Chapter Three
As the truck jounced along the narrow, tree-lined dirt road, agony flared in Lisa’s head and right arm with every bump. Swallowing back a cry of pain, she gritted her teeth and braced herself. She had to get through these next few minutes, had to put her injuries out of her mind until she had her son safely in her arms.
She focused on that image, on Tyler’s smile beaming and Rowdy’s tail wagging beside him. She poured her soul into a prayer that the vicious Evie and her partner would drop him off and keep going. That all they’d really wanted was the money and not revenge against a helpless child.
“Hurry,” she urged Cole Sawyer, her senses so abnormally heightened that she cataloged every detail of the man she had no choice but to depend on. The strong hands on the wheel, the jaw set with determination, the steel-eyed gaze peering out the windshield—everything about him radiated power and the confidence of a man in his prime. As she would expect from a Ranger, his light brown hair was cut military-short, and now it flashed, tipped with gold, as he drove through long, low rays of sunlight splintered by the trees.
He might be helping her now, but she could not forget what his interference might have cost her. Couldn’t let go of her fury until her only child—everything that she had left of Devin—was recovered safe and sound.
The truck jolted through a washed-out dip, and black splotches splashed across her vision. Unable to will away the pain shooting through her head and body, she cried out as a wave of dizziness engulfed her.
“Hold on, Lisa,” he urged. “We’ll be on them any second.”
Groaning, she slumped against the door, her gaze drifting, drooping, until Cole said, “See? They’re coming this way. Tell me, is it them?”
It was like a hip-deep slog through hardening concrete, sucking in a deep breath and forcing herself to sit up. Finding the bloodstained towel and pressing it against her oozing wound, she welcomed the stab of agony to rouse her.
But it was the sight of the gun in Cole’s hand that brought her fully to awareness, that and the dark resolve in those flint-gray eyes of his. He meant to shoot the two abductors if he had to. But what about Tyler? He could be hit, maybe even killed, in the cross fire.
Fresh adrenaline surging through her, she focused on the bumper of the vehicle emerging from the trees. She clamped down on her terror and tuned out the roaring in her head.
“No!” she cried. “That isn’t my car.”
Her denial didn’t stop Cole from pulling into the center of the dirt road and blocking the beat-up sedan coming their way.
As the gun disappeared beneath his jacket, he ordered, “Stay here, and I’ll find out if this guy knows anything.”
“No. I’m coming, too. I have to...” Lisa began, until the trees, the truck, the entire world, spun like a whirlwind all around her. Before she could say more, the black splotches roared back with a vengeance, and she slumped a second time and went completely limp.
* * *
COLE GRIMACED WHEN HE saw her pass out, though it solved one potential problem. If the other driver got one look at the blood on her, there could be a lot more trouble than either he or Lisa needed.
Climbing from his Ram, he waved his hands urgently, trying his best to look like someone in distress rather than a threat. The shaggy-bearded, graying driver in faded overalls stared at him, his expression a mixture of caution and confusion. Cole could not be certain, but he thought he saw the man reach for something underneath his seat.
Possibly a weapon, and Cole didn’t blame him, not in this secluded, rural spot. He approached slowly, keeping his palms raised.
The window lowered, and a wary squint creased the corners of the driver’s eyes. “You need help, mister? You hurt?”
He was staring at the smear of blood on Cole’s hand. Damn it. Cole had to come up with something quick to get the driver on his side with a minimum of explanation—and no suspicious-sounding details about a bank robbery gone wrong.
Improvising, he said, “I was coming home from work, and saw these two thugs, a man and woman, robbing my wife right in our driveway. Before I could stop them, they hit Lisa and took off in our Camry with our five-year-old inside.”
The fisherman paled, barely managing a low “Damn, mister.”
“We followed them to Sunset Avenue before they got away,” Cole said. “But when I saw the dust coming off this road, I thought—did you see them? Did they pass you? We have to get our Tyler back before they—”
“No, sorry. That was only me, comin’ up to grab the tackle box I forgot. No car could go any fu’ther back. There’s a big tree ’cross the road, and no way past but over.”
Cole cursed softly, his heart sinking at this failure. A mistake that might cost Lisa Meador’s child his life. “Damn, I’ve just given them an even bigger lead. I’ve gotta get back after them on Sunset.”
“You report this to the sheriff?”
“No time.” He shook his head, the knot in his gut tightening. “We have to hurry.”
“Wait! We need to call 9-1-1 and get you some backup. And what about your wife? Is she hurt?”
But Cole was already sprinting back to his truck. Leaping inside, he jammed it into gear and made a sloppy three-point turn, taking out a couple of small trees with his bumper. By that time he was past caring about any dents and scratches, or whether or not the fisherman actually called for help. Waiting for a patrol car would take too long and result in hours of interviews. He had to get back on the road and catch up with the Camry fast.
Reaching the end of the dirt track, he waited for traffic. “Come on, come on,” he said, foot tapping. As the clutter of vehicles passed, however, another glance at the unconscious woman stopped him from pulling out again.
A few more drops of blood had dripped down her temple, a startling contrast against her pallor. Full and parted, her lips had gone as colorless as a corpse’s. Which meant that her injuries might be more serious than he’d thought.
As badly as he needed to get going, he was seized with the fear that his bullet might have killed her just as surely as his failure had cost her husband his life. Throwing the truck into Park, he felt for the carotid pulse beside her windpipe, a practiced move he had repeated on many a military mission.
His pounding heart pushed into his throat, but this time, thank God, he was not checking a dead body. He felt the flutter of her pulse, more rapid than it should be, but she was alive. Determined to keep her that way, Cole found a first-aid kit he kept beneath the seat, along with a clean T-shirt he had stuffed inside the bag he’d planned to take to the gym later. Thankful for the basic combat medic training the Rangers had provided, he got out and went around to her side, then ripped the shirt at the seams and improvised a pressure bandage for her arm.
Every second delayed what he now saw as his mission, so he worked with swift efficiency, thankful to be finished before the fisherman showed up with more questions to delay them.
He snatched up an old army blanket from behind the front seat, then tossed it over Lisa to help protect her from shock. After slamming the door behind him, he made his way behind the wheel.
Strapping in, he pushed the pickup’s powerful V-8 to eat up the lost miles and within minutes overtook the knot of traffic that had delayed him. He deftly passed one vehicle after another until a blind curve obscured his vision and he was forced to flash his high beams at the clueless driver of an ancient rust bucket puttering at the head of the parade. When the car still failed to yield, he tapped the horn twice until the old woman finally pulled onto the shoulder.
After that the road unspooled before him in a dark, unbroken ribbon. He goosed the gas again, quickly gaining speed. But what if he was wrong, if right at the outset he’d guessed incorrectly that the kidnappers were heading out of town on this rural farm-to-market road? And what about the intersection he knew was coming up? Though they might well keep to the smaller roads in the hope of avoiding capture, that would be slower than the interstate.
* * *
LISA FOUGHT HER WAY through the blackness, through her pain, and toward the son who needed her.
“Tyler,” she murmured, forcing her eyes open, blinking at the way the landscape had shifted into grassy hills studded with occasional rocky outcrops.
All too quickly, memory roared back and she choked down a cry. Bolting upright, she looked toward the man who might have cost her everything.
“Where’s my son?” she asked helplessly. “What happened?”
“He wasn’t down that dirt road.” A grimace tightened Cole’s square jaw. “They didn’t go that way.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure as I can be about anything right now.” He flicked an assessing look in her direction. “You feeling any better?”
A laugh slipped out, dry and mirthless. “You really don’t want to know the answer to that question.”
“There’s some aspirin in the first-aid kit if you can reach it.”
Though her head pounded with the movement, she picked up the plastic box off the floorboard, mostly relying on her uninjured left arm. She found the bottle but couldn’t open it one-handed.
Passing it to him, she asked, “Could you, please?”
He popped the top and handed back the open container. “Take that water from the center console. It’s not the freshest, but you need to drink as much of it as you can. It’ll help keep you from blacking out again.”
She forced herself to wash down two of the tablets, then finish every drop of the water.
“Thanks,” she managed, struggling to stave off the panic flashing through her brain like summer lightning.
“We’re coming up on an intersection with the interstate in just a couple miles. I’m figuring they’ll stick to back roads, since for all they know, there’s already an AMBER Alert out for your son. What do you think?”
Anxiety paralyzed her. Maybe they should make finding a phone a priority so the police could really activate the alert. But she couldn’t bear the thought of losing their chance to catch up with Tyler. If only she had some way of knowing which route the kidnappers might have taken.
A single thought pierced the fog: the final errand on her day’s list. “They’ll have to stop for gas soon. I was going to fill up on my way home from the groomer’s.”
“If they cut over to the interstate, there’ll be an exit in about ten miles if they backtrack or another twenty-five or so if they keep heading west.”
“If they stay on this road, there’s a little town up ahead.” She’d driven through it last month, on the way to a friend’s ranch, where Tyler had taken his first horseback ride. The memory of his laughter choked her, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to focus. “There’s a mom-and-pop store on the main drag—look, you see the sign?”
“Be pretty hard to miss that,” Cole said.
Large and crudely painted, the homemade billboard stood along the grassy roadside. Texas Two-Step, Gas-Groceries-Grill, 8 Miles Ahead, Y’all Come See Us!
Not far ahead, she saw a more official sign, with its arrow pointing to the right, indicating a connection to the interstate. And the knowledge crashed down on her that if she made the wrong choice, Tyler could be as lost to her as the husband she had buried.
* * *
AMPED UP ON THE candy bars she seemed to live on, his lover drove in a dangerous, lock-jawed silence that even Lee Ray Hardy was afraid to interrupt. He didn’t kid himself that “Evie,” as she’d demanded he keep calling her, did much more than tolerate him at the best of times, but the drugs were great, the sex mind-blowing and he found her fascinating, like a glittery-scaled cobra that might strike at any moment.
Might strike him dead, he dimly realized, but he was powerless to pull away. Especially as long as she kept him supplied with the crystal meth that had consumed whatever chance he’d ever had at an ordinary life.
Beside him, the boy’s eyelids drooped, thanks to the cold medicine Evie had used to spike the juice box from her duffel. Fighting sleep, he studied Lee Ray’s inked arms until his face screwed up with disapproval. “Teacher says you’re not s’posed to let people draw on your skin,” he said sleepily. “She says you can get in real big trouble for it. With the principal.”
In spite of himself Lee Ray grinned. “Yeah, well, there’s not much any principal can do to me that ain’t been done already,” he said. “Besides, these’re the kind of pictures that don’t come off.”
“Not even with soap?”
“Already tried that,” Lee Ray joked, though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a bath or shower. It was one of those things he never thought of on his own, but Evie always made him before sex. Not that there’d been much of that since she’d grown so obsessed with tracking down the woman whose photo she’d spotted in some newspaper story.
“So you have to keep them always?” the boy asked. A cute kid, Lee Ray had to admit, with those drowsy blue eyes peering up from beneath the shaggy blond-brown bangs. And except for a rash of tears after Evie had ordered Lee Ray to get rid of that snarling, snapping little mutt of his, the boy had barely cried.
“Always,” Lee Ray answered him. “Don’t you like my tats, dude?”
Though he held on to the stuffed octopus for dear life, the kid peered at his arm and neck critically, then pointed at the scowling pirate on his left arm. “I like that one, sort of. Except he looks a little scary. You got any cartoons?”
There was one cartoonish naked lady splayed obscenely across his chest, but Lee Ray shook his head instead of lifting his shirt.
“No cartoons,” he said, “but you see this?” He showed off what once had been a decent biceps. “This one here’s an eagle.”
“Shut the hell up back there, will you? You’re givin’ me a mother of a headache, all that yackin’.” Evie’s warning sliced him, sharper than the look in her violently blue eyes.
It was a reminder, too, that he had no business getting attached to any rug rat. Especially not one his volatile girlfriend had planned on taking from the start.
He had no idea what she meant to do with the kid, since she’d never seen fit to clue him in on her plans. But whatever it was, he thought as dread tightened his gut, it was bound to be a lot worse than what had happened to the dog.
Chapter Four
The first of several officers on the scene, Deputy Trace Sutherland had never seen a damned thing like this in his sixteen years with the Tuller County Sheriff’s Department. Sure, the area had its share of property crimes and assaults, even the rare murder, but a bank holdup in broad daylight, with a hostage taken?
All around him, witnesses continued jabbering, from bank employees to the only other customer who’d been here, to another man who’d seen an armed assailant force a dark-haired woman into his truck.
“He acted like he just wanted to ask that poor girl for a date or something,” the customer service manager repeated as she twisted a wad of tissue into pieces. Her eyes wide and wet, she added, “I warned everyone when I saw him going for his gun. He claimed his name was Cole, Cole Sawyer, and that he’d recently left the army.”
“Probably needed money,” the witness from the parking lot interjected. “Lot of them veterans’re having trouble finding work.”
As the group rattled on, basically rehashing the few facts they had already given, a feminine cry interrupted from across the lobby. Excusing himself, Trace made a beeline to where the EMTs were helping the very shaken, very pregnant teller, who lay curled with her hands clutching her abdomen and her face screwed up in a grimace.
“Her water broke. We’d better get her on the ambulance,” said one of the EMTs as she and her partner raised the gurney.
“That’s fine,” Trace said, then looked down at the young teller, his expression softening at
the terror in her eyes. “You just worry about yourself and that baby right now, Mrs. Rowan. We’ll send somebody to interview you about the incident once you’re feeling better.”
At least they would be able to question her later. The security guard, already en route to the hospital after three shocks had failed to restore a normal cardiac rhythm, wouldn’t likely survive.
If he did die, or if, God forbid, the teller lost her baby, their suspect would face charges of murder in addition to attempted armed robbery and abduction. Which meant they’d better damned well find the culprit fast.
Trace’s boss, the rotund but always-competent Sheriff Stewart, hurried over, pulling his phone from his ear. “We’ve got a report, some kinda chase situation out on Sunset. Suspect’s black Ram pickup appeared to be pursuing an older silver Camry as it fled the scene of a motorcycle wreck. Accomplice, maybe? Anyway, you take Jill and head out that way. I’ll have the dispatcher contact you with more info as it comes in.”
“Take my—take Jill?” Trace’s stomach dropped as his gaze cut toward the tall, uniformed woman now sorting out the witnesses, her sleek wheat-colored ponytail hanging halfway down her back. Not her. Not now. He wasn’t ready for this. What was she even doing working his shift today?
“Yeah. Her unit’s in the shop, and all our reserve cars—you know our budget issues. She’s been playing chauffeur for me today, but I can drive myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Trace said, because it was the only possible answer. He wasn’t about to hold up something this urgent simply because he dreaded riding with his ex-wife. They were both professionals, so they could suck it up and do their duty.
“We’ll see if we can track down this Sawyer fella’s plates and put out a BOLO on him,” the sheriff said.
“That’d be great.” A “Be On the Lookout” alert to all surrounding counties could easily result in a quick capture—and less time on the road with a woman who despised him.
A woman he would do anything to go back in time with to undo his mistakes.
Relentless Protector Page 3
