by Cassie Miles
With a swift kick, Trevor disarmed him. A chop to the throat brought him to his knees, gasping. His wind-pipe wasn’t completely crushed because Trevor had aimed carefully and held back on his assault. He didn’t want to kill these guys. Just to teach them a lesson.
The second man attacked from behind. Trevor snapped around, delivering a karate chop that broke his nose. The assailant fell back, moaning.
Danny released Sierra and made the tactical error of charging at Trevor. It took little more than a side step and pressure on the pain center at the elbow to direct Danny’s clumsy charge into the nearby boulders. He crashed, then slid down the rock face, unconscious.
The other two staggered to their feet. Trevor motioned them toward him, but they both took off running, leaving the handgun behind.
Trevor picked up the gun. He searched Danny, and found another pistol. He stowed both weapons in his saddlebag.
The immediate threat was gone, but he didn’t want to hang around while the other two men recruited a mob to come after him.
Picking up his hat, Trevor dusted off the brim and approached Sierra.
“Nice job,” she said. “Is that karate?”
“A type of karate. It’s more like Korean street fighting.”
She was even more attractive in person than when he’d observed her through the binoculars. Her thick hair was multicolored and tawny like the pelt of a cougar. Her eyes were dark. She held up one palm, signaling him to keep his distance.
“So,” she said. “What am I supposed to do now? Should I tip you?”
Her voice had a New York accent. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Brooklyn. And you know what? I can’t give you a tip, after all. I’m broke. That scum-sucking Lyle left me without a dime.”
“Money is important to you.”
“Duh!”
He recalled his prior impression that she was a gold digger. But the label didn’t quite fit. Her cotton blouse and black skirt were cheap—one step up from thrift shop. And the bangles she wore on her arm were junk. “I don’t want your money. A simple thank-you is enough.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for your help. I can take care of myself.”
Trevor glanced toward Danny, who was sprawled against the rock, groaning. He was beginning to regain consciousness. “Before I got here, it looked like you weren’t doing a real good job of protecting yourself.”
Her chin lifted and her dark eyes flared. “I do okay.”
“I want you to come with me, Sierra.”
“How do you know my name?”
He shrugged. “You’re Lyle Nelson’s fiancée. That makes you famous.”
“Ex-fiancée,” she said coldly.
If she was sad about her former fiancé’s death, she was hiding it well.
“There are a few questions I want to ask,” he explained.
“Forget it,” she said. “I don’t even know you. What makes you think you can tell me—”
“You’re coming with me.” He shot her a hard-edged glare. “No point in arguing, Sierra. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Not in the least bit intimidated, she tossed her head and laughed. “Let me tell you something, mister. Nothing about me is easy.”
He had the feeling that truer words were never spoken. Sierra wasn’t going to cooperate with him in this interrogation.
On the ground, Danny had begun to recover.
Sierra walked past him and peeked around the edge of the granite outcropping. “Damn. It looks like there’s a bunch of mourners headed this way.”
“We need to get moving,” Trevor said.
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. How are we going to do that?”
“Ride with me.”
Her full pink lips pursed as she considered his suggestion. “How do I know you’re not going to carry me off someplace?”
“You don’t,” he said.
“But I sure as hell don’t want to stay here.” She glanced down at Danny, then looked back at Trevor. “Okay, mister. Let’s ride.”
When he boosted her into the saddle, her skirt rode all the way up, giving him a breathtaking view of her well-shaped calves and smooth, creamy thighs. He could have stood there all day, just looking. But they needed to make tracks. He mounted behind her.
His saddle wasn’t meant to hold two people, and they were a tight fit. He reached around her to take the reins. “Hang on, Sierra.”
“Wait a minute.” She turned her head to look at him. “What’s your name?”
“Trevor.”
She gave a quick nod. “Okay, Trevor. Take me to my car. It’s a peacock-green Nissan at the edge of the parking area.”
There wasn’t time to argue with her. Danny was already on his feet.
“We’ll double back,” Trevor said.
With a flick of his reins and pressure from his heels in the stirrups, he directed his stallion toward the north end of the valley. The headquarters for Big Sky Bounty Hunters was about twelve miles from here, and that was their destination.
With the extra weight on board, he didn’t want his horse to be strained. But they needed to move fast. Trevor eased Smokey down the slight incline to the meadow. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw seven or so mourners in pursuit. “Let’s go, Smokey.”
His horse broke into a steady gallop, easily out-pacing the men who followed on foot. The animal was covering ground, flying across the meadow. But it wasn’t a graceful ride.
And Sierra wasn’t making it easier. She was wiggling around in the saddle. “Let me down.”
“You’re coming with me,” Trevor said.
“The hell I am.”
The pathway up the pine-covered hillside was narrow, and he’d slowed his stallion’s pace. Before he could stop her, Sierra swung her leg over the pommel and slipped off the saddle. She fell to the ground with a loud shriek. So much for a subtle escape.
Trevor dismounted and stood over her. “I want you to answer some questions. That’s all. Tell me the truth, and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“No deal.” Though she managed to stand up, her legs were shaky from the ride, and she braced herself against a tree trunk. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
When he reached for her arm, she hauled off and took a wild swing, which he easily deflected. Was she nuts? She’d just seen him take down three men. “It won’t do you any good to fight me.”
She swung again, and he caught hold of her wrist. They were face-to-face. She was breathing hard. Her lips parted and her face was flushed as she struggled to get free from his grasp.
Sensing that she was preparing to kick him, Trevor backed her up against the tree trunk and leaned against her so she wouldn’t have room to slam her knee into his groin. “You’ll answer my questions,” he said.
“No!” Her head whipped back and forth in fierce denial.
“That makes me think you’ve got something to hide.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
Trevor should have been annoyed. Sierra was making things more difficult than they needed to be. Instead, he found himself attracted to this hardcore, unrefined woman with the New York attitude. She was tough and strong and sexier than any woman had a right to be.
He peeled her away from the tree, spun her around, hoisted her off her feet and onto his shoulder. He strode toward his waiting mustang. The horse shook his head as if to warn Trevor that he was making a big mistake.
Sierra fought wildly, her arms and legs flailing. There was no way in hell that he’d get her back onto the saddle. Though he didn’t want to get rough, she wasn’t leaving him much choice.
“Last chance,” Trevor said. “Are you going to cooperate?”
“Go to hell!”
He slipped her down to the ground in front of him. While she continued to strike out, he applied a choke-hold, and in a matter of seconds she was unconscious.
He lifted her limp body into his arms and gazed into her face. When s
he wasn’t snarling insults, her features were amazingly feminine. Her mouth was delicate and pretty as a rosebud. Her thick dark lashes formed crescents above her high cheekbones.
She was a real beauty.
Trevor tore his gaze away. He needed to clear his mind, to focus on his mission. That meant he couldn’t allow himself to be attracted to her. It was best if he dehumanized her in his mind.
Sierra Collins was nothing to him. Only a source of information. She was the subject of his next interrogation.
Chapter Two
Sierra awoke with a jolt. Her eyelids snapped open, and she blinked rapidly to bring her vision into focus. Where was she? How did she get here?
She was seated in a recliner chair with her feet up and her head resting against a pillowed back. It wasn’t uncomfortable.
In front of her was a plain concrete wall. The paint was a drab color that matched the ceiling. On the wall to her left was a closed door. She craned her neck to see what was behind her. More concrete. This was a small windowless room—a prison cell without bars.
A shudder went through her as the walls seemed to tighten. She had to get out of here.
But when she tried to climb out of the recliner, she couldn’t move. Her wrists were fastened to the arms of the chair. Her ankles were also restrained. Around her waist was a wide band that held her in place. What was going on? Why had she been brought to this place?
Her heart beat faster as she struggled against her bonds. My God, what was going to happen to her? Nothing good. That was for damn sure!
She pinched her lips together to keep from sobbing out loud, but when she closed her eyes, tears streaked from the corners of her eyes. There was a dull throb at the back of her head. Though she wasn’t in terrible pain, she felt every single one of her recent bruises. And she remembered…
The funeral. Lyle’s coffin. The men who’d grabbed her. And the one who’d rescued her from them. Trevor, his name was Trevor. He must have brought her here. Why? What did he want from her?
She heard the door opening, and looked up. It was him.
“You’re awake,” he said with a smile. “Good.”
Sierra told herself to be strong. She couldn’t let him see her fear and helplessness. Keeping the tremble from her voice, she said, “If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead.” He shrugged. “The room is soundproof.”
She opened her mouth to yell, then thought better of it. Her throat was too dry. By screaming, she’d only hurt herself, and she needed to marshal her strength. It was going to take every bit of her tough New York chutzpah to make it through this ordeal.
When she was growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, she’d done okay. Back then, she’d thought her life was rough. But the occasional mugging and street violence were nothing compared to what had happened after she moved to Montana. First Lyle. Now this.
She glared at Trevor. “Where am I?”
He stretched his arms wide to encompass the small space. “This is an interrogation room.”
“Why am I here?”
“To be interrogated.” He held a bottle of water in each hand. “You should have something to drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”
Though the water enticed her, she shook her head. “First, let me go.”
“Ah, Sierra. I didn’t go to all this trouble just to release you.” He waggled the water bottle before her eyes. “Tell me about Lyle Nelson.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He’s dead.”
“When you were dating, did you meet his friends?”
“Yes.” She eyed the water bottle. Her thirst was becoming unbearable.
“Give me some names,” Trevor said.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m one of the good guys. And Lyle was…”
“Not good.” She sucked on the inside of her cheeks, trying to get her saliva to flow. “And I don’t believe you’re a good person, either. You kidnapped me. You tied me up.”
“Cooperate, Sierra.”
“Let me go, Trevor.”
“You remember my name. I like that.”
As he came closer to the chair, his name wasn’t the only thing she remembered. They had been riding together, crushed together in the saddle, she’d felt the sheer power emanating from him. What woman wouldn’t be drawn to that?
Trevor had to be one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. Tall and long-legged, his body was in prime physical condition. His shiny black hair hung straight to his shoulders. And his eyes…oh my God, his eyes were an intriguing, piercing blue.
She didn’t want to be attracted to him. He’d captured her, dragged her off against her will and tied her to a chair. “You’re a monster.”
He reached behind the chair to place one of the water bottles on something she couldn’t see. A table? A tray? Then he unscrewed the cap of the other and held it near her mouth. “Take a few sips. It’ll help your headache.”
“How do you know I have a headache?”
“Dehydration. Come on, Sierra. Make it easy on yourself.”
She licked her lips. The inside of her mouth tasted like cotton. Though it went against her stubborn grain to do anything he said, she wasn’t a fool. “Okay. I’ll drink.”
He helped her sip from the bottle. The first cool taste was pure nectar. She wanted more.
“Not too fast,” he cautioned. “Just a little at a time.”
When he supported her head with his other hand, she was surprised by the gentleness of his touch. She’d seen Trevor smack down three men with a couple of blows. And he’d rendered her unconscious with a tap on the shoulder. But he held her so tenderly now.
With a shake of her head, she derailed that train of thought. She’d have to be nuts to trust this man. At the moment, all she wanted was the water. She chugged half the contents of the bottle.
“That’s better,” he said. “You’re comfortable, aren’t you?”
“No,” she snapped. “I need to stretch. To move around.”
“First we’ll have a talk.”
She wiggled in the recliner, but there was really no point in fighting against the restraints. All she’d do was make herself weaker.
The way to get out of here was to be smarter than he was. She tried a different tactic. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
He reached down beneath the chair and held up a plastic container. “Bedpan.”
Did he really think she’d allow him to pull down her panties? As she gazed along the length of her body, she realized that she wasn’t wearing her own clothing. She’d been dressed in cotton hospital scrubs. “You bastard!” In spite of her decision to stay calm, she jerked against the restraints. “You undressed me.”
“This outfit is more comfortable,” he said. “And I’m all about making you comfortable, Sierra. So you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“Then you’re wasting your time. I’m not telling you anything.”
“You think you’re tough.”
“Damn straight. I’m from Brooklyn.”
He gave her an altogether charming smile. This guy was really fine to look at. “Tell me about Brooklyn.” His tone was courteous and encouraging. “Tell me about when you were growing up.”
“You don’t really want to know. You just want to get me talking, to loosen my tongue.”
“That’s very perceptive,” he stated. “You’re a smart person, aren’t you?”
She didn’t believe his compliment, couldn’t allow herself to believe one word that fell from his sexy mouth. “I’m not telling you squat.”
In the blink of an eye, Trevor’s attitude changed. His lips curled in an angry sneer. His eyes were cold as blue ice. “You have no choice.” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “You’re helpless, completely dependent on me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It was taking all her
willpower to keep up her tough facade. She had to think about something else, something outside this interrogation room.
“You should be afraid,” Trevor repeated. His hand clamped hard around her throat. “The Militia are terrorists, murderers. If you know anything about them, give it up.”
The pressure against her throat was just enough to make breathing difficult. She choked out the words. “I don’t know anything.”
He released his grasp but stayed close to her. His gaze bored into her face. “Tell me about Lyle.”
“He’s dead. There’s nothing to tell.”
Without a word, Trevor reached behind the back of the chair. He held a pair of thick cotton socks, which he placed on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He was silent as he fitted gloves on her hands.
“Stop it!” Panic crashed through her. What was going to happen? “Don’t touch me.”
His hands were rough as he slipped a blindfold over her head. She couldn’t see anything. Her panic became terror. She was truly helpless.
“You’ll tell me,” he growled. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
“Whatever you say. Take the blindfold off. Please.”
“Silence,” he said, “isn’t always golden.”
She felt him place something else on her head. Earphones. He fastened them tightly with a chin strap. She heard nothing but an unpleasant static noise.
She was blinded and deafened, unable to feel anything with her hands. It seemed as if she were floating in a terrifying space—endlessly falling and falling.
TREVOR STEPPED AWAY from the chair and watched as she struggled. Maintaining the level of dispassion necessary for interrogation was difficult. Usually, he had no problem in turning off his emotions. Human compassion was not an option when dealing with an uncooperative subject.
But he kept thinking of her name. Sierra. Beautiful Sierra. Tough Sierra. Most women—or men, for that matter—would have cracked when they realized they were helpless. But she had put up a valiant fight.
Her struggling subsided, and he checked the silent monitor behind the interrogation chair. The restraint on her left wrist held a mechanism that measured her pulse. The beating of her heart returned to a level closer to normal. Deprived of sensory input, she was in a state of suspension.
