Harlan opened the front door, but then stopped and turned to face her. “For the record, if anything like this happens again, don’t assume I’m out to kill you. And don’t break into my house—ever.”
The last word had hardly left his mouth when Caitlyn saw alarm go through Harlan’s eyes. She shook her head, not understanding, but she didn’t have time to ask what had put the alarm there.
Harlan dropped the folder, letting it slip from his arm and onto the floor, and in the same motion he spun away from her. Toward the living room.
But it was too late.
Caitlyn saw the movement behind them. Someone in the shadows. And that someone pointed a gun directly at Harlan.
But it wasn’t a gun.
It was a Taser.
One hit from it, and Harlan let out a choked groan. She watched in horror as he dropped to the floor.
Caitlyn heard the scream bubble up in her throat, and she turned to grab Harlan’s gun.
God. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Here she was fighting for her life, and worse. Harlan was in grave danger, too.
She didn’t get a chance to grab the gun. No chance to do anything. She made it only a few steps before she felt the jolt from the Taser. It crackled through her entire body.
Just like that, she had no control. No chance to scream or get away.
Nothing.
Caitlyn couldn’t even turn to see her attacker’s face. But she heard the voice. It was like something from a cartoon. There was no humor in it, though, only fear that spread like ice through her veins when he whispered a warning.
“Time’s up, Caitlyn.”
Chapter Three
Harlan winced at the dull throbbing ache in his head. But when he opened his eyes, the glare of sunlight turned the ache into a jolt of pain that nearly knocked the breath right out of him.
No time to adjust to the light and pain, though. He had to fight back.
He had to save Caitlyn and himself.
That reminder gave him a much-needed spike of adrenaline, and he shot to a sitting position and reached for his gun.
It wasn’t there.
He blinked, focusing, and glanced around for his Glock. No shoulder holster. No Glock. In fact, the only thing he was wearing was his boxers.
Hell.
What was going on?
He dragged in a few quick breaths, hoping to clear his head. It helped. The last thing he remembered was being in the doorway of his house and someone shooting him with one of those long-range projectile Tasers. Well, he wasn’t in his house now.
But he didn’t know where he was.
It was a motel room from the looks of it, and he was on the bed. Not alone, though. That gave him another jolt of adrenaline, and his body went into fight mode until he realized the person beside him was Caitlyn.
She was wearing only her bra and panties. Skimpy ones at that.
And she wasn’t moving.
Harlan nearly shouted out her name, but then realized it wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. That was because he noticed something else—his left wrist was handcuffed to her right. He certainly didn’t remember that about the attack, but he was guessing Caitlyn hadn’t been the one to do this.
That meant they were not alone.
“Caitlyn?” he whispered.
No response. He put his left hand to her throat and felt her pulse. Steady and strong. That was good. But other than being alive, there wasn’t much else good about this.
He tried again to wake Caitlyn while he looked around to assess their situation. It was a bare-bones kind of room. Bed, dresser, two nightstands and a TV. No phone, though. The adjoining bathroom door was wide-open, and while he couldn’t see anyone, that didn’t mean someone wasn’t in the shower. Or the closet.
The someone who’d cuffed them.
But in the main part of the room there were no signs of anyone but Caitlyn and him. Heck, he didn’t even see their clothes. Whatever had happened, they were clearly being held captive, and that meant they needed to get out of there. Or at least find some way to defend themselves.
Harlan gave Caitlyn’s arm a hard shake, and this time he got a response. A groggy moan.
“Wake up,” Harlan insisted. “We have to leave now.”
Easier said than done. Because of the cuffs and the tornado going on in his head, he couldn’t just bolt from the bed, but he hauled Caitlyn to a sitting position, anchoring her in place so she wouldn’t topple back over. Her eyes finally eased open, and as he’d done, she looked around.
“Where are we?” she mumbled at the same moment that Harlan asked, “Any idea how we got here?”
Caitlyn groaned when she looked first at what she was wearing. Or rather what she wasn’t wearing—clothes. And then at the cuffs.
“What happened after I got hit with the Taser?” he asked. Harlan got to his feet, looped his arm around her waist and helped her stand.
“I don’t know.” She tried to put her hand against her forehead. Probably because like him, she was in pain. But the handcuffs sent Harlan’s arm brushing across her breasts.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Caitlyn blew out another breath. “I saw you get hit with the Taser, and I tried to get your gun. My gun,” she corrected. “You’d put it in the back waist of your jeans.”
Yeah. He remembered that part. The part about falling flat on the hardwood floor, too—emphasis on the hard. But that was where his memories stopped. Obviously Caitlyn had been attacked second, and that meant she might recall more than he did.
“You remember anything after he got you with the Taser?” he asked.
“No.” She glanced around the room again. “I certainly don’t remember being brought here. Or having my clothes taken off. Did you do that?”
He shook his head and was reasonably sure he would have remembered undressing Caitlyn. Or someone else undressing her in front of him. And that could mean only one thing.
“After the Taser hit, someone must have drugged us,” Harlan explained. It was the only thing that made sense, and yet it didn’t make sense at all.
“God,” Caitlyn mumbled. She jerked her uncuffed hand to her mouth and pressed her fingers there for several seconds.
Harlan didn’t like that God one bit. “What do you remember?”
She looked at him, blinked, and along with the grogginess, he could see fear in her eyes. “The person was using one of those voice scramblers, and he said something to me.” She gulped in some air. “‘Time’s up, Caitlyn.’”
Tears watered her eyes, and he saw the muscles in her body tense. She was terrified. With reason.
“It’s okay,” Harlan tried to assure her. But it was a lie. Everything was far from okay, and it wouldn’t get even marginally better until they were in a safe place. “You’re still alive, so he obviously didn’t carry through on his threat.”
But why not?
It was a sickening thought, but their attacker had had plenty of time and opportunity to kill them both.
With his arm still looped around her, Harlan grabbed the lamp from the nightstand, the only semi-weapon in the room, and went to the window. He stayed to the side, keeping Caitlyn behind him, and eased back the curtain.
Yeah, they were definitely in a motel, and not a high-end one either. The window and front door faced a parking lot where there were several vehicles. However, he didn’t see his truck or Caitlyn’s car.
“Ever heard of the Starlight Inn?” he asked, noting the large sign at the end of the parking lot.
“No.” She pressed her body against him when she peered over his shoulder. “It doesn’t look familiar.”
Not to him either, and they sure weren’t in Maverick Springs. Harlan had lived there for sixteen years since he’d left Rocky Creek, and he knew
every nook and cranny of the town.
So where were they, and who’d brought them here?
“I need to check the bathroom.” With Caitlyn in tow, he started in that direction. Where their captor could be hiding.
Of course, there was no reason for the person to hide, since he was calling the shots here. But Harlan hoped he was there so he could bash the moron to bits for doing whatever the hell he’d done to them.
That gave Harlan a moment’s pause.
What exactly had he done to them?
He glanced at Caitlyn again, specifically at her body, running his gaze from her face to her breasts to her belly, where he spotted a tiny black ink tattoo with letters.
And then below.
There didn’t appear to be anything obvious, like love bites or bruises, but they were wearing just underwear and had woken up in a bed.
“Did we...?” she asked, clearly picking up on the reason he was gawking at her body.
“No.” And that, too, could be a whopper of a lie, especially if someone had given them a drug that had caused memory loss. But Harlan wasn’t going to worry about that now, particularly since they had more immediate problems.
With the lamp ready as a club, he went in ahead of Caitlyn. The shower curtain was closed. Of course. No chance that any of this would be easy. Harlan readied himself and used his foot to shove back the vinyl curtain. It slithered open, the metal rings jangling on the overhead bar and sounding far more sinister than it would have under normal circumstances.
Empty.
Well, it was empty except for their clothes and shoes, which had been neatly folded and placed in the tub.
Harlan tossed the lamp aside and rifled through the garments, looking for either his or Caitlyn’s gun. They weren’t there. Neither were their phones or a key for the cuffs.
“What’s going on?” Caitlyn asked. She grabbed her jeans and started to put them on. Not easily because of the blasted handcuffs.
Harlan put on his jeans, too. Best not to go after their captor while he was practically butt naked. “I’m not sure. But judging from what this dirt-for-brains said to you about time being up, it’s all part of the threats. That could mean we’re back to someone who doesn’t want you talking to the Rangers or your stalker, Farris. He could have hired someone to do this, or maybe he’s out of the institution.”
That sort of stuff happened all the time. Inmates were released and no one bothered to tell the victims.
“No,” she said while she put on her shoes. “If Farris were out, he would have just killed me. He wouldn’t have drugged us and brought us here.”
She was obviously basing that conclusion on his previous attack, when he’d tried to strangle her. Something that turned Harlan’s stomach. But Farris could have taken a new direction in his criminal activity, so Harlan wasn’t going to rule him out. No. Just the opposite.
Farris—or the person he’d hired—was at the top of his list.
Harlan tugged on his boots and looped his shirt over his arm, since there was no way he could put it on. Caitlyn, however, ripped the right side and sleeve of her top so she could cover herself. Probably for the best. Her bra and what was beneath it were just plain distracting.
Too many memories.
Harlan headed back to the front door, but he took a moment to rifle through the nightstand drawer to find something—anything—he could use to pick the lock on the handcuffs. But there wasn’t a stray paper clip. That meant going outside without being able to give Farris, or whoever had done this, a full fight.
There was a local telephone directory in the bottom drawer. Not thick or big enough. While it wouldn’t stop a bullet, he grabbed it and rolled it so that it formed a nightstick of sorts. Hardly his weapon of choice when they didn’t know what they were up against, but maybe he could avoid a showdown until he was in a better position to kick somebody’s butt for doing this to Caitlyn and him.
“Stay behind me,” Harlan warned Caitlyn, and he eased open the door and looked outside.
It was early morning, maybe seven or so, and there was no one in the parking lot, but a car did go by on the street in front of the motel. It didn’t stop, and Harlan didn’t call out to the driver.
That was because he had a bad feeling they were being watched.
After all, why would someone go to all the trouble of using a Taser on them, drugging them and bringing them to this place only to let them easily escape?
Harlan kept close to the building and headed for the office sign at the front. Right by the road. Once inside he could call his brothers, who were no doubt wondering where the heck he was. It was a workday, and he should have already been at the marshals’ office in Maverick Springs.
He and Caitlyn were still a good twenty yards from the office when a dark blue truck turned into the parking lot. But it didn’t just turn. The tires squealed as the driver whipped into the lot, and Harlan automatically pulled Caitlyn to the ground in front of one of the parked cars, an older-model red four-door sedan.
The truck slowed once it was in the lot, and the driver inched around, pausing in front of each door. Maybe checking the numbers? Maybe looking for any sign of them.
Or witnesses.
That was a strong possibility, since there appeared to be other guests staying at the motel. The driver finally came to a stop in the parking spot directly in front of the room they’d just escaped from.
Harlan stayed low, pulling Caitlyn as far behind him as he could manage. He watched. And held his breath. He didn’t want to fight like this. Not where Caitlyn could be in the line of fire and also in his way. He wouldn’t be able to fight while handcuffed to her.
It didn’t take long, just a few seconds, before the truck door flew open and the driver stepped out. A man wearing dark clothes. He kept his back to Harlan, so he couldn’t see his face, and he didn’t recognize the man’s gait. However, he thought he might recognize the gun he held next to his right leg. It looked exactly like Harlan’s standard-issue Glock.
Harlan tried to take in as many details of the man as he could, including the number of his license plate and the way he practically kicked down the door of the motel room. Whoever this guy was, he was riled to the core, and that meant there’d be no showdown between Harlan and him. Not at this moment anyway, but once he had Caitlyn someplace safe, he was coming after this dirt wipe.
“You know that guy?” Harlan asked her.
“Hard to tell.” Her breath was racing, hitting against his bare shoulder and back, and every muscle in her arm was iron hard. “But it could be Farris. We need to find out if he’s out of the institution.”
He would. And maybe Caitlyn would be able to confirm if it was or wasn’t Farris when she got a look at his face. The trick was to let Caitlyn get that look without the guy seeing her. Harlan didn’t want the man using that Glock on them.
From inside the room, Harlan heard a loud crash, as if someone had bashed something against the wall. Harlan waited with his breath held, and within seconds the man burst out of the room.
Caitlyn groaned softly, and Harlan knew why.
They couldn’t see his face to determine if it was her stalker because the guy was wearing a ski mask. He jumped back into the truck and sped away. He was already a few yards past the vehicle where they were hiding when the driver of the truck slammed on his brakes.
“What’s he doing?” Caitlyn asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Harlan didn’t answer. Didn’t want to make a sound, but he eased himself lower to the ground so he could watch from beneath the car.
His heart slammed against his ribs when he heard the truck door open again. And Harlan saw black combat boots when the guy stepped out. The man didn’t move for what seemed to be an eternity, and it gave Harlan too much time to think of all the things that could go wrong.
But he didn’t.
He took a step. Then another.
Oh, hell.
The armed man was walking straight toward them.
Chapter Four
It took every bit of Caitlyn’s self-control—and Harlan’s bruising grip on her arm—to stay in her place. Her instincts were screaming for her to bolt. To get far away from the ski-masked man who was just a few yards away and closing in fast. But running would only get her shot.
Harlan, too.
Because she hadn’t missed that the man coming toward them was also armed. And angry. Everything about his body language told her he was working on a short fuse and a hot temper, and it was too much to hope that all that fury was aimed at someone other than Harlan and her.
But why?
Soon she wanted to know the answer to that, but unfortunately they might be killed before they learned why this man was after them.
Even though she tried not to make a sound, that was just about impossible with her heart and breath galloping out of control. Unlike Harlan. He was focused only on the man’s movement, and he didn’t show any sign of the fear Caitlyn was feeling.
She glanced around them, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. The only things within reach were a couple of small rocks, so Caitlyn scooped them up and waited. God, she wished they had a phone so she could at least call the cops.
The man stopped, and Caitlyn pulled in her breath. Held it. Waiting and praying that he would just turn around, go back to his truck and drive away.
That didn’t happen.
Because her attention was nailed to him, she saw the shift of his weight to the front of his feet, and he slowly bent his knees. Lowering himself. Stooping down. And there was only one reason for him to do that.
So he could look beneath the cars.
OUTLAW LAWMAN Page 3
