Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  He looked at her. "I could swear I can actually feel Grant. Nothing like that has ever happened before."

  "Maybe Consuela was right. Maybe it's because you quit fighting yourself."

  "Maybe." He didn't really want to think about this—whatever it was—expanding. "There used to be a horseshoe nailed above the doorway of that old house. I’m going to take a look."

  "Let's go. How far is it?"

  He hesitated, trying to figure out what it would take to keep her here.

  "Oh, no. Don't you even think I'm staying back, not when my child is in danger."

  "Sweetheart, I know you want to go, and I understand why, but I need you to stay here—" He continued over her protest. "Hear me out, and let’s think about this."

  He gripped her shoulders. "We need a back-up plan. It's too risky to rely only on this ability I don't really trust."

  "Quinn, he needs me."

  "Of course he does—which is why we have to hedge out bets. If I don’t come back in a set period of time, you need to be here to call for help. I don’t want a bunch of people running around here right now, scaring him further away. You’re not experienced in tracking, but I am, and I know every inch of my land. We can’t take a chance on alerting him, and we can’t leave Grant’s fate to only one plan. You know cell coverage is almost non-existent here. If I can’t find him in a couple of hours, you’ll need to call in help so they’ll have time to look before dark."

  "He's my heart."

  "I know he is. I love him, too. Do you trust me with him?" He could see the war going on inside her.

  "Of course I do. I just—"

  He gathered her in his arms. "I know you want to go. If I could take you with me, I would, but there's only the two of us, and we need some insurance." He pulled back to look at her. "You have to promise me you’ll lock up tight. I don’t like leaving you here alone. I don’t want to be away from you, either."

  She smiled faintly. "All right. I understand. "

  "Here, I’ll draw a map to leave with you so that if you have to get help, they’ll know the direction I’m headed. I’ll have to gather a few things, but I’m going to travel light." He grasped her shoulders. "You have to be careful. Please."

  "I will. I promise."

  "I'll bring him back. I love him." And I love you. But now was not the time to say that.

  "I know you do. But you be careful, too." Lorie smiled, though her eyes were dark with fear. But she leaned into him, and for a moment they clung.

  Then they turned back and together made their way toward the house.

  ***

  A FEW MINUTES later, Lorie shuddered as she watched him slip a wickedly-sharp knife into his boot and strap on his old shoulder holster. He also carried a rifle in one hand.

  "I’d hoped I’d never need to carry this pistol again."

  Her heart tore at the dread in his eyes, and she regretted what this must be doing to him, all the bad memories it must drag up. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him and murmured, "I’m so sorry for all the trouble we’ve brought you."

  He squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe. His voice was rough as he chided, "Don’t you ever regret coming into my life. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

  He withdrew. "Would you like me to leave you a gun?"

  "I wouldn’t know how to use it. You be careful, too. I know you’ll find Grant and bring him back. But, please, Quinn, don’t let that man hurt you. I’d die if—"

  Her breath whooshed out as he pulled her close. "I’m coming back, Lorie. I’m coming back with your son. And when I do, you and I are going to have a talk." He kissed her hard.

  She answered his kiss with the depth of her fear for him and the love she couldn’t voice.

  Then he stepped away, his voice hoarse as he spoke. "Lock this door behind me."

  She nodded and watched him stride away.

  And whispered, "I love you, Quinn. Come back to me."

  ***

  LORIE PACED THE living room. She’d called the hospital to check on Consuela, who was resting comfortably. Anna was fine, as was the baby.

  If only the time would pass more quickly. She'd straightened up the living room, wiped down the kitchen counters, done every minuscule task she could imagine. She looked at the clock for the tenth time in five minutes. He’d been gone an hour and a half.

  The room was stifling in the afternoon heat. She eyed the windows looking out onto the porch, thinking that perhaps she could crack one open for a breeze. The ceiling fans helped, but normally, all the windows stood open, too.

  She approached the window with that thought in mind.

  Movement caught her eye, a piece of paper fluttered against one porch support post.

  A piece about the size of the one on the tree.

  Looking around carefully, she squinted to see if she could read it from where she stood. Frustrated, she moved to the next window, but it was no better. She leaned against the glass.

  MOM.

  The handwriting was Grant's.

  Her heart clutched. Quinn wanted her to stay inside, but how could she leave any scrap, any clue alone? Even a few minutes might make all the difference for her child. She didn't have to go but a few steps from the door to get it, and it might contain information that would help Quinn.

  She gnawed on her thumbnail, scanning as much of the outside as she could see. She walked into Quinn’s bedroom to get a look at the side of the porch.

  No one.

  She raced to the kitchen and retrieved a large butcher knife from a drawer, then hurried back to the front door and crossed the porch quickly.

  She snatched the paper from the post and scurried back inside. She unfolded it, scanning the contents quickly, an ache twisting her heart as she read.

  The dark man was a fool to come after me, my only love. Your son is safe—for now. Meet me in the barn in one hour. Tell no one or both will die.

  How could he have caught Quinn? But even as the question formed, she recalled only too clearly the madness in the man's eyes and his perverted sense of entitlement, his focus on one goal and one only: to have her within his power.

  He'd murdered Tom. He'd taken Grant. Quinn might be bigger, stronger…but he wasn't twisted. This man would stoop to anything.

  One hour. And she had no idea where Quinn had headed.

  Calm down. Think .

  Quinn should be back before then if he was all right. But if he wasn’t, she would be at the barn.

  Now to come up with weapons he wouldn’t expect. She wished now that she’d accepted a gun, but she’d always heard they were more dangerous to you if you didn’t know how to use one. She’d try to reason with him, she’d do anything to buy time, but she had to figure out how to structure back-up help if she couldn’t make the difference by herself.

  She was what he was after. Surely she could keep his attention for a while.

  Quinn didn’t want people foraging around to drive the stalker more deeply into the canyons. But if she could keep him there, talking…or whatever…

  Could she trust the local law to show discretion? She hoped so, but she didn’t know them. She had no idea if they’d listen to her plan. There was too much at stake to take any more chances.

  An idea occurred to her. She shook her head. Too preposterous.

  Or was it?

  She needed someone who knew the people around here. Quinn’s great-aunt would have been ideal, but she was in no shape to get involved.

  She picked up the phone, praying Josh would be home now. When he answered, her knees went weak in relief. "Josh? Oh, thank God you’re home! This is Lorie. I need your help."

  ***

  THE HORSES STILL grazed in the pasture; the interior of the barn was dark and still. Motes of dust danced lazily in the shaft of sunlight angling from the side window.

  Lorie scanned the dark interior, feeling for the keys and the small folded cloth she’d placed in the pocket of the hoodie she’d chose
n for that purpose. She moved away from the light, hoping to get first glance at him.

  She’d thought of every angle she could, but this wasn’t something she did every day. Josh was very frustrated not to be here to help and in the beginning, he kept urging her to wait for Quinn, but finally she'd worn him down and he'd accepted that his contribution had to lie in convincing the authorities to work as Quinn had asked. He seemed confident that they would listen to him—exactly what she’d counted on. They didn’t know her. She didn’t have time for them to decide she wasn’t crazy.

  She scanned side to side, looking for any sign—

  She stepped backward.

  Bumped into something—

  Alive.

  Whirling, she came face to face with her nightmares. She gasped and fought the urge to scream.

  That face.

  She’d tried to forget those maniacal eyes that she now saw were a watery blue. The pale, thin hair, the weak, puffy lips…she shuddered in horror.

  But rage rushed in, blasting over the fear, blistering hot.

  Yet she could still hear that hideous, sing-song whisper.

  "My only love, my pretty Lorie, I’m not very happy with you."

  That giggle. She’d heard it in her dreams.

  She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and run, but she could not. Grant and Quinn’s lives might depend upon her.

  "Cat got your tongue?"

  "Where’s my son?"

  He smiled, and she wanted to slap the smug look off his face. Careful.

  "He looks like you, pretty Lorie. I’ve enjoyed my afternoon with him."

  She fought back nausea and rage, struggling for control. Think like Quinn. Be calm. Breathe. "Is he all right?"

  "Oh, yes…" Giggle. He paced around her.

  "I want to see him."

  "I don't think so. You haven’t been very nice to me lately. You don’t even know my name, do you?"

  "It's…Karl."

  His eyes widened. "Oh, my…" Then they narrowed. "How did you find out—wait. I know, you talked to the police. Did you read the report from your husband's…accident?" This smile gleamed with pride. "Clever, aren't I? To shove my way into the scene and play eyewitness."

  Her stomach heaved. "Why? Why would you kill him? He was a good man. He did nothing to you—"

  "He had you!" Marsden screamed. "He distracted you, and you were my creation. He didn't belong with you—I did! I do—and after all I've done for you. I've made you famous, and you treated me like something on the bottom of your shoe." His shout spiraled down into a whine. "I waited, I gave you time to get over your husband so your heart wouldn't be divided, but instead you pulled back from the limelight I created for you. You only paid attention to the boy. Then, after all I've done for you, all the love I stored up for you, you had to fall for that barbarian! That muscle-bound cowboy! You were my only love, but you showed yourself to be a faithless bitch, a cruel whore…so now you need a lesson."

  His nearness made her skin crawl. She fingered the keys she’d sharpened in Quinn’s kitchen. Hold on. You have to get to Grant first.

  "Nothing to say for yourself?"

  "I—" She swallowed heavily. "I’m sorry."

  "Bitch!" He slapped her hard. "You don't mean it. You'd say anything to save yourself, but I know you’re lying!" The madness in those awful pale eyes slipped. A burning anger took its place.

  She didn't know what to do with someone so far beyond reason. No idea how to handle him.

  And she was deathly afraid of what he might have done to Grant and Quinn.

  She’d been a fool to think that she could deal with this madman. Simply being near him filled her with a paralyzing fear that he would control her again, play his sick games again.

  Grant . Her child was at the mercy of this creature. She had to keep her head.

  "Oh, don’t be afraid, pretty Lorie. All I really want is to love you." He circled her slowly, brandishing his knife—the knife that she still saw in her nightmares, slicing away her clothes, a micron from slashing her skin. Having him behind her again triggered tremors of bone-deep horror she would never forget.

  Breathe deeply. Stay calm .

  She called upon every acting skill she'd ever possessed, pitching her voice low and husky, though it made her shudder with revulsion. "If you really love me, you’ll let me see my son."

  "Oh, I’ll let you see him…when I’m ready." He was so close she felt his hot breath on her skin.

  Please don’t let him touch me .

  But she would endure whatever she had to, if it meant saving Grant.

  "Don’t you want to ask about your boyfriend?" His voice was full of innuendo. For him to smear his filth on the beauty of what she'd experienced with Quinn…she wanted to be sick.

  "Would you tell me?"

  Giggle. "Probably not."

  She stood quietly, every nerve jangling.

  He circled around her again. When he touched her hair, she couldn’t help but flinch. He slid the blunt edge of the knife along her throat.

  Low and menacing, he whispered. "Of course the dark one must die. You sealed his fate when you let him touch you." He grabbed her arm, yanked her forward, squeezing her chin with his fingers. "Put your hands behind you, whore."

  She resisted, terrified of being under his power again.

  "If you want to see your son again, do it!" he barked.

  She fought her panic and complied.

  He tied them together, the rough rope scraping her skin. "Hurt? It could have been silk again, but you had to whore yourself to the cowboy." He yanked the rope tighter and started walking.

  She stumbled. Nearly fell.

  "Get up."

  Be calm. Be calm. You're their only hope. You can do this .

  At least he hadn't searched her pockets.

  There was still hope.

  He jerked her forward.

  She stumbled again but regained her footing and followed, heart thudding.

  ***

  QUINN STOOD QUIETLY in the trees near the old homestead. He’d seen the altar inside, exactly as he’d dreamed it. The place was vacant, but he'd noted footprints in the layers of dust on the floor.

  Where was Grant?

  Lorie would be getting worried; he was later than he’d planned. No help for it, though. He’d just have to hope for the best if the sheriff’s office showed up before he was ready. He hadn’t come this far to leave Grant alone.

  He wished he knew how to make a vision happen. Today was the first time he'd ever done anything but fight what felt like insanity and try to flee it.

  But he had a sense of Grant nearby…maddeningly elusive. Once this was over, he had to learn to manage this skill he'd never wanted. Since he didn't know how to do that now, he'd fall back on tried and true tracking. He emerged from the trees again and searched the ground for prints.

  His enemy lived in the city. Maybe he wouldn't think about leaving tracks.

  Out the back door the grass had been trampled. Quinn crouched and studied what seemed to be only one set of adult tracks. He rose and followed them a few feet—

  Bingo. Perhaps the guy had been carrying Grant at first, but here was a smaller set of impressions where he must have put the boy down.

  Poor kid. How frightened Grant must be.

  Hang on, little guy. I’m coming. I'll find you, I swear it.

  Abruptly he heard someone moving through the brush. He darted off into the trees.

  When Lorie’s bright curls bounced into view as the stalker viciously shoved her ahead of him, Quinn’s heart nearly stopped.

  Then his wrath all but overran his discipline. What was this doing to her, being thrown back into the nightmare?

  He couldn't let himself dwell on that—now, more than ever, a cool head was needed.

  But his heart burned for revenge.

  Then from behind the man, Grant emerged, his small hands tied in front of him, looking so small yet so fierce.

  Thank God. At le
ast he knew where they both were.

  It was all Quinn could do to hold still and wait, but there was no way for him to get a clear shot from here. Keeping them in sight but staying well back, Quinn followed them back to the homestead.

  As he would follow them to hell and back. He wanted them both, however impossible that seemed. Wanted to raise the boy, teach him what it was to be a man. And he wanted to love Lorie, to cherish her and protect her, to build a future together.

  She hadn't freaked out over this bizarre part of him—she'd taken it in stride and in doing so, she'd helped him accept. Maybe there was a way…

  But he couldn't think of any of that now.

  Not if any of them were to have a future.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  DUST MOTES SWIRLING …old weathered boards.

  An altar with her as its object of devotion.

  Lorie shuddered as she glanced around. Quinn had been right on the money.

  Where is he? Oh, please, please let him be all right .

  "Faithless beauty!" the whisper shrilled. He paced the rotting floorboards, gesturing wildly, the knife throwing reflections hither and yon. "Pretty is as pretty does, haven’t you ever heard that, pretty Lorie?"

  Grant pressed into her side as the stalker leaned over them, his fetid breath wafting their way. Those eyes gleamed an unholy madness. The knife sliced arcs in the air.

  "My only love…but you never loved me, did you?" He drifted away, muttering to himself.

  "Mom…" Grant’s whisper was thready, so faint she could barely catch it. "Mom, Quinn’s here."

  She shifted her eyes to his, afraid to believe him. He nodded slowly. "Are you sure it’s real?" Her lips barely moved.

  "He let me see him through the window, just for a second. He's right outside."

  Hope sparked within her. She immediately closed her eyes and worked to compose her expression before Marsden could see her relief.

  His back was to her as he stared at her photograph, obscenely enlarged. He held her glove in one hand, stroking it over his face.

  "Grant, pretend you’re sick and lie down behind me," she whispered against his ear. "Since your hands are tied in front, see if you can untie my wrists back there, but be careful. Slow, tiny movements. Don’t do anything while he’s looking." Her ankles were tied now, too, but she could get them once her hands were free. She tried not to squirm as the bale of hay she sat upon scratched her. Her skin was raw beneath the ropes.