by B. J Daniels
“You think the person behind the kidnapping will try again?”
“It was a brazen move to demand ten million dollars. I would think the person would be even more desperate to get his hands on the money now. Two of his accomplices are dead, but there is one out there who might be able to identify him. That’s if the person behind the kidnapping knows that things have gone south.”
Franklin stared at him. “You mean he might not know that the plane crashed?”
“Possibly. Or he might think that you don’t know, in which case, you should be getting a call to tell you where to deliver the ransom demand fairly soon.”
“I did as you said and got together what I could in such short notice.” He motioned to a briefcase by the door. “There’s just under four million in there, all unmarked bills.”
“Good. I doubt even the Feds will be able to find the kidnapper quickly. Which means your granddaughter will have to stay close to home until it is safe.”
Franklin swore. “And given what I’ve told you about my granddaughter...” He sighed. “She’s so damned headstrong—just like her mother. And right now she’s furious with me. We’ve been arguing over her latest boyfriend, money, everything.”
He finished his sparkling water and rose to get a real drink. As he did, his doorbell rang. He hurried to the door, opening it to find his chief financial officer. Behind him, coming up the walk, was his lawyer. “Your timing couldn’t be better,” he said, and led the two of them into the living room.
“Judge W. T. Landusky, this is my chief financial officer, Curtis Hunt, and my personal lawyer, Helen Mars.”
Willie had gotten to his feet, shaken Curtis’s hand and was turning toward the woman when Franklin saw all the color drain from his friend’s face.
“Helen?” Willie said as he was about to shake her hand, and stopped dead.
“You two know each other?” he asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“Hello, William. I’m surprised to see you.” But Franklin noticed that she didn’t seem surprised at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HER STOMACH RUMBLED AGAIN. JJ had always had a good appetite. But it appeared that her ordeal had left her famished. Also, this could be her last meal for a while, she thought. Maybe her last meal ever if this man was working with the kidnappers. They’d drugged her, almost killed her in a plane crash... She had to believe that getting out of this alive was questionable. Especially if this cowboy had anything to do with it.
She watched him dish up two plates of what appeared to be elk hash. She could see carrots, potatoes and onions chopped up with the meat, all of it in a rich dark gravy. He handed her a plate and a fork.
“Let’s eat in front of the fire.”
She took hers in and sat on the edge of the hearth, leaving the only chair for him.
“Take the chair,” he said, being the perfect gentleman.
She shook her head as she pulled off the towel to free her hair. It fell around her shoulders. “I’m fine here by the fire. My hair is still wet. The heat feels good.” With obvious reluctance, he took the chair, looking somewhat chagrined. “You don’t get a lot of company, I’m guessing,” she said, stating the obvious.
“My choice,” he said, keeping his gaze on his plate as he ate.
JJ dug in, as well. “This is delicious,” she managed to say between bites. “You’re a good cook.”
“Self-defense. It’s cook or starve.”
She suspected he enjoyed cooking more than he was willing to admit. Most men, at least the few she’d come across, would have slapped down an elk steak in the pan and called it good.
They ate in a companionable silence. For a while, she’d let herself forget about the call Thorn was waiting on—or what the person on the other end of the line would tell him. By now, Geneva might have turned up. Everyone was going to want to know whom Thorn had rescued from the kidnappers’ plane and what the woman might have to do with this whole mess.
She had just taken her last bite when his cell phone rang. Thorn rose and took both of their plates into the kitchen. She sat on the hearth, afraid to breathe. Maybe she should make a run for it now. Once everyone realized the mistake that had been made, there would be questions. Questions whose answers could land her in jail—if not worse.
But she knew she wouldn’t get far on foot, and she darn sure wasn’t stupid enough to try to ride a horse bareback out of these mountains.
“Yes.” She heard Thorn as he answered.
She waited for him to say something else, her heart in her throat. He seemed to be listening. She could only imagine what the person on the other end of the line was telling him.
“No, she’s all right. I just fed her.” He made it sound as if she was a stray dog he’d picked up and was now caring for until he could take her to the shelter.
More silence, then finally, “All right. I’ll do that.”
She heard him disconnect, pocket the phone and step around the edge of the partition. Her body tensed as she raised her gaze to his, not sure what she was going to see there. But his expression gave nothing away. Nor did his words.
“It’s time to go. I’m driving you home.”
JJ nodded, afraid to speak for fear that her voice would betray her. Their gazes held for a moment. She felt a quiver of electricity move through her as she recalled his fingers in her hair. A tingle worked its way up her spine, the warmth that had spread through her now gone.
Just because he’d been kind to her... She reminded herself that she still didn’t know who had hired him to come after her or where he was really taking her. He’d offered to let her call her grandfather, but he hadn’t mentioned it again since she’d had her bath and something to eat. Had he been relieved when she’d declined to make the call earlier?
What if she had wanted to call Franklin Davenport? Would he have let the call go through or made an excuse? As far as she knew, no one had called the authorities. Two of the kidnappers were dead. Didn’t someone need to contact the sheriff? All Thorn seemed interested in was turning her over to whoever had sent him into the mountains after her.
She couldn’t help the fear and distrust. It was ingrained in her from early childhood, and something not easily overcome. What a mess. She’d stumbled into all of this by accident. And right now she didn’t see any way out.
Rising on trembling legs, she said, “I should get dressed.”
“Wait.”
She felt her heart drop.
“I need to rebandage your leg.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding and sat back down as he went to get his first aid kit.
He was fast and efficient, his fingers nimble, as if he’d also bandaged his share of body parts in his life.
After he finished, he rose and said, “I’m going out to start the truck. It hasn’t been run for a while.” He was watching her closely again. No doubt afraid to leave her alone while he got the vehicle.
“What?” she said, hoping her voice sounded light instead of terrified. “We don’t have to ride out on horses?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” He still hadn’t moved. She realized he didn’t want to leave her because he was afraid she’d take off out the back door. It had crossed her mind, but she wouldn’t get far on foot—especially with him hot on her tail, so to speak.
“Thank you for the bath. I’ll get dressed and we’ll go. I feel so much better now. But if you don’t trust me, you could bolt the back door.” She glanced in that direction before turning back to him. “You could tie me up again, but it would make it hard for me to dress, now, wouldn’t it?”
He shook his head, clearly not amused, before he opened the door and looked out. Apparently not seeing any problems, he said, “Stay here until I come back for you.”
“Right, I know the drill. Otherwise, you’ll take me out of here
on Gertrude.”
He turned those gray eyes on her. “Wear anything of mine you can find that fits you.” With that he disappeared out the door.
She hurriedly wiped her fork off as well as her plate, telling herself she was being foolish. Leaving her fingerprints was the least of her problems. Then she went through what little clothing she could find of his and dressed in too-large sweats she had to roll up and tie tight around her waist. She covered them with a T-shirt, and pulled on a large hooded sweatshirt over the top.
JJ rolled up her dirty clothing and put it into the only thing she could find—a large paper sack. She set it by the door. She had no intention of leaving any evidence behind, but even as she thought it, JJ knew it wouldn’t matter. Once someone found her duffel bag with her purse and phone in Geneva Davenport’s bedroom—let alone her car in the garage—it would be all over for her.
From outside came the roar of a truck engine. Time had run out. She knew enough about the man to know that nothing would keep him from turning her over to whoever had hired him. Maybe he was a good guy, which meant she’d soon be coming face-to-face with one of the richest, most powerful men in Montana, Franklin Davenport. Or maybe Thorn wasn’t a good guy, which meant she’d soon be in the hands of the kidnappers again.
At the sound of him returning, she finished dressing and turned as he came through the door. She could hear the pickup running just outside. Apparently, he seldom drove it and he’d wanted it to run for a while to charge the battery.
She saw him stop just inside the door to look around the cabin. He had an odd expression on his face, as if wondering if he would ever see it again. He seemed to shake off whatever he’d been thinking as he stepped to the fireplace to extinguish the last of the flames and scatter the logs.
JJ hadn’t moved, her heart thudding in her chest. As he went into the kitchen, his cell phone rang, and she heard him take the call with his usual, “Yes?”
She hesitated for an instant, torn between her fears. Thorn had been kind to her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working with the kidnappers. Even if he wasn’t, she couldn’t let him take her to Franklin Davenport.
Seeing her chance, she took it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WITH HER PAPER bag of dirty clothes in hand, JJ threw open the cabin door, raced to the pickup and jumped in, locking the doors. She shifted the pickup into gear and tromped on the gas. As she did, she said a silent thanks to her eighth grade boyfriend, the car thief who’d taught her how to drive a stick.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thorn come charging out of the cabin. He grabbed for the pickup’s door handle, so close his fingertips grazed the side of the door. But not finding purchase, he stumbled back as the truck’s tires spit dirt and rocks.
She roared off the mountain without a clue where she was going or what she was going to do. But the one place she wasn’t going was to Franklin Davenport, where the mistake would be immediately disclosed with one look at her. She and Geneva were both blonde and had a passing resemblance, but that was all.
Glancing back in the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the yard, staring after her. She told herself he was lucky to be shed of her, whether he believed that right now or not.
He’d come to her rescue, fed her and even helped bathe her. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t also been hired to make sure she didn’t get away. If he worked for whoever was behind the kidnapping, then he was probably in trouble for losing her. But she had no doubt he could take care of himself.
If he worked for a friend of Franklin Davenport’s...well, she suspected losing her would be more of a hit to his pride and his reputation. Either way, he would be angry and set on finding her.
Fortunately, there was little he could do about that. Since he lived so simply, he apparently had only one form of transportation, this truck—other than his horses and a mule.
She felt only a little guilty. That phone call he’d gotten right before she’d made her break? She suspected it had been the person who’d sent him into the mountains for her, letting him know that he hadn’t rescued Geneva Davenport.
That the woman he had was an impostor.
If he didn’t know, he would soon enough. It was only a matter of time before the mistake was realized. Geneva would return from her secret liaison with the man her grandfather had forbidden her to date, and the truth would come out.
There would be some confusion since not even Geneva would know who’d been sleeping in her house. Franklin would be so happy to have his granddaughter back that...
Her happy ending burst like a soap bubble as she recalled Thorn’s words. The kidnapper would still be out there. A man like Franklin would do everything in his power to find out who’d been behind the attempted kidnapping.
And he had the perfect place to start—the woman who’d been sleeping in his granddaughter’s bed. Once they found her duffel bag with her cell phone inside it and her car snug in Geneva’s three-car garage, they would know exactly who she was. Geneva would recognize her name. And once they called the cops...
She groaned, wondering if she should just turn herself in. The thought made her ill. She’d promised her father on his deathbed that she would never go back to the life she’d lived before he’d found her.
Just the thought of her father brought tears to her eyes. She was trying to make him proud, really she was. None of this was her fault. All right, she had to admit, some of it was her fault.
She thought of the real Geneva Davenport and assured herself that the young woman was safe, since no one but JJ apparently knew where she was. The kidnappers had thought they had the granddaughter of wealthy Franklin Davenport, so they wouldn’t be looking for Geneva.
Instead, they would be looking for her, she thought as she came over a rise in the road and she saw the small town of Gardiner, the north entrance to Yellowstone Park. The Yellowstone River cut through the middle of the town. The highway either went into the park or north to Livingston. Where was she going? What was she going to do?
It was Saturday so she didn’t have to worry about work until Monday, but eventually she would have to call in and say what? That she was sick, and hope this would all blow over? Or maybe she should just quit before she got fired.
First she would need a phone. Hers was back at Geneva’s house in her purse in her duffel bag on the bedroom floor.
She groaned as another disturbing thought struck her. Were the kidnappers already looking for her? Baker could have reached a phone by now. He would have his own cell phone as well as Geneva’s. He could have reached an area where he’d gotten cell reception. Would he tell them that she was dead? They still thought she was Geneva Davenport. That should buy her some time, right?
But only until Geneva surfaced. Or until they realized their mistake. Or until they got the ransom money for her kidnapping. Either way, once they found out that she was alive, they might see her as a loose end, one that needed tying up and quickly.
As the road descended toward the river and the town, she saw a ball cap, faded and dusty, lying on the truck seat next to her. Picking it up, she put it on along with the sunglasses from the dash. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, she didn’t even recognize herself.
She turned north to follow the river toward Livingston, her mind racing. She figured she had one of three options. Turn herself in, return to Geneva’s house overlooking Flathead Lake near Big Fork and retrieve her purse, her duffel bag and her car if they were still there and the authorities weren’t, or run.
Once she had her belongings and car, she wouldn’t have to run or turn herself in, she realized.
Her heart ached as she thought again of her promise to her father. At least try to save yourself. Once she had the duffel bag and car, no one would know she was ever in that house. No one would know who she was. She’d been careful not to leave any prints at Thorn’s cabin or outhouse. It wouldn�
�t take her long to make sure she hadn’t left anything at Geneva’s house and hopefully, she wouldn’t leave any evidence in this truck. Why, though, had she told Thorn to call her JJ? Because she couldn’t stand to hear him call her Geneva another time.
Groaning, she told herself that her only hope was getting her duffel bag and car from the woman’s house. If the cops were there, then she would turn herself in.
Did she really dare return to the scene of the crime? Right now, it seemed her best option. Wouldn’t the authorities be crawling all over Geneva’s house, though? Unless... Unless they hadn’t been called—just as they hadn’t been called when the plane went down.
* * *
THORN WATCHED HIS truck disappear around a curve in the narrow road. He still had his phone in his hand. He could hear the judge asking what was going on. He disconnected, not having time to explain.
Taking off at a dead run toward the barn, he cursed himself for trusting the woman. He couldn’t understand her behavior, and hadn’t from the start. He’d been about to take her home. Why would she run now?
His instincts told him that something was desperately wrong with all of this, and had been from the start. He couldn’t help but wonder how deep the woman was in it. He’d been taking her to her grandfather. Or was that the problem?
Or was it Thorn himself? Did she still not trust him, still think he was in league with the kidnappers? Not that it mattered. He was involved whether he liked it or not. He swore again as he rushed into the barn.
Hadn’t he had a bad feeling about this from the get-go? He wouldn’t have touched it if it hadn’t been the judge. He knew he should call WT and tell him what was going on. But he wasn’t ready to admit that he’d let the woman get the best of him. Once he found her, once he knew what her story was, then he would call. Until then...
He went straight to the tarp-draped hulk in the corner. Jerking the cover off his motorcycle, he swung a leg over it, cranked up the engine and took off.
