Ghosts of Culloden Moor 23 - Brodrick

by L. L. Muir

  She shook her head. She couldn’t trust this guy. He would do or say anything to get away. Justice had warned her he would. However, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. He’d had plenty of opportunity to hurt the guards and hadn’t, he’d even tossed their guns away instead of using them, so her impression of him had been at odds with the violent man he supposedly was. But maybe Justice was right about him after all.

  He eased closer, watching her face, his arm extended as if to catch her if she thought to jump. But she dared do nothing more drastic than shake her head again. If she so much as straightened her arm to keep him away, he might fall more than fifteen feet!

  “For yer own good,” he murmured as he suddenly bent over, knocked the wind out of her with his shoulder, and threw her over his back. She squealed, but the sound died a lonely death in the eerie silence. They fell together, then suddenly swung sideways around the ladder.

  Not gonna die! I’m not gonna die!

  The ground rose jerkily up to meet her and she fought to calm her racing heart while the guy climbed to the ground. It was difficult, though, to take deep breaths with a meaty shoulder pressing into her stomach. A few feet before she might have struck pavement, he stepped off the ladder and started running. She watched the hospital grow further and further from reach while she used every muscle to keep from bouncing too hard.

  With one hand tucked around the back of her left thigh, he held her legs tight against him. It was the only sign he remembered she was there at all. He sprinted across the stretch of grass. At the far edge, when they reached the shelter of some bushes, he lowered her to the ground. Then he took her hand and started pulling her up the rise.

  But this was it. Now or never. She had her feet under her again, and if she was going to resist, she needed to do it before he got her up into the mountains—because she sure as hell wasn’t going to run off into the woods in a pair of hospital socks.

  She dropped to her knees. The pull of his hand tipped her forward, but he stopped and waited for her to get to her feet again.

  She shook her head. “This is where you leave me. There’s no one on our tails, so you don’t need me for a hostage—”

  “On yer feet, lass.”

  “No.” She tried to pull her hand away from him, but he held tight.

  He glanced back at the hospital, alert. She looked too. A meager flash of red lights lit up the night to one side of the wide building, but the car itself never came into view.

  One car?

  Either there had been some other emergency nearby, or Justice hadn’t called for much backup. The whole place should have been lit up by now, shouldn’t it? At the intersection of two main roads, state patrol cops should have joined the hunt by now. Or had all the drama made time move more slowly for her?

  He pulled on her hand again. “Come, lass. One way or another.”

  She really didn’t want to have his shoulder pounding into her middle while he hefted her up the hill, but he needed to know she was determined. If he thought she was a big enough pain in the butt, maybe he would leave her behind.

  “You’re wasting precious time,” she said, and moved onto her butt, making it harder for him to pick her up.

  Through the shadows of the long hair hanging in his face, she watched a slow smile form on those lips that had been pressed against hers maybe ten minutes before. A chill originated at the back of her skull and shot out across her skin, down her spine and over her limbs. Simultaneously, warmth spread through her veins.

  Bad signs all around.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Scotsman leaned toward her, pulling on her hand as he reached behind her head. She couldn’t think of him as The Prisoner anymore. The Prisoner was now Larkin Nash, dishonored psychologist and soon to be former provider at R&L Center for Mental Health.

  He took hold of her ponytail and pulled her closer. “Beware of offering yer enemy such a handle, lass. And never dare a Highlander.” He pressed his mouth to hers again, but this time, there was some serious pressure there, like he was trying to communicate the fact that he was completely in charge of the situation. It was a point made even more clear by the fact that she was now on her feet, though she hadn’t noticed standing.

  But Larkin had had enough bullying for one day, and in spite of the fact that she might be experiencing the best, most passionate, heart-stopping kiss of her life…she bit him.

  He pulled back and licked his lips, then chuckled quietly.

  “Beware of offering your enemy your tongue,” she said, then shook her head, trying to get him to release her hair and was surprised when he did. But his attention was back on the hospital.

  There were two deputies visible, one from each end of the building, converging toward the center of the building where they would find the fire escape ladder still on the ground. They would know she and the patient had probably headed up the hill. It was only a matter of time.

  Yes, it was dark. But she and the “Highlander” weren’t farther than a football field from the ladder. Once the deputies looked their way, they were toast.

  “Forgive me,” said her captor. He pulled her back against his chest and slapped his massive hand over her mouth. Once again, she felt herself falling as he pulled her back and off balance, but she landed softly between his knees in the weeds. She held onto his forearm for balance, not intending to struggle. Drawing attention probably meant drawing fire.

  He shifted behind her, again and again, while she watched the deputies move closer to the ladder. Any second now…

  Was he planning to use her as a shield?

  If that big hand wasn’t held so firmly against her face, she might have asked. Why didn’t he run? Take off without her? If she had allowed him to descend to the first floor, he could have been shot and killed. Yes, her idea had saved him, but for how long, if he kept doing silly things like sitting down and waiting for the officers to find him?

  The stars suddenly disappeared from view as a large swath of plaid shot out over her head and settled around her. The smell of wool and masculine sweat filled the pockets of air near her face.

  Are you kidding me? His plan is to hide under a blanket?

  Well—not all of a blanket. She would have known if he’d slipped out of the entire kilt. Wouldn’t she?

  His head pressed against the side of hers. “Hush, now, lass. If ye think to struggle, I’ll have no choice but to lie atop ye, do ye ken? And I’d hate to have to crush the breath out of ye.”

  She couldn’t have nodded if she’d tried, he held her that tight. But she wouldn’t have moved anyway. She was scared stiff, and it didn’t have anything to do with a gorgeous man threatening to squish her—it was pure fear that kept her from taking a normal breath. Those cops were going to see a mass of Scottish plaid lying on the hillside, making a nice big target. And they were going to shoot. Why wouldn’t they?

  There’s the dangerous Scotsman. He can’t be contained. He’s out of his mind, and he’s already killed a sheriff.

  Oh, yeah. They were going to shoot.

  She closed her eyes and prayed, trying to remember anything in her past that might warrant serious repentance. She was glad she’d had a chance to wear the shoes. If she hadn’t, they’d be gobbled up by her landlady when she came to clean out Larkin’s apartment. And if there was one person she didn’t want getting a hold of her stuff, even if it was her case of Top Ramen, it was that rude, loud woman.

  Oh, well. Nothing could stop her. Let her have the Top Ramen. Everything else was on its last leg, including her car, because she’d been waiting for that first real paycheck to come in. And that might rot away in an envelope in some police evidence room.

  Rent would come to her funeral. No matter how stupid he might think she was for opening that door and letting a dangerous man get free, he’d still come pay his respects. They’d made a promise to each other one day, over lunch, that whoever survived the other one would make sure there were flowers, and at least one mourner.


  With her earthly belongings settled, and her funeral ensured, she had nothing really to worry about now except…the pain.

  Not the head. Please don’t shoot me in the head.

  “Lass?”

  She shook her head ever so slightly—a movement that could have only been felt and not seen.

  “Lass, ye must take a breath. I’ll not let them harm ye. I swear on my good name.”

  The warm press of his face against hers made her pant even faster. She was hyperventilating!

  “Forgive me,” he said again, and pinched her nose shut.

  She lost it and thrashed her head, tried to move his immoveable arms. She thought her chest would explode with the pressure of trying to exhale. Her ears popped as he rolled her onto her stomach and threw a heavy leg over hers. With his free arm, he held her shoulder against the ground.

  She was mad, but she could breathe again, and the hand was gone from her mouth.

  “Wheesht, now, lass. Easy, then. Try to hold yer breath again, count to ten. Ye’re hyperventilating.”

  Hyperventilating. Right. When you don’t have a paper bag handy, the quickest cure was to hold your breath for as long as you could. He was right.

  She did what he said, held her breath for ten seconds, waited, then held it again. But if she lived long enough, she was going to make him pay for scaring the hell out of her.

  “Hush now. They’re coming this way.”

  She froze again. She was still beneath that tartan target and still in danger. Calmer though—she no longer had too much oxygen in her system.

  She heard the muffled squawk of a radio. It couldn’t have been twenty feet away. And though she strained to hear footsteps, she was temporarily distracted by the stroke of a thumb along her shoulder where her captor held her down.

  What did he think she was, a cat? A nervous horse? What?

  “No trace of them,” a man said. “They could be halfway up the mountain by now. We’re going to need help.”

  “Damn it,” came a familiar voice on the radio. “I wanted to get this handled quietly.”

  “No chance, boss. It’s already hit the internet. My wife called. The Cass County boys will be here any minute, I’m sure.”

  “All right, then. If we have to have their help, then we’ll take advantage. Let them scour the hills. And while they do, we’ll get our people equipped with tasers and knives.”

  “Knives?”

  “Bullets don’t bring him down, Conrad. He’s got some kind of armor. We might end up cutting off his head to stop him.”

  Two men chuckled, apparently standing together now. One had to be Jack Conrad, a deputy she’d met a couple of times. “Poetic justice for Reiser?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sorry about Larkin, boss. I’m sure we’ll get her back.”

  There was a pronounced silence while Larkin waited for a tender word.

  “All units get off this frequency until further notice,” Justice finally said. “We don’t need some HAM listening in and sharing information on Facebook.”

  “Well, he’s got a woman with him, so it’s not like he can go all Rambo on us,” Conrad said.

  “Damn it! I said get off this frequency!”

  The radio cut off.

  “Payette can’t be serious, eh? He won’t make us cut off the guy’s head, will he?”

  “I know there were shots fired,” Conrad said. “And I know the guy is still walking. So maybe.”

  “Or maybe he’s just freaking out because the bastard took Larkin.”

  There was a short pause while she strained to hear.

  “I don’t know.” Conrad’s voice again. “If it was my girlfriend out there, I’d have called the State Police and the FBI by now.”

  “Or maybe you would want to kill the guy yourself. Did you think of that?”

  Conrad chuckled. “Yeah. Maybe it’s not really his head the sheriff wants to cut off…”

  They were so close! Though Larkin tried to control herself, she couldn’t stop the tremors from rolling through her body, which just made her panic worse. If the two officers were so blind they couldn’t see the plaid blanket, they couldn’t miss it if it started shaking.

  When the men spoke again, however, they were too far away to tell what they were saying. And they certainly weren’t standing over her, waiting for her to show herself.

  A couple of minutes crawled by. When the Scotsman finally removed his leg and released her shoulder, she could hardly move. All that adrenaline pumping through her body had acted like hot wax that had cooled and hardened, making her joints stiff. But eventually, she was able to roll over and take a peek outside their little cocoon.

  She started praying a different kind of prayer, all thank-you’s. And she tried to ignore the little pain beneath her collar bone, the throbbing that had begun when Justice hadn’t said anything about her. She had to remember that he wasn’t terribly emotional, so maybe he wanted to keep his feelings to himself and not broadcast them. But what hurt her the worst was that he hadn’t asked for help in finding her.

  She sucked in a deep breath and forced it out again. Moping wasn’t a luxury she could afford at the moment, so she decided to give Justice the benefit of the doubt until she heard his side of the story. She just had to trust that he had good reasons for what he did and didn’t do—reasons that would only occur to a seasoned sheriff.

  The wool was lifted away from her and cool, fresh air hit her in the face. From the corner of her eye she saw the guy kneeling on the ground, laying out the plaid, taking the time to make a few pleats. Looking closer, the pattern blended in with the hillside so well, she finally understood why the deputies had missed them.

  It was camouflage!

  The sleeveless shirt beneath his vest was surprisingly long, but it didn’t quite cover his butt, and she felt her face heating like hot plate. She couldn’t tell if his thighs were really hairy, or if it was just shadows. But she turned away before she could be caught investigating.

  He wasn’t paying attention. If she jumped up and ran, she could put a little distance between them. She might get all the way to the first car before he caught up with her—if he bothered to chase her down. He’d be better off leaving her behind. Maybe he had realized that while they’d been waiting to be discovered.

  “We need to get moving before the next search party arrives,” the Scotsman said, his voice heavy and sober. He came to stand in front of her, fully covered again—except for those powerful knees.

  She moved right to the apology. “I’m sorry I delayed you. If you want to leave me behind now, I promise I can take care of myself.”

  “Nay, lass. I only regret I could not leave ye in yer ignorance. But now that ye know what the man is capable of, ye’re also the enemy, aye?”

  “He doesn’t know you speak English. He won’t know you told me.”

  “No time to debate, lass. The danger has passed, but will return any moment.”

  He was right. She got to her feet while he watched the east end of the building where the deputies had disappeared.

  She should have run when she had the chance. Why hadn’t she run?

  Her little green cricket of a conscience piped up. “Because no one wants to be alone when they’re hurting, even if they’re with a guy who might lose his head—literally.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The night sky rotated above them and a new set of constellations lit the night. Larkin pulled up her hospital socks and started up the hillside. She hadn’t taken more than three or four steps when the Scotsman stopped her with a whisper.

  “Where do ye go, lass?”

  She paused and pointed at the top of the rise.

  “Nay. Did ye not hear? That’s where they’ll be lookin’.” He waved his fingers. “Come, and hurry.” He picked his way west through the low shrubs, angling away from the hospital, all the while holding out his hand for her, expecting her to catch up and take it.

  There was something s
o unreal about that wide, strong hand floating out there like a carrot, luring her away from what she knew—from the man she had always trusted, from safety. There was absolutely no reason for her to take that hand, to attach herself to a stranger who had probably killed Robert Reiser. But she found herself clipping along, catching up. And as she reached out for him, she heard Melody Cottrell’s voice in her head. “Sad, really. Wait ‘til you see him.”

  For a second, she pulled her hand back, asking herself if the only reason she was going along with this man was because he did look like an ancient Scottish god. Looking down the length of his long arm, she saw mound after mound of muscle. If the rest of him looked the same, it was no wonder he was able to toss a two-hundred-pound woman over his shoulder and run. He could probably force anyone to do his will. But would he kill?

  He glanced at her, looked at his still empty, still extended hand, then at her face. “Decide,” his expression said.

  She faced ahead. They were nearly to a thick swath of trees that would hide them for the next half mile, leaving behind the hospital and the forest beyond the hill. If she stopped and ran back, she thought maybe he would let her go this time. He would think she was a fool, and probably running to her own doom, but he would let her go.

  Or he would take her with him, protect her.

  Nearly there. No more debate. She admitted that she had already made up her mind. Maybe it was that brogue. Maybe it was that second kiss. Hell, maybe it was the first one. But it didn’t matter. She stretched toward him a mere inch or two before his hand swallowed hers, his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

  Maybe he’d known, too, that she would choose him.

  He swung her toward him and paused long enough to scoop her up into his arms before plunging them both into the dark vertical shadows that waited for them. “Next time ye have need to run for yer life, lass, remember to wear shoes.”

  She laughed. “Next time?”

  He grinned, his mouth enticingly close. “Aye. Next time.”

  Compelled to touch him, she lifted her hand. But she hesitated, not knowing how to go about it. After a couple of seconds, she laid it back on his shoulder. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, but a few seconds later, his gaze dropped to her arm for a split second like he was waiting for it to lift again.