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Good manners. Good behavior. She’d left those behind the moment she’d decided to run.
Slowly she placed the phone on the cot and glanced around at her dismal surroundings. Ohmygod! She was in jail—locked up. It suddenly hit her like a slap in the face and it stung. She had to find a way out of here. She wasn’t a criminal.
“Hey, fancy lady, ya sleep?” the man named Zeke called.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“Ya got a fella?”
Could she be in any more of a backwater? “Shut up.”
“I got a place on the river, even got runnin’ water.”
Was this idiot for real?
“I wanna marry up and I’d be good to ya, might even put in a bathroom for ya. Whaddaya say, fancy lady?”
“The only thing I want is to get out of this jail.”
“I git ya outta here.”
That caught her attention. “How?” She immediately wanted to snatch the word back. Had she completely lost her mind?
“I got ways.”
“Just leave me alone, okay?” The last thing she wanted was to get involved with this crazy person. She felt something touch her ankle and she jumped, tucking her feet beneath her on the cot. It was probably a roach. Her skin crawled with revulsion. How was she going to survive this night?
“Hey, Lamar,” Zeke shouted. “I feel sick.”
“Go to sleep, Zeke,” The deputy shouted back.
“I’m gonna throw up. The food must a been bad.”
“You’re trying my patience tonight.”
Loud thuds echoed on the concrete. The deputy was coming to the cell.
She got to her feet and peered out to see what was going on. She had a feeling the man wasn’t sick. What was he up to?
“I got a fever, too. Feel me.”
The deputy stuck in his hand to touch Zeke’s forehead. As he did, Zeke’s thick arm snapped out and grabbed the deputy around the neck, yanking him up against the bars. The deputy jerked, coughed, sputtered and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Ohmigod! What did the man do? Peyton wondered if Lamar was alive. He was so still. She swallowed back a scream.
Zeke crouched down and through the bars reached for the keys on the deputy’s belt. A sly smile crossed his bearded face as he withdrew them. Then he reached for the gun and stuffed it into the waistband of his worn, dirty jeans. Quickly he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.
He stepped over the deputy’s body and, to her horror, unlocked her door. No! No! She took a couple of steps backward and looked for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but her high heels. As he advanced on her, a glint in his bloodshot eyes, she bent down to pick one up.
Before she could reach it, he grabbed her around the neck and jerked her up against his body. “I told ya, fancy lady, I git ya outta here.”
Her scream wedged in her throat and she couldn’t breathe. The man had a foul body odor and he smacked his lips in glee. His shaggy, grayish beard brushed against her cheek like a Brillo pad, and chills skipped across her skin.
He dragged her toward the door and she realized he was taking her with him. She kicked back with her feet and connected with his shins, but it didn’t even faze him.
“Let me go, you beast!”
“Ya want outta here, so I’m taking ya to my place. Ya belong to me now.”
“What?” Her body grew weak with fright. She wanted out of here, but not like this.
“The sheriff won’t find us, might not even look. He’ll be glad to see the back of ya, fancy lady.”
Her breath came in shallow gasps as he lugged her struggling body to a back door.
Where’s the sheriff? went repeatedly through her mind like a prayer before a disaster. He was her only hope. Just moments ago she never wanted to set eyes on the man again, but now he was the only person she wanted to see.
And she didn’t even know his name.
The door came open easily and Zeke hauled her outside into the sultry summer night. The scent of crepe myrtles wafted on the soft breeze, the delicate fragrance pleasant and embracing, a sharp contrast to the terror that gripped her. She blinked at the bright floodlight that illuminated a parking area. To the left, her car and a rusty old truck were enclosed inside an eight-foot-high chain-link fence.
Zeke dragged her toward the double gates. She tried everything she could to slow him down. She dug in her heels and then bit his arm, but to no avail. His heavy arm around her neck was strong and suffocating.
When they reached the gates, he yanked out the gun and fired at the chain. Her pounding heart jammed against her ribs at the sound and her ears rang. She held on to her composure, though. Barely. Hysterical screams were right there at the edge of her throat. Someone would hear the shot and come, right?
She held on to that thought.
Zeke kicked open the gate and jogged toward the truck, still tugging her along. She realized this was her last chance and she gave full rein to the screams.
He clamped a filthy hand over her mouth while opening a door and lifted her onto the seat as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.
“Let me go, you maniac!”
“Stop it.” He pointed the gun at her. “Or I’ll shoot ya.”
Her throat closed up.
“Git over,” he growled.
In a moment of clarity she realized this really was her last chance. She quickly scooted over torn upholstery to the passenger’s side, intending to open the door and run like hell. The truck was strewn with trash and stank of rotted food and urine. Paper cups, newspapers, dirty clothes littered the floor and the seat.
She held her breath against the stench as she searched for the door handle. There wasn’t one—just a hole where one used to be. No! No! Frantic, she ran her hand over the inside of the door one more time. Nothing.
“Gimme yer hands.”
She twisted around and saw he was in the truck and the door was closed. In his big hands was a small rope. She froze.
“Gimme yer hands,” he said again.
“No.” She backed against the door.
Before she could do anything else, he grabbed her hands and whipped the rope around them with lightning speed. With one movement he jerked the rope so tight it cut into her skin. She had to force herself to take deep breaths.
Fear held her paralyzed as Zeke fiddled with some wires beneath the dash. After a second the truck sputtered to life.
Zeke let out a chilling victory laugh and slammed the stick shift into gear. The truck was backed into a parking spot, so when he hit the gas pedal, they shot through the gate and out into the night.
Panic rose in her anew. She had no idea where he planned to take her. The sheriff would come, she kept telling herself.
She’d told herself that earlier, she realized with annoying insight. She’d thought Quinn would come. And he hadn’t.
All her life her father had made sure she never wanted for anything. All she had to do was be his little princess, the light of his life. He took care of all her problems, all her worries. She was loved, pampered, safe and secure.
But now…
For once in her life she was on her own.
WYATT COULDN’T sleep. He didn’t feel right leaving Ms. Ross in the jail. Zeke was as obnoxious as a man could get and he’d likely taunt Ms. Ross all night long. Where was Ms. Ross’s important mother?
He always trusted his gut instincts and something told him he was needed at the jail. Maybe it was his conscience. He slipped into jeans, boots and grabbed a short-sleeve shirt. Checking the jail one more time would give him some peace of mind and then maybe he could sleep.
His mother, Maezel, known to everyone as Mae, was in the living room, watching an old Elvis movie. She was a fanatic about the man—there was Elvis memorabilia all over the house. Wyatt complained about it so much that she now kept most of it in her room. His mother was eccentric, to say the least. His childhood had been colorful and he knew every song Elvis had ever sung. Wyatt refused to talk about his middle name.
“Mom, what are you doing still up?”
She rose to a sitting position. At sixty-eight, his mother was still in good health, though prone to bouts of depression, when she went silent. Those silent spells got him, so he’d turn up the Elvis music and soon she was back to her old self.
Pushing permed, short gray curls from her forehead, she replied, “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I have to go back to the jail.”
With her eyes on the TV, she said, “Jody says you have an uppity city lady locked up.”
“Yeah. I have to check on her.”
“Go. Go.” She waved him away. “I don’t want to miss this scene with Ann-Margret.”
She’d seen the movie a hundred times at least, but that was his mother—living in Elvis Presley’s time zone.
“If Jody wakes up, tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“She never wakes up,” Mae said, her eyes glued to the screen. “Viva Las Vegas.”
He placed his hat on his head with a wry grin and headed for the back door.
His father, John Wyatt Carson, had died ten years ago of lung cancer; he’d smoked two packs a day until a month before his passing. He was set in his ways, but he’d been a loving, caring father—although sometimes, especially when Wyatt was a teenager, a little stricter than Wyatt would have liked, His father had been a highway patrolman and believed in rules and discipline, as Wyatt did now. But somehow Wyatt wasn’t very good at disciplining his own child.
His mother was very little help in that area. Mae Carson was an easygoing person who lived in the moment. Discipline wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
She’d lost a son to meningitis when the boy was just five years old. That was before Wyatt had been born and his father had told him that his mother had never been the same afterward.
For a solid year she’d grieved and no one could reach her, his dad had said, and then one day she started singing “Kentucky Rain” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” She’d listened to Elvis’s records over and over, and Wyatt’s father had let her be. She’d found her solace.
Over the years his mother’s eccentricity increased. But these days she was content, and Wyatt was grateful to have her in his life to lean on when things got rough. She looked at the world a little differently, but who was to say what was right and what was wrong?
She was probably the main reason he’d moved back into his childhood home. He needed a little of her kind of insanity in his life, Elvis songs and all. He slid into his car and headed for the jail.
There’d been too much dying in the Carson family. Maybe that was why he was so lenient with Jody. He wanted their days to be happy because life could be snatched away without a moment’s notice. And he wanted every memory to be treasured.
When he walked into his office, he heard a faint moan. A flicker of apprehension shot through him. He ran into the jail and saw Lamar lying on the floor. Zeke was gone and so was Ms. Ross. Damn it all to hell!
Kneeling, he felt for a pulse. When he found it, a sigh of relief escaped him. Lamar moaned again and Wyatt helped him sit up.
“Are you okay?”
Lamar rubbed his throat. “That bastard choked me.”
“Zeke?”
“Yeah.”
With Wyatt’s help, Lamar staggered to his feet. They walked into the office and Lamar flopped into a chair.
“What happened?” Wyatt asked.
“Zeke said he was sick and had a fever. I…I fell for it. He had me around the neck before I knew it. I’m…I’m sorry, Wyatt.”
“Did he take Ms. Ross?”
Lamar went still. “Is she gone?”
“Yes.”
“I heard them talking.” Lamar rubbed his throat.
“About what?”
“I…Oh, Sheriff…” Lamar was shaking and his skin was a grayish color.
“Take a deep breath,” Wyatt coaxed while reaching for his cell to call Judy Deaver, the nurse. Since Horseshoe didn’t have a clinic, they depended on the nurse for minor emergencies.
“Judy, this is Wyatt. I need you at the jail immediately.”
“Be right there.”
“Keep taking deep breaths,” he told Lamar.
Next he called Stuart and didn’t waste words. “Get to the jail now.” He had a feeling time was of the essence.
Lamar was about to slide out of the chair, so Wyatt urged him to stand, wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to a cot in the back room.
“Relax and try to breathe normally.”
“My throat hurts and…and I can barely breathe.”
Judy came through the door with her bag.
“Back here,” Wyatt called.
“What happened?” she asked, taking Lamar’s pulse.
“Zeke near choked the life out of him.”
She spared Wyatt a glance. “When are you going to do something about that man?”
“Tonight,” he replied. He’d let Zeke Boggs get away with too much because of his diminished mental capacity, but kidnapping a prisoner was way over the line. Or at least he assumed she’d been kidnapped. Ms. Ross might have talked Zeke into letting her go. Then he’d have two prisoners on the lam. Either way, it wasn’t good for his department.
Stuart charged through the door, still stuffing his shirt into his pants. “What’s happening?”
Wyatt reached for his rifle in the gun cabinet. “Zeke assaulted Lamar and escaped. Ms. Ross is gone, too. I don’t know if they’re together or not, but I will find out.”
“Holy crap! We’ve never had a jailbreak.”
That didn’t sit well with Wyatt, either. “Call Bubba and get him to watch the office. Use your truck with the four-wheel drive and head to Earl Boggs’s place and let him know you’re going through his property to get to Zeke’s place. Tell him I’m going through the back way on horseback. It should be faster. I’ll meet you at Zeke’s.”
“Okay.”
Wyatt handed him a rifle. “Be careful and watch your back.”
The only way to get to Zeke’s quickly was through the Daniels property, which bordered Boggs’s land. As Wyatt spun away from the office, he reached for his cell and poked out Tripp Daniels’s number.
Tripp answered on the second ring.
“This is Wyatt. I hate to bother you at this time of night, but I need a fast horse.”
He and Tripp were friends. They went to school together for a time when the Carsons had moved to nearby Bramble to take care of his mother’s mother. Tripp was a rodeo rider, but he’d retired and settled down with a wife and a family.
“You got it.”
Wyatt liked that about Tripp. No questions. He knew Wyatt wouldn’t ask unless it was important. “See you in about ten minutes.”
Wyatt swerved onto the dirt road that led to the Lady Luck Ranch, hoping his instincts were right and Zeke had hightailed it to his shack and moonshine still on the river. He also hoped he hadn’t taken Peyton Ross with him. That would mean, though, that Ms. Ross had persuaded Zeke to unlock her cell and let her go. She would be an escaped prisoner. A huge knot formed in his gut. And it had a name. Peyton Ross.
He had a feeling he was going to rue the day he’d ever set eyes on the woman.
Chapter Four
Wyatt drove past the large, two-story colonial house to the barn and corrals. A light was on in the barn, so he knew Tripp was there. He grabbed his rifle from the back seat and climbed out.
As he did, Tripp emerged from the barn, leading a brown mare with a blaze of white down her face and one white-stockinged foot. Tightening the saddle cinch, Tripp said, “That didn’t take you long. What’s the rush?”
“I had a jailbreak tonight.”
Tripp lowered a stirrup and turned to face Wyatt. “Damn. So who are you after?”
“Zeke Boggs.”
Tripp stepped away from the horse with a frown. “He was in Bramble a couple of weeks ago scaring all the women to death. Horace locked him up and then escorted him out of town.”
Wyatt shoved his rifle into the scabbard on the saddle. “We’ve all been lenient with Zeke, but this time he’s crossed a line. He helped a female prisoner escape and I have to find him fast.”
“What!”
Wyatt put his left foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Do you mind if I go through your land to get to his shack?”
“Of course not. Do you need any help?”
“No. I can handle Zeke. Thanks for the use of the horse. I appreciate it.”
“Her name is Blaze—she’s a workhorse. She won’t let you down and she’ll carry you right through those brushy areas.”
“I owe you.”
“You sure do,” Tripp said. “I had my arms wrapped around the most gorgeous woman in the county.”
“Give Camila my best.” Blaze was prancing, ready to run.
Wyatt held her back, glancing at Tripp’s leather house shoes.
“Those are really bad for your cowboy image.” With that, he shot out of the yard, but not before he saw Tripp’s wide grin.
PEYTON WASN’T SURE how long they had been driving, but it seemed like hours. She kept pushing on the door with her body in hopes it would come open. Tumbling out onto the road seemed a good alternative to her current situation. It was probably rusted shut, though. The rope cut into her skin and it burned and hurt like hell.
They were now on nothing more than a dirt track, bumpy and narrow. Her insides were being jostled like something in a blender and she felt nauseous. The truck’s one headlight picked out a heavy thicket. Where were they?
In her mind the answer came a little too quickly—somewhere where no one will find you.
She swallowed hard to block her thoughts. The sheriff will come. Although he annoyed her, he appeared competent.
The stench in the truck was getting to her. Could one expire from odors? She’d never thought much about death before her father had become ill. She didn’t like the idea of it then and she certainly didn’t like it now. How could she get away from this horrible man?
Suddenly the beam of the headlight exposed a clearing with a small dilapidated shack and an attached lean-to. A creek or river flowed nearby. Two rusty trucks were parked to the side and weeds flourished around them. Junk and clutter filled the yard, from an old washing machine to a pile of cans and bottles.
Definitely a place where a body could be buried without anyone ever finding it. A nervous hiccup slid down her throat.
Zeke stopped the truck and reached under the dash to disconnect the wires. The engine sputtered away. And then there was silence.
“This is it,” he said proudly. “My home. I need a woman to take care of it.”
A bulldozer would take care of it. The words died in her throat. To get away from him, she was going to have to use some of the tactics Giselle had talked about. They hadn’t worked on the sheriff, but Zeke was a simpleton and she had a feeling she could work that to her advantage.
She shifted to look at him. “Please let me go. I don’t know anything about your ways or how to live in the wild. I’m a city girl.” She dropped her voice to a soft pleading. “Please, just let me go.”
And if you don’t, I’ll start screaming and lose what composure I’m managing to maintain.
“No,” he replied stubbornly. “You’re mine now.”
She bit her lip to keep the screams inside her. But she wasn’t giving up. She just had to bide her time.
Zeke opened the door and got out, looking back at her. “Git out,” he ordered.
She scrambled out, eager for fresh air. The rope cut deeper with each movement, but she was able to stand on her feet, her lungs soaking up the night air untainted by filth.
She held out her hands. “Would you please undo these? The rope hurts.”
He shook his head. “No. You’ll run away.”
“Where would I go?” She glanced around at the thick woods.
He didn’t respond, but turned and grabbed her arm, leading her toward the shack. No way was she going inside. Once she did, she knew there would be no escape.
She staggered on purpose. “I feel faint,” she murmured, and sank to the ground.
“What’s wrong with ya?” He squatted beside her, peering into her face. She forced herself not to recoil from his closeness.
“I don’t know. I just need to rest.”
And to think.
He waited.
Peyton took a long breath, grateful for this reprieve. Any other time the moonlight would have been breathtaking as it bathed the forest in an effervescent glow. The water rippled pleasantly, crickets serenaded and the place was eerie and peaceful at the same time. But there was nothing peaceful about her situation. How would she get away from him?
“This is all mine,” he said again in that proud tone.” My brother’s wife and her family live farther west, but this land is mine and they can’t take it. If you marry up with me, it’ll be yours, too.”
Responding would be like talking to the trees, so she didn’t waste her energy.
“I make a lot of money selling my moonshine. I got the best still in the county, all copper. You can have the money, too.”
The man was off his rocker. Suddenly an idea came to her. She moaned and held her tied hands to her face. “I feel like I have to throw up. Please undo the rope.” She had seen him use this little trick and she hoped it worked.
Without a word, he removed the rope and she had to restrain herself from cringing as his thick fingers touched her wrists. She flexed her fingers. “Thank you.” The sheriff had said something about using honey instead of vinegar. Well, she was going to honey ol’ Zeke to death.
“Are ya better?”
“I could use some water, please.”
He pointed to something that looked like a well pump. “There’s plenty.”
Was he serious? Without a doubt he was. “Would you get some for me, please? I’m so weak.”
He grabbed her arm in a viselike grip and hauled her to the well. “Don’t try anything. Remember I still got the gun.”
Oh, God! Stay calm.
When they reached it, she knelt and her capris soaked up the mud around the well. Zeke pumped the handle and water spurted out. She cupped her hands and pretended to drink, but let the flowing water run through her fingers and onto her clothes.
“See I told ya I got water. Now let’s go inside. Ya can cook us up somethin’ to eat.”
Like hell. She stood and linked her fingers together, making a two-handed fist. It was now or never.
“Let’s go,” he said as he stepped closer.
With every ounce of strength she had, she swung her clenched hands at Zeke’s face. There was a loud pop, skin connecting with skin, and to her surprise Zeke went down. She took off at a run for the woods, not looking back.
THE THICK WOODS and brushy undergrowth impeded Wyatt’s progress. But Blaze was everything Tripp had said—a real workhorse. She picked her way through the thicket easily, never faltering. Luckily there was a full moon to light the way.
The heat was oppressive in the deep woods and every breath of air was a godsend. The mosquitoes were thick and he wished he’d taken the time to put on a long-sleeve shirt. But his only goal now was to reach Zeke’s. He feared for Ms. Ross’s safety.
He finally reached the Brazos and he urged Blaze faster as they followed the riverbank toward Zeke’s property. Reaching the clearing, he dismounted and looped the reins around a drooping tree branch. He pulled the rifle from the scabbard and moved toward the shack.
As he drew closer, he saw Zeke’s truck and stopped. Zeke was here. Was Ms. Ross? An owl hooted, breaking the unending silence. Something rustled in the bushes and Wyatt scanned the perimeter of Zeke’s cluttered yard. Where was he?
He heard a moan. It sounded like a wounded animal. As Wyatt watched, a form rose in the moonlight. Zeke. He rushed forward and pushed Zeke to the ground, holding the rifle on him.
“Sheriff,” Zeke blubbered in surprise, holding a hand to his head.
With a foot on Zeke’s chest, Wyatt asked, “Where’s Ms. Ross?”
“Who’s that?”
“The woman you took from the jail,” Wyatt replied.
“The fancy lady?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
Zeke rubbed his head. “She hit me.”