The Temptation of Dr. Colton

by Karen Whiddon

  Dimly she heard a scream and as she realized it was her own voice, the car spun again, slamming into the concrete median with a sickening crunch of metal.

  Someone shouted, and then the car shuddered before coming to a halt—upside down, she thought, the seat belt cutting into her so tightly she couldn’t turn.

  “Eric?” As she tried to speak, she coughed, horrified to see the bright red specks of blood on her hand. “Eric?” she tried again, louder this time. Still no response.

  Blinking, she tried to see, but couldn’t—the thick smoke made it impossible. Smoke? Even as she registered that, she felt heat and heard the awful crackle of fire. Gasoline and flames meant danger. There’d be an explosion if the flames weren’t put out.

  Crud. Heart pounding, she struggled to free herself. If she didn’t get Eric and herself out of here, they’d die.

  Twisting again, she tried to take stock of the situation. Beyond the smoke, something else was wrong with her vision; she managed to bring her hand up to wipe at her eyes. When her fingers came away covered in blood, she suddenly felt pain. She’d been injured. A head wound, and more.

  Tough. Gritting her teeth, she fought to unclip the seat belt. When she succeeded, she fell forward. Turning to her left, she found the door handle and pulled. Locked. She tried again, using all her strength. Still nothing.

  The hiss and roar of fire grew louder. Horrified, she saw that the entire engine was ablaze. Both men in the front seat had either fallen over out of sight or had already gotten out.

  She’d help them if she could. Right now, she needed to try to get Eric out. He slumped against the opposite door, covered with blood, unconscious and way too still.

  Crawling over him, she yanked at his door handle, grunting as her first attempt succeeded and she pushed the door open.

  She tumbled to the pavement, the pain on top of her other injuries bringing tears to her eyes. Ignoring this—ignoring everything but Eric—she managed to undo his seat belt. She used strength she had never possessed to pull him from the car, wincing as he hit the concrete, but still half pulling, half dragging him away from the now fully engulfed car. Tears stung her eyes as she said a quick prayer for anyone who hadn’t escaped.

  Another vehicle approached, the headlights blinding her. “Help!” She attempted a scream, though the sound coming from her raw throat sounded more like a croak. “Help!” She tried again, letting Eric go once she had him safe—far enough away and out of the roadway. The instant she did, she staggered and nearly went to her knees.

  Footsteps sounding behind her made her turn. Too slowly. She saw the blur too late right before something smashed into the back of her head and everything went black.

  * * *

  When she came to, her first thought was that everything hurt. Throbbed. So painful she could barely even breathe. She ached from the top of her head down to her toes. Confused, she tried to process what had happened.

  A blown tire. A car wreck. Eric. With a strangled gasp, she attempted to jump to her feet to look for him. That’s when she realized her arms and legs were tied.

  “There you are,” a vaguely familiar voice drawled. Squinting, she stared as a man came into view, trying to make out his features.

  Shocked, she realized she knew him. Gray. “You’re the US marshal who was driving the car,” she said, her voice wobbly and too high, even as she tried not to reveal her terror.

  “You got one thing right,” he responded, coming close enough that she could smell the sourness of his breath. “I did drive the car, but I’m not a US marshal.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what he meant. “Obviously.”

  Though every muscle in her body had tightened, she forced herself to try to appear calm. “What are you going to do with me?”

  His casual shrug scared her more than a simple declaration would have. “Depends,” he said. “I’ll do whatever I’m told to do.”

  “What about Eric? And the other marshal?”

  Again the deliberately nonchalant shrug. “What about them? You got your guy out of the vehicle, so assuming someone eventually showed up to help him, I’d guess he’s okay.”

  “And your partner?”

  “The real US marshal?” His stare hardened. “Shelton wasn’t my partner. I didn’t get him out of the car. Since it probably exploded, I’m going to take a guess and suggest he didn’t make it.”

  Her breath caught, though she looked down to hide it. Tears pricked her eyes and the back of her throat ached. And then, inexplicably, fury filled her. None of this would have happened if she’d just stayed on the ranch with Eric.

  “We would have found you anyway,” her captor said, speaking as if he knew what she’d been thinking. “Just think of how many casualties there might have been if we’d figured out where you’d been hiding earlier. That old guy at the ranch might have been the first to go.” He mimicked shooting a gun, the amusement flickering in his eyes turning her blood to ice.

  Though any movement felt excruciating, she slowly turned her head, trying to figure out where they were. The floor and three walls were unbroken concrete, the fourth, though also cement, had a single window halfway up.

  She’d been tied to a ladder-back wooden chair. Hands behind her back, feet to the bottom. Her captor sat in a similar chair, about ten feet way, next to a folding card table with a laptop on it.

  Smirking at her, he took out his cell and checked it. “No missed calls,” Gray said. “I’m waiting to be told to kill you. They usually leave the method up to me. I can be pretty creative, you know. The more you scream, the more I enjoy it.”

  And then, as if he hadn’t said something so horrific that the words made bile rise in her throat, he began to play a noisy game on his phone, humming along as he did.

  Chapter 14

  Eric coughed, eyes watering as he attempted to breathe through the thick smoke. Smoke! He gasped, choking on the foul air. What the...? He grimaced, struggling to push to his feet. “MW?” he called. The pain pounded in his skull. Wrong name. “Kara?”

  Bam. The explosion sent him back to the ground, arm up to protect his face. A wave of heat singed his skin. Fire roared, the blaze reaching hungry flame fingers up to the sky. The car. The car was burning.

  “Kara!” Screaming her name, he crawled to the guardrail and managed to pull himself up. He took a step forward, staggering, trying to find the strength to push on.

  “Hey, man. Are you all right?” One of the US marshals, looking almost a bad as Eric felt, appeared in the smoke. Shelton’s dark blue pants were sooty and torn, a large hole near his bloody knee. The white shirt had been shredded and also appeared to be dotted with dirt, soot and blood. His cowboy hat was gone.

  “I’m okay.” Lurching forward, Eric met him halfway. “What the hell happened? Where’s Kara?”

  “Gray, the guy who was driving, took her.” Attempting to drag his hand through his short hair, the other man winced as he connected with a cut. He held up bloody fingers and muttered a curse.

  “The driver took her?” At least she wasn’t still in the burning car. Then, as the words registered, Eric stared. “That doesn’t make sense. A tire blew,” he prompted. “Gray lost control and we wrecked. Tell me what exactly happened after we came to a stop?”

  “That wasn’t a blowout. Best as I can tell, someone shot out one of the front tires. Gray apparently expected it. Clearly, it was a setup.” Shelton doubled over, coughing and wheezing, blood pouring from a gash on his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Eric asked. “Let me take a look at that wound.”

  “I’m fine.” Shelton waved him off. After a second, he continued. “Once we stopped, Gray—if that was really his name—got out. He didn’t bother to help me, so I did it myself. Kara did the same, despite being pretty banged up. She’s a strong la
dy. Somehow she managed to haul your unconscious ass from the car. She saved your life, man.”

  Since Eric remembered none of this, he nodded, grimacing as pain shot through his skull. “That sounds like her. Then what?”

  “I blacked out for a little bit. When I came to, the last thing I saw was Gray carrying Kara and loading her into a white van.”

  Kidnapped? Or taking her to a hospital? If the latter, why wouldn’t he have taken Eric and his partner, too? Unless... Eric’s blood turned to ice. Unless Gray worked for Samboliono and had taken her to kill her.

  Which meant they needed to find her now.

  “What’s your full name, Shelton?” Eric asked.

  “Smith. US Marshal Shelton Smith.”

  “Okay. Marshal Smith, have you called it in?”

  When the other man just stared at him in confusion, Eric repeated the question. “Have you called your office to see if they sent backup? Maybe checked on the possibility that Marshal Gray rushed Kara to a hospital.”

  Still Shelton didn’t move. “I doubt very much he was actually a marshal.”

  “I do, too, but you don’t know.” Eric barked the words. “And since I’m pretty sure you were trained not to go on supposition, for now we need to proceed as if he is.” Ryan’s words, put to good use.

  The other man stared, his eyes narrowing. “If he’s a marshal, why would he take Kara and leave us? I mean, if that white van was our guys, why would—”

  “Call,” Eric ordered, cutting him off. “Right now.”

  Fumbling in his pocket, Shelton located his cell phone. After punching in a number, he spoke a few words and then listened before he began answering questions. From what little Eric could make out, this accident had not been an accident.

  “They think it was a planned attack,” Shelton said once he’d finished the call. “They’re reviewing nearby highway cameras now. And they’re sending someone to retrieve us and take us to the closest hospital to be checked out.”

  “Screw that.” Though he could barely stand up straight, Eric itched to take action. “As soon as they locate that white van, I want to go after them.”

  The marshal stared in disbelief. “You’re in no shape to—”

  Eric held up his hand, effectively silencing anything else. “Let me see your phone,” he demanded.

  Shelton stared at him for a second. “Don’t you have your own?”

  “Of course I do.” Eric held out his hand. “But I want to use yours.”

  Shelton finally shrugged and handed it over.

  First, Eric used his own phone and dialed the number on the phone he’d given Kara. As he’d expected, it went directly to a recording saying the mailbox hadn’t been set up yet. The next call he wanted to make would have to be without an audience, so he dropped Shelton’s phone in his pocket. “You’ll get it back soon,” he said.

  Though the marshal glared at him, he didn’t protest.

  When the ambulance showed up a few minutes later, Eric allowed himself to be loaded on board, along with his equally battered companion. Lights flashing, siren wailing, they raced toward a hospital.

  As soon as they pulled into the ER bay, Eric brushed off the EMT’s attempts to assist him. His strength had begun returning, no doubt fueled by adrenaline. He walked inside under his own power, making a quick turn as he spotted a restroom a few doors down from a supply closet and an employee lounge.

  Thankful that things didn’t vary much from hospital to hospital, he slipped into the supply closet and located some bandages and antiseptic, along with some antibiotic salve. He snagged a pair of scrubs off a hook in the doctor’s lounge and headed toward the restroom. There, he cleaned up as best he could, finally changing out of his torn and bloody clothes into the scrubs. Though the pants were a little short, they fit.

  Stepping into the hall, he made his way to front door. As soon as he reached the outside, he stopped and hit redial on Shelton’s phone. The last call the marshal had made had been to his office.

  When a woman answered, “US Marshals Office,” Eric identified himself. Then he asked for the status on locating Kara. The woman on the other end hesitated before stating she’d need to check with someone before she could release that information.

  Barely keeping his frustrated impatience in check, he told her he’d wait.

  A moment later, she returned. “Good news,” she said. “I’ve been cleared to brief you. The white van has been spotted heading south on 75. We’ve got a chopper in the sky en route, plus people on the ground. As of right now, they’re just past Sherman, Texas.”

  Thanking her, he ended the call. Eyeing the ambulance still parked in the ER bay, he strode over to see if they’d left the keys in the ignition. They had.

  He ignored the pain and heaved himself up into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and, lights still flashing, tore out of there and headed for the highway.

  * * *

  Tied to a chair, hurting and bleeding and not even being allowed to clean up, Kara couldn’t help but feel her luck had finally run out.

  Luck? She snorted, lowering her gaze as her captor stared at her. Who did she think she was fooling? She believed in a lot of things—dedication, hard work, loyalty, for starters—but luck wasn’t one of them. In fact, if she believed in luck at all, it was with the knowledge that she made her own luck. She always had, except for recently.

  Ever since she’d lost her memory, she’d drifted along, a victim of circumstance and, yes, fickle fate. Maybe even, if she really reached, luck. No longer. Now that she had herself back, Kara knew if she wanted to live, she’d have to make her own good fortune.

  And the first order of business would be to figure out a way to escape before Paul Samboliono ordered her killed. There had been two men—the driver of the white van, and the man who’d been impersonating a US marshal—Gray. Right now, she saw only one.

  Since she had no really great ideas, she figured she’d start simple. “Excuse me.” She cleared her throat. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Her captor gave her a brief dismissive glance. “No.”

  Biting down hard inside her lip, she began to cry. Loud, crocodile tears that she hoped were at least the slight bit convincing.

  “Stop that,” Gray ordered, his voice sharp. “Don’t make me hit you and give you a reason to cry.”

  Of course this made her amp it up. Weeping and wailing, she somehow managed to make real tears stream down her face.

  “Stop it, I said.” Was that a note of panic she heard in his voice? “Why in the hell are you crying? I haven’t touched you.”

  “I have to use the bathroom,” she wailed. “And you...you said no!”

  “Maybe once my partner gets back with lunch,” he told her. “No way am I taking a chance on letting you loose without backup, just in case.”

  “I can’t wait that long.” She began weeping in earnest, great big gulping sobs of anguish, hoping she at least sounded believable. “I swear to you, I can’t.”

  Staring at her, he finally shook his head. “All right, all right.” He put his phone back in his pocket, stood and strolled over to stand in front of her. Apparently, judging by his crisp white shirt and pressed khakis, he’d had time to clean up after the accident.

  She wiped at her streaming eyes and gulped back a sob. “I’m so, so sorry.” She hoped she hadn’t gone too far, done too much overacting.

  “If I let you use the toilet, do you promise not to cause trouble?”

  Sniffling, she wiped her hand across her face, registering the smears of grime and blood. “What kind of trouble could I cause? I can barely walk.”

  Grimacing, he looked her up and down. “You are pretty banged up. Actually, you look like crap.” Why he seemed to find this amusing, she didn’t know.

  Praying he di
dn’t notice she hadn’t actually answered the question, she waited. Finally, he untied her feet.

  “I wonder...” Stepping back he eyed her. “I think you can just take the chair with you into the bathroom.”

  “If I was a guy, maybe.” Sniffling again she made sure he saw her eyes filling with tears. “But I need to be able to use the toilet...”

  “Okay, okay.” He held up a hand. “No more crying. Just let me warn you, I am armed.”

  She nodded, noticing he’d left his pistol on the table. Now she had two options. She could meekly go to the restroom and try to escape from there or...

  She could be bold and brave and daring, and go for his gun.

  As she flexed her legs, she winced. She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t broken a bone or two. Hurting this bad would definitely slow her down. She didn’t know if she could get to the pistol before her captor.

  Which led to a third, and even riskier option. She could try to knock Gray out, then get the weapon and flee. Try? No. She had to succeed. There wasn’t an alternative.

  She trembled as she waited for him to untie her. Instead, he eyed her once again, his suspicious gaze sliding up her body and lingering on her breasts. Yuck. A cold chill snaked up her spine.

  “Please,” she squeaked, willing the tears to return. “I have to go soooo badly.”

  That last bit worked. Evidently, he believed the helpless airhead woman routine. Finally, he untied her hands.

  As soon as she was free, she flexed her fingers, trying to get some blood flow back.

  “Go,” he ordered, his tone full of irritation.

  To buy herself time, she gave him a confused look. “Where? Out that doorway?”

  He laughed, a harsh sound. “I’m not that big of an idiot. You’re not leaving this room. There’s a big cooking pot over there in the corner. Use that.”

  Gross. She didn’t have to fake her shudder. “While you watch?”

  Leering, he chuckled again. “Maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll turn away.”

  Which meant he wouldn’t. Since the last thing she planned to do was play nice, she supposed it was lucky she didn’t really need to use the bathroom.