by Lucy Francis
He backhanded her across the cheek. Her face stung. “Don’t lie to me, whore. You’re not the type to give up your kid.”
“How the hell would you know what ‘type’ I am?” She flinched when his hand pulled back, but kept talking. “I’m not lying. Look around the house, Greg. There isn’t a single thing for a toddler.” Would he grow desperate enough to kill her? She tried to think, to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind.
Greg lowered his hand and pursed his lips, thinking. “You know who adopted him.”
She didn’t answer, but he stepped down to her feet. He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband then reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a knife, flicked the blade open. She held her breath as he cut through the duct tape binding her ankles, waiting for the blade to slip.
He efficiently freed her, then flipped the knife closed and hauled her to her feet.
Feet that were dead asleep and wouldn’t support her. She sagged against him. He held her upper arms, keeping her on her feet until she balanced her own weight. The feeling rushing back to her toes hurt, but it helped her sharpen her attention on her surroundings.
He grabbed his gun, and yanked her out of the room by her right arm. She dragged her feet as much as she dared. Curran would call the sheriff, wouldn’t he? How long would it take them to get here? Unless Curran didn’t realize she was in trouble. In that case, she was on her own.
“Where are you taking me?” she said.
He pulled her down the hall. “We’re gonna take a road trip to get the kid, then just for kicks, we’re going home. You owe my mother an apology. Hell, I’ll take you to the cemetery and you can apologize to Nate while you’re at it.”
Her pulse raced. She made herself breathe more slowly, evenly. He’d take her home, huh? Now she knew what a mouse felt like when a housecat went hunting to bring offerings to its humans. “What then?”
His laughter raised gooseflesh on her arms. He’d kill her. Curran. She’d never get the chance to tell him she loved him.
Greg hauled her into the living room, snagged her purse from the floor where she’d dropped it, then pulled her out the front door, into the light snowfall.
He glanced at her purse. “Which pocket do you keep the keys in?”
The keys! He wanted to take the SUV. “I had the keys when I took off before. I must have dropped them when you caught me.”
He let out a string of expletives and yanked her arm hard as he dropped to the ground by the SUV, pulling her down beside him. He looked under the vehicle, hauled her up with him, walked around. No keys.
The sound of approaching vehicles made her heart trip with hope. Greg’s head snapped up at the noise, and he hustled her back into the house and slammed the door as three sheriff’s department vehicles pulled in front of the house. The red and blue lights flashed through the darkness in the living room.
She craned her neck to see out the sidelight. “Why aren’t there sirens?”
Greg pushed her against the wall behind the door. “So I wouldn’t hear them coming, you brainless bitch.”
“What now?”
“Shut up and let me think.” He pressed her to the floor in the corner, then he paced a few steps in each direction.
He obviously hadn’t planned on police presence. Okay, this was good. He couldn’t shoot her now. He’d need her as a hostage. He wouldn’t get out of the house without her. She shifted sideways to make her hands more comfortable, and settled to wait, praying she was right. Praying for her life.
Curran waited in his truck, parked on the road shoulder, until the sheriff’s department vehicles and paramedics whipped past him. He pulled the truck around and followed the authorities back to the Campbells’ house.
He turned off the truck and jumped out, only to be stopped as he neared the line of police cars by a young, clean-shaven deputy.
“Sir, you need to stay back.”
He leveled a hard look at the officer. “I don’t intend to disrupt your work, but the woman I’m going to marry is being held in that house, so anything that goes on here, I’m entitled to know.”
The deputy nodded. “I understand, sir, and once we know exactly what the situation is and what we’re dealing with, I’ll make sure you’re informed.” He pointed past Curran. “Is that your truck? We have backup units en route, you’ll need to move it.”
Curran crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving.”
“I’m not asking you to. Just back your truck in between those trees over there. You’ll be able to observe but you won’t be in our way.”
Curran stormed away and moved the truck off the wide driveway and onto the patch of snow-covered lawn, ignoring the tree branches scraping the side of the truck. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, watching as the deputies milled around. Minutes passed. Someone called out on a loudspeaker, telling those in the house that they were surrounded, and instructing them to pick up the phone, that the deputies wished to speak to them.
More vehicles arrived, including an additional paramedic van. Exiting one of the county trucks was the sheriff. A gray-haired bear of a man, Curran recognized him from his last re-election campaign.
A knock on the passenger window of the truck startled him, sending his already quickened pulse into orbit. He hit the button to unlock the passenger door and Jamie climbed into the truck. Curran growled at him. “Took you long enough.”
“Hey, I figured they didn’t need any more cars down here, so I walked.” Jamie’s face was heavily etched with concern. “What’s going on so far?”
“Hell if I know.” The need to move, to do something, grew too strong. Curran opened his door. “I’m damned well going to find out, though.”
He heard Jamie scramble out of the truck, following him as he strode straight for the sheriff. Another deputy stepped into his path. “Sir, you’re too close. Back off.”
Curran held his ground, but otherwise ignored the man in front of him. “Sheriff Tanner!”
The sheriff heard him, and Curran waited where he was until the man finished his conversation and walked over to him. The deputy left as Curran introduced himself, then said, “Sheriff, I need to know what is happening, because it appears the answer to that is nothing.”
Jamie groaned beside him, muttering something about his failure to be polite.
Sheriff Tanner met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Shaw, there are certain procedures to be followed in a hostage situation.”
Curran’s temper surged to the surface. “I don’t want procedure, dammit. I should be giving you a layout of the house. Aren’t your people supposed to storm in there and rescue her? And make no mistake, when you go in, I’m coming along.”
The sheriff frowned beneath his gray and brown mustache, laid a heavy hand on Curran’s shoulder. “Look, son, I understand how you feel, I really do. But this is not some big action movie, and you’re not a hero. If we can get this guy to release Miss Linden by talking to him, we’ll do it. I won’t lie to you, it may take hours. If we see that isn’t going to work, then when we do make a move, you are staying put. You got that?”
“And if I don’t?”
Sheriff Tanner’s brows raised and his chest puffed out, making him more imposing. “How much good would you be to her if you got shot? Or thrown in jail for interfering with an officer? Do you get my drift, son?”
Curran nodded and the sheriff turned back to the situation at hand. Curran cursed and rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for other people to handle things. When something needed doing, he jumped in and did it. Victoria was in serious trouble, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Curran. You heard the sheriff—this could be a long wait. Let’s go back to the truck, bud.”
They sat in the cab in silence. The cold seeped into Curran’s bones, but if he turned on the engine for the heater, he wouldn’t hear what was going on. So he listened, and watched, and froze.
The woman I’m going to marry is being held in that house. The words twisted his heart. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly when it happened, but he knew precisely when he’d realized it. Last week, when they went horseback riding, they’d paused at the top of the mountain to take in the breathtaking view of mountains and sky stretching into the distance. Victoria laughed, breaking the silence, and in that moment, in the joy radiating from her, the truth occurred to him.
He loved her.
The understanding satisfied him as much as it shocked him. He’d had his share of relationships, but it was never serious. Well, Amanda had been sort of serious, enough to move in with him. For the most part, though, women decorated his arm and shared his life for a little while, until they tired of one another. Love was never a part of it.
He hadn’t exactly come from a family history of solid, lifelong relationships, so he didn’t have a lot to draw on. But the feeling was there. Warmth and happiness and belonging and comfort, centered at his heart, radiating out to every cell of his body.
He’d always heard, if you have to ask if it’s love, it isn’t.
Curran didn’t have to ask. He knew.
The possibility of pain had struck him with his next breath. What if she didn’t love him in return? His love could be a deal-maker or breaker, depending on when he revealed it. Until he was more sure of her feelings, his own would stay locked in his heart. So he hadn’t told her.
Orders barked over the loudspeaker yanked him into the moment. What if he never got the chance to tell her? He pulled the tiny box from his coat pocket, popped the lid up. He’d carted the ring around for two days now. A band of platinum. A white marquis diamond as full of flash and fire as her eyes. Matching rubies, her birthstone, flanked the center stone.
He might never get the chance to see it on her finger. To see her draped across his bed wearing nothing but the ring marking her as his.
Curran dropped his head against the seat, squeezed his eyes closed, and breathed deep, trying to keep his anguish locked away. He had to maintain his composure. He’d be useless to her if—no, when, when she was released, if he let his heartache and fear get the best of him.
Jamie stirred on the bench seat, and a flutter of gratefulness passed through him. His friend had a knack for knowing how to give support, and at the same time, leave him in peace with his thoughts.
Curran clamped down on the stress-induced craving for a cigarette shivering inside him. The physical need had left him ages ago, but the psychological addiction still haunted him. He carried an ‘emergency’ pack in the glove compartment, and as his crutch called to him, he gritted his teeth, internally fighting the battle.
The situation with Victoria was completely beyond his control, but dammit, if nothing else, he could at least control his addiction.
Victoria scooted up against the wall in the shadowed entry of the house, a few feet from the front door, folding her legs under her. Every muscle screamed with the effort to get her frame off her hands, restrained firmly behind her.
Greg towered over her. “What are you doing?”
“My hands are going numb, I’m just trying to get comfortable.”
He leaned down further, until his mouth neared her ear. “Your comfort is the least of my problems, so hold still.”
He was trying to sound cool, she knew, but in the light flooding into the house from the police cars, she saw sweat beading on his forehead, dripping down his cheeks. He paced three steps away, three steps back, his hands trembling. His index finger rested on the trigger. One slip, and she could end up bleeding.
“You could let me go, Greg. I’m not worth this,” she pleaded, desperately searching for the hot button that would make him release her. “I ruined Nate’s life, okay, I admit it, and I’m sorry. Your mother will understand that you can’t get the baby. Just let me go before you go to prison too, like Nate.” As the words left her mouth, she winced, hoping he didn’t decide she was the source of all his misery and shoot her.
“No, here’s what I’m gonna do.” Desperation made his voice harsh. He yanked her to her feet, turned her so her back was against his chest. “Yeah, you’re tall. The only good thing about you, those long legs of yours. They can’t take me out without shooting you, too, and they won’t take that chance.”
“Where are we going? We don’t have my keys, remember?”
Her face burned as he hit her cheek with the butt of the gun, scraping her. The warmth of her own blood on her cheek made her want to scream, but hysteria would only make her more likely to end up dead, so she clamped down on the urge to fall apart.
“My car is parked down the street a ways, but they’ll try to get me from behind. Oh, hell, this’ll be easy. I just threaten to blow your brains out unless they give me the keys to one of the cop cars. Climb in, drive away, get the kid…yeah, piece of cake.”
Greg pulled her against him, his arm around her waist, opened the door with two fingers of his gun hand. As the door swung inward, he screamed, “Anybody so much as breathes, the bitch is dead!”
She flinched as the barrel of the gun pressed hard against her right temple. “What if this doesn’t work, Greg?”
“Then you die. Showtime,” he said, nudging her knee with his. “Move.”
Curran’s heart slammed to a stop when the house door opened. He bolted from the truck, rushed the line of deputies standing against their cars, weapons drawn. One pushed him back, and Jamie grabbed his arms as Victoria emerged from the house, a burly blond guy behind her. The guy had his arm locked around her waist—
And he held a gun to her head.
Fury and fear drove spikes through his heart. Curran surged against Jamie’s grip, breaking free for a moment before a Park City officer on site as backup shoved against his chest, sending him back a few steps.
Jamie grabbed him again, hard, pulling his arms behind him. “You’re not helping her this way, Curran. Chill out, bud.”
His gut knotted at the sight of red streaks trailing down her cheek. “Oh my God, she’s bleeding.”
Terror stood out starkly on her features, but even from here, the alertness in her eyes gave him hope. She was glancing around, assessing her situation.
And he, with all the money at his disposal, with his power, with his fame, with his ability to turn the world on end to suit himself, could do absolutely nothing for her.
The helplessness, the anger at his impotence gushed through him like water through a bursting dam. None of it mattered. Nothing he spent his life working towards meant a damn thing. The one truly important thing in his life was a finger-squeeze away from lost.
And he stood there, watching.
The bright lights made her eyes water. Victoria blinked hard a few times, then focused on the ground at the edges of the lights, trying to see beyond them. Figures. Cops. A lot of them. She’d seen standoffs in the movies. Surely every one of those officers stood with their weapon trained on Greg. Trained on her, really. She made a great shield.
“Throw me the keys to that sedan, officers, and we’ll be on our way.” Greg managed to sound cocky, though the waver in his voice blew some of the effect. His breathing grew more labored, his arm squeezed against her stomach. He was scared.
There had to be something she could do. If he got her into a car, if they drove away, she knew they wouldn’t get where he wanted to go. If they were stopped in the car, well, the baby was for his mother, but Greg wanted vengeance on her. If he thought he was going down, there was no doubt in her mind, he’d take her with him.
An officer started forward, keys dangling from his fingers. “I’ll give the keys to you.”
“Back off!” he shouted, his voice harsh in her ear. “I said throw the fucking keys!”
Greg’s sweat and her own blood trickled down her skin. Her stomach churned and rolled. There had to be a way out of this. What could she do? They couldn’t take him down with her body shielding him…
When the officer took another step forward, Gr
eg swung the gun away from her temple and shot the deputy in the leg. The man screamed and dropped to the ground. As Greg shifted the gun further to the right, yelling at the cops to get back, Victoria grasped the opportunity to act. She dropped, a dead weight slumping against Greg’s arm.
His grip broke and shots rang through the air as Victoria tumbled forward into the snow.
Chapter Fifteen
Noise exploded around her. Gunshots. Shouts.
Cold. Why did snow have to be so cold? With her hands bound behind her, Victoria couldn’t push herself up, let alone wipe the flakes from where they burned cold against her skin.
People surrounded her, a sea of black boots and brown uniform pants. Hands grasped her arms, and for a moment, panic ripped through her, but the grip was far more gentle than Greg’s had been. Something tugged at her wrists, then her hands shifted apart.
Sheer joy at being alive rushed through her, filled her. The crowd walked her away from the house as she brought her hands in front of her. Pain shot down from her shoulders, but the stretching ache in her hands and wrists as she flexed and turned them felt wonderful.
She looked at the faces around her, one female, the others male, all with shining badges pinned to their chests. She heaved a sigh of relief. The cavalry had come.
She looked back, over the shoulder of an officer. Greg lay in the snow, three officers looking over him, paramedics kneeling to work on him. The snow grew redder as she watched. Blood. Greg’s blood. Was it wrong to feel better about that?
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and she tried to pick out individual questions. Why was her brain moving so slowly? She nodded her head. Yes, she was okay. She felt cocooned, insulated somehow, separate from the bedlam surrounding her. She vaguely remembered feeling this way before. Oh, yes. After Nate left that night, when she’d called the ambulance. She’d been so calm, so removed from everything.
She needed to get warm— “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital.” She needed a blanket— “I really am fine, I swear.” She needed—
