Mr. Taken

by Danica Winters

  “Do you really think you can hurt me?” he asked.

  She stared down at the little black object. He swung again, and as if in slow motion, the toe of her boot stuck in something in the snow, sending her sprawling.

  The bat connected with her ribs, and pain shot through her chest so sharp and ragged that she was sure she would lose consciousness.

  She rolled over, tearing at the snow as she tried to get out of the man’s range. But it was too late. Her luck had run out.

  This was it.

  He swung. The bat connected with her temple. The love, the pain, the Christmas lights and the orange fingers of the fire—it all disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As the deejay picked a slow song, couples emerged from the crowd and took their places on the dance floor. They moved as if they were all part of a machine, each couple a little cog in the party. Colter smiled as he watched them. It was all going so well even Wyatt and his friends had begun to relax and now a few were drinking beers as they stood guard by the doors.

  Thankfully their fears hadn’t been realized. Perhaps whoever was behind the fire at Sarah’s had gotten spooked and finally come to the point that they were ready to stop—maybe it was just some dumb kid behind it, a kid who thrived on crazy self-righteous ideals that had not yet been tested by the world.

  He glanced around the barn, looking for Whitney. Sarah was standing beside his mother. Her blond hair was pulled tight, making the tired lines around her eyes look stretched and harsher in the thin light of the barn. He made his way over to the women.

  “Hi, ladies. Sarah,” he said, with an acknowledging tip of his head. “I’m surprised you came. How are you feeling today?”

  She shrugged. “Still in shock... I just can’t believe it.”

  “Did the fire inspector come by today?”

  Sarah nodded. “He was with a detective. They found what they called incendiary devices. From what they said, someone used some kind of accelerant to start the fire.”

  “Do they have any idea who may have been behind it?” he asked, even though he was more than aware, thanks to Wyatt, of how little information they were going on.

  “No, but when they find out who’s behind this...” From the look on her face, it was no idle threat.

  “Don’t worry, Sarah. I know they’re working to get to the bottom of this.” He left it vague, but his mother gave him a look that told him he shouldn’t tell her exactly how far all this went. “We’re all doing our best to make sure that the perpetrator gets the justice they deserve and that no one else gets hurt.”

  A cold wind kicked up and blew through the open door of the barn, making goose bumps rise on his arms even though he had thought himself warm.

  Sarah snorted in derision. “Everything I ever worked for is gone. My future. My home. Everything. Unless the person behind this dies, they will hardly get what they deserve.”

  The way she spoke made her sound nearly as dangerous as the person who had struck the match, and from the look on his mother’s face, Sarah had made her just as uncomfortable as she had made him.

  “Have you ladies seen Whitney?” he asked in an attempt to help change the subject.

  Sarah set her jaw at the mention of Whitney’s name.

  “I sent her to the house,” his mother said, ignoring the displeasure on Sarah’s face. “I wanted her to get the camera. It must have been fifteen minutes or so ago.”

  “You haven’t seen her again?”

  His mother shook her head. “She’s probably around, taking pictures. I was hoping we could use them to market this for next year.”

  He could tell that she was trying to meter the excitement in her voice, but she was pleased with the turnout.

  “We are lucky to have such great support,” he said. “You know, Sarah, maybe we could do something here to help raise money to rebuild your café. I’m sure everyone would be interested in helping. There’s been all kinds of talk about what we could do.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “I had insurance. Hopefully it will come through. I don’t want to take handouts.”

  Just when he thought he didn’t like her, Sarah surprised him with her resilience.

  “Just a thought,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.

  “Actually,” his mother said, taking the lead, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea. We could even do it when the café gets up and running again. Like an open house kind of thing.”

  “You mean if I get up and running again.”

  “Well, we’re going to need our caterer for future events,” his mother said.

  “If you ladies will excuse me,” he said, motioning outside, thankful that some of the darkness had seemed to lift from their conversation. “I’m going to go check on Whit.”

  The women were so wrapped up in their plans that his mother simply waved him off. He almost could have sworn that, from his mother’s playful grin, she had done it on purpose to let him off the hook. He couldn’t have been more thankful. Though he liked Sarah and felt sorry for all that she was going through, he didn’t want to get wrapped up in her business, out of loyalty for Whitney.

  Maybe someday the two women could be friends, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath in hopes that that day would be soon to arrive.

  Outside, people were huddled near the heat lamps, laughing and talking as they drank their warm mulled wine and bottles of beer. Whitney wasn’t anywhere to be seen. And though he asked around, no one had seemed to have seen her.

  He made his way through the yard. The winter air smelled like wood smoke and cinnamon, sharp and earthy. He glanced around for the campfire, but there was none. The aroma of smoke had to have been coming from the woodstove in the ranch house. He’d always loved that scent, but something about it tonight was off.

  He waved as he made his way past the crowds of people and to the ranch house. The front door was open, and as he slipped inside he was met with uncomfortable silence.

  “Whit? You in here?”

  There was no answer.

  The lights were off throughout the house, all except the kitchen, and he made his way to the back. There was a glass of water sitting next to the sink, and a single droplet slipped down the edge from the pink stain of lipstick on its rim. If that was hers, she had to be close. He called her name again, but again there was no answer.

  He walked over to the sink and picked up the glass. It was still cold. The doors of the cupboard under the sink were open and he clicked them shut. Odd.

  A flicker of red caught his eye and he peered out the window. In the backyard, the toolshed was completely engulfed in flames.

  He rushed outside and toward the fire. Halfway to the shed, lying in the snow, was his mother’s camera.

  His body went numb.

  “Whitney!” he yelled, terror rippling through his voice. He knew she wouldn’t answer.

  He rushed toward the flames, and as he grew near he was met with the red stain of droplets in the snow. To the left of them was a fire extinguisher. She must have come out here in hopes that she could stop the fire’s advance. But what had happened to her? Where was she?

  The snow around him had been trampled down, and a few feet from him there was a splotch of blood nearly the size of one’s head. He carefully stepped around the mark, but as he came closer he could see a set of footprints in the snow and what looked like drag marks, leading directly to the back of the toolshed.

  He ran next to the marks. Around the corner, behind the shed, lay Whitney. Her hair was matted with blood that had started to spill out into the snow around her, making her look as though she lay in a red, otherworldly cloud.

  He rushed to her side and pressed his fingers against her neck. There was the faint but reassuring thump of her heartbeat. She was still alive, but just barely.r />
  “Baby, wake up.” He brushed her hair back from her face. He needed her to wake up. He needed to know she was okay.

  On the side of her head was a large lump and the blood poured from a cut at its center. She didn’t open her eyes.

  He couldn’t leave her here, not this close to the fire. Not with a killer on the loose. But he couldn’t get the help he needed without doing something.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Wyatt. He answered on the first ring and his voice sounded happy as he answered.

  “Wyatt... There’s a killer on the loose. They attacked Whitney. Toolshed is on fire. Call it in. We’re going to need help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hate filled him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill.

  Colter slipped his fingers between Whitney’s as he waited for the ambulance to arrive.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, not sure whether or not she could hear him. “Help’s on the way. You’re going to be okay. You are safe now.”

  He never should have left her alone. He shouldn’t have let the party happen. He shouldn’t have put anyone in this kind of danger. He had been so stupid. So naive. So idiotic to trust that for one night the world and the evil within it wouldn’t tear away at this place and the people he loved.

  They should have listened and taken it more seriously, but no. He had been too wrapped up in the needs and wants of his heart. He had been blinded by love. Love had kept him from being objective and from the one thing he had vowed he would do—protect the people he cared about.

  In that moment, it was like he was a scared kid again, sitting outside the fire department, his world destroyed.

  Wyatt rushed to the backyard, running toward him with two men at his heels. “What happened?”

  Colter shook his head. “We have to find whoever is behind this. They’re here. Somewhere.”

  A few steps from him, Wyatt stopped. There was the crunch of something under his foot. Reaching down, he picked up a black cell phone and wiped the snow clean from its screen. Though the glass was cracked, it came to life.

  “Is this hers?” Wyatt asked, holding it up for him to see.

  There was a picture of a big rig as the phone’s wallpaper screen.

  Colter shook his head. “Her phone’s pink.”

  “Is she...alive?” Wyatt said, motioning toward her.

  “For now. Did you call 911?”

  Wyatt nodded. “They should be here anytime.”

  The deputies who had followed Wyatt rushed to Whitney’s side, and one started to take her vitals. “Her pulse is sixty-eight,” the man to his right said, like Colter could take some measure of comfort from the fact that the number was normal.

  Yet, no matter how normal the number, it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t regaining consciousness—or that she might never come back to him.

  The thought made a lump lodge in his throat. How was it that when he finally found the one woman in the world whom he wanted to share his future with, the world stole her from him? Perhaps he was never meant to have anything good in his life. Perhaps he was going to be forever cursed.

  Wyatt tapped on the phone, pulling up the most recent calls.

  There, at the top of the list, was the name William.

  Wyatt hit the redial button, putting the call on speaker.

  The phone rang. On the second ring, someone picked up.

  “Hey, brother. How’s the party going?” William Poe asked, his voice souring the air around them. When Colter didn’t answer right away, William said, “Daryl?”

  Brother? He’d had no idea. From what Wyatt had told him, Daryl was from Canada and they didn’t share the same last name. He and William must have only been half brothers, but he’d never heard mention of them even knowing one another before.

  “Daryl? You there? What happened?” William pressed. “Did you do as I asked? No one caught you, did they? It’s vital that they don’t find out we are connected in any way.”

  Colter reached over and clicked off the phone.

  He and his half brother were going to pay for what they had done.

  Wyatt reached over and gripped his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. You need to stay with me.”

  He jerked out of his brother’s grip. “If she dies, I will kill William and his damn brother with my bare hands.”

  Wyatt motioned toward his friends. “We need to find Daryl Bucket. Put out a BOLO. If he’s smart, by now he’s left the ranch, but he couldn’t have gotten far. And one of you needs to go make sure everyone in the barn is safe. For now, let’s try and keep everyone inside, but let’s not reveal anything. We don’t want to cause panic. Calm. Collected. In control. Go.”

  The two men took off in the direction of the barn.

  Though Colter knew he could trust the men to do what had to be done, he couldn’t help the feeling of dread and disdain that crept through him. They wouldn’t find Daryl. No one would. If Daryl was anything like his brother, he’d be more slippery than an eel and harder to catch.

  “You go clear the house,” Colter said, motioning toward Wyatt. “We need to make sure that he hasn’t planted anything.” He looked toward the house as thoughts of the Molotov cocktails came to mind.

  Wyatt nodded. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ve got her. We just need to make sure that, like you said, everyone else stays safe. He’s going to be out for the family. For all we know, he came after her first in hopes of creating a diversion so he could go after everyone else. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “I have my phone if you need anything.” He turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  Wyatt stopped, turning back.

  “Leave me a gun,” Colter said.

  Wyatt frowned at him. “Why do you need a gun?”

  “If I find Daryl...”

  Wyatt shook his head. “We have to stop him. You’re right about that. And he needs to pay for what he’s done. But you need to stay true to who you are—they win if you sink to their levels. We’re Fitzgeralds. We’re better than them.”

  Right now, though he could hear the logic in his brother’s words, he couldn’t agree with them. Sometimes the right thing wasn’t the easy thing. And what could have been better than stripping the world of Daryl’s kind of filth? Anyone who wanted to hurt a woman deserved to die.

  Wyatt took off, disappearing around the corner of the house and out into the road as he made his way toward the barn and stables.

  Whitney moaned.

  “Whit, baby, it’s going to be okay,” Colter said, running his hand over her hair. “We’re going to find Daryl. He’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered as though she was struggling to regain consciousness.

  “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay,” he cooed, but as he watched her struggle, rage filled him.

  If only he hadn’t left her side, this wouldn’t have happened. He should have been there to protect her and to stop this from happening. He had known there was danger out there.

  “No matter what happens, baby, I love you,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

  Her eyelashes fluttered, but once again she lost the battle for consciousness and her head rolled to the side.

  It wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go, any of this. All he’d wanted was to build a life, a future with the woman he loved.

  Why did the world have to be so cruel?

  “Isn’t that sweet?” a man said, his voice hoarse and crackling like that of a smoker.

  Colter looked up, in the direction of the fire and the man’s voice. Standing behind the toolshed was a man dressed all in black. His face was blotched with bits
of soot and sweat and his dark hair was matted against the side of his face with streaks of drying blood. In his hand was a bat, the end of it covered in crimson drips.

  “Go to hell, Daryl,” Colter said, slowly rising to his feet.

  The man laughed. “Oh, no, that’s where you and your family will be going. And as soon as you all are there, my brother and I are going to take your ranch and everything you care about and burn it to the ground.”

  “Like hell you are,” Colter said, taking a step toward the man.

  “Take one more step and you will look like that girl there.” Daryl raised the bat, readying to strike. “You should have seen her go down. It was just like a bag of potatoes.”

  On the ground at Colter’s feet was a dented fire extinguisher. He knelt down and picked it up, not taking his gaze off the maniac standing near the flames.

  Daryl laughed. “You’re one hell of a firefighter if you think that little thing is going to put out those flames,” he said, motioning toward the toolshed. One side of the building was starting to list dangerously toward him.

  “I have no intention of putting out the fire.” This time he was only going to be a fighter—life or death, he was going to find out and he was going to give everything he had...everything for his family and for Whitney.

  He lunged toward Daryl, who swung wildly at him with the bat. Colter used the extinguisher to block the man’s shot, and when it connected with the metal it made a twang and vibrated like a bell in his hands. Before Daryl could pull the bat back, Colter reached down and took hold of it. He pulled it, but Daryl wouldn’t let go.

  In one swift motion, Colter lifted the fire extinguisher and swung it at the man’s head. It connected with his temple, sending blood spattering over the steadily melting snow.

  Daryl staggered and swung the bat drunkenly. He stumbled over his own feet, listing toward the toolshed. He moved as though he was trying to avoid the flames, but his body disobeyed and he crashed into the building.

  Embers careened into the air around him and the small shed collapsed around the man, engulfing him in its superheated grip.