Beyond Control

by Kat Martin

  Tory smiled. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, Linc.”

  “Believe me, it was my pleasure. Guys like that deserve all the bad luck they can get.”

  “Thanks, Linc,” Josh said. “I owe you.”

  “Fine, you can barbecue the next time we’re out at the ranch.”

  “Fair enough.” Josh smiled as he hung up the phone.

  “Your brother is the best.”

  Josh arched a brow. “Yeah? What about me?”

  Tory grinned. “Next to you.”

  Josh bent and kissed her. The moment he felt the heat, he realized it was exactly the wrong thing to do. He needed to stay away from Tory. He couldn’t let himself get in any deeper. He just wasn’t ready for more.

  Turning away, he sat down at the table and polished off the pancakes and eggs she’d fixed him. Ivy came over with a new crayon drawing, this one of her working with Mrs. T. in the garden. He put it up on the fridge next to the picture she had drawn before.

  She was the cutest little girl. Sweet and loving. Well behaved and smart. Trouble was, he wasn’t ready to take on the job of raising a kid. He’d just gotten out of the marines. As a sniper, he’d been responsible for the lives of dozens of men. He needed a break, time to himself, time to adjust.

  His mood darkened again. He left the house and returned to the barn. He’d figure it out. He just needed a little more time.

  An hour passed. Tory and Ivy were safe, at least for the time being, but Josh was still edgy. He checked on Star, then saddled Thor. Fetching his rifle out of a locked closet in the tack room where he had been keeping it, he slid it into the scabbard, pulled a lightweight rain poncho over his head, stepped into the stirrup, and swung up in the saddle.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. A mist of rain cut through the humid air and the wind picked up. He had a little time before the storm hit in earnest. Tugging his hat brim low on his forehead, he gigged the buckskin and rode out of the barn toward the pasture.

  It didn’t take long to reach one of the main trails cutting through the grasslands. He nudged Thor into an easy lope, rode past a small lake, and headed north, off toward the river. No cell service this far from the ranch house. No one around but an occasional deer or rabbit, a wild boar shuffling through the underbrush.

  Time slipped past. He wondered if Tory would have enjoyed the ride. He’d promised to show her the ranch, promised they would take photos for the webpage along the way.

  He didn’t like to think how close they’d come to being killed yesterday, that the shot that missed him could have hit Tory.

  He didn’t go to church often, but after yesterday’s close call, he felt the need to give thanks. Maybe he’d take Tory and Ivy to church in Iron Springs tomorrow morning.

  Then he thought how it would look like they were a family and scrapped the notion.

  He drew rein, pausing on a knoll to survey the vast green landscape stretching in front of him. There were four ponds on the ranch, dark spots scattered in the vast stretches of green. A heavily wooded area full of wild game rose off to his left. A shallow ravine veered to the right and the river lay ahead.

  The old hunting cabin wasn’t much farther. The porch looked out over an oxbow in the stream. He’d head in that direction in case a thunderstorm blew in.

  The wind felt good against his face as Josh leaned over the buckskin’s neck and urged the big horse forward.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The afternoon was slipping away. With the bad weather, Tory was working in Josh’s office, getting the webpage design finalized, preparing to post the photos she was ready to start taking.

  She glanced at the time at the bottom of the computer screen. Josh had been gone for hours. Tory was worried about him.

  Outside the window, the sky was the color of pewter, intermittent gusts of rain coming down, the wind tearing through the branches of the trees. Still, he didn’t come home. Tory had sensed his dark mood that morning and tried to give him some space.

  With everything that had been happening, she didn’t blame him for seeking the solace of the vast, open spaces around him. Josh was a man’s man. The ranch suited him perfectly.

  She thought of his restlessness and couldn’t help wondering how all of this would end. Clearly, Josh wasn’t ready to settle down. When she had arrived six weeks ago, she would have said the same thing about herself.

  Now everything she had ever wanted was right there in front of her, right there on the Iron River Ranch. She loved this wide-open country, loved the horses, loved the small community, the friends she and Ivy were making.

  And she loved Joshua Cain.

  Her heart squeezed. She knew he cared about her, knew he cared about Ivy. But he had just come home from the war, just gotten his life back, his freedom. She wished they had met at some later time. Maybe things would have been different.

  She took a shaky breath. She could see where this was headed, see how much it was going to hurt when they parted, how hard it was going to be on Ivy. But she knew it was going to hurt Josh, too.

  He was a good man. He had tried to do what was right, keep things professional. They had both known the dangers.

  She wiped away a tear. Damon was in jail. He had legal troubles that might keep him there this time. She hadn’t known about the other battered woman. Now that she did, she figured there were probably more.

  Linc would find out. She had a feeling Lincoln Cain was a bad enemy to make. This time Damon wasn’t going to get away with using his father’s name and his family’s wealth to escape the consequences of whatever he had done.

  She could leave without fear, make a new start somewhere else. She knew deep down that no matter where she ended up, Josh and Linc would both be there to help her if she needed them.

  It was time to start planning in earnest. She would talk to Josh, tell him the truth. This time she had a feeling he would agree.

  An ache throbbed in her chest. She loved him. Deeply and without reservation. She would do anything for him. She thought that on some level he knew.

  Timing was everything. This thing between them, it was just wrong place, wrong time. Maybe someday they would meet again. Things like that happened, didn’t they?

  Her throat closed up. She had known for a while it was time to leave. She felt safe enough now to go. When Josh came home, she would talk to him, convince him that leaving was best for both of their sakes.

  The landline phone on the desk rang, jarring her out of her mournful thoughts.

  Tory picked it up. “Iron River Ranch.”

  “Tory, it’s Agent Quinn Taggart. I need to speak to Josh.”

  “I’m afraid he isn’t here, Agent Taggart. He went riding this morning. He hasn’t come back.”

  “Do you have a way to reach him? A problem’s come up. I need to get word to him as quickly as possible.”

  The urgency in Taggart’s voice alerted her. “What is it, Agent Taggart? What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated a moment, not long. “The man we arrested yesterday at the camera store?”

  “Yes?”

  “The pistol he was using matched the weapon used to kill Pete Saldana, but when we searched his apartment in Dallas, the rifle that killed Coy Whitmore wasn’t there. There were two men using the apartment. Two men, Tory, not one. That means there’s another terrorist still out there.”

  A heartbeat of silence fell. “Oh, my God.”

  “Can you get word to Josh? His life could be in danger.”

  “I’ll find him, don’t worry.”

  “Have him call me as soon as he gets the message.”

  “I will. I’ve got to go!” Tory hung up and quickly phoned Mrs. Thompson. “Clara, I’ve got an emergency. I need you to come and sit with Ivy.”

  “Of course. I can be there in five minutes.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “What is it, Tory?”

  “Josh is in danger. I have to go.” The call ended. She ran into the
living room. “Ivy, honey, I need to find Josh. Mrs. Thompson is coming over. Come out to the barn while I saddle Rosebud.”

  “It’s raining, Mama.”

  “Not that hard.” She tugged the little girl out the front door and they ran to the barn. Only a smattering of rain was falling, but it was sure to get worse. Tory finished saddling the sorrel just as Clara Thompson drove up and got out of the car.

  Tory led the horse up to Clara. “Hold Rosebud for a second. I have to get something.”

  Standing under the covered porch, Mrs. Thompson held the horse’s reins while Tory ran back to the trailer, down the hall to her bedroom. After he’d found out she knew how to shoot, Josh had insisted she take his .38 revolver and the portable gun safe and keep them next to her bed.

  She unlocked the safe and grabbed the holstered revolver, took a belt out of the drawer, slid the holster onto the belt, and strapped it around her waist. Couldn’t stop a smile as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror looking like Annie Oakley. Her life had surely changed.

  But the FBI had just phoned. She wasn’t taking any chances.

  Hurrying back to the main house, she took the reins from Clara and swung up on the little mare’s back.

  “Be careful,” Clara Thompson said.

  “I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Nudging Rosebud into a trot, then a gallop, she headed for the gate that led into the big, open pasture and the woods and ponds beyond.

  There was a lot of land out there, but much of it was wide-open country. Sooner or later, she would spot Josh or he would spot her. The thought occurred that if she could find him, so could the man who was hunting him.

  Tory urged the mare faster. Josh could be in very grave danger.

  She wasn’t coming home until she found him.

  * * *

  Josh rose from the wooden bench he’d been sitting on beneath the covered porch of the dilapidated old cabin. He’d been there awhile, staring out at the muddy river. During the hours he’d been there, the wind had picked up and so had the rain, but it had slowed to a stop now. It was time to go home.

  He swung back up on Thor and headed out, took the main trail, the fastest, most direct route back. The restlessness he’d been feeling had passed. The storm seemed to have cleared his head, leaving his mind razor-sharp, everything in perfect focus.

  He’d been thinking of Tory ever since he’d left the house. Victoria Bradford was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. She was smart, beautiful, and sexy, and her desires stood up to his own. He hadn’t wanted another woman since the day she’d driven up in front of his house.

  Tory was strong and brave and loyal. He would cut out his heart before he would let anything happen to her or Ivy.

  His heart. That, he’d discovered, had been the source of his troubles all along. He’d fought it, tried to ignore it, tried to deny it, but the straight truth was, he had lost his heart to Tory Bradford.

  He was in love with her. The day she drove up in front of his barn was the luckiest day of his life.

  At thirty-one, he hadn’t planned on having a family—at least not for a few more years. But sometimes good things came along when you least expected them. As Linc had said, sometimes you had to make adjustments.

  Josh found himself smiling. He wanted Tory with him. He wanted to marry her.

  The rightness of it poured through him, settling deep in his bones. Tory was his woman. She and Ivy were his family. He’d been a fool not to see it a long time ago.

  He was a little over halfway back to the house when he spotted a lone rider coming from the other direction, riding at a fast clip across the grass. He recognized the size and shape, knew that fiery red hair. She was riding like the wind, in perfect rhythm with the animal beneath her. A feeling of pride slipped through him.

  Another feeling arose, this one deep and frightening. Something was wrong. Tory needed him or she wouldn’t be out there.

  Josh tugged the brim of his hat down, dug his heels into the sides of the buckskin, and the horse leaped forward. The gelding ran full tilt across the open grassland, flinging mud from its hooves.

  Tory spotted him, turned the sorrel, and raced toward him. They met near a dense copse of trees along the bank of a pond and both of them drew rein. The buckskin slid to a halt and so did the sorrel, the animals dancing and blowing, still high from their run.

  “Josh! Thank God, I found you!”

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “Taggart called. There were two men—two terrorists, Josh, not just one. The man who killed Coy is still out there.”

  The words solidified in his brain. Pete had been killed with a pistol. A rifle shot had killed Coy. His anxiety seeped into the buckskin and the horse sidestepped beneath him. At the same instant a muffled thud sliced the air and a searing pain burned into his chest.

  “Josh!”

  “Get down!” Jerking his rifle from its scabbard as he leaped off the horse, he launched himself at Tory the instant her feet hit the ground and both of them went down.

  Pain shot up his arm and his hat went flying. The horses bolted, scattered. Ignoring the blood soaking his shirt just inches away from his heart, he hauled Tory behind the trunk of a big oak tree and settled her on the ground out of the line of fire.

  “Oh, my God, you’re hit!” As he crouched beside her, Tory dragged his rain poncho over his head. She unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands and he could hear her rapid breathing. “We need to stop the bleeding. Oh, God, Josh.”

  It was meant to be a heart shot. If Thor hadn’t moved . . . He looked down to see that the bullet had torn through the flesh on his upper left chest but had missed a rib and continued on through. “It’s not as bad as it could have been.”

  “It’s him—oh, my God, it’s the terrorist.”

  He nodded. One thing he knew. The shooter was no amateur. Not firing a sniper rifle with a sound suppressor.

  “We need . . . need to put pressure on the wound,” Tory said, her voice shaking. The bullet had hit on his left side and gouged through the flesh beneath his arm. The shot hadn’t broken any ribs, but he was hurting like a mother-grabber and losing a lot of blood.

  He didn’t have time to worry about it. He needed to end this bastard. Now.

  Propping his elbow on the ground, he rested the rifle stock in his palm, gritted his teeth against the burning pain, and sighted through the scope, scanning side to side through the trees until he spotted movement three hundred yards away.

  Hidden deep among the foliage, the shooter, heavily camouflaged among the thick green leaves, would have been impossible for any but a trained eye to see.

  He glanced back to see Tory whipping off her lightweight rain jacket, then unbuttoning the soft cotton blouse she wore underneath. She tore the fabric into pieces, made a pad, reached beneath him, and stuffed the fabric into the wound.

  “I wish there was more I could do.”

  “It’s fine.” Josh sighted down the barrel as Tory pulled her lightweight jacket back on over her lacy white bra and he couldn’t resist a quick glance at her pretty breasts.

  He checked his quarry through the powerful Sightron scope on the .308. The sniper lay deep in his nest, ready for the first mistake Josh made.

  His stomach clenched to think the man had to have been watching the house, must have seen Josh ride out and followed. He shifted and blood dripped onto the leaves beneath him. If he lost too much, he’d be useless.

  Taking careful aim down the barrel, he waited. A sniper was trained to hold a position for hours if he had to. With the blood he was losing, he didn’t have that kind of time.

  Come on, you bastard. Through the crosshairs, he watched a cluster of leaves tremble and caught a glimpse of the shooter’s face. Josh pulled the trigger, the shot echoed, but the target shifted at the exact wrong moment and the bullet whizzed harmlessly out of sight.

  Another muffled thud sounded in return, the bullet slamming into the tree trunk just inches from h
is head. The guy was good.

  “Stay here. I need to find a better angle.” Smearing a handful of mud on his cheeks and across his forehead, he slid down into the wet green grass and disappeared into the heavy shrubs and foliage at the edge of the pond.

  He didn’t need to get any closer to the target. He just needed to find a line of sight that exposed the shooter to a single well-placed shot.

  He crept forward, ignoring the pain and the blood leaking down his chest, crawling on his belly through the mud puddles, twigs, and wet leaves.

  Josh figured the sniper was doing exactly what Josh would be doing—waiting. Figuring, sooner or later, his target would have to move. As soon as Josh gave the shooter an opening, he would be dead.

  He dropped down behind a fallen log covered in muck and branches and rested the rifle barrel on top, pausing to scan the distant woods through the scope. The sniper’s nest came into focus and he prepared to take the shot.

  He couldn’t afford to rush the shot again. If he missed, the killer could take him out and then come after Tory.

  As he watched his opponent, everything inside him went still, his mind congealed into a single thought. Make this one count.

  Josh sighted down the barrel through the scope. The target’s camouflaged body shifted. Josh waited. The shooter moved a fraction, bringing the side of his head into the crosshairs, and Josh gently squeezed the trigger.

  The rifle shot echoed and the man was dead, his body slumping forward, into the tall, wet grass.

  Josh closed his eyes and his tense muscles relaxed. A slow breath seeped from his lungs. He searched the surrounding area through the scope, scanning carefully, checking with his well-trained naked eye, but didn’t see any other threat.

  From the start there had been two shooters. Pete and Coy were dead. Now both of their killers were dead, too.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed to his feet, and started toward Tory. She was still behind the tree, but she was holding her. 38 revolver in her hand, pointed in the direction of the shooter.