by Cassie Miles
As she took a sharp turn onto a gravel road, the SUV seemed to wobble as though it was unstable.
The cell phone rang and she answered, “Hello, Shane.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m on the way to Calvin’s.” She decided to tell him the truth. “And I didn’t drag anyone along with me. I’m fine.”
“Are there any other cars on the road?”
She hadn’t been watching the mirrors, but took a glance now. “Nobody in sight. And when did you get to be such a mother hen?”
“I think that happened right after I fell in love with you.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Did he just say that he loved her? He must have because the L-word echoed inside her head. How could he make that declaration over the phone? So casual. So calm.
“Angela, just be careful. If you have any trouble at all, hit the redial button and I’ll answer.”
Before she could respond, he disconnected the call.
Of course, she loved Shane as a friend. And she loved the way he seduced her. But was she in love with him?
She yanked at the wheel. The ride over this gravel road was worse than it had ever been before. Something was wrong with this car.
A flat tire.
Her fingers clenched the steering wheel. No! This can’t be happening! A flat tire led to Tom’s death. She wouldn’t let them kill her, too. Through the windshield, she saw the surrounding forest. There were no houses in sight. No other cars.
The car jostled wildly. She knew she should pull off onto the shoulder, but her foot wouldn’t come off the accelerator. If she could keep going, she wouldn’t be stuck here.
In her rearview mirror, she saw another car approaching. Sunlight gleamed on the chrome of the other vehicle. The front grill looked like shark’s teeth.
She had to change directions. Couldn’t risk leading them to Benjy. She’d rather die than let Neil get his hands on her son. But there was nowhere to turn on this road. No escape.
The other car pulled up to her back bumper. She couldn’t outrun him with a flat tire. She had a better chance on foot. Every morning, she’d been running. All that training might pay off.
She swerved, and the other car gave her a little more room. He didn’t want to put a dent in his expensive grill. If only she could get some distance, she’d have a better chance.
She unfastened her seat belt and tucked the cell phone into her sports bra. The phone was her only link to Shane. She slammed on the brakes. Shane’s Land Rover swiveled to a stop.
Immediately, she threw open the door and dashed around the front of the car. Following her instincts, she sprinted across a rock-strewn open space toward a thick stand of aspen. Pumping hard, her legs accelerated as she ascended a rise.
Someone called her name, but she didn’t stop, didn’t look back. All her energy focused on getting away from them, running like hell.
A sharp pain stabbed into the center of her back and she fell forward. Her hands scraped on the rocky soil. Struggling, she forced herself to get up and lurched forward.
Her vision blurred. Her knees folded, and she hit the ground. Desperately, she tried to move. It was no use. She’d been shot.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Guns drawn, Shane and the others approached the Stilton house where Carlson was holed up. The deputy who had been watching the house reported that there had been no movement. Carlson hadn’t attempted to leave.
At the front door, two men held a battering ram in case they needed to crash through the door. Shane reached out and tried the handle. It was unlocked.
Something was wrong with this setup. Why would Carlson sit here for two hours in the afternoon? He had to be following Neil’s orders. Why did Neil want him there?
Shane threw open the door and rushed inside, followed by two other men. They didn’t have far to go.
The television set in the front room showed a commercial for shampoo. Carlson was sprawled on the sofa facing the screen. He wasn’t moving.
His mouth hung open. His skin was mottled. His sightless eyes bulged in their sockets.
Shane felt at the base of the man’s throat for a pulse. Nothing. Standard procedure was to try CPR, but there was no point. “He’s dead.”
The deputy who had been watching the house spoke up, “I swear nobody got in here. I didn’t just sit in my car. I was out, prowling around the house.”
On the coffee table in front of the sofa were the contents of a grease-stained carryout bag: a half-eaten hamburger, fries and a soft drink.
Shane was willing to bet that Carlson had been poisoned by something in the food or drink. Neil and Prentice must have decided that their protégé was a liability. And they had taken him out of the picture.
Deputy Keller—a gray-haired man whose beer belly pushed the limits of his Kevlar vest—took charge. “This here is a crime scene, boys. We need to handle things right. I’ll call the sheriff.”
Shane stepped back. He should have been glad to see the man who murdered Tom lying dead before him, but this wasn’t the way he wanted this situation to play out. With Carlson dead, there was no one to point the finger at Prentice and Neil. And he was damn sure that those two doctors knew how to administer a poison that couldn’t be traced back to them. They were about to get away with murder. Again.
His cell phone buzzed. Caller ID showed it was Angela.
She whispered, “Flat tire. Neil grabbed me.”
His heart stopped. This was his greatest fear come true. “Where are you?”
“An SUV. In the back.” Her voice was barely audible. “Can’t talk.”
“Angela, are you all right?”
“I was shot.”
God, no. He couldn’t lose her.
“Can you see through a window. Do you know where you are?”
“Can’t tell.”
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would get to her in time. Goddammit, he wouldn’t let her die. “Leave this phone line open. Give me clues whenever you can.”
He clipped his phone onto his ear and strode toward the exit.
“Hey,” Keller called after him. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Angela needs me.”
ANGELA CURLED INTO A BALL on the floor of Prentice’s SUV between the two front seats and the bench seat in the rear. The middle seats were pulled up. It was a strange prison—one that still had a new car smell.
Her only chance to survive this capture was the cell phone. She was lucky that Neil hadn’t found it tucked inside her bra. If she could keep feeding information to Shane, he’d find her. Leaving the line open, she returned the phone to her bra.
Though her hands were tied in front of her, she still had a range of motion. Her back ached where she’d been shot. It wasn’t as painful as she would have thought. As she became more alert, she seemed to be regaining her strength, rather than fading.
And she didn’t see blood.
Twisting around, she dragged herself toward the front of the vehicle.
From the passenger seat, Neil glanced back at her. “You’re feeling better already. I knew you would. The dose in the tranquilizer dart was minimal.”
“You shot me with a trank gun?” The inside of her mouth tasted as if she’d been chewing on dirty socks. “How could you?”
“It was the best way to control you without hurting you. Why did you take off running?”
“Flat tire. That was how you—” She stopped herself before saying too much. Neil wasn’t aware that she knew about Carlson and the black truck parked in Prentice’s garage. “That was how Tom died.”
“Easy now.” He reached between the seats and held a water bottle toward her. “Drink some of this. You’ll have a bit of a headache, but otherwise you’ll be fine.”
When she inched forward to reach the water, she realized that her ankles were bound together. “Untie me. Now.”
“The restraints are for your own good. So you won’t tr
y something foolish. I don’t want to hurt you, Angela.”
She took the water bottle from him and drank. He’d been right about the headache, but her mind was clear. The most important thing was to let Shane know where they were.
“Where are you taking me, Neil?”
“I’m going to finish what we started. I’m aware that this isn’t the best way to start a marriage, but—”
“I’ll never marry you.”
From the driver’s seat, Prentice gave a short laugh. “You don’t have a choice. We already have the marriage license. Obtained by proxy. All we need is a quick blessing, the signature of a minister and it’s done.”
These two men were crazy, obsessed. And dangerous. She got up on her knees so she could see through the window and look for landmarks. She had to say something to give Shane a clue to their whereabouts. She recognized the road they were on and the body of water beside it. “No wedding. It’s not going to happen. I’d rather throw myself out of the car and drown in Beaver Lake.”
“Try to be reasonable,” Neil said. “We can work things out. For Benjy’s sake. The boy needs a father.”
“Never mention my son again.”
“Oh, please,” Prentice said. “You’re not a moron, Angela. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I matched your DNA with someone of equal caliber. You must know that Neil is the biological father of your son.”
After all their subterfuge, she didn’t expect Prentice to be so direct. “I know. I had Benjy’s DNA tested.”
Neil smiled at her, actually smiled. “So many times, I wanted to tell you. I’m so proud of our son.”
Our son? The words sounded obscene when he spoke them. Her anger exploded. “You bastard! You think you’re so damn smart. Book smart. But you don’t understand a thing about people, about real life. I’ll never be your wife. And Benjy will never be your son.”
“There’s no reasoning with her,” Prentice said to Neil. “I told you we’d have to do this the hard way.”
Her jaw clenched. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”
“Of course not,” Neil said. “But it might be necessary for you to disappear for a while. We have a convenient minister who will sign the certificate with or without you. Ironically, his name is Money. Pastor Money.”
“Pastor Money,” she repeated, hoping that Shane was listening.
Neil continued, “We’ll tell everyone that we went on our honeymoon, and then you’ll be hospitalized. It won’t be a surprise. Everyone saw how erratic you’ve been acting, calling off the wedding at the last minute.”
And Neil would use a biological claim to solidify his claim for custody. Benjy would fall into his hands. They thought there was nothing she could do to stop them, but she knew better. Carlson would be blamed for Tom’s murder, and he would implicate both Prentice and Neil. Ultimately, they’d be in jail, and she’d be free of them.
But she needed to survive long enough for justice to take its course. She decided it was best to let them think she was going along with their insane plan. “It seems as if I don’t have a choice.”
“Then it’s settled,” Neil said. “We’ll be married.”
There was no way of sorting or understanding the avalanche of emotion that crashed over her. Her anger was matched by hopelessness. Her fear overwhelmed by hatred.
More than ever before, she needed Shane’s help. One more time, she needed him to ride to her rescue. But she had to give him more to go on.
She played for time. “Can I, at least, clean up before this wedding?”
“I’m sure there’s a washroom at the Chapel by the Creek.”
“What’s that? Chapel by the Creek?”
“Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? That’s where we’ll be wed.” Neil seemed determined to put a good face on the situation. Could he really be so blind? So arrogant that he couldn’t for one minute put himself in her shoes? “One day, this will all be a funny story to tell our grandchildren.”
She prayed that Shane could hear her, that he would know the location.
CHAPEL BY THE CREEK. Shane knew where it was. And he also knew that Prentice’s SUV was approaching on a winding back road that circled Beaver Lake.
He switched on the sirens and the flashing lights atop the official vehicle, and he hit the accelerator. Taking a direct highway route, he could arrive at the chapel before them.
Though backup would be helpful, he couldn’t coordinate their arrivals and didn’t want to take a chance on spooking Prentice into running.
Plus, he needed to keep listening to Angela’s voice on the cell phone. The other voices were muffled and indistinct, but she came through loud and clear. When he’d heard her say that she’d been shot by a trank gun, he felt a sense of relief and he had known, without a doubt, that when this was over he wanted to live every day with her.
Through his phone, he heard her ask how long before they got there. She repeated the answer. “Twenty minutes, more or less.”
He flew down the road, careening past the other traffic. He was close to the chapel. It made sense that Prentice would go there. Pastor Money was a nondenominational weirdo who would marry a goat to a chicken if you paid his fee.
He turned off the siren as he neared the chapel, skidded into the parking lot and drove around to the back. Now was the time to call for backup.
WHEN PRENTICE PARKED in front of a white chapel in need of a new paint job, Angela did everything she could to stall. Neil untied the cords around her ankles and helped her to her feet.
She groaned. “I’m a little dizzy. Give me a minute to get my bearings.”
“Hurry it up,” Prentice snapped. He didn’t bother hiding his hostility toward her. “Let’s get this over with.”
She glared at him. “What’s the big rush?”
“I think you know,” he said with a sneer. “Carlson called me and told me that someone had broken into my cabin. I’m sure that your boyfriend, Shane, is trying to put together some kind of bogus evidence.”
Bogus? Oh, how she wanted to accuse him! She wanted to throw his crimes in his face, but she tried to sound innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t make a case against me without Carlson,” he said.
That was true. Their only solid evidence was Carlson’s fingerprint at the scene of Tom’s murder.
Prentice continued. “Poor Carlson. He has a bad ticker, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he keeled over from a heart attack at any moment.”
“My God, did you kill him, too?”
Neil had finished untying her hands. “Angela, please. I thought you were done with these paranoid delusions.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you saying that you don’t know about Tom’s murder?”
“Your husband was killed in a hit-and-run accident.” He took her arm and led her toward the chapel. “I’m beginning to think that you really do need treatment.”
She tried to jerk free, and he clamped down more tightly. Prentice held her other arm. Together, they marched her through the door.
The interior of the chapel was as run-down as the outside. The pews were scratched and worn. The carpet runner down the center aisle was a dark, dirty brown. At the front was a simple podium and a table with a white cloth. A man in a long, black robe fussed with a candle arrangement on the table.
“Pastor Money,” Neil called to him. “We’re here to be married.”
Without turning around to face them, he waved them forward. “Yes, yes, get up here.”
She dug in her heels, but it was no use. They dragged her down the aisle. She made one last appeal. “You’ve got to listen to me, Neil. Prentice arranged for Tom’s murder. It was Carlson driving the black truck. And now Prentice has probably killed Carlson as well.”
Halfway down the aisle, Neil came to a halt. His gaze rested on Prentice, and she saw a flicker of comprehension. “Is she telling the truth?”
“We’re scientists, son. There are no fact
s to back up what she’s saying.”
Neil dropped her arm and stepped back. “My God, what have you done?”
“I did it for you. And for Benjy.”
From outside the chapel, she heard an approaching siren. The man in the black robe whirled around.
It was Shane. His right arm extended straight out from his body. The nose of his gun pointed directly at the center of Prentice’s forehead. He growled, “Let her go.”
Prentice tried to hide behind her. His hand slipped on her arm, and Angela took advantage of the situation. With all the rage that had been building inside her since they grabbed her, she lashed out. Prentice staggered backward.
She ran toward Shane. In his black robe, he was an impressive figure. He told her to get behind the podium. The approaching sirens got louder.
He stared at Neil. “Are you armed?”
Neil held both hands in the air. “No.”
Unwavering, Shane held his aim on Prentice. “You have a gun. Go ahead, make your move.”
“If I do, you’ll shoot me.”
“We call that justifiable homicide,” Shane drawled.
Three other lawmen charged through the door at the back of the chapel, and Shane stepped down, willing to leave the arrests to them.
When he turned toward her, she flung her arms around his neck and held on for all she was worth. He was her hero, coming to her rescue again. “I love you, Shane.”
He smiled down at her. “It occurs to me that we’re standing in a chapel, and Pastor Money is in the back room, ready to perform a wedding.”
“Is that a proposition?”
“Marry me, Angela.”
Without hesitation, she answered, “I will, but not here. Not today.”
“When?”
“Soon enough.”
THE NEXT YEAR ON Valentine’s Day, Angela stood at the back of a Denver church and waited to marry the man she’d loved as a friend and adored as a lover. Ever since Shane moved into her Denver house, her life had been just about perfect. He loved his work at PRESS. She loved Waffles. In her spare time, she was writing her breakfast recipe cookbook.
