by Joanna Wayne
Rio would be great this time of the year.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace opened her eyes and fought the dregs of sleep. Shadows crept about her walls like long-legged witches in the dim gray of predawn.
Reality checked in with a sudden vengeance.
She had to get moving. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the bathroom.
Move quickly but quietly. Get out while the others sleep.
Grace took care of her bathroom needs including brushing her teeth. That done, she slid her wet toothbrush into its plastic holder and dropped it and the toothpaste into the tote.
In seconds she’d pulled on jeans and a blue sweatshirt. The red boots took a little longer, but she wasn’t about to leave them behind.
Not bothering with a hairbrush or makeup, she slid her handbag and tote over her left shoulder and grabbed her parka.
Barely daring to breathe, she eased open the bedroom door. The hinges squeaked. Not loud, but still she hesitated, half expecting Pierce to come rushing down the hallway.
He didn’t. She looked back only once as she tiptoed down the hall and tiptoed through the family room.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered as she opened the front door and then closed it quietly behind her.
She was leaving a huge part of herself and most of her heart behind. So much had happened over these past few days.
She’d made a friend in Esther.
She’d let a precocious little girl worm her way into her heart.
She’d fallen in love.
And if she kept thinking like this, she’d never drive out the gate.
Once the door closed behind her, she rushed to her car, opened the unlocked door and tossed her tote and handbag into the passenger seat. She refused to let herself look back at the house as she pushed the key into the ignition.
She turned the key. There was a low growl and then nothing. She tried again. This time there was less of a growl. The engine stayed silent. She tried repeatedly with the same results.
Her frustration swelled to breaking. She beat on the steering wheel with her fists. This wasn’t an accident. Pierce hadn’t wanted her to leave the ranch and he’d made sure she couldn’t.
But this wasn’t his decision to make.
She got out of her car and rushed over to Pierce’s truck. She’d drive it to the nearest Greyhound bus stop and get the first bus to anywhere.
The truck doors were locked tight, though she knew he’d left it open and the keys dangling from the ignition when they’d come back from town yesterday.
She walked over to Esther’s car but knew she’d find the same. Locked. Pierce was nothing if not thorough—and stubborn.
Pierce thought he could make everything right, but he didn’t know Tom Lacoste the way she did.
Grace started to shake. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t drive away, but she couldn’t just go back inside, either. Pierce and Esther would be getting up any minute and she refused to let them see her this desperate.
Pierce would take her in his arms and this time he might make her believe he could protect them all from Tom Lacoste.
He’d be wrong.
She stumbled away from the house, paying no attention to where she was going until she realized she was on the long stone path to the horse barn. Riding might be the only thing that could settle her ragged nerves and help her handle the exasperation.
Saddling Pansy did little to ease her anxiety. If anything, the quiet, dark barn was making things worse. She could almost swear someone was watching her from the shadows.
The eerie sensation didn’t go away until she’d put distance between her and the horse barn. She took Pansy to a full gallop, leaving the house, the horse barn and even Pierce far behind her.
She’d never wanted anything in her life more than she wanted to spend Christmas on the Double K Ranch. But every minute she stayed brought them all closer to tragedy.
One way or another, she’d be on her way before dark set in again.
Chapter Eighteen
Amazing how even the best laid plans sometimes changed for the better. This was turning into perfection in every way. The old spirit churned inside Tom. He couldn’t return to the life he’d loved, but things were shifting his way.
First, he’d forced Calvin Grange to open his safe, promising all he would take was the twelve million that was actually his. But once he’d shot Calvin and his bodyguard, there was nothing to stop him from taking the twenty-plus million just lying around in Calvin’s safe.
And now Grace was out alone at daybreak, walking—or rather riding—right into his hands. He’d been hiding out in the tack room, waiting for enough light to see his way around, when Grace had practically stumbled into the horse barn.
He’d ducked behind stacks of feed and watched her while she’d hefted a heavy saddle from the stand. He could have killed her then, but his fun might have been interrupted by the cowboy.
Killing was far more enjoyable when it was slow and torturous. In Grace’s case, that was mandatory.
Tom wasn’t afraid of the cowboy, but he’d likely be toting. It would be better to take him one-on-one.
To Tom’s surprise, the clueless cowboy hadn’t shown and Grace had started her ride alone.
She’d always loved to ride, had begged Tom to buy her a horse when they were first married. He didn’t, mainly because he loved watching her beg.
Tom had ridden when he was younger, but he liked things that moved faster, like the Porsche his dad had bought him when he turned sixteen.
A dark brown horse with a mane that looked like it had been splattered with white paint snorted and pawed the ground as if he wanted out of his stall.
Tom checked out the horse’s name. He fisted his right hand and shook it at the horse. “You want a piece of this, Sargent? Take me on. Let’s see what you got. No? Then let’s take a ride.”
He went back to the tack room for a halter and reins, not bothering with a bridle or saddle. He wouldn’t be riding far. Once he caught up with Grace, the real fun would start.
He wouldn’t get to kill the others first for Grace’s viewing pleasure, but he’d find plenty of other ways to torture her.
And then he’d kill her.
If you double-cross Tom Lacoste, you pay.
Chapter Nineteen
Pierce climbed in the front seat of the squad car and introduced himself.
The deputy offered his hand. “Kirk Jenkins. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep and figured a walk might help clear my mind.”
It also gave him a chance to check out the area. He wasn’t worried. He had a flashlight in his pocket and a Smith and Wesson on his hip.
He still found it hard to believe a guy who was trying to flee the country with a safeful of cash before he was arrested for murder would be dumb enough to travel to Texas to kill his ex-wife.
But even dumb enemies carried smart bullets.
“Did Sheriff Cavazos tell you why I needed security?”
“We covered it. Is there anything new I should know?”
“No, but I don’t want to frighten my daughter. If she asks why you’re here, just tell her you’re waiting to see me about some cattle business.”
“Right. Any other particulars I should know about?”
“Esther knows about Reid Peterson’s murder but doesn’t know anything about Tom Lacoste. I’m leaving it up to Grace to tell her what she wants her to know about that, so I’ll just inform Esther you’re here to provide some extra security.”
“Got it.”
“Grace is not to leave the ranch without me under any circumstances.”
“Loo
ks like somebody’s fixin’ to head out now,” Kirk said. “Car door’s already open.”
Pierce swore under his breath. He wasn’t surprised, but he was irritated that Grace had so little faith in him. She’d no doubt figured out that he’d disabled the engine and was back in her bedroom fuming at him.
If that was the way it had to be to keep her there and safe, then it was the way it had to be.
“C’mon inside,” Pierce said as he got out of the squad car. “I’ll introduce you to Esther. This is actually her house.”
“Is she your aunt?”
“No, but she’s like kin, better than most.”
“Do you really want to wake her this early?”
“It’s Christmas Eve and the sun is peeking over the horizon. Believe me, she’ll be up, probably already cooking breakfast. She’ll offer you some. Take it. Whatever it is, you’ll love it.”
Just as he figured, Pierce smelled fresh brewed coffee and frying bacon the minute they stepped inside. They joined Esther in the kitchen and Pierce did the introductions.
Esther looked Kirk over. “If you’re here with bad news, we don’t want it,” she said. That didn’t stop her from filling a couple of mugs with coffee and handing one to Kirk.
“I hired him to give us a little extra security. I thought it might make you and especially Grace feel a bit safer.”
“I got a shotgun to make me feel safe and I’ll wager I’m as good a shot as the deputy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kirk said. “I believe you. I’m not expecting there to be any shooting today, but if there is, I’d appreciate you leaving it up to me. Gotta earn my pay.”
“Does Grace know about this?” Esther asked.
“No. Would you explain Kirk to her when she gets up? I’ve got to see the animals are taken care of. It’s Christmas Eve and we gave Buck the day off, but I won’t be gone long.”
“You can take a minute to talk to Grace, Pierce Lawrence.”
He nodded. He’d rather give her time to cool down over the car trick, but he might as well face her.
He tapped lightly on her door.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder this time.
Still no answer.
He opened the door a crack. “I can explain, Grace.”
Still no response. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bed was unmade but empty. The bathroom door was open. She wasn’t in there, either.
She was gone. If this was a stunt to get back at him, it wasn’t funny. Anxiety scratched along his nerve endings. He rushed outside. No sign of her. He called twice.
He raced to his truck, unlocked it and grabbed his rifle. There were muddy hoofprints and boot prints all over the front yard from last night, but there were some new ones, too. He studied them to determine which ones were the most recent. Grace’s boot prints rambled but ended up at the path to the horse barn.
Okay. He could calm down. She’d probably taken Pansy for a ride to ease her frustration with him. It made sense.
Still, the anxiety swelled.
His own words to Malone came back to haunt him. Tom Lacoste could be in Texas.
Pierce took off running. It was almost full daylight now. If she was off on Pansy, it would be easy to follow the hoofprints in the wet earth.
He was breathing hard when he reached the horse barn. Pansy was gone, but they couldn’t be far. She’d left the door open to her car while he was meeting the deputy at the gate. He walked over and opened Rocket’s stall.
That was when he noticed that Sargent’s stall was empty. Someone else was on the ranch.
He led Rocket outside and jumped on his back. There was no time for a saddle. “I’m counting on you, Rocket. Don’t let me down. Please don’t let me down.”
* * *
GRACE SLOWED PANSY to a walk and put her hand to her eyes to block the glare of the early-morning sun. She’d been riding for nearly an hour, most of the time mentally drowning in her dilemma.
She’d practically given Pansy free rein. The horse seemed to know where she was going. They’d made some turns, avoided some wooded areas, crossed a creek Grace didn’t remember crossing yesterday and taken a rocky climb up several steep hills.
All well and good at the time, but Grace was ready to turn and head back to the house now and nothing looked familiar. She was officially lost.
Pansy stopped to chew on some tall grass at the edge of a clearing.
“No, girl, no picnicking yet. You got me here. Get me back to the horse barn.”
Grace squeezed her legs tighter and rocked back and forth in the saddle. Pansy responded, walking forward and finally breaking into a trot. Almost immediately, the area began to look familiar. A cluster of tree stumps. Two twin oaks, both with roots that crawled over the top of the ground in all directions.
And then she spotted the spring-fed pond where they’d seen the deer yesterday. Pansy wasn’t stupid. She’d ended up at a watering hole.
Grace dismounted and looped the reins to a branch the way Pierce had done yesterday. Pansy stepped into the water, lowered her head and drank.
Grace heard what sounded like hoofbeats not too far behind her. It was probably Pierce following her. She spun around, but no one was there. If they were, they were hidden by the thick clump of mesquite off to her left.
If it was Pierce, he wouldn’t be hiding from her. Anxiety clutched at her chest. Paranoia or survival instincts? Or were they one and the same when dealing with Tom Lacoste?
No matter how flustered she’d been, it had been stupid to ride off alone without telling anyone where she was going. Pierce would be worried and undoubtedly annoyed that she’d tried to leave without his knowing.
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her parka and punched in Pierce’s number.
“Are you calling me, sweetheart? No need. I’m right behind you.”
Tom. Fear gripped her, turned her body to stone. She’d always known this day would come. But why now. Dear, God, why now?
“You can at least turn around and look at me, Grace. It’s been a long time since you looked into my eyes and told me how much you love me.”
Finally, her brain and muscles clicked in. She took off running. She dared not slow down or look back, but she could hear him closing in on her.
Racing uphill, she spotted the old shed where a thousand spiders and scorpions lived. The kind of place Tom would love. A torture chamber furnished by nature.
Her phone rang and she realized it was still clutched in her hand. Pierce was calling. It had to be Pierce. She punched the talk button without slowing down and stuck the phone to her ear.
She had to warn him Tom was on the ranch. He had to protect Jaci and Esther. He had to protect himself from a madman.
“Tom.” She gasped, her lungs fighting for air as she tried to push the words from her mouth. “Tom. Swimming... Spiders...”
Tom’s hand closed on her right arm and the phone went flying from her fingers. Something cold and sharp pressed against the spine at the base of her skull.
A knife. He had a knife.
“Is this any way to welcome your husband?”
“Ex-husband.”
“Is that why you don’t seem pleased to see me, Grace?”
He laughed at his own joke, the same maniacal cackle that haunted her nightmares. Years in prison hadn’t changed him. He was the same beast he’d always been.
“Let go of me,” she ordered.
“You know I can’t do that—not before we’ve had our fun. Take off the jacket,” he ordered. “Let me see if you’ve let your body go to ruin without my money.”
“I’m not taking off anything.”
She heard the knife split the parka all the way down the back as if it were butter. “I said take o
ff the jacket.”
He was crazy. He’d as soon slice her open as the jacket. She let the ripped jacket slide down her arms and fall to the ground.
He forced her to the shed, the knife now pressed between her shoulder blades. It wasn’t pricking through the thick sweatshirt but was a constant reminder of how quickly he could slice a jugular vein or any other part of her body he chose.
“You don’t want to go into the shed, Tom. There are deadly spiders and scorpions in there. Wasps and hornets and snakes, too.”
“Now you’re just teasing me with all those promises of fun.”
He shoved her inside the shed. A new kind of fear made her blood run cold. A hand-sized hairy tarantula walked across the middle of the dingy shed as if he were the ruler of that terrifying world.
A huge black rat scampered across the dirty floor and disappeared under a shredded burlap bag. And in the right back corner, almost hidden by the shadows, a broken pitchfork leaned against a rusted ax.
She looked away quickly. If Tom noticed them, he’d find a new game to play.
He swatted at the myriad webs that brushed across their faces with every step. A large black spider fell onto the floor. Tom shuddered as he crushed it with his foot.
He was scared. She’d never seen him scared before, but he was scared of spiders and no doubt rats and scorpions, too. A wasp flew around Tom’s head.
He swatted at it and jumped backward. The knife slipped from his nervous fingers. Instinctively, she tried to break away again, kicking and throwing punches that never really connected.
Tom grabbed her and slammed her against the wall.
Pain shot through her shoulder. Dizzy and disoriented, she could do nothing to stop him as he retrieved the knife.
Using his right hand, he twisted her left arm behind her back until the pain grew so intense she couldn’t fight back the tears.
“Fall to your knees, Grace. Beg me to stop hurting you. Beg and lick my muddy shoes. Beg or I’ll break both your arms.”
“No.”
He twisted more.
