by Lora Leigh
“Yeah.” He looked at her dubiously. “All right then.”
“Warren, don’t forget, I’m from here. I grew up with rednecks.” She was sick to death of being second-guessed.
“Hey, don’t get mad, I’m just…”
“It’s all good.” Her voice softened a bit as she reached for her ticket book. “Don’t stress. I got it. Just call in the tags.”
She rose from the car, keeping her hand on her gun, and walked up to the cab cautiously. The driver rolled down the window. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“License and registration, please.” She kept her voice firm and authoritative as she leaned down and took stock of the driver and his passenger.
Both were Caucasian males, clean-cut in jeans, clean shirts, and baseball caps. The driver was a bit larger than the passenger. She guessed he might be six feet, tough, muscular.
Something about him looked familiar. The passenger was a bit over six feet and wiry. She didn’t smell any alcohol on the man’s breath or in the cab, and he seemed to be coherent. However, his movements were jerky, his shaky smile and a nervous chuckle alerted her that something wasn’t right. The passenger fidgeted and wouldn’t look at her.
“What’d we do, Officer? I was under the speed limit,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“I noticed you were weaving quite a bit…” A muffled cry had Samantha stopping mid-sentence. She tilted her head to the side and raised a hand for the driver to keep quiet. “What was that?”
The driver looked up at her with narrowed eyes, his lips stretched into a tight smile. “What?”
Again, she heard a whimper coming from the back of the camper. The sound was one of distress, fear. Was that a child? It had the tiny hairs on the back of Samantha’s neck prickling. She turned to the driver in time to see his passive expression turn into a pinched, hateful snarl of a man desperate for escape. Samantha had no time to react. The man swung open the car door, smashing the metal window frame against the side of her head.
White light exploded in her brain, and she stumbled back. The camper wheels spewed dust and gravel as they sped away. Samantha got up as fast as she could and ran back to the cruiser. Her head hurt and her stomach roiled as she jumped in and took off after the camper.
“I called for backup!” Shane shouted as Samantha slid into the driver’s seat. “You need to let me drive.”
“I’ve got this,” Samantha bit out. She blinked twice, the winding road in front her stopped undulating, but it didn’t help that it kept on curving up and around, as though it had been carved through the mountain by a snake.
“Ryder, pull over, we need to get you checked out. You got hit in the head hard.” Samantha kept driving. She knew on some level Shane was right, but she couldn’t let them out of her sight. They’d get away. “I got the tags! Let ’em go!” he said through his teeth.
Samantha’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to keep the road in front of her in focus. “Shit. Probably stolen plates. Damn, Shane, you really that green?”
“I know enough not to risk my own life or a fellow officer’s!” he shouted as the tires squealed in protest. Samantha made the next curve just a little too sharp. Shane sucked in his breath and grabbed the dashboard. “At least pull over, and let me drive. I know these roads better.”
She clenched her teeth. “I thought you said this road takes us back to town.”
“It does if you take that left at Melvin’s Food and Gas back there.” A mix of fear and anger had his voice sounding more like a growl.
“Shit, where the fuck is backup? Where does this road take us?” She sped up and clenched her teeth against the pain clawing at her brain.
“Eventually into Nevada.” Shane’s voice was thin and breathy.
“Shit!” she yelled.
“Samantha, stop. You’re not gonna catch them! Listen to me…”
Samantha took the next curve and growled, her voice low and menacing. “Officer Shane, either shut the fuck up or I’m slowing down and shoving you out! Do you understand me?”
Shane cursed under his breath and buckled his seat belt tighter as he grabbed the mic and called for backup once again.
Samantha concentrated on her driving. Thankfully, her eyesight was steady and sharp again, although the siren only intensified the pain throbbing in her head.
She heard Shane’s uneasy voice as he spoke with the dispatcher, but his words didn’t register. She kept her eyes focused on the curve of the road and the vehicle ahead. The camper shimmied and swayed all over the road. So far there had been little to no traffic. But there was a child back there. Was he kidnapped? Was he hurt? How could she back down? She just had to stay with them until her backup showed.
She saw the sunlight glint off the barrel of the rifle just in time. “Shit! Duck!” she yelled and pushed Shane down in the seat just as a bullet punched through the windshield over Shane’s head.
“Holy shit, back off!” Shane pleaded with her frantically.
“Just stay the fuck down!” Samantha was pissed now—no, past pissed, she was livid. No way would she let the bastard go now. Shane just barely missed catching the bullet with his face. She pushed the thought aside; she’d deal with that later. She had to catch these assholes. Shane was speaking frantically into the mic again. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator and yelled in rage as a bullet hit her radiator.
“Samantha!” Hunter’s voice was clear and strong through the radio, and it wasn’t missed that he’d said her name correctly. She grimaced, surprised that she didn’t like it. “Backup is on its way. Can you maintain pursuit?”
She snatched the mic from a wide-eyed Shane. “Affirmative, Sheriff. Too close to back off now. I think there’s a minor involved,” she replied, strangely calm, even though she could feel her heart in her throat.
The danger was very real. Her life, Shane’s life, also her career, was on the line, but it was the life of this unknown child that drove her.
There was a pause before the radio crackled again. “Don’t get headstrong and careless, Sam. Keep a safe distance.”
A bullet shattered her side-view mirror with a loud metallic ping. “No, sir, we can’t lose them. I’m staying on them until I get backup.”
If she let them escape, they may never find them again. She’d been on the force long enough to know that, and Hunter knew it too. Grotesque scenes of what they might do with the child kept playing over and over in her mind, scenes of molestation, mutilation. She couldn’t let them go, she couldn’t.
“Dammit, Officer Ryder, was that gunfire? I heard gunfire.” Hunter’s growl crackled from the speaker.
She didn’t have time to argue. “Just get me my backup, Sheriff.” Gritting her teeth against the need to heave, she dropped the mic. Shane grabbed the mic and started to sit up. “No, Shane, stay down. Just stay down. One less target.”
Panic rose in her and clawed at her throat as she leaned into the steering wheel. White billows of steam were pouring out from under the hood and the car was losing momentum. She could barely see through the web of cracks in her windshield, and bullets still popped and pinged against her cruiser. God, she didn’t want to lose them. There sounded like an explosion, and for a moment she thought they’d go up in flames before she realized her right tire was shot out. She braked slowly, but the car was going too fast. It shook hard and bore to the right. She swerved, fighting for control, sliding to a halt precariously close to the edge of the ravine.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. A minute or two passed before her mind caught up. She looked over at Shane. “You good?”
Shane nodded, but he looked shaken as he unbuckled his seat belt.
Her head was pounding. She looked him over. “Not shot or anything, are you?”
“Naw, I’m okay. You okay?” he questioned her, his gaze direct, assessing despite the nervousness in his voice.
“Sam!” It was Hunter’s voice, only it sounded tight and deeper than usual.
�
��Yeah,” she muttered to Shane as she picked up the mic. “I lost them.”
“Are you okay?” He sounded mad, and something else.
“Yeah, car is shot up, though.”
“Fuck,” Hunter growled. “Shane?”
“We’re both fine. Just a little shaken.”
“God. Sam.” Hunter’s voice shook, with anger? With fear? Samantha wasn’t sure.
Shane had managed to get out of the car and around to the front without falling into the ravine. He stood looking at the bullet-riddled grill while he rubbed the back of his neck. Wouldn’t hurt for him to get checked out.
“Shane might have whiplash. Hunter … the kid,” she said through her teeth. The possible pain and horror awaiting that child plagued her mind.
“We’ll find the truck, Sam. Stay put. I’m almost there,” he ordered.
“Understood.” She put the mic down and got out of the car. She was about to ask Shane about his neck when another cruiser pulled in behind them. Decker and Rodgers got out and walked up to them.
“Boy, y’all really fucked it up this time.” Decker smirked at them. Shane’s expression changed, his jaw clenched as he took a step toward Decker.
She stepped in front of him. “The sheriff is on his way.”
“Bet he is.” Rodgers’s lip quivered in disgust.
Samantha narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.
“What were you thinkin’ anyway, drivin’ like a crazy person over these roads? Hell, you’re trained for city drivin’…”
“She handled these roads like a pro. She would have caught them if they hadn’t started shootin’,” Shane defended her. “Or maybe if we’d had the backup we called for sooner. But I reckon y’all two were just takin’ it safe, huh?”
* * *
Hunter arrived before the verbal war could continue.
“Rodgers, Decker, what are y’all doin? You two get the hell out of here and see if you can find that truck. The California Highway Patrol can assist me here.”
“CHiPs?” Decker jerked alert then. “Hell, Hunter, since when do we want troopers in our business?”
“Since the bastards who opened fire on two of my officers got away and the other two are standin’ around mouthin’ off with their thumbs up their ass.” Hunter gave the men a fierce, level stare. “Now get to it or you and Decker both can take a leave of absence while I find someone willing to follow orders.”
Decker’s lips tightened. Carefully, as though he were more than aware that Hunter was just looking for an excuse to tear him apart, he headed back to his vehicle.
“This is a mistake, Sheriff,” Rodgers muttered, his eyes narrowing on Hunter.
“Then it’s my mistake, isn’t it? Now get the hell out of here.” He turned toward his deputy, preparing to back up the order with action if need be.
Rodgers’s fists clenched, he shook his head with a short, rough movement then stalked away. Hunter kept his eyes on Rodgers and Decker. After a brief, furious discussion, the two men got into their cruiser and peeled out, headed up the mountain.
Hunter jerked his cell phone from his hip, watching Sam check on Shane. He hit speed dial, then waited impatiently as the phone rang.
“What do you need?” Jacob’s voice came across the line, quiet and controlled.
“You heard?” Hunter knew the other man kept a police scanner on hand, and there was no way in hell to block him from transmissions.
“I heard.” There was a low throb of anger in the other man’s voice.
Hunter knew if there were two things Jacob hated, it was flesh runners and drug runners, and from all appearances, the ones operating in Deerhaven were more dangerous than most.
“Check your end, but don’t get into trouble. They were headed that way. I sent Rodgers and Decker out after them, so be on guard,” Hunter warned his friend.
Jacob grunted sarcastically. He was a man of few words when the situation warranted it.
“Keep your cell on hand,” he finally growled. “I’ll be back with you later.”
“You do that,” Hunter bit out. “And watch your ass. I don’t have time to haul you out of trouble.”
He disconnected the line as two California Highway Patrol officers roared into the area, sirens blasting. A tight, cold smile shaped his lips as he identified the officers.
Mark had come through for him. Hunter may be short on loyal deputies, but by God, Mark had just pulled two of the meanest damned troopers to ever ride a California highway in to help him after his earlier phone call.
His brother-in-law evidently wasn’t taking any chances. These men were troopers with a grudge, and the power to back up any investigation they undertook. Gabriel Sloan and Logan Grant.
He caught Gabriel’s hawkish gaze. Tall, controlled, a man of few words, Hunter guessed. A brief nod was all the answer he needed. Assuming expressions of arrogant intent, the two officers strolled his way.
Let the games begin, Hunter thought, because shit was about to get real.
“Sheriff Steele.” Gabriel tipped his hat back on his head and surveyed the scene with predatory interest.
He was as tall as Hunter, lean and muscular, with a square jawline, and piercing hazel eyes. He had once been more laid-back and easygoing than he was now, but circumstances had changed that over the years.
Hunter didn’t look back as Sam and Shane moved closer to them. He needed to get them to the hospital to be checked out. Probably should have called the paramedics.
“We got a line on your tags and your boys,” Sloan told him quietly, as he eyed Sam and Shane.
“They’re safe,” Hunter assured him.
Sloan lifted a brow and studied the two for a moment before nodding. “Truck was stolen ’bout two weeks ago. The witness described Jasper Michaels, a small-time illegals dealer, as the thief. Jasper was seen not long before that with Wago Darney, an illegals flesh peddler of the worse sort. If you’ve tagged him and your officer saw him”—he titled his head, indicating Sam—“then she best watch her ass. Wago doesn’t like witnesses of any kind.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched. This was getting deeper than he could have ever suspected.
* * *
At the hospital, Hunter stood watching the ER doc examine Sam. She shot daggers at him a few times, pissed because he insisted she get checked out. Shane had some neck strain and was having an MRI to assess the scope of the damage.
It looked as though Sam may have a mild concussion but that was all. Both officers had been surprisingly lucky; the bastards in that truck had meant to kill them both. What had Hunter on edge more than anything was the fact that the two officers could be targeted now.
He stepped outside with the doctor while Sam dressed. The doctor explained that she would be sore, and though her concussion was mild, she might need a day off to rest and heal. Getting her to do that was another story. They were all immersed fully in this conspiracy now, and he knew Sam well enough to know that the child she encountered would haunt her until she uncovered the whole ring. It didn’t help a damned bit finding out that Tom Novak was involved. Hunter reluctantly filled her in on what Mark had discovered. She’d taken it all in and was still processing. She couldn’t let her experience with Tom dominate. It was a matter of compartmentalizing. She could do this.
“I’m ready.” Samantha walked from her room, dressed in the soft, gray sweat pants he had brought, and a loose, light-gray T-shirt. She looked tired and worried, and he didn’t blame her. “Were you able to get anything on that vehicle?”
He tossed her a sideways glance. “Sam, we aren’t going to discuss this tonight. You’re going to go home, take your meds, and go to sleep.”
Hunter took her arm as they walked toward the exit to the waiting room at the end of the hall.
“Hunter, the longer we wait…”
“You’re taking tomorrow off. I need you at one hundred percent.” He almost winced at the controlled violence in his voice. “I’m on it.”
Dammit to hel
l, he could have lost her. He almost shuddered at the thought. He was doing better, though; he had been shaking from the first sound of gunfire until he pulled up to the scene.
“Hunter, you weren’t the one who heard that child cry out,” Samantha said in a harsh whisper, as they waited for the receptionist to press the door lock so they could leave. “I was.” She continued as she lowered herself into an uncomfortable waiting room chair, “That was a child in pain, and I won’t forget about that sound.”
“I’m not asking you to forget about it,” he told her, fighting to keep calm. “But you can’t do anyone any good until you’re pain-free, Sam. Especially that child. Take a day. It’s just a day, for God’s sake. By then I should have a lead on what’s going on.”
He meant what he said. He was on it for damned sure. It was not lost on him the problems he was potentially facing. He obviously couldn’t trust Rodgers and Decker. With Sam and Shane out of commission, at least for a day or so, that left no one on his immediate force to back him. He had phone calls and plans to make, because he would be damned if he would see his county used for what he was suspecting it was being used for, especially by men who had sworn to protect it.
Silence lay between them then, thick and heavy, as he sat beside her, waiting for word on Shane. Nothing moved quickly in an ER waiting room.
A couple of hours passed before Shane came shuffling out into the waiting room with his discharge papers in hand.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, pained.
Hunter stood. Sam followed as he walked toward his deputy. “Hey, what did the doc say?”
“Not really whiplash, just some strained muscles. No serious damage.” Hunter’s sigh of relieve was audible. Shane gave him a sideways smile. “Said I should be good to go in a day or two. I’ll be fine once I get rid of this headache.”
“Yeah, you’ll take tomorrow off too. I’ll pick up your prescription and get you home.”
“Naw, Sheriff, thanks. I wish. But my sister insisted on pickin’ me up. She’s about to lose her damn mind. It’ll be easier just to let her have her way. Trust me. Ryder, you okay?” he asked Sam then, his look probing.
