, it’s gonna be because we crossed every T and dotted every I. We’re not getting a confession out of him. We’re building a case piece by piece until that cell door slams shut, got it?”

  Sheriff Tucker believed us. He believed my mom. And for the first time, I believed that everything was going to be okay.

  Unbelievably grateful, I nodded. “I give you my word. My family won’t throw a wrench in this. We’ve got a lot riding on the truth.”

  “Good. Now, a word of warning. Gibson and Scarlett aren’t gonna make it easy on you. They’re hot-headed like their daddy. You’re gonna have to impress upon them how important it is that this doesn’t leak. Because if there’s even a whisper of the truth, whoever sent Christian Harrell after Shelby will try again.”

  I nodded. I would do whatever it took to keep Gibs and Scarlett in line if it meant Shelby would stay safe. “I won’t let anyone do anything to jeopardize her safety.”

  “You’re a good man, Jonah. Just like your brothers,” he said.

&nbs
p; “Sorry for ruining the wedding for you,” I said.

  His mustache twitched. “My daughter married the love of her life last night. Far as I can see, nothing got ruined ’cept maybe Misty Lynn’s designs on your brother.”

  I’d forgotten all about her hissy fit. “I have a feeling she’ll survive.”

  “Appreciate your time, Jonah,” he said, all business again. “Now, why don’t you get your girl and take her home? Word on the street is she’s gonna be discharged within the hour.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  True to the sheriff’s prediction, Shelby was discharged an hour later. She had a concussion, a lot of bruising, and a very empty stomach.

  “All things considered, I feel pretty good,” she chirped as I buckled her into the car.

  “All things considered, you look pretty good, too,” I said, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose. She looked awful. Her eye was swollen and purple. Her throat was bandaged. There were bruises all over her arms, and she winced every time she moved.

  Scarlett arrived with a change of clothes for Shelby, shorts and an Enjoy the Journey t-shirt. The rest of us were still in our wrinkled, bloodied wedding gear.

  “My parents said that Gibson got a hold of Henrietta Van Sickle, and she’s okay,” Shelby said. “She saved my life. I’m so glad she wasn’t eaten by a bear.”

  “About that bear—” I began.

  “Jonah, I am starving,” she complained. “I barely had anything for dinner last night thanks to the sex in the shed—did I tell you I had to confess that part to Sheriff Tucker? Talk about embarrassing. And I know you just want to drag me home and tuck me in bed, but if I don’t eat something soon, my body will go into starvation mode and start hoarding fat, and it’ll probably trigger a flare.”

  I sighed, dropping my head against the seat. I was so tired. But a sit-down with the family might be what we both needed.

  I cracked open an eye and looked at the clock on the dashboard. “We’ve got enough time to make the wedding brunch.”