Running Blind

by Linda Howard

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know Kat’s all right. Put her on the phone. Now.”

  Instead of handing the phone to Kat, there was a pause, then a muted thump followed by a scream. His smug, vicious voice came back on the phone. “Do you really think I’m going to let the two of you cook something up on the phone? You heard her. She’s alive, for now. Now get your ass over here and maybe she’ll stay that way.”

  It was Brad who ended the call, leaving Carlin sitting on the floor with the phone in her hand.

  She wasn’t going to be responsible for another friend’s death. No matter what, she had to save Kat.

  Carlin went to her room. Zeke had given her a pistol for Christmas and she kept it there, close by her pillow when she wasn’t with him. There were several things she had to do, other than get the pistol. She would have to leave by way of a window, and the window in her room would allow her to slip away without Patrick seeing her. She’d check to make sure he was at the back door, before slipping out, and not walking around the house—and maybe right past her window at the same time she was crawling out. There was nothing to be done about whoever was watching the road, but she’d be on her way by then, and with luck they’d think one of the other hands was headed to town.

  She bundled up, dressing warmly and thanking her lucky stars that there was no ice on the road today.

  Yeah, lucky stars. She was real lucky.

  She unlocked and opened her window, letting in a rush of cold air. The window was close enough to the ground and she slipped out—one leg, then the other. A quick glance to either side assured her she was alone. She tried to close the window, but now that she was on the ground it was too high for her to reach. She didn’t waste time with the window, just headed for the garage with her head down against the wind. A part of her wanted to run toward Zeke, not away. A part of her wanted to believe that she was no longer alone in this. But she couldn’t take a chance with Kat’s life, not even for Zeke—not even for the chance to say goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ZEKE WAS ALREADY distracted when the radio clipped to his belt crackled with a puzzled sounding, “Who’s headed to town?”

  Zeke snatched up the radio and spoke. “No one.”

  Micah responded. “Sorry, boss, but someone’s headed toward the main road like a bat out of hell.”

  “Which vehicle?” He had a bad feeling about this. He was already wheeling his truck around, back toward the house.

  “The old blue pickup.”

  That was the one Carlin occasionally drove to town.

  He was there in minutes. He pushed past Patrick, who was still posted at the back door. The time it took to take out the key and slide it into the lock seemed to be minutes wasted, when in fact it was only seconds—but seconds that might count.

  “What’s wrong?” Patrick asked.

  “Tell me you didn’t let Carlin get away.”

  “I thought I was here to keep some man out, not keep Miss Carly in?” Patrick’s voice was touched with horror.

  Zeke called her name. Once, twice. Nothing. He headed down the hallway into her bedroom, and stopped dead one step into the room.

  The window was open, and Carlin was gone.

  His first thought was that she’d bolted. She would change her name, get another job that paid cash, and he’d never find her.

  Then common sense kicked in. He knew her; she wasn’t a coward. If she made up her mind to leave, she’d do it straight up, so he wouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t run away, not without talking to him first. And she would have taken her Subaru, not one of his ranch trucks.

  By the time he returned to the kitchen, Patrick and Spencer were there, waiting. They looked as scared as he felt.

  He couldn’t just take off, not knowing where she was headed, or why. He couldn’t just stand there, either.

  And then he spotted the cordless phone, not sitting in the cradle charging, as it should’ve been, but lying on the floor beneath the table. He grabbed it and immediately checked the last calls recorded on the CID.

  Two calls from Kat’s cell. One missed, one a couple of minutes long. He checked the time—there were less than five minutes from the time the call had ended until Micah had seen Carlin headed for town like a bat out of hell.

  Sunday. Kat would be at home.

  He started to hit redial, then stopped, thought. He said to Patrick, “Let me see your cellphone.”

  Patrick handed it over. Sometimes service was spotty, but the phone showed two bars. Not great, but good enough. He called Kat’s cellphone. After a couple of seconds he heard the call go through; it rang and rang, then went to Kat’s voice mail.

  CARLIN GRIPPED THE steering wheel and pushed the pedal to the floorboard, testing the limits of the old truck. She hadn’t had a chance to save Jina. She’d never really had a confrontation with Brad at all. He’d scared her; she’d run. If she’d stayed, if she’d fought him instead of going to Dallas, Jina would still be alive. She’d likely be dead herself; she’d known all along that Brad was dangerous, but this time—

  This time she would not let that happen. She’d save Kat, somehow. Even if it meant she died, even if it meant her life was over, she would not lose another friend to the man who’d stolen her life from her.

  Carlin kept her eyes on the road, willing the miles to pass more quickly, wondering if Brad had hurt Kat again after their call had ended.

  It was true that Brad had stolen her life from her, but that was her old life; she’d found a new one here, with Zeke and Kat and Spencer and all the guys—it was new, and damn it, it was good. It was a better life than the one she’d left behind. Not that she’d ever thank Brad for putting her on the run, but he’d been a big part of giving her something worth fighting for.

  Her pistol lay on the passenger seat, fully loaded, one in the chamber. Thanks to Zeke, she knew how to use it. And she would, by God, fight for her life and the lives of everyone she loved. Brad knew her as a woman who would run rather than fight. He knew her as an easily frightened, manipulatable, scared mouse.

  That wasn’t who she was anymore. She’d changed—and she was more than willing to fight for what was hers.

  THE PSYCHO WASN’T taking any chances. Kat could barely move, but he’d insisted on moving her into a kitchen chair and tying her to it, using a length of rope out of her own kitchen and her own damned duct tape. He placed that chair in the middle of the living room where she’d have a front-row seat for what was to come.

  Brad was almost giddy. He acted like a child on Christmas Eve, too excited to settle down. He’d checked his weapon, an automatic pistol, three times already, though she didn’t think he planned to shoot Carlin the moment she walked through the door. That would be too neat for him, too quick.

  Good. If he delayed, there was a chance she and Carlin might come out of this alive.

  She knew Zeke had taught Carlin how to shoot a gun and how to fight dirty. The question was: would she panic and come here unprepared? Would she forget everything she’d learned and put herself at Brad’s nonexistent mercy, or would she have a plan?

  Brad was getting antsy. She’d told him it was a long drive from the ranch, but apparently he wasn’t good at waiting. The antsier he was, the more likely he was to make a rash move when Carlin arrived. As much as Kat wanted to fade into the background and hope the fuck-wad would forget about her, she didn’t want his impatience to make him act too soon.

  She lifted her chin, took a deep breath that hurt, and asked, “Why her?”

  Brad spun around, looked down at Kat, and cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Why Carlin?” She would have shrugged, even tied up the way she was, but with her ribs injured shrugging wasn’t something she wanted to tackle. “You know the saying, fish in the sea and all that. I mean, she’s cute and all, but there are lots of prettier women in the world. Isn’t there a Miss Texas out there somewhere who would incite this kind of devotion?” She chose the word “devotion”
over “obsession” or “psychotic break” because she didn’t want to get hit again.

  A creepy smile bloomed on his face. “Jealous?”

  Oh, hell no. “Just curious.”

  Brad didn’t answer for a few minutes. He checked his gun again, looked at the front door as if willing Carlin to walk through it. Finally he said, “She needed me. I saw that the first time I looked into her eyes, the first time she smiled. She was so … fragile. I wanted to take care of her, to shelter her from the world and … keep her.”

  Yeah, in a jar.

  “That’s actually kind of sweet.” Gag. “Have you ever told her that? Have you explained how you feel? I know how guys can be. They bottle up their feelings and sometimes a girl just doesn’t understand.” And if this nut thought he had a chance with Carlin, maybe he wouldn’t blow her away the minute she walked into the house.

  “She didn’t give me the chance to explain anything.” Brad sounded kind of sad, as if he were feeling sorry for himself. “I took her flowers, left them on her bed so she’d be surprised when she got home from work. I rearranged her closet for her, put her prettiest things, the ones I liked best, in the center and separated from the rest. I called her at night, just to hear her voice and make sure she was okay. I watched her to make sure she was safe.” He shook his head. “She didn’t appreciate any of it.”

  “You need to tell her, you need to explain.” And maybe, while he was trying to explain, Carlin could blow the psycho’s head off.

  Creep. God, how sick was it to break into her apartment and rearrange her closet? Carlin must have freaked; Kat knew she would have.

  She heard the truck pull up outside. Carlin must’ve driven like hell from the ranch to get here so quickly! Surely Zeke was with her. She could have stopped down the road and let Zeke out, so he could approach on foot. Brad heard the arriving truck, too, and stepped to the front window to pull back the curtain.

  “Carlin,” he said softly. And then he turned to look at Kat. “You’re lucky, Miss Bailey. She came alone, as instructed.”

  You hope, you stupid shit.

  Chapter Thirty

  BECAUSE THE CALL had come from Kat’s cellphone, Zeke couldn’t be sure that she’d called from home. It made sense to him that she’d be there, but it wasn’t a given. She might’ve called from The Pie Hole, or from some other place in town. Common sense narrowed the possibilities to those two places, though. He and Spencer were headed toward Kat’s house; Micah and Patrick were going to check out The Pie Hole. Kenneth and Walt were at the ranch, just in case Carlin returned there, alone or not.

  He was tempted to dial 911 and get every sheriff’s deputy to Kat’s house right now, but more than the fact that he wasn’t sure where Carlin had headed stopped him. If he was right and Brad had Kat—and would soon have Kat and Carlin—blaring sirens and flashing lights and more guns weren’t going to help matters at all.

  Carlin had been so sure Brad would show up at the ranch. So had he, and that had been a mistake—the worst kind, because now two people he loved were in danger.

  Spencer, who usually talked nonstop when they were driving anywhere, had been ominously quiet. They were more than halfway to town, maybe fifteen minutes behind Carlin, before he spoke. “Boss, do we have a plan?”

  “Can’t make a plan until I know what we’re going to find.” Fifteen minutes. Anything could happen in fifteen minutes. He did his best to make up some of that time, but he knew Carlin hadn’t driven at a leisurely pace. Still, his truck had a more powerful engine than the old one Carlin had taken. That would help—it sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.

  When had Carlin become so important to him that he couldn’t imagine life without her? He’d gotten along just fine on his own for years, and now after just a few months he was in a near panic at the thought of losing her.

  “I’m a good shot, you know,” Spencer said, his tone serious. “Never shot a person before, never wanted to shoot a person before, but if it comes to that I’ll do what has to be done.”

  “Same here,” Zeke said, though that wasn’t strictly true. He wasn’t going into that now; it was ancient history.

  Fifteen minutes was a lifetime.

  CARLIN SLIPPED THE pistol into her waistband at the small of her back, concealed beneath her parka and a long sweater, then turned off the ignition and got out of the truck. She didn’t recognize the pickup she’d parked behind, but it had to be Brad’s. It wasn’t the car he’d been driving when she’d met him. Like her, he’d made changes. Living on the road would do that to anyone, she imagined, even Brad.

  She’d only been to Kat’s house once before, one Sunday afternoon a while back. The house was a neat one-story house on a quiet road of similar houses just outside of town. She had neighbors, but no one really close. On a normal day, she probably had no more than a fifteen-minute drive to the café. When it was icy, though, she stayed in the upstairs room where Carlin had once lived and saved herself the trip. If it had been icy today, would Kat be safe? Would Brad have found her at The Pie Hole or would he be on his way to the ranch, without a hostage, and walking straight into the buzz saw that was Zeke Decker?

  It didn’t matter. Kat was here; Brad was here. And now Carlin was here, too. The gun pressed into her spine, cold and hard. She knew how to use it, but she wasn’t a quick-draw artist. Her advantage was that Brad wouldn’t expect her to be armed. He saw her as weak, always had, otherwise he would never have fixated on her.

  She saw the curtain in the front window move. Up and down the road, all was quiet. It was too cold for kids to be out playing on their lawns, too cold for folks to be barbecuing or washing their cars. She was effectively alone. Once bullets started flying, that would probably change …

  Halfway between Zeke’s truck and Kat’s front door, Carlin stopped. If she just walked through the front door, she and Kat would both be dead. Inside that house, Brad would be the one in control. Kat would have served her purpose, and he’d have Carlin right where he wanted her. Maybe she’d die today and maybe she wouldn’t, but she would not sacrifice Kat.

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. The front door to Kat’s neat little house opened, and there he was, the man of her nightmares. Brad was still big, but oddly enough not as big as she remembered. Her imagination had made him more than he was, had made him a boogeyman when in fact he was just a man, and a sorry one at that.

  The storm door hung crooked. He pushed it open, and it squealed. No, it shrieked, as if warning her to go no closer. “Come on in, darlin’ Carlin,” Brad said calmly, using the sickening cutesy name he’d called her before.

  She took a deep breath. Her feet were planted a couple of feet apart; she was as steady as possible, given the circumstances. “No. Not until you send Kat out, not until I see that she’s alive and well.”

  He glanced back, for a moment, then looked at Carlin again. “She’s alive. If you want her to stay that way—”

  “I’m not walking into that house until Kat walks out,” Carlin snapped. “You sick bastard.”

  Even from the distance of thirty feet, she saw the anger flash in his eyes. “You’re not running this show.”

  “Until Kat comes out, I am.”

  Brad drew his gun and pointed it at Carlin. “If you run, I’ll shoot you.”

  “I know.” The way he’d shot Jina, the way he’d shoot Kat if he got the chance. But she wasn’t running; she was standing her ground.

  If he’d just wanted to shoot her, he could’ve done it the minute she’d stepped out of the truck. He could’ve lurked around town until she showed up and shot her in the back. No, he wanted her to suffer. That was her advantage, at the moment. If he wanted to really hurt her, she had to be in the house. She wasn’t going into the house until Kat came out.

  Brad left his position in the doorway; without him holding it open, the storm door swung drunkenly shut. He was back less than a full minute later, hauling Kat behind him. He pushed open the storm door again, shoved Kat onto the po
rch. Her hands were bound behind her back; her face was swollen and already turning blue. She limped, almost fell as she tried to run to Carlin. She stumbled, and Carlin caught her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Carlin whispered. She wanted to cry, but tears would have to wait.

  “Come on, Carlin,” Brad called. “Get inside.” Over Kat’s shoulder she saw him take aim. “If you make me shoot, Miss Bailey gets it first. Then you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “You packing?” Kat whispered. She lifted her head enough that Carlin could see the pure fire and hatred burning in her eyes.

  Carlin nodded.

  “Good. Blow his brains out for me, will you?”

  Again Carlin nodded, then she looked Kat in the eye. “If everything goes wrong and I don’t make it—”

  “Don’t even say that!” Kat snapped, her voice surprisingly strong.

  “Tell Zeke I love him.” Carlin spun around so her back was to Brad, rather than allowing Kat’s back to present a clear and tempting target.

  “Tell him yourself,” Kat whispered.

  Before Kat could say anything else Carlin released her hold and turned again to face Brad. She stepped toward him; he lowered his gun—slightly—and smiled at her.

  When she was not much more than a yard from the door he whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

  ZEKE TURNED ONTO Kat’s road, and there it was, straight ahead—his blue truck, parked at the curb. A vehicle he didn’t recognize—another truck, this one white—was parked in front of it. He caught a too-quick glimpse of fair blond hair at the door to Kat’s house, and by his truck a brunette bent over in what—even from this distance—appeared to be pain.

  It was Kat, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and no coat. Hands held awkwardly behind her back, she lurched away from the truck and into the road, as if struggling to cross to another house. She was going for help.

  He wanted to rush in, wanted to drive his truck into Kat’s front yard and storm the house, but one last shred of common sense made Zeke take a deep breath and pull to the side, where Brad couldn’t see him. There was no need to let him know that anyone was here. Let him think, for now, that Carlin was on her own. But how long would he wait, knowing that Kat would obviously go for help? Not long. Maybe he’d tie Carlin’s hands behind her and come out the door any second now, taking her to his truck.