by Alice Sharpe
The trick would be to get Anthony off the back of that truck in case he had the guts to shoot out the lock before Pike could prevent it. Toward that goal, he gunned his way through the stop sign at the edge of the parking lot and drove under the branches of a low-hanging tree, hoping Anthony would be pried loose. He checked the mirror. Damn. Anthony did not lie sprawled on the wet pavement behind him. He was still on the truck.
A refrigerated truck. Handy for storing bodies. It was pretty obvious to Pike that Anthony had abducted or coerced Savannah Papadakis out of her apartment. Why, he wasn’t sure. But it was tied into Sierra, it had to be.
Again that almost preternatural sensation of her essence attacked his senses. He had to get rid of Anthony, he had to get the truck to safety, he had to see if Sierra was where his gut told him she was and, if so, what condition she was in.
He ran another stop sign a few blocks ahead and breezed through a red light a block after that. The windshield wipers barely kept up with the rain. He sat on his horn and flashed headlights at oncoming vehicles. It was a strange city to him and he had no idea where the police department was. It didn’t help that it was getting dark really fast. He wasn’t even sure of the exact location of the city center, as he’d followed road signs to get to the lake and they had skirted around business areas. He couldn’t possibly free his hands or his attention to check his phone for directions or even to chance making a call. Instead he drove with all the skill he’d learned since the day he turned ten and his father plopped him behind a wheel of a truck much like this one, with blocks tied to the pedals, and told him to follow the tractor around the field while they gathered huge rolls of hay.
Frankie was fond of saying that it always seemed there were too damn many cops in the world. Easy for Frankie to say as he was talking about scuffles, boyhood mischief and eventually more serious events, where the least welcome thing was the sight of a badge. What Pike wouldn’t give for a cop right now, and driving as fast as he was, certainly someone would call one in. For heaven’s sake, there was a man holding on to the back of a speeding, erratically driven old delivery truck. What did it take to get someone’s attention around here?
More horn honking and this time the driver honked back. Good. He flashed lights again, opened the window and waved his arm. All during this crazy drive, he constantly checked the rearview mirror because of Anthony. The guy had to be half limpet to have stayed on with that last turn. He slowed for a sharp right and that’s when his headlights flashed on a sign telling him the sheriff’s department was one mile up ahead. At that same moment, a siren announced itself from the road behind and Pike glanced in the mirror to see welcome red-and-blue lights in hot pursuit. He made it to the sheriff department’s parking lot and slowed to a stop. He opened the door in time to see Anthony run under the lights illuminating the gate with police in pursuit. More police warned Pike to stop where he was and keep his hands visible. As Pike settled both his hands on top of his head, the cops caught up with Anthony and disarmed him.
“He stole my truck. He’s a madman,” Anthony yelled. “I’m a businessman here in this city. Arrest him. What are you waiting for?” His face was pasty white, his hair and clothes soaked.
Pike opened his mouth. Before a word came out, they heard a banging noise coming from inside the truck and muffled sounds of distress.
“Shoot the locks,” someone said.
“No,” Pike said. “There might be a woman in there. That man has the keys.”
“Unlock the truck, sir,” the officer told Anthony, who looked frantically from one unyielding face to another before producing his key ring and throwing it to the pavement. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. The police set to work unlocking the truck as an officer cuffed Pike and led him to the back.
“Please,” Pike said as he paused. “My girlfriend...please. I have to see her. I have to know...”
“Someone get a light,” the man with the keys yelled and a bevy of flashlights switched on as the truck door rolled up on its chains.
Sierra sat against the side of the truck, gagged, her bound hands holding a chain connected to the wall. She had no weapon but herself. She must have kicked the truck to get their attention. Another woman in considerably worse condition lay beside her, eyes open but unblinking. Blood stained her blond hair. She stared at the lights as though caught in their glare as men jumped into the truck and leaned over her. A third woman cried out from farther forward, deep in the shadows, and Pike saw Sierra’s head swivel to see who it was.
She was older than the others by a decade, tied to cleats, sitting on a box, gagged. She was thin to the point of being gaunt and tangled dark hair swept the shoulders of a red cape. Dark eyes flashed in her face.
Sierra’s gasp was audible even through her gag, and as soon as it was removed, she whispered, “Savannah?”
“Savannah Papadakis,” Pike murmured to the officer by his side. “I think she’s been stuck in there for days.”
“Who’s the blonde on the floor?” the officer asked as the sound of ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. “It looks like she’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Natalia Bonaparte,” Sierra said.
“She’s been tortured,” the officer leaning down to tend to her muttered. He looked at Sierra. “How about you, miss?”
Sierra shook her head. “I’m fine. Just, please, help me stand.
It killed Pike not to be able to go to her aid, but soon enough she’d been freed from her bindings and helped from the truck. Sierra peered up at the sky for a second, closing her eyes as the rain pelted her face, then she moved toward Pike in slow motion, officers stepping aside as she passed. She stopped right in front of him, raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck. Her lips against his felt like heaven on earth. When she pulled away to gaze at him, he thought there might be tears on her cheeks, but with the rain streaking her face, who knew?
He just knew his eyes were damp and it had nothing to do with the weather.
“I love you,” she said, her voice hoarse but fierce. “I miss Daisy. I miss my horse.”
He smiled, a little confused. “Your horse? Which horse is that?”
“The red mare. What’s her name?”
“Ginger.”
“I miss Ginger. Please, please, take me home.”
Unable to put his cuffed arms around her, he kissed her forehead and rested his chin on top of her wet head. “I was just about to say the same damn thing to you,” he whispered.
Epilogue
Sierra had heard the tape a dozen times but the fear behind the hurried, whispered words still caused a shiver to race through her veins.
“Natalia? Pick up, oh, pick up. It’s me, Giselle. Are you there? I’m stuck in Max’s suite. He thinks I left, but we were smoking crack and I fell asleep... Anyway, that Rollo guy is here. I heard him and Max laughing about some man they put in prison on false charges... If they know I heard... Please, Natalia, answer the phone. I—” At this point the voice ended. Someone who sounded a lot like Maxwell Jakes swore. Giselle cried out, “No...”
That was it, but that had been enough. Minutes after she called Natalia, Max Jakes had allegedly held her head under water until she was dead, and an hour after that, someone fitting Anthony Bean’s description was seen dumping something the size and shape of a human body into the Hudson River. By the next afternoon Rollo Bean had used his informant to plant misleading evidence in the Ralph Yardley camp. And twelve hours later, Natalia Bonaparte threatened to take the police the tape of the underage call girl she’d sent to Max Jakes’s room a half-dozen times...unless a sizeable hunk of cash found its way into her offshore bank account. She disappeared soon after.
All three men were now under arrest and Giselle’s voice from beyond the grave had helped make that possible. And that made Sierra very happy.
But not as happy as sitting on thi
s bench in Central Park with Pike by her side. She rested her head against his and he kissed her hair. His arm around her shoulders felt wonderful and safe. He’d been in New York for three days and this was one of the few times they’d managed to dodge interviews, questions and the limelight to find peace without staying inside her apartment. Though it was cold, it felt great to just be outside and alone.
“I have to leave in another day or two,” he told her.
“I know.”
“I’ll come again.”
She looked into his eyes. “I know you will but I have a question. Do you think I could go back with you?”
A smile lit up his eyes. “I thought you might have said that the other night because of everything you’d just been through. Of course you can. I’d love that.”
“I can’t stay long,” she added. “Savannah is such a wreck she’s asked her husband for a reconciliation. Why in the world Anthony took her instead of just bashing her over the head when he stole her tablet is a mystery. And then there’s this case I’ve been working on—”
He cut her short by picking up her hand and kissing her fingers. “Sierra? Just stay however long you want. That’s all I ask.”
They stared at each other for a long moment and then both smiled at the same time. “Okay,” she said and looked around at the city skyline she loved, then back into Pike’s eyes. It was hard not to wonder if she’d ever have the heart to leave his side...
* * * * *
Look for Frankie’s story, the final book in
Alice Sharpe’s THE BROTHERS OF
HASTINGS RIDGE RANCH later this year.
You’ll find it wherever Harlequin books are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt from AMBUSH AT DRY GULCH by Joanna Wayne.
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Ambush at Dry Gulch
by Joanna Wayne
Chapter One
Carolina Lambert shifted in the porch swing so that she could look her neighbor R.J. Dalton in the eye while they talked. He rocked back and forth in his chair, sometimes looking at her, more often staring into space.
Her heart ached at the way his body grew weaker each day. He had already beaten the odds by more than two years, but the inoperable tumor in his brain was relentless. It was only a matter of time and yet there was a peace to his spirits that she envied.
He sipped his black coffee, his wrinkled hands so unsteady that it took both of them to hold his mug. “I reckon Brit told you that you better get over here and check on the old man while she took Kimmie in for her checkup.”
“No one has to coax me. Spending time with you is always my pleasure,” Carolina said truthfully.
But he was right. Even with a precious baby girl to keep her busy, his daughter-in-law Brit had pretty much taken over the job of coordinating the family’s schedule so that R.J. was never alone for more than a few minutes at a time.
“I swear you dropped off Saint Peter’s coattail, Carolina. You’re the best danged neighbor a scoundrel like me ever had. Best looking, too. Can’t believe you’re still running around single. Hugh’s been dead what? Three? Four years now?”
“Four and a half.”
“That’s a long time to put your life on hold.”
“My life’s not on hold. I’m busy all the time with my family, friends like you and countless projects.”
“Not the same as having a lover.”
“Now, what are you doing even thinking about lovers at your age?”
“I’m not dead yet. If I was thirty years younger and not playing hide-and-seek with the grim reaper, I’d be after you quicker than hell can scorch a feather.”
“You’ve done more than your share of chasing women, Reuben Jackson Dalton.”
“I caught a few mighty fine ones, too.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes cutting deep into the almost-translucent flesh. “Lived life on my terms, sorry as it was. By rights I ought to be drowning in regrets. Wasn’t for taking your advice about what to do with my ranch, I would be.”
“I can’t take credit for you turning your life around.”
“You don’t have to take it, by jiggers. I’m a-givin’ it to you. I offered to give you the Dry Gulch Ranch free and clear. You turned me down. Didn’t leave me much choice except to try your idea.”
“I suggested you leave the Dry Gulch Ranch to your family. That’s not a particularly inventive idea.”
“Sounded like crazy talk to me. Leave this ranch and what lottery winnings I had left to a bunch of strangers who wouldn’t have tipped their hats if I’d passed them on the street.”
“Until they got to know you.”
He nodded and rubbed his weathered, bony chin. “Blessing was I got to know them. Listen at me, talking about blessings. You have really rubbed off on me. Surprise, ain’t it, after me being a worthless rounder most of my eighty-plus ornery years?”
“You were never worthless.”
“I done plenty of stuff I’m not proud of, but I must have done something good along the way, like pick the right women to birth and raise my kids. You gotta admit, I got me some real winners. Got the smartest and cutest durned grandkids on the planet, too.”
“Next to mine,” Carolina teased. “So you really do have no regrets?”
“I’d like to trade a few more years with my family for all the ones I’ve wasted, but I’m good with what I’ve got.” He turned to watch a woodpecker in a nearby pine tree. “Would be lying if I didn’t say I have one other regret, though.”
“What is that?”
R.J. scratched his chin, his fingers poking into the loose pads of skin at his neck. “I’d just like the chance to sit around the table and chew the fat with Jake, one-on-one. At least make a stab at getting to know my firstborn, find out why he’s so set against being part of the family.”
Carolina swallowed hard, feeling his pain and fighting her own swelling anger. R.J. hadn’t been much of a father to any of his children when they were growing up, but what kind of adult son could just turn his back on his dying father? She tried not to think ill of anyone, but Jake Dalton was the exception.
She’d gone so far as to call him herself l
ast week, planned to beg if necessary to get him to pay R.J. a visit before it was too late. He’d been cool and aloof, until she’d pushed.
Then he’d struck out at her, accusing her of having done enough already to screw up R.J. and the rest of the Dalton clan. She might have found out what he meant by that if her temper hadn’t flared to the point that she’d hung up on him.
The man was arrogant, coldhearted and infuriating. If his mother was anything like him, no wonder R.J.’s first marriage had ended in divorce.
Of course, so had his other three marriages, so she definitely couldn’t absolve R.J. of fault.
“How’s your friend Mildred Caffey?” R.J. asked. “Has that no-good, wife-beater ex-husband of hers tried to get in touch with her since he got out of prison?”
“He hadn’t the last time we talked, but I know she’s worried that he will. It’s been good for her that she’s been so busy working on a project with me.”
“You don’t think she’ll go back to him, do you?”
“No. She’s much smarter and more emotionally stable now then she was when they were together.”
“Thanks to you.” R.J. swatted at a honeybee that had been flitting among the blossoms of the potted petunias scattered about the porch. “You go around rescuing every stray you see.”
“Only the ones who want my help. And Mildred isn’t a stray. She just made some bad choices along the way.”
“Sure as shooting, she did. I knew Thad Caffey was bad blood the first time I met him. Don’t know why a nice young woman like Mildred ever married a no-account skunk like that.”
“Love sometimes blinds people.”
“Reckon you’re right about...” He stopped midsentence, ran bony, knotty fingers through his thinning hair and stared into space.
He stayed silent so long Carolina feared he was fading into one of the spells he had far too often these days. Times when he drifted into another world, one where he didn’t recognize his own family. One where he visited a woman from his past or from his dreams.
