by Becky Wade
Meg held still, her throat tight, her heart knocking.
“Where would you like me to cut you?” he asked. “Your face?”
She shook her head.
“No? You don’t want me to cut you?”
“No,” she rasped.
“In that case, I have an idea.” He pulled back a few inches. “Maybe I can use my knife on your friend Amber instead? Or on her little boy . . . my little boy. What’s his name again?”
All the blood rushed from Meg’s head. Her brave intentions spiraled. Stephen knew about Amber and Jayden. Which meant that he . . . he’d trumped her. Because she’d give him every penny she had before she’d allow him to hurt them.
“You were difficult to get ahold of. But either one of them would be a piece of cake. As I said, Meg. Easy way or hard way.”
Just then a faint creak sounded from the rear of the house.
Both Stephen and Meg jerked their heads in the direction of the sound. It had been subtle, the kind of noise an old house might make all on its own, or the kind of noise a floorboard might make when someone stepped on it.
“Help!” she cried. “We’re in the front room. Help, please!”
Answering footsteps pounded toward them down the hallway.
Someone was here! “He has a knife!”
Stephen snatched her in front of him, lifting his knife’s blade to her throat.
Bo rounded the corner into the room. He stood framed in the rectangular opening, a gun in his hands and murder in his eyes. His eyes connected with hers for a fragment of a second before his attention and the muzzle of his gun moved to Stephen.
A sob born of gratitude and the joy of seeing him broke from Meg’s throat. Bo. Here. She might not make it out of this alive, but at least he’d come, and she wasn’t alone. She’d been given one more chance to see his face.
“Lower the knife,” Bo ordered.
Meg could hear Stephen’s fast, agitated breathing near her ear. “How did you find us?”
“I followed you.”
“Are there more with you?”
“Not yet, but there will be.” Bo made a downward motion with his chin. “Now lower the weapon, and I’ll let you leave before they arrive.”
Stephen held silent, probably listening for any reinforcements already on site.
“Be smart.” Every line of Bo revealed his steely fury. “You haven’t done anything unforgivable yet, but hurting her would be unforgivable. Release her and go now, while you still have the chance.”
Stephen relaxed his grip on her slightly. Meg stepped to the side to see if she could get herself free, but instantly, he wrenched her back in front of him. The motion caused his knife to nick the skin of her neck.
“No!” Bo yelled, extending one hand.
Stephen paused, then adjusted his hold of her. “You don’t like to see her hurt?”
Bo set his chin, but he’d paled. She winced inwardly, knowing Bo could see her bloodied knees, the swelling on one side of her face, and now the hot blood trickling down her neck.
“I only scratched her,” Stephen said. “But trust me, I can do far worse.” He began to move closer to the table and his handgun, using her as his shield.
Bo’s aim followed Stephen. “You hurt her, and I’ll kill you. Let her go.”
“She’s staying right here.”
Bo stepped toward them.
“Stop!” Stephen’s voice rose.
Bo stopped.
Stephen grabbed his gun and leveled it at Bo’s chest.
“No,” Meg breathed.
“Put your gun down,” Stephen commanded.
Bo didn’t so much as flinch.
“Put it down.”
“No.”
“Put it down, or I’ll cut her throat. I swear I will!”
“Don’t do it, Bo,” Meg urged.
“Put it down!”
Bo began to lower his gun.
“No,” Meg whispered, horror overwhelming her.
Carefully, Bo set his gun on the floor.
“Kneel,” Stephen demanded.
Bo knelt, his hands up, his eyes burning with defiance. Defenseless. Because of her. Even after the way she’d treated him, he was willing to sacrifice himself for her sake. “Bo,” she gasped. She couldn’t believe he’d do this. Couldn’t bear that he would.
Stephen’s finger tightened around the trigger.
“Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded. “I’ll give you the money. I’ll give you anything you ask. Just—just don’t hurt him.”
The sound of a car reached them at that moment—motor roaring, tires crunching over stone, nearing the house at great speed.
Stephen’s attention swung toward the front door.
Bo motioned to Meg, showing her how to thrust her head back into Stephen’s face.
She did so, throwing herself into him as hard as she could, feeling her skull connect with his chin and nose. The shock of the blow caused his arms to jerk forward. Meg sprang from his grasp.
In the next instant Bo launched himself at Stephen, tackling him.
Stephen’s gun went off, deafening, as they hit the floor.
Meg screamed. Had Bo been hit?
He rose on top of Stephen, uninjured. The two men wrestled, swung at each other, twisted. Bo disarmed Stephen of the gun and knife and Meg went after the weapons, sliding them into the corner of the room behind her. Bo landed a punishing blow across Stephen’s jaw, and Stephen’s head snapped to the side, his eyes rolling.
The door banged open, and Jake rushed in carrying a shotgun. He stopped when he saw Bo’s position over Stephen.
Bo hit Stephen again. And then again, knocking him out. When Bo pulled back to strike again, Jake moved in and stayed Bo with a hand on his forearm. “Whoa. He’s out. You got him.”
Bo tried to shake Jake off.
“You got him,” Jake repeated firmly. “He’s out, Bo.”
Still Bo didn’t move. His breath pumped in and out, his attention fixed on Stephen. He raised his fist.
“Bo,” Meg said.
Instantly, he dropped his arm. He turned his face to her, and his haunted expression skewered her heart. She waited. As he looked at her, the haze of bloodlust cleared from his eyes.
“It’s over,” she said.
He strode to her, then clasped her to him fiercely. “Are you all right?” he asked into her hair, near her ear. “His knife . . . He cut you.”
“It’s not deep. Can you release my hands?”
In answer, he turned her gently. The constricting pressure of the plastic tie released. She sighed with relief and brought her hands in front of her to rub her wrists.
Jake knelt over Stephen. “Can you toss that over here?”
Bo flicked the cuff to him, and Jake rolled Stephen to his stomach, then pulled Stephen’s arms behind him and restrained his wrists. “Who is this guy?”
“Stephen McIntyre,” Meg answered. “My ex-husband.”
Jake nodded once. “I’m calling the cops.”
Bo lifted Meg’s hands and inspected the red welts on her wrists. Tears gathered in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. “You saved me.”
He released her hands and moved back toward Stephen as if intent on finishing the job of killing him.
She cut in front of him.
Again, she watched his gaze return to her, refocus. “Let’s go outside,” she said.
He hesitated, then followed her onto the front porch. Away from the sight of Stephen, privacy and a dark and bracing wind swept over them.
Bo moved to the porch rail and stood with his back to her, trying to regain control of himself, she guessed, because she was trying to do the same. She took slow breaths and attempted to calm the shuddering deep within her. He’s safe. I’m safe.
“That was an incredibly close call,” he finally said, his back still to her. “He could have sliced your throat and killed you just now.”
“But he didn’t.”
Bo
turned, his expression still harrowed. “But he could have. And I can’t even stand to think about it. I was terrified that he’d injure you. I’ve never been that scared of anything in my life.”
“You didn’t show it.”
“I was trying to focus on him so that I could do what needed to be done. But inside, I was sort of folding in on myself. If he . . . if he’d hurt you any worse, I’d have gone crazy. Are you sure, positively sure, that you’re fine?”
“I’m sure.”
“You promise me?”
“I promise you.”
Bo drew her to him. Carefully, he held her against his broad chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I’m sorry that he scared you and hurt you.”
He was apologizing to her? She placed her hands on the sides of his face. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
“Meg.”
“Please, let me.” The words wobbled pitifully. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for not trusting you. For the things I said to you in my father’s office.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” He was trying to make this easier for her, but she refused to let him. “I saw the evidence that Brimm brought to me, and I believed the worst of you when it was Stephen all along.”
He smoothed a lock of hair off of her face.
“I feel terrible about the way I treated you. I thought for a moment in there that I might not ever have the chance to make it right, that he might kill me before I’d be able to beg your forgiveness, or that he might kill you and it would be all my fault.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Thank God that didn’t happen.”
He wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
“Bo?”
“Yes?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“Countess. I’ve spent the last few days praying you’d give me a second chance.”
“And now it’s my turn to ask for a second chance.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, Meg.”
“You shouldn’t have . . .”
“I couldn’t help myself.”
She linked her hands behind the warm cords of his neck. “Do you think you can bring yourself to trust me again? I swear to you that I’ll never lose faith in you again.”
“Nor I you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He stared at her as if she’d cleaved him with an axe.
“I do.” She gave him a shaky smile and shrugged. “I love you.” After all the despair of the preceding days and the terror of the preceding hours, this moment of amazing blessing struck her as one of the sweetest of her entire life. The sweetest.
He pressed his lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss. A wordless conversation of humility and thankfulness.
Then she nestled into his chest, her ear against his heart, and soaked in his heat and solidity. As long as she lived, she’d never forget the sight of him setting down his gun and kneeling on the floor, giving himself over for her. Imagine it! For her. Too wonderful and astonishing to believe. Until now, in all her life no man had ever truly loved her. Not her father or Stephen or anyone before or since.
But on this night, she could say with certainty that Bo Porter loved her. He. Loved. Her. After what he’d done for her tonight she’d never again doubt that she could trust him completely with it all. Everything she had. Her heart, her money, her home, her whole future.
Stephen’s plans for her tonight had been for evil. But miraculously, God had redeemed them for good. Through the events they’d just survived, He’d not only used Bo to protect her, but He’d shown her Bo’s true character. In doing so, He’d given her a gift beyond price: a man, a husband, the father of her children.
“I thought you told me once,” Bo murmured, “that kidnappers and extortionists never troubled you.”
She lifted her head, her lips curving. “Tonight’s events were a first.”
“And a last. You know the expression ‘white on rice’?”
She nodded.
“That’s how closely I’ll be sticking to you from now on every time you leave Whispering Creek.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just warning you. I don’t want to hear any complaints.”
“No complaints.” She ran a fingertip along his jaw and down the side of his neck.
Distant police sirens carried to her on the air. “How in the world did you find me tonight?”
He explained it all to her, from Sadie Jo’s phone call to the moment when he’d been unable to locate the Honda on the farm road.
“So if you lost Stephen’s car, how were you able to find this house?”
Bo motioned in the direction of the intersection between the farm road and the dirt driveway that led to where they were standing. “I was driving along that section there when a man waved me down. He was on foot.”
“A man was out walking on the road?”
“Yes. He’d seen the green Honda and showed me where to turn. I asked him to wait and tell Jake where to go when Jake got here. Then I texted the directions to Jake as I drove.”
The sirens grew louder.
Bo stepped over to the doorway. “Did that guy on the farm road tell you to come down this way?” he asked Jake.
“Sure did,” she heard Jake answer. “I told him to go home and fetch a gun if he had one, then meet us up here.”
“Then where is he?”
“Don’t know.”
“Strange.”
Meg edged over next to Bo so she could see into the house. He took hold of her hand, interlacing their fingers. Stephen remained on his stomach, his hands secured behind his back. His eyes had opened, and he was staring at the wall, his features rigid.
Jake stood next to him, his shotgun over one shoulder.
“Where did you and your brother get your weapons from?” Meg asked Bo.
“Our cars.”
“You drive around with handguns and shotguns in your cars?”
Bo slanted a look down at her, humor in his eyes. “We’re hicks from a small town in Texas. ’Course we do.”
She shook her head.
“Wait till you see the arsenal I’ll be driving around with from now on.”
Meg met Jake’s gaze. “Thank you for coming to help. Your arrival made all the difference.”
“You’re welcome.” For the first time since she’d met Jake Porter, Bo’s brother regarded her with an expression of approval. “I’m just glad you’re both safe.”
“The police will be here any second,” Bo said to Meg. “Is there anything you want to say to him,” he motioned in Stephen’s direction, “before they arrive?”
“I don’t know. Is there anything you want to say?”
“I don’t think I should even look in his direction. Every time I do I want to kill him.”
Meg regarded Stephen’s prostrate form. The last time he’d wronged her, she’d been too ashamed and broken to do anything about it. So she’d let him go and then spent years regretting her inaction.
God had handed her a do-over, and this time she was going to get it right. Even if prosecuting him brought the media down on her. Even if she had to personally admit to everyone in America that she’d married a sociopath. Even if it cost her stress, time, and money to pursue Stephen through the various stages of a trial.
“Stephen,” she said, “I forgive you. I do. I’m sure you don’t care one way or the other, but I want you to know that I forgive you for everything.”
He gave no indication of having heard her.
“That doesn’t mean that I won’t try to see justice done, though. Because I will. You were wrong about a lot tonight, but you were right about one thing: I can now afford attorneys.”
Police descended on the crime scene.
Bo asked someone for a first-aid kit, then sat Meg down on the porch and doctored her knees, wrists, and neck with antiseptic and Band-Aids. Treating her injuries tied his gut in a sick knot of anger and remorse, but she chatted and smiled t
hrough the process, even teasing him for looking so grim.
Together they watched the officers arrest Stephen for aggravated kidnapping, secure him in the back of a squad car, and drive him away.
A crime scene unit investigated the house, taking photos and notes. A detective arrived and asked Bo, Meg, and Jake questions.
Bo did his best to answer fully, but he found it hard to pay attention with his mind so completely focused on Meg. He was burningly aware of her sitting beside him, of her every movement.
The detective informed them they’d need to drive to the station and give formal statements.
Bo situated Meg in his truck. As they started down the bumpy driveway together, he took one last look at the house, a place where everything could have gone wrong. It would take him days, maybe weeks, to get over the stone-cold fear of Meg’s kidnapping. She’d been so close to death this evening. Literally, there’d been no space between her neck and Stephen’s knife.
The fact was, that as bad as things could have gone in those final moments after they’d heard Jake driving toward the house—everything had gone right instead. As Meg kept telling him, she really was all right. Sitting beside him, alive, breathing, her heart beating. Whole. Thank you, God, he prayed with everything in him.
He finally understood why God had placed that sense of danger inside of him. God had been preparing him for something only God had seen coming.
“After we finish up at the station,” Meg said, “I’m not really looking forward to returning to the guesthouse.”
“No?”
“To be honest, I’m a little freaked out. I’m not sure I’m going to want to be alone at any point in the next five years.”
“If you don’t want to be alone, then I’ll make sure you’re not.”
When they reached the farm road, Bo shifted his truck into park. “You mind if I check something?”
“Not at all.”
He pulled a flashlight from behind the seats. They climbed down and stood at the junction. “This is where I drove up to that man I was telling you about.”
“Where was he?”
“Just here.” Bo pointed to the side of the road. “I’m curious why he never arrived at the house.”
