by Rita Herron
She wished she could stop shaking, but she was trembling from the inside out.
Lucas rubbed circles over her back, a comforting gesture that she savored. He could have been killed trying to protect her.
But he hadn’t hesitated.
It’s his job. Nothing personal.
The reminder made her take a deep breath. Still, for a moment she laid her hand against his chest, drinking in his warmth and strength.
Lucas was the most honorable man she’d ever known. No wonder Honey had fallen in love with his brother and his family.
“Are you okay?” he murmured against her ear.
She nodded, then lifted her head. She wished she could look into his eyes, see what he was thinking. If he pitied her or...found her attractive.
She silently chastised herself. It didn’t matter if he did. He had a job to do and she refused to be a demanding, needy female.
“Did you get a look at him?” she asked as she leaned back against the seat.
His breath rushed out. “No, the windows were tinted. Once it went over the edge and crashed, he didn’t get out.”
He’d probably died on impact. Either that, or he was trapped and burning in his car.
A shiver rippled through her. She hated to think about anyone suffering. But if he was one of the kidnappers, he deserved what he’d gotten.
“I need to call CSI,” Lucas said.
Charlotte nodded. “Go ahead. I’m fine now.” Although she wasn’t fine and they both knew it.
But she was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered. The girls were going to need her once they were found.
* * *
THE NEXT HOUR dragged by. Lucas helped Charlotte from the car and led her to a group of rocks to sit while the CSI team processed the car.
They gathered the bullet casings from the side, and the one on the floorboard that had shattered the window. The breeze picked up, swirling dust and leaves across the terrain and blowing Charlotte’s hair around her face.
He couldn’t help but stare at her for a moment. She was so damn beautiful. Even with her porcelain skin discolored with bruises and the stitches evident on her forehead, her long black hair framed delicate features that accentuated high cheekbones, a small button nose and eyes that were so blue they reminded him of the gulf.
She thumbed her hair back from her face, and lifted her head to the wind. His chest clenched. Charlotte was an artist.
It must be especially painful for her not to be able to see colors.
A car engine rumbled, and Lucas glanced up as his brothers approached. He’d called Dexter and asked him to bring one of the ranch vehicles for him to drive.
Dexter glanced at the smoke billowing in the sky, and then at Charlotte. Brayden strode to the edge of the ravine, then whistled as he returned.
“No way the shooter survived that.”
“I just hope there’s enough left for the ME to make an identification. We need every bit of help we can get on this case.”
Dexter gestured toward Charlotte. “How’s she holding up?”
“She’s actually been amazing,” Lucas said, wishing he’d phrased his comment differently when his brothers graced him with curious looks.
“I mean, she’s strong,” Lucas said.
Dexter simply nodded, but Brayden gave him a sideways grin. “Honey raves about how much time and love Charlotte put into that art studio. A damn shame those men shot up the inside.”
“It can be fixed,” Lucas said, making a mental note to talk to Honey about it. Although first he’d have to ask Charlotte if she wanted to return to the space. The trauma might drive her to close the studio or move away.
“Thanks for the SUV,” Lucas said.
“You want us to stick around?” Brayden asked.
Lucas shook his head. “No need, CSI has this.”
Dexter elbowed him. “Let us know how we can help.”
Lucas nodded. “I will. Thanks.”
His phone buzzed just as they drove away. Keenan. He quickly connected. “Agent Hawk.”
“I’ve been researching the Shetland reference,” Keenan said “There’s a Shetland pony farm about fifty miles from Tumbleweed.”
Lucas’s pulse jumped. “Send me the coordinates. I’ll check it out.”
He hurried toward Charlotte and told her about the call. “I’ll drop you at home then drive out there. Let me make sure someone can stand guard.”
“That’s crazy,” Charlotte said. “You don’t need to waste time driving me home. I’ll ride with you to the property.”
Lucas hesitated. They’d already had one close call today. What if they drove to this farm and found the kidnappers on the premises?
* * *
NERVES RATTLED THROUGH CHARLOTTE. She wanted to go home and curl up in her bed.
But if Lucas had a lead, they had to follow it. “Please, Lucas. I’ll stay in the car. I don’t want you to waste time if there’s a chance you might catch these guys and find my students.”
A tense heartbeat passed. “I promised to keep you safe. I’m not sure having you ride with me out there will accomplish that.”
“Don’t treat me like an invalid,” Charlotte snapped. “The fact that one of the ring shot at us means the group hasn’t moved too far. Maybe they’re at that ranch.”
Another tense silence. “That’s true.” He helped her up, and she stood, brushing at her jeans. “But if it looks like someone is there, you have to promise to stay in the car. I can’t protect you and chase them if they try to escape or fight back.”
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Charlotte said with a shiver. “Let’s just go.”
“All right.”
The scent of smoke filled the air, a reminder that they’d barely escaped death today.
She curled her fingers around Lucas’s arm, slowly checking her footing as she walked.
“My brothers dropped off one of the ranch SUVs for me to drive,” Lucas said as he coaxed her into the passenger seat.
She fumbled for the seat belt, cursing her clumsiness as her fingers brushed Lucas’s.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “Just try and relax.”
Relax? How could she possibly do that knowing someone had just tried to kill her?
* * *
LATE AFTERNOON SHADOWS painted the road with gray lines as Lucas drove toward the Shetland pony ranch. According to the text Keenan had sent, the business had folded a little over a year ago.
Abandoned and remote, it would make the perfect place to house the kidnap victims. It was also close enough to Tumbleweed for the kidnappers to come back for Charlotte.
Charlotte lapsed into a strained silence as he drove, the tension between them palpable. He admired her strength and resilience.
But she had to be afraid.
The desert land gave way to farmland and dry brush, a testament to the remote location of the ranch. Charlotte’s eyes were closed, although her fingers worried the hem of her T-shirt in a nervous gesture.
“What brought you to Tumbleweed?” Lucas asked, striving to help her relax.
“Honey’s renovation project,” Charlotte said. “I saw a write-up about her plans and was drawn to her sketches. I drove out to meet her the next day.”
“Honey has revived this town,” Lucas said, remembering how badly the town had treated her as a child. His mother had been one of the worst. Although now she loved Honey like a daughter.
She would probably like Charlotte, too.
Where had thought come from?
Worried he was getting too close to Charlotte, he clamped his mouth shut and allowed the silence to stand between them for the next half hour. He could not get personal with Charlotte.
She was a victim, a witness, for God’s sake.
She needed him to be clearh
eaded and do his job.
The sign for the ranch slipped into view, the wooden post tilting sideways.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We passed Dead Man’s Bluff and turned west. We’re pulling down the drive to the ranch now. The ranch went out of business a while back.” His gut churned as he surveyed the land. “Damn, it’s not only deserted, but all the buildings on the property have also been torn down.”
He parked, punched Keenan’s number, put her on speaker and explained that the place was deserted. “Keenan, Shetland is also a type of cattle. See if there are any Shetland cattle farms around.”
“Okay, hang on.”
The sound of keys clicking echoed in the background. She returned a few moments later. “There is a Shetland cattle ranch about forty miles from where you are now. The property’s in foreclosure. I’m sending you the coordinates.”
“Thanks, Keenan.” He ended the call, checked the text, then turned around and headed toward the cattle ranch. If it was in foreclosure, the ranch was probably abandoned now. A good place for the kidnappers to hide.
“Shetland cattle?” Charlotte said. “I’ve heard of those. They’re working cattle.”
“Right.” Just like the girls would be made to work. Lucas grimaced, and they fell into a tense silence as he drove. Miles of farmland spread in front of him, then the houses became more sparse.
He found the road leading to the Shetland cattle ranch and turned, following it toward the main hub of the ranch.
This property looked deserted as well, although some of the outbuildings and stable fencing remained.
He scanned the land in search of a vehicle or any sign that the kidnappers were around, but nothing stuck out.
Two run-down barns and a large stable occupied the front of the property, and a dilapidated farmhouse sat on a hill.
Abandoned farm equipment had been left rusting in the pasture, and a dented pickup without wheels was parked in the bushes.
Charlotte seemed to sense they were getting close. “Is anyone here?”
“It doesn’t appear so. But they could have locked the girls in the barn or somewhere on the property until they returned.”
Charlotte shivered. “How can people treat each other so cruelly?”
“I ask myself that all the time.”
He cut the engine, then laid his hand over Charlotte’s. “I’m going to lock the door then search the property. I need you to stay inside.” He took her hand and placed it over the horn. “If you hear anything, make some noise and I’ll come running. And stay down.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath and nodded, and he squeezed her hand to reassure her, then grabbed a flashlight from the dash and climbed out.
He squared his shoulders, senses alert as he scanned the ranch again. No activity. Still, he held his gun at the ready as he strode to the barn door and peered inside.
A stench hit him—something was dead inside.
He clenched his gun, praying it wasn’t one of Charlotte’s students.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over his mouth and nose as he entered. The interior space was dark. Stalls on both sides of a center walkway appeared empty, but he had to check them out to make sure.
Dammit, he had to find the source of that stench.
Shining his light along the floor and into the stalls, he found rotting hay and animal feces. A dead coyote lay in the last stall. Flies and insects swarmed the space. He swatted them away with his hand, gagging at the intensity of the foul odor.
Satisfied no one was being held inside, he exited the back of the barn and noticed a storage shed behind it. He scanned the area. No cars or signs of life.
Using his flashlight, he checked the ground for footprints and tire marks, and spotted boot prints near the storage shed.
He aimed the flashlight over the boot prints and followed a trail of them that led to a graveled area where the men might have parked.
Heart racing, he hurried to the door of the storage shed, expecting to see a lock, but there wasn’t one.
If the girls were here, the men would probably have padlocked the door.
Disappointment flared inside him. He pushed open the door then swung the flashlight in a wide arc across the interior. Metal shelves hung on one side of the building while a large metal cage sat on the other.
Bile rose to his throat as he approached it. This cage was big enough to hold a large animal. Or...several small humans.
Anger hardened his jaw, and he aimed the light on the floor of the cage to examine it. It was dirty and blood was smeared on one corner. A broken fingernail sat by the blood.
He lifted the flashlight and studied the wall that the cage was jutted up to.
Several scratches marred the surface, scratches made by a nail or some other small metal object.
In the top corner there were more indentations. This time the scratches formed two words.
Help us.
* * *
CHARLOTTE JUMPED AT the sound of the wind blowing. The vision therapist said that her other senses would become more acute, that she’d notice sounds and smells that she normally didn’t pay attention to.
Or maybe it was just her nerves. Knowing someone had tried to kill her and that she was alone and helpless in the car made her strain for sounds of a car or footsteps or the kidnappers’ voices...or the girls’ voices screaming.
Hopefully with joy that Lucas had found them.
But only the shrill whistle of the wind filled the awkward silence. She tried to calm herself by imagining the fall leaves fluttering to the ground in the breeze. Red and yellow and orange would dot the land and create a rainbow of colors.
Footsteps crunched on gravel. Outside the car.
She froze, holding her breath. Lucas? Or could one of the kidnappers have been hiding somewhere on this ranch and snuck up to kill her?
A gentle tap at the window and then the car door was opening. “It’s me, Lucas,” he said softly.
Relief surged through her, and her breath rushed out. “Did you find anything?”
“They aren’t here,” Lucas said. “But they may have been.” He slid into the seat beside her. “I found a cage where someone was held,” he said, his voice laced with disgust. “Someone scratched the wall beside the cage and spelled ‘Help us.’”
Charlotte bit back a cry, her heart aching.
“I’m calling CSI,” Lucas said. “There might be DNA in the cage. Then at least we’ll know if it was your students in there or someone else.”
The image of a cage holding humans struck Charlotte with a wave of nausea. She’d known sex trafficking was a huge problem. But like most people, she’d felt it at a distance.
Now that it had touched her life personally, she not only wanted to find her students, but she also wanted to do something to prevent it from happening to others.
* * *
WHILE LUCAS WAITED on CSI to arrive, he phoned the deputy director. “Any word from Hoover or the agent in El Paso?”
“Hoover hasn’t turned up anything concrete. And the agent in El Paso said that office space was empty.”
“Any sign the kidnappers or others involved in the trafficking ring had been there?” Lucas asked.
“It was cleaned out. Not a desk or chair left, or any electronics.”
“Sounds like professionals who didn’t want to leave any trace of themselves behind.” Lucas spotted the CSI van approaching. “Keep me posted.” He ended the call, then spoke to Charlotte. “The CSI team is here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She nodded and leaned her head against the headrest. Lucas hurried over to the team and explained what he’d found. “Look for traces of blood and DNA. I want to verify who was held in that cage.”
Lucas pointed out
the storage shed where he’d found the plea for help and took photos of it for his own references. The CSI team dispersed to search for evidence and process the scene.
Then he joined Charlotte in the SUV. “They’re processing the property now. I’ll take you home.”
She toyed with the end of her hair as he drove, a nervous gesture that made him want to reach out and hold her hand and calm her.
But he clenched the steering wheel instead. Touching her stirred feelings inside him.
Feelings he didn’t have time for.
“I’m supposed to let the vision therapist know when I arrive home,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t have my cell phone. I left it on the corner desk in the front room at the studio.”
“CSI took it for evidence,” Lucas said. “We’ll stop and buy you a burner one until you get yours back.”
She dug in her pocket and removed a business card. “Here’s the number for the therapist. Do you mind calling her?”
The edge to her voice told him how difficult it was for her to ask for help. “Of course not. By the way, Charlotte, I arranged for a crime-scene cleanup crew to take care of your studio after CSI finished in there.” Her certainly hadn’t wanted her to return to that bloody scene.
“I hadn’t thought about the studio.” A shudder rippled through her as if she was reliving the shooting and kidnapping. “I hope we can salvage the girls’ art.”
“When you’re rested and up to it, I’ll go in with you and we can assess the damage.”
Charlotte’s lower lip quivered. “I’m not sure what difference it’ll make. If my sight doesn’t return, I don’t know what I’ll do. I won’t be able to teach art anymore.”
Lucas’s chest squeezed. She was facing a lot of challenges. “There are other mediums you could try. How about sculpting?”
Charlotte pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
The fatigue of her surgery must have worn on her, or maybe she simply couldn’t deal with the thought of losing her art, because she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. The sound of her quiet breathing soothed his own anxiety as the vehicle ate the miles back to town.
