Rescued by the Ranger

by Dixie Lee Brown

  Rachel grabbed the cell phone and ran.

  Chapter Nineteen

  GARRETT WAS FREE-FALLING but something prevented his arms and legs from moving. The harder he tried, the angrier he became. Finally, his roar of frustration erupted—

  Abruptly, his eyes flew open and . . . he wasn’t falling at all. It was a fucking dream, although the way his heart was hammering, he might as well have been skydiving without a chute. And, shit, his head was pounding. He gritted his teeth and tried to sit up.

  What the hell? His arms were tied to the bedposts . . . and his feet. Fuck! Whose idea of a sick joke was this? He wrenched on his bindings as hard as he could and didn’t even make the four-poster bed frame creak. His movements stopped abruptly a second later when his gaze fell on the duct-taped and wired harness of explosives that wrapped his torso.

  He’d seen plenty of them . . . after they exploded, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Stretching his neck, he peered down to see what the wiring mechanism looked like. There was a timer attached, set at fifteen minutes, but it was inactive. Not that the information would do him any good, trussed up like a roping steer at the rodeo. He took a deep breath, and then another, and lay his head back on the bed. Think, damn it!

  Rachel!

  In a rush, the whole ugly disaster came back to him. Cowboy. Alan Taylor. That damn dart. And now this. What was it Alan had said to him? Something about Rachel being his? Was Alan Taylor Rachel’s stalker? Had Jeremy been keeping tabs on her by playing a guest at the lodge all these years?

  The lowlife hadn’t killed him as Rachel had feared—yet anyway. That could only mean one thing: he’d gone after her this time. Garrett jerked his arms and legs and bellowed a string of curses in his rage. When silence prevailed again, he heard a sound, repetitive, coming from beyond the door of the room he was captive in.

  Cowboy. Barking loudly and continuously. He must have heard Garrett, and he was answering. “Cowboy! Front and center!” Garrett yelled the command and the barking became even more frenzied for a few seconds, and then everything went still. Cowboy was undoubtedly scratching, digging, and chewing his way through the wall of his enclosure. Garrett smiled. Few places could hold a dog like Cowboy. The drywall inside the closet was probably already torn to shreds. All he had to do was wait until the dog was loose in the hallway . . . then send him downstairs for Luke. Garrett lay back.

  A beep came from somewhere close by and he jerked his head up. Holy hell! There was a green light on the timer that hadn’t been there before, and suddenly the device started counting down . . . too damn fast.

  A quick perusal of the C-4 strapped to the harness gave him a pretty good idea of what would happen if the bomb exploded. Evidently, Jeremy didn’t intend for anyone on the premises to survive. Garrett’s hands flexed, itching to be around the perverted bastard’s throat.

  Garrett glanced at the timer again. Twelve minutes, forty-eight seconds. Cowboy was still quiet. Time to make some noise of his own. He yelled for Luke, Jase, and then Jonathan, filling the air in between with curses and expletives as though he were still with his unit on the streets of Iraq. Silence greeted him when he stopped.

  Ten minutes, fourteen seconds.

  Garrett jerked on the ropes that bound him, but all he managed was a serious case of rope burn. The bindings wouldn’t give.

  Nine minutes, eleven seconds. He yelled again, then whistled, long and shrill. This time he didn’t go still until he heard something outside in the hallway. When he stopped, the noise came again—Cowboy! Scratching on his door.

  “Good boy!” Finding Garrett was the easy part. The dog had been trained to seek out the problem. Making him leave to find the solution would be tougher. “Cowboy. Go get Luke.”

  The dog whined and barked, ran away a few feet, and came right back.

  Garrett repeated the command twice more before Cowboy raced away down the hall, his footsteps disappearing in the distance. All Garrett could do was hope Luke would understand why the dog that he barely knew and was half-leery of was trying to drag him upstairs.

  Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds. He studied the bomb. It wasn’t sophisticated. Anyone could learn how to build one online. A battery, a couple of relays, a cheap timer, and about six different colors of wire. The trick was to cut the right one. Sweat began to trickle down his back as he followed each of the wires and surmised its purpose.

  Suddenly he heard footsteps, heavy, and lots of them. The softer padding of Cowboy’s feet reached his door first, and he barked frenziedly. Thank God . . . the dog had done his job.

  “Cowboy, you’ll have steak for dinner tonight!”

  The door flew open and the first to reach him was one very happy dog who licked his face in reckless abandon. Since Cowboy had at least given him a chance, he let him get in a few licks before uttering the command to chill.

  Confusion was paramount in Luke’s gaze when it fell on him, taking in the bomb and Garrett’s compromised position. Jonathan and Jase swarmed into the room behind him.

  “What the hell?” Luke hurried to his side, studying the bomb that was presently passing the four-minute, nine-second mark.

  “Cut me loose, Luke.” Garrett jerked on his bonds again, the ropes scraping deeper into his skin. “Jonathan, find Rachel. I’m afraid he’s got her.”

  Jonathan’s angry expression turned stony. “Who’s got her?”

  Luke jerked open his pocketknife and sliced the ropes holding his brother’s wrists, then stretched to the end of the bed and freed his feet. Garrett’s arms fell to the comforter beside him, practically useless for lack of blood. He gritted his teeth as the prickling sign of the flow returning invaded his arms.

  “Alan Taylor—aka Jeremy. And he’s been here when the season starts every year, keeping an eye on her. Creepy bastard.”

  Jonathan turned abruptly and rushed from the room, his straight back and curled fists evidence of the fury that washed through his veins.

  “Okay, not to rush you, bro, but we have to do something about this bomb. We’re at three minutes, nineteen seconds and counting,” Luke said.

  “I know what to do. Give me your knife and then get everyone else out of the lodge.” Garrett flexed his fingers, still trying to rid himself of the numbness, and held out his palm toward his brother.

  A cynical snort proceeded from Luke. He dropped the knife on Garrett’s outstretched fingers, and it promptly fell through his grasp and bounced off the bedsheets. Luke stared at Garrett and made no move to go. “Jase, get everybody out. You’ve got three minutes. I’m going to stay here and help my big brother.”

  Jase barreled for the door, already calling for Peg and Sally.

  Garrett managed to land a pet on Cowboy’s muzzle. “Head to the rodeo, Cowboy.” The dog whined, but ran from the room after Jase. Garrett hoped to hell they’d find someone who could take care of Cowboy if this didn’t go well.

  A grin creased his face. “You ready?”

  Luke nodded and retrieved the knife from where it had dropped. He glanced at the timer. “Two minutes, ten seconds.”

  Garrett propped himself up on his elbows so he could see. “Okay, from what I could determine, the battery provides the power for the timer and the blasting cap, but would they really make it that easy to diffuse? I find that hard to believe. I think there’s an alternate power source where that gray wire goes behind that block of C-4.”

  Luke leaned closer. “So, cut the gray wire?”

  Garrett shook his head slowly, then met Luke’s gaze. “Cut the orange wire—then cut the gray wire.”

  Luke smiled of all things, and his calm acceptance of Garrett’s instructions was humbling. He nodded toward the hallway. “Thirty seconds should be enough. That’ll give them another minute to evacuate . . . just in case.”

  Garrett looked into his little brother’s eyes. He was so proud of Luke. The navy had made a man of him the same as the army had for Garrett. The fact that Luke trusted his judgment enough to stay said it all. No one
had believed in him like that since his mother left.

  “ARE YOU GOING to keep your inheritance from Mom? Sign on to be part owner of this place? You know—on the off chance it survives the next few minutes?” Garrett chuckled and reached to clasp his brother’s hand.

  The two shook hands as they both grinned. “I don’t know. I would’ve said no up until I met that sassy brunette and her daughter.” Luke’s cheeks turned a shade of pink.

  “There are worse things than loving someone, Luke.”

  “Yeah. I suppose there are. We better do this, huh?” Luke released his hand. “Gray and then orange.”

  “No. Orange, then gray.” Garrett chuckled as he recognized the teasing glint in Luke’s eyes. His little brother had been testing him.

  “Twenty-seven seconds.” Without further comment, Luke clipped the orange wire. The timer flickered for a heartbeat and then continued to count down. As soon as Luke cut the gray wire, it stopped with thirteen seconds to go. They both breathed. “Damn, I used to really hate when you were right all the time, Garrett. Today—not so much.”

  Garrett lay back on the bed, suddenly realizing how weak he was. “Maybe you could help me out of this thing?”

  “Sure. Just let me give Jonathan the all-clear.” Luke apparently had him on speed dial already because from start to finish his call took about five seconds. He was just helping Garrett out of the duct-taped vest when Jonathan, Jase, and Cowboy burst through the open doorway.

  Jonathan got on his cell phone right away. “Peg, it’s over. Everything’s okay. You can allow the guests back inside.”

  Garrett hoped Jonathan’s everything’s okay included Rachel. “Did you find her?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No sign of a struggle in her room. She must have gone with him willingly. I brought her sweater . . . for the dog.” He held it out to Garrett.

  “Good idea.” He just happened to possess one of the best trackers Uncle Sam’s K-9 Corp had ever produced. Couple that with his seeming ability to reason out a problem, and Cowboy was damn near unstoppable. He gave the dog a good whiff of the sweater. “Find Rachel, boy.”

  They all moved into the hallway, Garrett turning right, sure the trail would start at Rachel’s door, but Cowboy didn’t hesitate for a second. He turned left, raced around the corner, passed the room he’d torn apart to get out, and went down the stairs. When he was stopped by the closed back door, he twirled in a circle and barked.

  “Wait. I need a weapon. Let’s take five to get geared up. We don’t know if we’re going to be on foot or what.” Garrett looked around at the other men. “Anyone want to opt out of the search, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Shit.” The expletive exploded from Jonathan, and he strode toward the stairs. “I’ll fucking hold it against you. Five minutes the man said.” He continued to rant and grumble as he disappeared from sight.

  The three remaining at the bottom of the stairs grinned at each other. “Yeah, what he said.” Jase gave Garrett a high five as he walked away.

  Five minutes later, they met again just outside the back door weighed down with weapons, jackets, water, and flashlights. Garrett held Cowboy on a leash, and the dog was antsy and ready to go. He took off at a run as soon as he was released. The men struggled to keep up over the rough terrain where the dog led them. Apparently, Jeremy had taken Rachel out of the lodge on foot and up the side of the mountain. The good news was, he probably wouldn’t have carried her, which meant she was able to walk under her own power. That wasn’t much consolation.

  Suddenly Cowboy’s desolate howl filled the night.

  “He’s lost the trail.” Garrett didn’t try to hide his disappointment as they closed in on the dog’s position.

  They stopped on what must have once been a road but was now nearly overgrown, with only two wheel ruts showing. Garrett called the dog so he’d stop his relentless pacing. Already he’d trampled some of the footprints that lingered in the dirt, but Garrett was almost positive there were four distinct sets of prints. Rachel’s and three others.

  “Over here.” Jonathan motioned with his light. “There was a vehicle parked here. There are two—maybe three—sets of tracks plus Rachel, and they drove out of here.”

  “Fuck!” Garrett turned away from the others, afraid in his need to strangle someone he might choose one of them. God, why had he left her? Why hadn’t he insisted she stay by his side? This was the end of the trail. How would he find her now?

  Cowboy whined, his head pressed against Garrett’s leg. “That’s a good dog. You did everything you could.” Garrett scratched the dog’s head, floundering in his misery.

  Luke stopped beside him. “Maybe we’ll find a clue in the daylight.”

  “Right,” added Jase from his other side. “Or we’ll be able to follow the tire tracks.”

  They were trying to be supportive, optimistic, but daylight might as well be a lifetime away. What would Jeremy do to her in the dark of the night? No way in hell was Garrett giving up. He needed some quiet so he could think. His head, still throbbing from whatever was in that dart, was surely going to split wide open.

  Jonathan’s phone buzzed and he grabbed it from his belt. He listened for a second before he punched the speaker button, and Rachel’s voice cut across the darkness.

  “Jonathan? . . . hear me?” It was a lousy connection. Her voice was cutting out badly. “I got a . . . to the cabin . . . turned around.”

  “Rachel, sweetheart, it’s okay now. We’re coming for you. Just tell me where you are.” The uncertainty in her voice tore Garrett up inside.

  “Garrett? Thank God you’re all right. I thought . . . ” Her words faded intentionally this time and he could hear her harsh breaths as she fought for control.

  “Where are you, Rachel?” Garrett ached to hold her close and convince her she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

  “They took . . . mine. . . . let me go. Got lost . . . fell . . . don’t know . . . ”

  Jonathan swore under his breath. “Rach, what can you see from there?”

  “Trees.” She actually laughed, which Garrett took as a positive sign.

  Abruptly, they lost the signal, and silence fell over the forested trail. Garrett held his breath while Jonathan redialed the last number over and over again with no luck.

  A growl escaped with Garrett’s breath. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch when I find him.”

  Jonathan gave a harsh laugh. “Not by yourself.”

  “What now?” Jase paced back and forth between the ruts.

  “We know she’s in the forest, that she got turned around on the way to the cabin, and she doesn’t know where she is. She can’t be up too high or she’d have better cell reception. I didn’t understand all of what she said, like they took hers and let her go. Did they really turn her loose out there? And took her what?” Garrett mulled over the information they’d received.

  “Wait a minute. She said they took . . . mine, but the connection was really bad and there was a pause before mine.” Luke turned toward his brother. “What if she was saying they took me to the mine? There are plenty of old mines around here, aren’t there?”

  “Damn right,” Jonathan said.

  “One in particular.” Garrett looked to Jonathan for confirmation. “Not too far away. One that Rachel accused Riley and his brothers of planning to dump her in that day at the bar.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Addison’s Mine. It’s about six miles from here.”

  “What’s the likelihood that Riley and one of his crew are the extra footprints we found?”

  Jonathan strode toward him, his phone outstretched in his hand. When he was close enough for Garrett to shine his light on the face, he read the name Arnold Metcalf. Garrett furrowed a brow.

  “Rachel was using Arnold’s phone. Arnold is Riley’s oldest brother.” Jonathan took the phone back and shoved it in his pocket.

  Anger burned hot within Garrett. His patience had disappeared an hour ago. He wanted to go find Rac
hel now, and if Jeremy or any of Riley’s crew got in his way, that would be okay, too. Breathing deeply, he tried to funnel his frustration into something he could use.

  “Let’s get back to the lodge and get some wheels. We’ve got a place to start. If she’s still out there, Cowboy will find her.” Garrett pushed off the rutted trail back the way they’d come. He set a fast pace, pushing through the pain in his back and thigh, realizing it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the cruel emptiness where his heart used to be.

  Chapter Twenty

  RACHEL REDIALED JONATHAN’S number a half dozen times before she finally gave up. Two bars apparently weren’t enough to make the connection more than once. With her swollen and throbbing ankle, she wouldn’t be climbing higher anytime soon. She turned the phone off to conserve the battery and tucked it in the pocket of her skirt.

  She’d tried to tell them where she thought she was, but the connection had been spotty, and she had to face the fact that they might not have heard enough to find her. Surprisingly, she wasn’t dwelling on that as she might have, because miraculously, she’d heard Garrett’s voice. He was alive. She’d been so afraid that Garrett would die and that others at the lodge would be hurt. To know that they were unharmed had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders.

  If only she hadn’t gotten her foot stuck under one side of a huge log and toppled over, twisting her ankle before her foot finally popped free, she’d feel light enough to walk right off this mountain.

  It still made her sick when she thought about sitting down at the lodge dinner table and making small talk with the man who murdered Chance. How was it that she’d not had a clue? She’d even liked the guy . . . and his wife. Poor Linda, married all those years to a perverted freak . . . and now, if she could believe Jeremy, Linda was probably dead, murdered as well.

  A shudder washed over Rachel, and she again found herself silently thanking Arnold for letting her escape, even though she’d gotten turned around. She might as well admit now that she was completely lost. The maddening part was she’d covered all of this ground before . . . in the daylight with Jonathan. The darkness and her panic had not worked in her favor.