by Christa Wick
He was right. She hadn’t given a thought to her leg. Thinking could lead to fear and then paralysis. Paralysis was just as deadly as rushing in blind.
“People care about you, Ashley.” Walker rolled onto his side, his hand sliding over her stomach to secure a hold on her hip. “I need you to remember that and be careful.”
Hearing his voice grow scratchier with each word, Ashley relaxed against his touch. She had never thought what she would do if she got married, especially if kids came into the picture. She’d never gotten to the marriage discussion with Nolan. After that relationship, she had come to accept the fact she wouldn’t be getting married or having kids. And if anything had happened to her today, she could only imagine how small an imprint of grief the event would leave on her parents.
Now, with Walker, all her old decisions and certainties were coming undone.
“Please, Ash,” he rasped. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
“I promise,” she answered, gently easing along the bed until she was on her back next to him, his arm draped across her chest, his hand securing her shoulder.
“You take anything for the pain yet?”
“No.”
She whispered the admission. The pills made her sleepy and she had wanted to stay sharp as she and Siobhan worked through potential avenues of investigation on the white truck and the suspects. In the end, their options were limited to running the partial plate. There were no outdoor cameras at the museum. Entrance to the museum had been free for the day, so no chance of the man running a credit card. And the location was one county over, meaning Gamble couldn’t send any deputies around to businesses that might have cameras that caught more of the plate or better images of the men.
“Here,” he said, opening the pill bottle and shaking one tablet into her hand.
Ashley accepted the pill, took a sip from the glass of mint water by her bed, and swallowed.
As she settled against her pillow, Walker cuddled next to her, his chin atop her shoulder, his arm across her waist. His fingertips gently massaged her bicep, the thumb sweeping up every few seconds to brush against the side of her covered breast.
Slowly, she drifted toward sleep thinking what life would have been like growing up in Lindy’s house. Even now, the woman was surrounded by her children. Maybe it was the recent losses that kept them there, but Ashley didn’t think that was the sole, or even primary, reason. The Turks were a family that would never drift apart.
In the last second before she fell fully asleep, she realized for the first time how she wanted something like the family around her and how hollow parts of her life had been without them.
Most of all, she didn’t want to lose Walker.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Round two,” Walker deadpanned as he hefted an eight-foot folding table from the back of his truck.
Catching Ashley reaching for one of the chairs, he offered a tender growl.
“Letting me do it doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing it, Ash.” He planted a whisper of a kiss against her cheek, further softening the blow to her ego. “And, I promise, sometime in the not so distant future, I’m going to catch just a touch of the flu but think I’m on the verge of death and I’m gonna get a little bell and ring it and have you check my temperature…”
He trailed off as laughter seized her body.
“I’ll just sit here until it’s all unpacked,” she promised.
“Thank you.”
He stroked his finger under her chin, her body reflexively lifting her mouth to meet his. With so many children already running around the grounds of the community park, they kept the kiss quick, but the sweet heat of even so brief a touch zipped through her body, igniting bonfires where her flesh was most sensitive.
“Back in a few seconds,” he promised.
Lindy had already claimed their exhibit spot and was holding it against invasion. Once the truck was fully unloaded, Ashley could join Lindy while Walker found a parking space.
He returned at a jog about five minutes later, a smile breaking the strong planes of his face when he saw she hadn’t moved.
She threw him a wink as he came to a stop. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
His cheeks flushed. The fresh color and the glittering gaze made her want to tug him to her for another kiss. She stroked his arm instead.
“I know it’s hard for you to sit still, Ash.”
She looked at the items left to move. It would take him at least a couple more trips on his own.
“Remember, I’m going to ring that bell,” he teased. “Ring it and ring it and—”
Raising her hands in surrender, she silenced him.
He pulled the heavy cooler to the edge of the tailgate then whispered in her ear. “When you’re all healed up, I promise I have one heck of a reward for you.”
“Walker Turk, you’re about to make me swoon and I don’t think anyone brought smelling salts.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he laughed, hefting the packed cooler, his chest and arm muscles bulging deliciously. “One of the tables already set up is for Montana’s first female apothecary.”
A grin lit her face at the prospect of getting to watch him walk away a few more times. He set off, a little more slowly because of the cases he had to balance.
“I think one more after this,” he said on his return, sunlight reflecting off the soft layer of sweat covering his forehead. “You have everything you need out of the cab?”
“I’ll check—after I finish watching you walk away.”
“I see,” he teased, glancing around. Finding no eyes on them, he curled his hand along her jaw, his thumb under her chin to force the tilt of her head. As he kissed her, he scraped his nails lightly against the side of her throat, shivers bringing her body to hard attention.
When he finished the kiss, she really was ready to swoon.
“Steady there,” he laughed, hands dropping to her shoulders to make sure she could stay upright on her own. “Behave while I run this over and I’ll give you another one when I get back.”
She sat there, gaze soft, eyes slightly unfocused as he disappeared into the small crowd that had shown up early. When he was fully out of sight, she sighed then stood.
Her bag was in the back seat. That could stay there, but she wanted her phone, which was plugged into the charger.
Grabbing her crutches, she hobbled around to the front passenger door, leaned the crutches on the side of the truck then opened the door. Balancing on her right leg, she reached in to unplug the phone.
Something brushed against her backside. Knowing it was too soon for Walker to have returned, she stiffened. Her hand shot forward, trying to grab the ignition key and hit the panic button on the fob. Her fingers brushed the plastic casing just as a hand wound through her hair and, with a hard jerk away from the vehicle, slammed the back of Ashley’s head against the inside of the doorframe.
The impact stunned Ashley long enough for the attacker to slip a burlap bag over her head, a masculine grunt sounding his displeasure as she recovered her senses and fought back. He jerked the bag’s cord tight, the burlap cutting into her throat.
Ashley managed a short scream before the man jammed his arm against her mouth.
With one hand, she clung to the doorframe. The other hand searched blindly for a face to scratch or eyes to gouge. She dug her heels in the ground at the same time, a shotgun blast of pain discharging through her injured leg.
Arms circled her waist. The attacker yanked Ashley left and right until her grip on the doorframe failed. Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel, she sucked in air to scream again. Burlap fibers and dust clogged her throat so that nothing but choking, wheezing coughs left her.
A door slid open. The kidnapper slammed her onto the floor of the vehicle, the door immediately sliding and locking.
She tried another scream, only managed to choke on more dust and further enrage her kidnapper.
“Quit your screaming," the man warned.
He put a hand over her mouth, his body straddling Ashley as he fought for control. She bit his hand through the burlap, her arms and legs flailing in search of a target despite the hot bolts of pain shooting through her left leg.
"Turn the radio up!"
The man yelling jerked Ashley up then slammed her down again before jamming a knee in her stomach.
All the air rushed from her. When she sucked more in, she started choking all over again. Her captor seized the opportunity to wrestle her hands behind her back and bind them with rope.
Finished, he cinched her tight against one side of the vehicle, the dimensions and lack of seating in the enclosed area suggesting it was some kind of cargo van.
Pulling at the burlap sack and her hair, he lifted Ashley’s head.
"You scream again, Agent Callahan, I’m gonna take this bag off your head and shut you up for good.”
He thrust her head back onto the van's floor and moved away.
Still fighting to breathe, she forced herself to calm down. The man knew who she was. He had risked a lot in kidnapping her instead of just putting a bullet in her head right there. Maybe that meant he only planned on holding her for a little while.
She would assume the worst, but for the moment, bound and blind, she had to remain calm and use all of her remaining senses to figure out where she was going and how many people were in the van.
There were two at least. And the vehicle had been in motion a good five minutes. Even accounting for the slower speeds of the parking lot and loading zone, they were probably no longer in the park.
The approximate location was confirmed a few minutes later when they had to stop at a railroad crossing as a train passed. From there, they continued forward.
They took a left and another left. Then the van changed lanes and slowed down as it entered the expressway.
Reaching the highway’s speed limit, someone turned the radio down low enough Ashley could hear voices arguing. The driver was angry that she had been grabbed—that meant she might have an ally in the man.
Or he might be the first one to slit her throat.
"I told you,” the kidnapper roared. “I ain't ruining this week!”
The driver’s response was nothing more than incomprehensible whispers that the kidnapper cut short with another high volume reproach.
“It's a quarter million dollars! She ain't ruining it."
"And you,” the kidnapper bellowed. “Stop trying to get loose!"
A glass bottle hit Ashley’s wrist, smacking directly across the joint. She yelped, more in surprise than pain. Liquid splashed on her skin from the discarded bottle. The smell of beer filtered through the burlap. She heard a small pop of fermented gases releasing as the man opened another bottle, then the van turned onto an unpaved lane.
"Drive all the way to the back," the kidnapper ordered.
He turned the radio up louder as the van came to a stop. The front passenger door slammed shut. A few seconds later, the van drove forward at a snail’s pace.
Ashley figured they had pulled into some kind of a garage or barn, the short pause marking the opening of a door. Or it could have been a gate to reach another pasture.
The question was resolved when the van’s side door slid open.
"Grab her legs."
When nothing happened, the man repeated the order more roughly.
"Do it!"
The driver grabbed her right ankle.
Releasing a murderous scream, Ashley kicked her injured leg up in the air. The soft cast with its hard plastic bars on the side connected with someone's chin as another fireball exploded along her tibia.
“I’m gonna hurt you for that,” the driver yelled.
“Later,” the kidnapper ordered.
The man pulled Ashley from the van and shoved her through a doorway. Her shoulder bounced off one side before she fell face first onto a thin covering of hay.
"Back, you varmints!”
The vicious thunk of a heavy boot connecting with something small and yielding followed the man’s barking voice. Then the door slammed, a latch fell into place and a padlock clicked shut with the finality of the grave. Seconds later, a radio flicked on in the outer room. Heavy metal played at full volume.
Head spinning, Ashley struggled to sit up. The tie string on the burlap sack bit into her neck. A wave of nausea threatened to drown her. Vomiting with the bag over her head wasn’t going to improve the situation, so she sank back to the ground and rested a few more seconds.
All around her, Ashley heard soft, frightened pants. Not one animal, but several. A snarl erupted from among the chorus of rapid breathing, the sound issuing within inches of her face. She jerked her head away, the sudden movement a serious miscalculation.
Fangs sank into her left cheek. She screamed and pulled back. The bag tore open as the animal's teeth caught in the fabric's weave. Other animals brushed against her spine as they scurried out of her way. For an instant, she pictured a swarming attack and kicked with both legs.
The pain and half-blind panic too much to bear at once, Ashley passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finding Ashley missing, the door to his truck open, crutches on the ground, and blood at the top of the doorframe, Walker’s first call was to his brother Emerson as he ran through the loading area and parking lot screaming Ashley’s name.
“Ten minutes, maybe twelve,” he answered to the question of how long since Ashley had last been seen.
“How many ways into the parking lot?” Emerson asked.
“One.”
Walker screamed her name again, his gaze jerking left and right, hoping to spot something that would point to who had taken her.
“Put someone on the entrance now,” Emerson ordered. “For God’s sake, don’t touch your truck.”
Lindy caught up to Walker and grabbed his arm.
“What’s going on?”
“Ashley’s been taken—”
Lindy shook her head, discounting the possibility.
“Blood Mama, and her crutches and phone still there, and the gravel’s all kicked up. Find two guys and send them to the entrance.”
Not waiting for her to reply, Walker ran across the lot to stop any car wanting to leave while he waited for the reinforcements.
“How much blood?” Emerson asked.
“Just a smear and what looked like a bit of her hair.”
Walker bent over and planted his free hand against his knee, all the adrenaline racing through his body threatening to make him throw up.
“What was she wearing?” Emerson asked.
“Same as yesterday, a pioneer dress, red and black—little black leaves on it. What else should we be doing?”
Near the loading area, a wave of people began to spread across the parking lot.
“Armstrong just got off the phone with the local sheriff’s office. They dispatched two cars that are about five minutes out. We are heading to our vehicle now. I’m going to lose you in the elevator. I’ll call right back.”
The line went dead as the two men his mother had sent over reached Walker.
“No vehicle gets out,” he told them. “Cops will be here in a few minutes, follow their directions when they arrive.”
Finding a photo of Ashley in her costume, he opened up Air Drop on his phone and sent a transfer request to all of the other phones that showed up as available. One of the impromptu guards pulled his iPhone out and hit accept.
“Yeah, I saw her sitting on the tailgate, you were walking away with an ice chest.”
“She disappeared after my next load.”
Walker’s phone rang, Emerson’s number displaying.
“FBI,” he explained, taking the call.
“Okay,” he informed Emerson. “I have two guys on exit. Still no sign of the cops.”
“Go back to your truck and make sure the area is secured. Not just the vehicle but a good twenty feet out in each direction
. Is it paved?”
“Gravel,” Walker answered, sprinting toward the truck.
“Hurry up, then. People are trampling over tire tracks and footprints.”
Emerson was right. Half a dozen people, instead of minding their own business or fanning out and searching for Ashley in case she was still in the area, stood near his truck gawking at the scene.
“Step back,” he growled. “Twenty feet back and retrace your steps. This is a federal agent missing and the FBI wants us to preserve all the ground evidence.”
“Very good, big brother,” Emerson soothed. “You’ve got a knack for this.”
“I don’t want a knack for it,” Walker rasped. “I want Ashley back.”
“We all do,” Emerson assured him. “She’s family. Not just because she’s law enforcement, but for what she means to you.”
“Good,” Walker said, his voice a raw wound. “Because Ash means everything to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Regaining consciousness, Ashley stared past the torn edges of the burlap sack into the dark brown eyes of a fox, the area between its brows marked with a distinctive starburst of black. Crouched in an attack position, the fox bared its teeth and menaced her with another growl. Remaining still, she averted her gaze, all of her other muscles frozen until the animal prowled over to a corner.
Avoiding that area, she looked around the room. Dozens more red foxes cowered in and around milk crates turned on their sides. Their slightest movement provoked a frenzy of snarling, growling and tail puffing by the one with the starburst.
Despite all her years working for the service. Ashley had never encountered a rabid animal. But she was certain that the fox had rabies. The others seemed harmless, but their terror made them unpredictable.
She had a moment of fresh panic remembering, from among all the body pains screaming for her attention, that the fox had bit her. First came the fear that she would contract rabies, then the pessimistic realization that she might not live long enough to show any symptoms. Only after several minutes did the rational part of her brain regain control to offer a reminder that she had received a rabies vaccination because of the work she did with animals.
