In a Killer’s Sights

by Sandra Robbins

  After all, she had a good job in New York and a home there. Maggie was used to her school and her friends. How would it affect her to be uprooted from all she’d ever known to move to a ranch in the Smoky Mountains and live with a father she’d never met? Those were questions to be answered later.

  The important thing was for Gwen and him to accept that they had both made mistakes and needed to forgive each other. That would be the foundation for the life he wanted for them, for their family. First, though, he had to catch up with her and convince her to come back to the ranch so they could talk out their problems.

  He slowed the truck in anticipation of the two hairpin curves just ahead. He’d driven this road hundreds of times and always slowed for these curves. But today of all days he had to make sure he navigated them perfectly. If he was to catch Gwen, he couldn’t afford to lose control of the truck and end up at the bottom of the embankment.

  As he came out of the second curve and entered the tunnel, his eyes grew wide at the sight of Gwen’s rental, the trunk lid raised, stopped halfway through the passage. He stomped on the brakes, and the truck came to a skidding stop right behind the vehicle. Dean was out and running toward the parked sedan as soon as the engine died. The sight of Gwen’s purse and car keys on the ground made him come to an abrupt halt, and his stomach clenched. Her suitcases were still in the trunk, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  He ran to the front, yanked the door open and stared inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A further search of the car yielded no clues as to what had happened or where Gwen might have gone. Dean thrust his fingers through his hair. Where was she? She wouldn’t have left on her own without her purse.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Ben’s number. His friend answered after two rings, his voice hoarse as if he’d been awakened from sleep. “Hey, Dean, what—”

  Dean didn’t let him finish. “I just found Gwen’s car abandoned in the tunnel past the two hairpin curves on the road into town. She’s nowhere in sight, but her purse and keys are on the ground at the back of the car and her suitcases are still in the trunk. I’m afraid the killer got to her.”

  He heard a creaking sound and realized Ben had just sat up in bed. “I’ll get some deputies out there right away, and I’ll come, too.”

  “Good. I’ll drive on toward town and see if I can find any trace of her. Let me know if you find out anything.”

  “I will.”

  Dean disconnected the call, picked up Gwen’s keys and purse, and ran back toward his truck. He’d just settled in the driver’s seat when his phone chimed, indicating he had a new text. He opened the message and gasped at the picture that popped up.

  Gwen sat in a chair, and it was evident that her hands were tied behind her back. But where was she? In the background he could see livestock panels. She had to be in an enclosed area used to corral animals. But where?

  He glanced down at the text, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. If you want to save Gwen, come to Lambert’s Practice Arena. I don’t think she’ll last eight seconds in the ring with Renegade.

  With shaking fingers, he punched Ben’s number into his phone again. His friend answered right away. “Dean—”

  “Ben,” he yelled, “I just got a text with a picture of Gwen tied to a chair. He’s got her at Lambert’s Arena. He says he’s going to turn Renegade loose on her.”

  Ben gasped. “Renegade? He’s the meanest bull Lambert’s got. He’ll kill her.”

  “I know,” Dean groaned as he turned the key in the ignition and then roared out of the tunnel. “I’m on my way there. Can you meet me?”

  “As soon as possible, and I’ll bring backup. I’m at home, so I’m farther away than you are. If you get there before my deputies, be careful.”

  “I will. See you there.”

  Dean disconnected the call and pushed the accelerator almost to the floorboard. The truck surged forward, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He had to get to Gwen in time.

  Fifteen minutes later he pulled to a stop in the gravel parking lot of Lambert’s Practice Arena. The place looked deserted, and he remembered this was the one day a week the arena was closed. Whoever had brought Gwen here had to know that.

  He reached over, opened the glove compartment and pulled out the gun he always carried with him. As quietly as possible, he climbed from the truck and walked toward the entrance.

  At the door he stood to one side and slowly pulled it open. Seeing and hearing no one, he slipped into the arena. Rows of bleachers faced the livestock paneling that enclosed the practice area, and he moved stealthily down the aisle between two sections. He was almost to the fence when he spotted her. She was positioned just as she had been in the picture—in a chair in the middle of the arena, her hands tied behind her back.

  Dean glanced around again, but saw no one. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and, moving as quickly as possible, ran to the fence, stuck his foot between two horizontal planks and hoisted himself over the paneling into the arena.

  Gwen looked up when she heard his feet hit the ground. A terrified expression flashed across her face. “Dean, get out of here before he kills you, too!”

  “Not without you,” he answered as he ran toward her.

  He rounded her chair and stared down at her hands, which were bound with zip ties. “Who did this?” he asked as he pulled out his pocketknife.

  “Billy Champion,” she gasped. “But he’s really Aaron King. He’s Trip King’s father, and this whole thing has been about getting revenge because you killed his son.”

  Dean sliced through the zip ties, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her from the chair. “Where is he?”

  She glanced at the chute at the end of the arena. “He’s gone to let Renegade out. He said he was going to put some sharp objects under the flank strap to make him wilder than usual.”

  She’d barely uttered the words before Dean heard a laugh echo through the enclosed area. He turned toward the chute and spotted Billy Champion, or rather Aaron King, sitting atop the fence beside the gate. “I see you made it, Dean,” he yelled. “Well, I’ve seen to it that you and your lovely wife will have a wonderful time with an old friend of mine. I’m sure Renegade will entertain you royally.”

  The gate to the chute swung open, and a bull charged into the arena. Dean had never seen Renegade before, but he’d heard some of his ranch hands who competed in bull-riding events talk about him. He was even fiercer than Dean had imagined.

  Renegade was one of the largest bulls he had ever seen. His large bony head and his legs were white, contrasting with the rest of his body, and his sharp horns fanned outward in a flat arc instead of a lyre shape. But this animal’s reputation had nothing to do with the way he looked. It was the way he moved. And today he moved like a whirlwind.

  Snorting and bucking, Renegade spun in circles as soon as he entered the arena. His back hooves sent swirls of dirt flying as he kicked and writhed in an attempt to free the flank strap that evidently was causing him pain.

  Dean grabbed Gwen by the arm and ran toward the fence. “You’ve got to get over before he charges us!” he yelled.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the bull spotted them and charged. His thundering hooves echoed in the quiet building as Dean and Gwen ran for their lives.

  They reached the fence, but Renegade was almost on them. Gwen thrust her foot in the space between two planks, and Dean hoisted her up. She lifted her other leg and slung it over the top plank. “Drop to the ground! I’ll distract him!” Dean yelled as he turned and ran back toward the center of the arena.

  Renegade, who’d been bearing down on them, turned immediately and dashed after him. Dean glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Gwen had dropped safely on the other side of the fence. Renegade was right behind him, and he could almos
t feel the bull’s hot breath on his back.

  Dean sidestepped, but the huge animal lowered his head and swung his horns perilously close to him. With all his might, Dean landed a punch on the bull’s nose and then slid his hand along Renegade’s back until he reached the slipknot holding the flank strap in place. With a quick jerk on the rope, the strap fell to the ground, and Renegade slowed some, giving Dean a split second to sprint toward the fence Gwen had climbed over.

  The reprieve was short, however, because a moment later, Renegade bellowed in rage once more and charged after him. Dean had just reached the fence when Renegade caught up with him. Lowering his head, the bull gored him, slicing through his jeans and down his leg as he climbed over. Bleeding and winded, Dean dropped to the ground, where he lay panting.

  “Dean!” Gwen cried, dropping to her knees beside him. “Where did he hurt you?”

  Dean grabbed his knee and pressed down. “My lower leg. Get the bandanna out of my pocket. I need to get a tourniquet on this.”

  Her fingers shook as she pulled the scarf from his back pocket and tied it around his leg just below the kneecap. When she’d pulled it as tight as she could, he pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve got to get out of here, and I’ve got to find Billy.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Dean swayed as if he was about to fall and reached out to grab hold of the fence. “Ben is on his way with backup. He and his deputies should be here any minute, and I want you out of here.” He straightened and grasped her arm.

  “No. You’re hurt,” she protested.

  He tightened his grip on her and turned her to face him. “Listen to me, Gwen. I need you to get in my truck. Stay there until I come back or until Ben arrives. If you see Billy, you are to drive out of here as fast as you can. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, but...”

  He gritted his teeth and stared at her. “I have to know you’re safe.”

  Her eyes softened, and she reached up and cupped his face with her hand. “Be careful. We need you.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “And I need you and Maggie, too.”

  Gwen wrapped her arm around his waist and supported his weight as they staggered toward the door he had entered. When they stepped outside, he pulled his keys from his pocket and handed them to her. “Lock yourself in the truck, and get out of here if you see Billy.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “I will.”

  Then she released him and ran toward the vehicle. Dean watched until she had got inside. Then he pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and turned to reenter the arena. He had no idea where Billy was, but intended to find him and make sure the man was taken into custody before he could hurt anyone else. Under no circumstances would Dean allow Billy to harm Gwen again.

  THIRTEEN

  Dean eased the door to the arena open and slipped through the opening. He stopped just inside and glanced down at his leg. Blood soaked his jeans, and he could feel it trickling down his calf. He only hoped the tourniquet would slow the flow long enough for him to find Billy.

  As he moved down the aisle, Dean scanned the building for any sign of him, but saw nothing. Renegade, calmer than he’d been earlier, stared at him through the galvanized panels that encircled the practice area. His tail swished back and forth, and he pawed at the ground as if inviting Dean to give him one more chance to finish what he’d started.

  When Dean got to the front row of bleachers, he hesitated and looked to the left, then the right. His gaze settled on the chute at the far end where Renegade had been before Billy released him. Animal pens behind the chutes offered good hiding places. The question was, which way should Dean go first?

  After a moment’s hesitation, he turned left in the direction of Renegade’s chute. Like a hulking shadow, the bull walked along the other side of the fence as Dean made his way toward the far end of the arena. From time to time Renegade swiveled his head and lunged at the barrier, the sound of the impact ricocheting around the arena.

  Dean kept his eyes focused ahead and tried to ignore the pain in his leg. The bleachers ended at a door that he remembered from a previous visit opened onto an alleyway between rows of pens. He pulled the door slightly open, but before he could get it wide enough to walk through, it flew back, hitting him and knocking him to the ground.

  Dean fell in front of the first row of bleachers, his gun dropping from his hand and landing a few feet away. He looked up to see Billy Champion lunging through the door at him. The expression on his face made him look like a madman, and Dean knew he had to get up if he was to survive the attack. He tried to push himself up, but it was no use. Billy landed on top of him and grasped his throat in a choke hold. Dean grabbed Billy’s shirt in his fists and tried to push him off, but the man only increased the pressure on Dean’s throat.

  “It’s time you paid for killing my son!” he yelled as he tightened his hands around Dean’s neck.

  “Billy...” Dean panted.

  “Aaron!” he screamed. “My name is Aaron King, father of Trip King. The man you killed. And I’m going to make you pay!”

  The veins in Aaron’s neck bulged as he leaned closer to Dean until their foreheads almost touched. Dean raised his hands, grasped the man’s face and squeezed with all his might. His nemesis groaned and loosened his grip a bit.

  Remembering his training as a police officer, Dean slid his fingers up Aaron’s face to the top of his cheekbones. Then he slipped his thumbs in his eyes and pushed with all his strength. The man gave a wail of distress, released his hold on Dean’s throat and jerked away.

  Dean seized the moment to draw back a fist and land a hard blow to his jaw. Aaron toppled off him onto his back. As Dean struggled to get up, his opponent jumped to his feet and kicked his leg where the bull had gored him.

  “Aghhh!” Dean cried out in pain, grabbed at his leg and fell backward.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted his gun lying a few feet away. Aaron aimed another blow at his leg, but Dean rolled over, avoiding the kick, and grabbed his weapon. Sucking in a breath, he summoned what little strength he had left, sat up and pointed the gun at Aaron, who took one step toward him, then stopped.

  “It’s over, Aaron,” Dean barked. “Come any closer and I’ll fire.”

  Aaron let his gaze drop to the gun Dean held and then shook his head. “And what will you do if I go the other way instead? You have to catch me first, and it doesn’t look like you’re in any condition to come after me,” he snarled.

  With that, he turned, took a flying leap and scaled the fence into the arena. Dean pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the paneling. “Come back, Aaron. Renegade’s still in there.”

  Aaron hesitated a moment as he turned and stared at the big bull, who stood pawing at the ground, his head lowered. A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s face. It seemed he’d forgotten Renegade’s presence. He looked back the way he’d come, but clearly realized Dean would capture him if he returned. Then he sprinted for the fence at the far side of the arena.

  But Renegade was faster. He charged at Aaron and, with seemingly little effort, caught up with the man. The bull bellowed as he lowered his head and speared him in the back with one of his horns, then lifted him and tossed him through the air, sending him crashing to the ground on the other side of the fence.

  Renegade continued to butt his head against the paneling as if challenging Aaron to get up, but Dean didn’t see any movement. He wanted to go to him, see if he was alive, but didn’t think he could make his legs move. A dizzy feeling overtook him, and he collapsed back onto the ground just as he heard the outside door crash open.

  “Dean!” Ben called out. “Are you in here?”

  He swallowed and forced himself to answer. “Over here, Ben,” he wheezed.

  Dean looked up to s
ee his friend and two deputies bending over him. Ben took one look at his jeans and glanced at one of the men. “Call 911. We need an ambulance right away.” He leaned closer. “Gwen told me about Billy. Where is he?”

  Dean tried to raise his hand to point to the other side of the arena, but it wouldn’t cooperate. “Over there,” he whispered. “See if he’s still alive.”

  The two deputies nodded and hurried off toward the other side, one of them on the radio with Dispatch, giving an update about the situation and the number of ambulances to send. Ben put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hang on, buddy. There’s medical help on the way.”

  Before Dean could respond, he heard the door open again and Gwen’s voice cry out, “Dean, where are you?”

  “Over here,” Ben yelled.

  Then she was beside him. Dean looked up into the eyes that had first made his heart pound the night they’d met. They were filled with tears now, just like then. “Don’t cry, Gwen,” he whispered. “I’m going to be okay.”

  He saw her lips move and knew she must be saying something, but he couldn’t hear. He felt the darkness closing in as his eyes drifted shut.

  * * *

  Gwen grabbed Dean’s hand and clasped it in both of hers. His fingers felt like ice, and she rubbed them as she sobbed. “Dean, I love you! Don’t leave me!”

  She felt strong hands grasp her shoulders, and she gazed up into Ben’s face. He looked as scared as she felt, but somehow he managed to smile. “He’s going to be all right, Gwen. The paramedics will be here any minute. Just keep talking to him. Maybe he can hear what you’re saying.”

  She looked back down at Dean as words began to pour from her mouth. She didn’t know what she was saying or if it even made sense, but for the next few minutes she told him everything she could about Maggie—how she could eat macaroni and cheese for every meal, how she couldn’t stand the taste of asparagus. Her favorite color was red. Her favorite flower was a daisy. How she loved to draw, and how she was going to love looking at the night sky from the front porch at Little Pigeon Ranch.