Hard to Hold

2

COLTON GLANCED OVER at the woman. She was slumped against the door, and he could see she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She held the gun loosely in her lap. They’d been driving for nearly four hours, negotiating the uneven dirt roads that threaded their way through the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas and climbed steadily upward into the more heavily timbered forests. Several times she had directed him to take a certain turn, but had otherwise been silent.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” he commented. “I don’t know about you, but I hear nature calling. Mind if we stop for a quick break?”

She didn’t look at him. “Can’t you hold it?”

“Nope.”

Turning her head, she gave him an assessing look. “Okay, but it has to be quick. We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?” He gave a rueful laugh. “Looks like we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know exactly where we are,” she answered tersely. “You can pull over here.”

He stopped the truck and was about to get out when she surprised him by laying a hand on his arm. He paused and looked first at the slender fingers, and then at her, arching an eyebrow in query.

She actually blushed, and then snatched her hand back as if it had been burned. “I’ll take the keys.”

Colton glanced down at the set in his hand, then shrugged and dropped them into her lap. “Fine. But if you’re thinking you’re going to leave me here, I’d reconsider. We’re almost out of gas.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“What would be the point? It’s not like there’s a gas station beyond the next bend.”

“How much farther do you think we can drive with the gas we have left?” Her voice was low, but Colton could hear traces of anxiety.

“Fifteen miles. Maybe. We’re on rock bottom empty.” He didn’t tell her he had a reserve tank that would get them an additional fifty miles. He watched with interest as her entire body seemed to sag with relief at his words.

“That’s more than enough. We only have another five or so to go, and I know there’s an old gas station on the other side of this mountain. At least,” she amended, turning to gaze distractedly out the window, “there used to be.”

Colton wondered how long it had been since she’d traveled through this area, and why she needed to reach Reno. He climbed out of the cab and was just about to step away from the road and into the nearby woods when her voice stopped him.

“Right there is fine.”

He angled a glance at her over his shoulder. She leaned across the bench seat and was once more aiming the useless gun at him. “What, now you want to watch?” He injected just enough derision into his voice to make the color bloom in her cheeks.

“Of course not. I just want to keep you in sight. I won’t look.”

Colton sighed. “How about I just step in front of the truck with my back to you?” She nodded, and he moved to stand in front of the hood. He discreetly relieved himself, acutely aware of the amber eyes that watched him from behind the windshield.

As he prepared to climb back behind the wheel, she lowered the pistol and began fiddling with the latch on his glove compartment. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat stashed in here, do you? A candy bar or something?”

Alarm bells jangled in Colton’s head as he recalled exactly what he had stashed in the glove box: his service revolver and a two-way radio. He couldn’t let her find either, or the game, such as it was, would definitely be up. He didn’t doubt his own ability to overpower her if she should get her hands on the weapon, but neither did he trust her to handle it responsibly. She could shoot him without meaning to.

“Nothing but junk in there,” he assured her quickly, “but I do have some water and snacks in the back. If you’ll let me, I’ll be happy to grab some for us.”

Her hands fell away from the glove compartment, and she gave him a brief ghost of a smile. “Thanks.”

He retrieved two bottles of water and a bag of pretzels from beneath the canvas tarp. He tossed them lightly onto her lap and held out his hands for the keys. She snatched up one of the bottles, uncapped it and drank greedily for a long moment before she finally noticed his waiting hand. Slowly, she lowered the bottle.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I was thirstier than I realized.”

She handed him the keys, and Colton pulled back onto the road, but he was conscious of the woman as she drained the water bottle and started in on the pretzels.

“When did you last eat?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

Madeleine, nibbling on a pretzel, flushed. “I don’t remember. Yesterday, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s been a crazy couple of days. Eating didn’t seem to be a priority.” Her tone was defensive. “Oh! Turn here.”

She indicated a road that was little more than an overgrown trail. If she hadn’t pointed it out to him, Colton might not have seen it. Branches and underbrush dragged along the side of the truck as he made his way along the road, and he winced inwardly, wondering what it was doing to the finish. He wasn’t fussy by nature, but he hadn’t lied when he’d told her the truck was brand-new. He’d barely broken it in.

Suddenly, the trail opened up, and a clearing lay ahead. Colton leaned forward to peer through the windshield. There was an enormous boulder flanked by aspen and cottonwood trees, and near it a small cabin. Colton thought he’d never seen a place so perfectly situated in the natural beauty surrounding it.

It was a simple log structure with a porch on the front. It faced west across the small clearing to where the pine trees suddenly vanished at the edge of a steep precipice. Spread out before them was a breathtaking panoramic view of the Santa Rosa Mountains in the distance. The sun had dipped just below the horizon, and the blaze of colors that streaked the sky over the peaks stole his breath. Colton drew the truck alongside the small cabin and simply stared.

“I’ll take the keys,” Madeleine said to him, and he handed them to her almost absently.

“Christ,” he murmured, “this place is unbelievable.”

But she had already climbed out of the cab. Colton watched as she shoved the keys into the front pocket of her jeans, and the toy gun into her waistband. She took the steps to the porch two at a time.

He let his gaze travel over the cabin. It was obviously abandoned. Signs of disuse and neglect were apparent in the thick coating of leaves and pine needles that covered the porch and roof, as well as the green moss that had begun to take root on the log walls.

Slowly, he got out of the truck and followed Madeleine. She was on her knees in front of the door, brushing aside leaves and other debris as she searched beneath an ancient mat. When she didn’t find what she was looking for—the keys, Colton suspected—she stood up and began forcibly trying to open the door. When jiggling and pushing the handle didn’t work, she applied her shoulder, grunting each time she threw her weight against the solid planking. Still, the door didn’t budge.

She was going to hurt herself if she kept it up. Colton didn’t know who the cabin belonged to, or why it was so important to her that she gain access, but he suspected it was more than just a place to hide out.

“Here,” he said, and nudged her to one side. He studied the door for a moment and then, standing back, drew his leg up and kicked with the heel of his booted foot, just to the side of the handle. The door exploded inward, shearing the interior dead bolt from the frame.

Colton looked at Madeleine, who was staring at the scene with an expression of awe. She turned to him.

“That was quite...impressive. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he murmured. “Just call me Clyde. If I’m not mistaken, this makes me an accomplice.”

“Nonsense. I’ll tell anyone who asks that I forced you to do it.”

Without waiting for his response, she stepped into the cabin. Colton followed, brushing aside cobwebs that had accumulated across the doorway.

“So, on top of aggravated kidnapping, we now add breaking and entering to your growing list of crimes,” he said sardonically, watching as she took a dusty kerosene lantern down from a hook inside the door.

She set it on a nearby table, ignoring him as she carefully adjusted the wick and then lit it with a long match that she drew from a tin box next to the lantern. The bright flame slowly grew into a soft, warm glow, chasing away the shadows that surrounded them and casting golden light across her features.

“You can’t be accused of breaking and entering when you own the house,” she finally said, looking up at him.

Colton couldn’t hide his surprise. “This is your place?”

“Yeah. At least since my grandpa died. Here, hold this.” She handed him the lantern, and he followed her into the adjoining kitchen. It was small and dark with knotty pine cupboards and an ancient cookstove in one corner. Colton watched as she yanked open a drawer and began rummaging through an assortment of silverware. He arched a brow when she drew forth a stout knife.

To his surprise, she dropped to her knees beside the stove, brushed aside the accumulated dust and began tracing the wide pine floorboards with her fingers. Then she slid the knife between two of the boards and attempted to pry one up. When it refused to budge, she cursed and flung the knife into a corner.

She scrambled to her feet, and as she dug through the silverware drawer once more, Colton slipped out of the room. Keeping an eye on the entrance to the cabin, he retrieved a crowbar from the back of the trunk. He would have liked to retrieve his police radio and contact his boss. But he didn’t want to risk her seeing him, or suspect he was anything more than a cooperative hostage.

Yet.

When he reentered the kitchen, she was on her knees again, this time working at the floorboards with some kind of barbecue skewer. It was no more effective than the knife had been.

“Here, let me try.” He crouched beside her.

She had taken her baseball cap off in the truck. Her hair had come partially free of her ponytail and hung in disarray around her flushed face. Her expression of dismay as she took in the crowbar was almost comical. Horror and then relief flitted across her face, and Colton knew she was thinking he could easily have overpowered her.

Before she could protest, he inserted the end of the crowbar between the planks and wrenched upward. Setting the bar aside, he used his hands to wrest the boards up, pulling them free and tossing them aside. He had a glimpse of a shallow storage area beneath the floor.

With a glad cry, Madeleine reached into the space and withdrew what looked to be an ancient holiday cookie tin. It was covered in dust and mottled with rust. As Colton watched, she pried the top off and spilled the contents onto the kitchen floor. There was a thick wad of folded money among the various items, and with a soft gasp she snatched it up and carried it over to the kitchen table to count it.

Crouching on the balls of his feet, Colton traced a finger through the remaining items. There were several photos, some yellowed and cracked with age, and others that were more recent. He picked one up and tilted it toward the lantern. It was a picture of a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, sitting on the front steps of the cabin. She had her arm slung around the shoulders of a little boy. They were both skinny, with sun-browned skin and fair hair. He glanced over at Madeleine. It was her, taken maybe fifteen years earlier. Based on the similarity between them, he guessed the little boy was her brother.

There was a photo of an older Madeleine and a frail old man with a grizzled beard. Colton estimated it had been taken no more than a couple years ago. In it she wore a simple sundress, and he raised an eyebrow at the length of leg exposed by the style. He surreptitiously pocketed the photos.

He sorted through the remaining items—a slender length of chain with a small key attached to it, several coins, a handful of poker chips, some old lottery tickets, and what looked to be the deed to the cabin and surrounding land. Colton picked up the key and turned it over in his hand before slipping it into his pocket with the pilfered photos.

He glanced up as Madeleine started laughing. The money was spread out on the table in front of her and Colton could see it was mostly small denomination bills. Her laughter grew, became slightly hysterical. Just when he thought he was going to have to intervene, she buried her face in her hands and the laughter turned to deep, racking sobs.

Colton guessed there wasn’t as much money hidden away beneath the floorboards as she had hoped, and wondered again what the nature of her problem was. He had initially suspected drugs, though he admitted to himself she didn’t seem the type. In fact, she radiated good health. Even with the oversize shirt and no cosmetics, she was more than just attractive. Her hair was a silken mass of dark gold with wheaten streaks, and for one brief instant he wondered what it would feel like under his hands. He had seen the evidence of her slender curves in the photo. There wasn’t anything about her that wasn’t completely feminine. Colton thought she might be breathtaking if she would only smile.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stood uncertainly for a moment. The racking sobs subsided, but she still cried quietly into her hands. The hysterical laughter and deep sobs he could handle. Her soft weeping nearly undid him.

He took one step toward her, then spun away, raking a hand over his hair. He swung back, staring at her bent head and trembling shoulders. The urge to take her in his arms and comfort her was almost overwhelming. He was actually standing over her, one hand poised above her hair, before he realized what he was doing and managed to get a grip on himself. While she might rouse every protective instinct he had, nothing good could come of letting himself feel anything for her. With a muttered curse, he turned on his heel and strode from the cabin.

* * *

SHE WAS A fool to have believed the cabin would hold the key to her brother’s release. When her grandfather had become too frail to continue living alone in the cabin, Maddie had made the difficult decision to move him to a nursing home in Elko, where she could visit him every day. Toward the end, he’d suffered from acute dementia, insisting he needed to return to his cabin. He claimed he had a fortune hidden there.

Maddie knew about the tin box he kept hidden beneath the floorboards. Her grandfather had stashed his spare money there for years, but it had never, to her knowledge, amounted to much. Even though the rational part of her brain insisted the tin contained little, if anything, of value, her grandfather’s words had come back to her. During the ride into the mountains, she had actually begun to fantasize that perhaps he had somehow managed to put away a substantial hoard of cash.

She was such an idiot.

Maddie drew in a shuddering breath and swiped her palms across her wet cheeks. The money lay in a messy heap on the table. Her heart had leaped when she first saw the thick wad of bills inside the tin, but hope had turned to despair when she realized there was barely five hundred dollars there. Even combined with what she had, it didn’t come close to satisfying the debt her brother owed. She glanced over at the gaping hole in the floor and the scattered contents of the tin. But it wasn’t until her gaze fell on the discarded crowbar that she remembered.

Colton.

While she had been crying her heart out over the lack of money in the tin, he had slipped away. With her luck, he had a spare key and had taken the truck, as well. She couldn’t afford to be stranded here. With her heart slamming in her chest, Maddie leaped to her feet and bolted from the room. In the deepening shadows of early evening, she nearly collided with Colton as he reentered the cabin, carrying a large cardboard box.