Protecting Kate: Dark Horse, Inc: Book 1

by Amy J. Hawthorn

  She grazed her fingers down the long line of his spine, putting her hand at his waist. The muscle there bunched tight with tension.

  She barely resisted telling him that she’d like to stay on the donor’s good side and if he stomped in like some pissed off bodyguard, her possible donations might end up going to another home. As generous as Trent was, she couldn’t keep taking from him. No donation was too small when she had to make every penny count. The better she managed her resources, the farther she could spread them.

  Or so she hoped.

  “Trent?” It might not be the time or place for it, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Huh?” He didn’t offer much more than a grunted acknowledgement as he stopped a few feet from the front door.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself tight against his back. “Thank you for everything.”

  The air heaved out of his chest in a heavy sigh.

  “Let’s get this over with so we can go home and relax.” All business, her Trent.

  She kissed his shoulder. “I want to check on Bonnie.”

  He stopped before the door and turned. “Okay. We’ll relax after we check on Bonnie.”

  “You know I can handle her by myself. I know she’s getting big but I don’t need your help. You can take a break this evening. The stables are locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”

  “That’s because my horses are more valuable.” He said it as though he was boasting, but she knew, to him, they were priceless. Although they were expensive animals, the value went well beyond monetary.

  It reminded her of the day when her father brought Jack and Miss Priss home. Greatest horses in all of equine history, simply because they’d been theirs. She smiled at the memory, filled with warm light.

  Trent paused and she bumped into his back. “Sorry.”

  He just shook his head and she caught a glimpse of his mouth quirked in amusement. “Hello?” he called out and got no response as he opened the door.

  They stepped into a barren room where murky light filtered through dusty windows. “Honey, this place looks like it’s been out of business a lot longer than six months. More like six years. Hello?” He called into the room, the sound a hollow emptiness. “I don’t like it.”

  “Maybe he’s not here yet?” An ugly, heavy sense of dread filled her.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but we’re not staying any longer.”

  A sudden scurrying sound ticked across the floor and she looked down just in time to see a Godzilla-sized rat trample over her feet. In a flash, it vanished as fast as it had appeared.

  Startled, she jumped and plastered herself to Trent’s back, wrapping one leg around his waist and half-climbing him like a monkey. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Kate, what the fuck?” His words were garbled with her arm around his throat. He stumbled under her panicked attack and bowed back under her unexpected weight.

  A deafening report echoed through the small space and Trent dropped to the floor, half on top of her. Silent and still.

  Oh God, no.

  Blood poured from a wound above his right eye. He’d been shot. She stared, frozen, disbelieving. Not her Trent. No way. He was so strong and big and warm.

  Invincible.

  She’d believed that as long as she was with him, she was safe. And now he’d been shot.

  She tried to gather her wits. He needed her to take care of him. It was no time to panic. She untangled herself.

  But, what if?

  She couldn’t give into the panic digging its dull, painful claws in between her ribs and squeezing her lungs. She had to keep her wits together. She placed her hand on the side of his neck.

  “Let’s go. He’s dead.” An unfamiliar male voice broke through the silence.

  She startled as man in a dark knit mask stormed into the room. Sand colored, military style boots crunched over the dirty floor. Tan cargos met an olive shirt and it was all so average except for the mask and the glittering dark brown eyes lancing terror into her heart.

  He shot her Trent. Damn him. No!

  Trent’s flesh felt warm beneath her fingers, but the masked man grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet and shook her before she could find a pulse.

  The sound of a large vehicle pulling in could be heard through the partway open front door.

  She opened her mouth to scream a warning for Rick a millisecond before white hot lightning zapped through her and the world went black.

  The sheet of paper lying on the passenger seat called Rick to look at it again but he resisted. Barely. He needed to focus on the curvy country roads and meet with Trent and Kate. Trent would be chomping at the bit to get Kate her gear and then stashed safely back at his place.

  Rick knew everyone thought him crazy for everything he’d done out at Mary’s house but he didn’t give a shit. He’d actually thought about walking away. He’d done a good deed. He could call it finished, and his conscience could take a long walk off a short pier.

  Except that he couldn’t. He simply could not make himself turn his back. He didn’t think he’d ever get the sight of that filthy little face or that pitiful pile of belongings out of his head. He’d tried and tried again, but there was no shaking her.

  Without moving his focus from the road ahead, he reached over to the empty passenger seat and turned the sheet of paper over so it was face down. He turned up the radio in a vain attempt at drowning out the thoughts in his head.

  No such luck.

  Resigned to another day of worry, he found the little shack that was supposed to have been a veterinarian office and pulled into the parking lot. He parked one space over from Trent’s truck and turned off the ignition. Unable to control himself, he picked up the paper turned it over.

  Yet again, he was dumbfounded by the jaw-dropping, dark beauty that practically jumped off the page. With his heart cracked in two he placed it on the dash and climbed out. He walked inside fully expecting to get a glare from Trent.

  And what could he say? He deserved it. He was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago.

  Instead of an irritated glare, he found a bleeding Trent, crumpled on the dirty floor.

  His throat tightened and his stomach dropped. He fell to his knees, brushed the blood from Trent’s forehead and felt for his pulse.

  When the steady thump pulsed he released a heavy sigh, then sucked in a harsh breath. The wound on his head, a laceration, had creased a deep furrow over his left eye. Other than that and his unconsciousness, he appeared to be okay.

  But, shit, what had happened and where was Kate? Had she gone for help or had something worse happened than a blow to Trent’s head?

  “Trent? Hey, man, are you all right? Trent? What the fuck, man? Kate!”

  No answer other than a low groan from his friend.

  Another groan, which included several curse words, as Trent rolled to his back and looked up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes tighter and then opened them. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and surprise filled his face when he saw the blood smeared on his palm.

  Then he truly woke up.

  “Kate? Where the fuck is Kate?” He sat up in a drunken totter, looking around as if the room spun around him.

  “I don’t know. I hoped like hell you knew. What happened? I don’t see her taking off and leaving your side, especially when you’re wounded.”

  “No. She wouldn’t.” He struggled to stand, and Rick gave him his hand, pulling him the rest of the way up. “Kate!”

  The only answer to Trent’s shout was a cold, flat echo.

  “He has her. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but he has her.” Tense, tightly leashed fury turned his friend into a stone-cold statue.

  Fearing the slightest thing might push Trent’s anger into a full-blown rage, he gave his friend a moment. Rick looked in the backrooms and the surveyed the area behind the building. As expected, he found nothing but more cracked blacktop. He returned and found Trent staring out the murky f
ront window, waiting. “Anything?” His friend asked without turning.

  “Not really. Only what is likely a bullet hole on that wall over there. You think that could be a graze on your forehead? They’re probably long gone now.”

  “Fuck. Me.”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t imagine the frustration and pain his friend felt. Rick’s was immeasurable and Trent’s could only be worse. It always was when a heart was involved. “Are you calling the police, or am I? We need to think this through.”

  “Shit. I’ll call.” Trent did. The wait for the Potter County deputies was the longest of Rick’s life. Eight fucking minutes. How could they sit and do nothing while Kate was only God knew where?

  He wasn’t one bit surprised when the first cruiser to pull into the lot, sirens blaring, tires squealing, belonged to Joe MacDonald.

  Fuck.

  In a single blink, Kate’s cousin was up in Trent’s face, hands tangled in his shirt. “What the fuck, Dawson?”

  “He got her.” The pain on Trent’s face had nothing to do with his injury.

  “Talk.” Joe spat the order at Trent.

  Rick silently stood by while Trent told Joe everything. A couple of deputies looked around inside. Two more stood with Joe. One watched with disbelief and the other horror as his gaze ping-ponged between Trent and Joe.

  “This shit is all true? This and everything that happened out at her house?” Joe ran a hand through his hair.

  “Every single word. I thought I could protect her. I fucked up.” Rick disagreed with Trent’s words, but that battle would have to wait for later.

  Joe said nothing, turned his back and walked away.

  Trent turned and faced Rick, every muscle clenched in anger. “I want Bailey’s head. Both of their heads.”

  “I do too. We won’t rest until we find her. I’ll drive. You ride and we’ll send someone back for your truck. Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out? A hospital might not be a bad idea. I understand why, but I’m not sure you should have sent the ambulance away.”

  “No.”

  He’d expected the response, but had to try. They pulled out and Rick put his foot to the floor. Why? He wasn’t sure because they had next to nothing to go on and no plan. He guessed it was the only thing he had control of.

  They rode in silence until they pulled into the farm on a quick stop and the paper on the dash fell into Trent’s lap. He grabbed it, marring one corner with sticky, half dried blood.

  “What’s this?” He handed it over with a puzzled look. Rick took it from his hand, noting the brick red thumbprint in the corner.

  Everything snapped into place.

  “A gift. A very dear gift.” Rick took the paper and looked down at the image. Artwork, priceless in more ways than one, drawn on cheap paper.

  “I’m sorry about the blood. I must be a mess.” His face, his shirt and his hands were covered in streaks of blood.

  “The blood’s not big deal. Let’s go. I’ve got some phone calls to make.” A man with a mission, Rick hopped out of the truck and hurried into the house.

  Trent went into the restroom at his place to wash his face. The dried blood on his eyelid made blinking awkward, and he hoped the ice cold water would rid the last of the fog from his head.

  Had he really been shot? From all appearances, it looked as though he had. He looked like a horror film extra. A bullet was the only way he could see anyone getting the jump on him. The thought of what might have happened to Kate made him want to simultaneously vomit and put his fist through the mirror.

  Neither action would be of any help, so he crammed everything back inside and dried his face. The wound continued to ooze but that couldn’t be helped.

  He found Rick on the phone in the kitchen as he paced the floor.

  “Great. As soon as you can. I appreciate it, Ramsey. We’ll talk money when you get here. Later.” He disconnected and dialed another number before Trent could ask what was up.

  In no time, Rick spoke and everything made a little more sense. “Hey, James, how are you doing? That sucks. Yeah, I’ve been spinning my wheels, wasting time and not doing anything productive. But that’s over now. Trent and I have a situation and we could use your help. Is there any way you could lend us a few more days? I’ll pay you for your time and it may lead into more work when we’re finished. We’re holed up at Trent’s for now. This evening would be awesome. Thanks, man.”

  Rick hung up and repeated the process once more.

  Why hadn’t he thought of that? James Holloway and Noah Ramsey? They couldn’t ask for better help. Yeah, he would have gotten around to the idea eventually but clearly his head was a mess. But Rick? Whenever things went to shit, he became absolute, cold precision. His icy intelligence had saved them on more than one occasion. Damn, it was a relief to know he had Rick in his corner. With his team behind him, there wasn’t a damn thing they couldn’t accomplish.

  Then Rick’s words registered on yet another call. “Hey, Pete. How are the ladies? Yeah? Listen. It’s go time. I want you here as soon as possible. Things just got nasty.” And Rick continued and, by the sounds of it, pulled another man into in group.

  But really?

  Rick disconnected and turned to him.

  “Pete Taylor? Really? You called in that pup?” Trent didn’t bother to hide his disbelief.

  “I did. He’s the best tech guy I know. Can you deny that?” Rick quirked a brow.

  “No. You’re right. I can’t. It’ll be good to see the guys again. I’m glad you called them in. Do you have a plan yet?”

  “I’m thinking on it. Did I miss anyone?” Rick’s absentminded question seemed directed at himself.

  “No. What is all this?” He watched as Rick walked over to the counter where he’d laid the bloodied sheet of paper.

  “Dark Horse Inc. You and Kate are my first clients. When I toyed with the idea of starting a business I’d thought it would be more of a personal protection business, but apparently hostage recovery is also going to be part of the deal.”

  Dark Horse. Rick stared at the sketch he’d seen in the truck. It was a stunning work of art—fine, sweeping pencil lines on plain paper. A huge, proud stallion came to life surrounded by ominous storm clouds. Steam puffed from the horse’s nostrils and the eyes seemed to contain a living soul.

  “Where’d that come from? It’s amazing.”

  “Mary. I found it inside that pitiful little house, laying on the floor in the corner where Leigh and I have been placing supplies. There were two drawings. This one had another sheet of paper on top of it that said Mr. Beneath it was this drawing. Beside it lay another with a sheet over it that said Lady. I couldn’t help myself and peeked at Leigh’s gift. It was equally beautiful, but where this is wild and dark, hers was light and peaceful. Serene. The kid needs to be in art school, not hiding in some dump in BFE.” Rick clenched his fists at his side, then raised his head to face Trent.

  He nodded his agreement and pushed memories of his own shitty start in life aside. “She does. Hopefully, with a little more time, she’ll reach out to you or Leigh.”

  “Anyway, I figure our best bet to get Kate back to you in one piece is bringing in help. We’ll put our heads together and get her back.” His friend turned his back on the drawing to stare out the front window.

  “You’re sure she’s…okay?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word alive aloud. He refused to believe that she could be otherwise.

  “I am. Bailey wants her for some reason and, as difficult as it is to think about, I don’t think it’s for something as simple as killing her. It sucks, but we have some time. Park your ass on that stool and let’s see if we can get the bleeding stopped. You won’t be up to a recovery mission if you continue to leak. Where’s your first aid kit?” Rick came closer to peer at his wound.

  “In the closet beside the hall bathroom. Since when do you know how to suture?” Doubt crept into his voice as he watched Rick walk down the hallway.

  His
friend called out over his shoulder. “I’ll figure it out. Chicks dig scars, right? Sit and I’ll get it.”

  Trent stewed while Rick played nurse. It killed him to sit on his ass and do nothing but watch the time creep by. Kate. His Kate. He’d never met anyone like her. Yes, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she was so much more than that.

  She was love and life and light and family.

  Shit. He had a call to make of his own.

  The moment Rick closed the first aid kit, Trent dialed his cell.

  “Dawson.” Joe MacDonald answered before the first ring ended.

  Now was not the time for bullshit. Trent got straight to the point. “We’re going after her tonight.”

  Joe interrupted before Trent could finish his thoughts. “You’re not leaving me out of this.”

  “I don’t have a problem letting you in, but you gotta understand we’re doing this our way. I don’t have the time to wait around on warrants and bullshit politicking. We have no proof and no judge in his right mind will get us a warrant without hard proof, but we know he has her. This could get us in trouble. If you don’t want to risk your badge, you might want to rethink this.” He met Rick’s gaze as he spoke as his friend nodded in agreement.

  “My badge won’t mean shit to me if something happens to her. I’ll be there in thirty.” Kate’s cousin disconnected without another word, no doubt already on his way.

  The world came alive in a screaming ball of aches and pains. Every muscle in her body felt as if it had been beaten by a baseball bat. She checked her arms, expecting to see black and blue, but no. They looked just fine.

  She turned her head from side to side and tried to throw off the haze that lured her back to sleep. In the realm of black, there was no pain. Yet, something wasn’t right.

  She looked around and found herself in a bedroom fit for royalty. She lay on a plush, high four-poster bed that probably cost more than her barn. A soft, thick bedspread lay beneath her and cream, silk papered walls surrounded her.