Danger On The Ranch

He struck out as best he could in the direction she’d been swept. Without the protection of the boat, there would be nothing stopping Wade from shooting them except perhaps the layer of fog, which had thickened to be almost impenetrable.

His fingers felt something soft, and he grabbed at it. It turned out to be her jacket sleeve. He clung to her wrist and reeled the rest of her body close to his until he’d encircled her in his arms. She was smaller than he’d thought.

She looked up at him with those strange-colored eyes.

The lights from a boat sliced through the water, bouncing off the mist. “Driftwood Police Department,” a voice called. “This is private property, and there is no shooting allowed here.” It was a voice Mitch knew well. Danny Patron, an avid fisherman, hardworking cop and father of three, who was assigned the lonely job of watching the coastline.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Danny! Over here.” He continued to shout as loud as he could, and Jane joined him, but the thrum of the motor indicated the vessel was passing them, unaware of the two victims fighting the waves and buried in fog.

By now Mitch was tiring, the energy seeping out of him as he struggled to tread water. He could not see what had become of the boat, and it took all his reserves to keep them from smashing against the sharp rocks.

He realized Jane had freed herself from his grasp and taken hold of his sleeve. He resisted, but she dug her fingers into his bicep.

“This way.”

Again, he was forced to make a decision—follow a woman he would not even trust with his cowboy boots, or stay put, fighting the tide until he would certainly drown?

“Where...?” he tried, but she did not allow him to utter the rest. He found himself towed along through the icy water, following the woman who’d married the monster.

* * *

Jane felt as though her limbs were carved from a block of ice. She held on to Mitch as long as she could, but he slipped out of her numb grasp at some point, though she could still see his dark head just behind. He shouted a couple of times, but she could not understand over the roar of the surf, nor did she want to. There was only one thing on her mind: getting them out of the freezing grip of the waves before they drowned.

Her knee banged into a submerged ridge, the bottom of the cliff that rose straight from the water like a shark fin. She hauled herself out, gasping as the wind robbed her of any remaining warmth.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mitch grunted behind her. “If you climb, he’s got an easy target.”

She didn’t respond, fingers clawing as the rocks tore into her flesh. It was here, had to be.

“Hey,” he said, but his words were cut off by a grunt of pain. From his injury or the rocks that surely sliced at him, too.

What if she’d been wrong? Again? What if Mitch was right and there was nothing on this cliff but certain death? No, this would not be the end. This was her only shot at life, real life, one last chance to make things right. Teeth gritted, she hauled herself along the sharp crack, praying that the fog and the police had been enough to frighten Wade away.

But Wade was never scared.

That part of him was missing; instead there was an empty void where human feeling should reside.

She was shivering uncontrollably now. Her legs felt like they were as insubstantial as the fog. Despair gripped its way into her belly. And then she saw it, the cutout that marked the cave she’d spotted on her way into the cove, high enough that the tide would not flood it, or so she hoped.

“Come on,” she ordered him and climbed as quickly as she could until she crawled through the opening. It was a harder squeeze for Mitch, as the guy was broad shouldered and a hulk at somewhere over six feet.

He hunched inside the cave, water streaming from his clothing, eyes ink dark, narrow, suspicious.

“You’re Wade’s wife.”

It was like the executioner pronouncing sentence.

“No. Divorced.”

“Why are you here?” His shirt was stained with blood, and his teeth were chattering as badly as hers.

“Sit down,” she said.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Okay then, stand, but when you fall over, try not to hit your head. You probably already have a concussion.”

He did not sit, but she noticed he grabbed an outcropping of rock with one massive palm.

She scanned the cave floor until she found a meager supply of semidry leaves and some driftwood. Piling it onto the driest spot she could find, she pulled the Ziploc bag from her jacket pocket. With trembling fingers, she struck the match. It fizzled as soon as she touched it to the leaves.

“We won’t have to worry that he’ll see the smoke with all this fog,” she said, more to herself than him. I hope. There wasn’t much choice, anyway. They were dangerously close to hypothermia. Cold or bullets? Which one would get them first? She ground her teeth together. Neither, if she had a teaspoon of strength left in her. Patting her pockets, she realized her cell phone was somewhere at the bottom of the cove. At least the small pouch hooked to her belt was still there, for what it was worth. Her driver’s license, ATM card and a soggy ten-dollar bill. Not much, but keeping hold of some small thing helped her feel the tiniest bit less exposed.

Mitch swabbed a sleeve over his face. “Where’d you get the matches?”

“There was a kit in the boat. I grabbed it just before I started the motor. I thought there might be some first-aid supplies.”

He was silent as she struck the second match, which was snuffed just as quickly.

“Here,” he said, dropping to one knee and taking the box of matches from her. He bent close to the debris with a wince and a groan. Slowly, patiently, he held the lit match to the barest edge of the driest clump of pine needles. It kindled orange and smoked. He blew softly, cupping his shaking hand around the needles until they were fully aflame. With more gentleness than she’d thought him capable of, he eased the pine needles back into the pile. She held her breath as the debris grudgingly took.

Fighting back tears of relief, she scooted as close as she could to that small spot of warmth. With quaking fingers, she fished out a bandage from the bag and thrust it at him. “You’re still bleeding.”

Ignoring her offering, Mitch eased to a sitting position across from her, mouth tight with pain. “Why are you here?”

“To find you. And it wasn’t easy. You have no cell phone, and your house is like some kind of remote fortress or something.”

“Not remote enough, if you found it.”

She pushed another twig into the fire and edged so close her knees were almost touching the flames. “I...came to warn you that Wade had escaped.”

“Police could tell me that. So why did you come? Not just to warn me. You don’t care about me. Why?”

She was quiet. The little flames danced and popped, painting light and darkness across his face. Was there any of Wade’s darkness in his brother, Mitch? They shared genes.

That doesn’t mean anything, she told herself savagely. DNA doesn’t determine who you are—your soul does. But what kind of soul did Mitch Whitehorse have? Didn’t matter. He was the one, the only one, who could save what mattered most.

“I came because I need you to help me put Wade back in prison.”

He blinked. “So now you’re afraid of him, too? Why? You turned a blind eye while he kidnapped and murdered three women.”

She sucked in a breath. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t know what Wade was doing.”

“You didn’t know the guy you married was a serial killer?”

The judgment was there in his eyes, the same she’d seen in the courtroom, the cops, the people who drove by her house and threw rocks into her windows, flattened her tires, sent death threats.

She swallowed hard against an onslaught of bitter tears. “I was blind, stupid blind, but I did not know.”

A long moment passed between them. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

She sagged. What else had she expected? Why would Mitch be any different? “Okay. Don’t believe me, but Wade has come here to kill you, and after he does that, he’ll kill me, too.”

“Why would he want to kill you? If you’re really innocent, why would Wade want to do that?”

“Because he will eventually find out that I have something he wants, something that I won’t ever give to him while I have breath in my body.”

“What could you have that would make him care enough to come after you?”

Her head spun, and she fought for breath. Tell him? What choice did she have?

“I have his son.”

THREE

She was lying, Mitch thought. Manipulating him, just like Wade. He crawled to the cave entrance both to scan for any sign of Wade or the returning police and to give himself a moment to think. It wasn’t easy with the hammering pain inside his skull and the cold that still made every movement arduous.

I have his son.

“I was pregnant,” she said, so low he almost didn’t hear it. “At the time...when things began to come out. I...I didn’t love Wade, hadn’t for a long time, when I began to notice things about him, scary things.” Her gulped breath made something inside him tense. “I was making secret plans to get away, which I’m sure you don’t believe.” Flames crackled as she threw another twig on the fire. “I was only four weeks along when the police came to arrest Wade. Two months at the time of the trial.”

“And he didn’t know?”

“No, but I was terrified he’d guess. I moved away and changed my identity. Wade found my hiding place two days ago, but I was out at the time and I got away.”

“Why’d he come for you, then, if you aren’t his accomplice?”

He saw a shudder pass through her. “He told me we’d always be together. I think he believes I belong to him and I’d help him.”

The starkness in her tone was convincing, but he’d heard a lot of convincing liars before. “Where’s the kid?”

She flinched. “Somewhere close. Safe.”

He yanked around to look at her. “Where?”

Her eyes flashed silver fire at him. “Somewhere safe,” she repeated, the words hard and clipped. Then she cleared her throat. “Ben is not even three yet, so he doesn’t understand any of this.”

“You need to tell me where he is.”

Her chin went up. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

He stepped closer, staring her down. “If Wade suspects, he’ll get to your boy, no matter what kind of hiding place you’ve found.”

Her chin trembled, or maybe it was a trick of the firelight. “You don’t think I know that?”

“Then tell the cops. They’ll protect you.”

Her laugh was filled with bitterness. “The cops didn’t keep Wade in prison. They didn’t prevent people from sending me death threats and vandalizing my house. No one protected me.”

“Because you and your husband killed three women and almost a fourth if she hadn’t gotten away.”

She jerked as if he’d slapped her, then wrapped her arms around her middle and stared at him. “I...didn’t...know.” The lines around her mouth were hard, and every muscle in her frame was taut. “I didn’t know.” She moved quickly, snatched up a stick and cracked it in two. “You’ll never believe me. Think what you want, but...” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and restarted. “My son, my little boy, does not deserve to pay the price for his father’s crimes. Please.” She was still on her knees, crouched in front of the meager fire. “Please help me. I have no one else.”

No one else.

He rubbed a hand through his hair, but it ignited a trail of pain, so he stopped. “I’m not your guy.”

“I saved your life.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” His harsh tone bounced back to him.

She stood now. “I’m not asking for myself. This isn’t about my life. It’s about my son’s.”

Silence grew between them, interrupted only by the pop and hiss of the fire.

“Right now we have to figure out how to get out of this cave without getting shot. That’s all.” He turned his back on her again and surveyed the cove. The fog had thinned a bit after the sun sank into the choppy waters. It was almost fully dark. The only way they were going to survive was to retreat from the cave back up to the trail that loped along the cliff top.

“Gonna climb up to the trail. Rosie will get us back to my place.”

“Who’s Rosie?”

“My horse.”

“I saw her run away.”

“She’s somewhere, waiting for my signal.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer. “You can warm up and I’ll give you some clothes. I’ll take you to the police when it’s safe.”

“So you won’t help me yourself?”

He tossed another twig into the fire. “We’ll leave it burning. If Wade is watching, might be a diversion.”

“Do you think Wade’s given up by now?”

“Do you?”

Her gaze became uncertain, dropped away. “No.” She paused. “Soon after we were married, a couple of teenage boys snuck onto our property and had a little party. They didn’t damage anything, just left some bottles and a bag from their snacks. Wade hid there every night for five weeks until they came back, and then he scared them so badly they never returned.” She shivered, and he suspected it wasn’t from the cold. “Every single night for five weeks.”

She knew just as well as he.

Wade hadn’t given up, and he never would. Their best and only chance was to use darkness to conceal their escape.

But Wade knew how to use the darkness, too.

Like the monster hiding in the shadows, waiting for the kill.

* * *

They crawled out of the cave, and every inch of Jane’s body screamed in protest. Cold air whipped her mercilessly and she felt powerless against the elements, to the threat that was waiting out there. Mitch startled her by gripping her shoulder. His hands were massive, but his touch was surprisingly light.

“Stay low. Keep a couple of feet back from me so you have time to get away if he starts shooting.”

And what was she supposed to do if Mitch got shot again? She decided to keep that thought to herself. One foot in front of the other, Jane. It took her feet and her clawed fingers to cling to the slippery rocks. Mitch tried to keep them in cover as best he could, and she hoped the fog was enough to conceal them further. Still, her skin prickled both from the cold and the knowledge that Wade was out there.

Did he know it was her?

Who’s that shooting at me?

He probably did not blame her for her testimony—she had in fact known nothing about his crimes—but the divorce papers he’d been served in prison had been another matter. He’d never signed, and she’d had to withstand the interminable statutory waiting period before the marriage was dissolved without his consent.

I’ll never let you go.

She thought for the millionth time about what kind of a man he’d seemed to be, charming, sweet, thoughtful, intelligent. And he’d used those charms to lure young women, abduct them and force them to deplete their bank accounts. Then he’d imprisoned each for some sick, twisted thrill only he understood before he killed them. How had she not known? Not seen? Not heard anything from the underground bunker in the woods where he’d kept them chained?

And why hadn’t he done the same to her?

As soon as he discovered she’d gone to his brother, he’d come after her with the full force of his evil. And if somehow he found out about Ben... The thought made her move quicker, edging closer to Mitch as they climbed up the cliff side.

When she thought she could stand no more, when her palms were shredded and her muscles aching, they made it over the top. They lay panting in a grassy field, peppered with clumps of trees and scrubby bushes.

Mitch got to his feet first, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. It barely carried over the sound of the wind. She struggled to her feet and looked for any sign of Mitch’s horse. Seconds ticked into minutes.

“Which way is your place?” She found she had to bend over to continue sucking in deep lungfuls of air. “We’ll have to hike.”

The ground vibrated under her feet, and a big mare trotted up, reins trailing.

For the first time, she saw Mitch Whitehorse smile. He ran his hands over the animal’s sides. “You were scared, weren’t you, Rosie girl? It’s okay now. I’m here.”

What tender words from a man who had about as much give as granite. Nonetheless, she was so happy to see that horse show up, she might have kissed both of them on the spot.

He leaned his forehead against the horse’s neck and she thought at first it was a sign of affection, until she realized Mitch looked unsteady on his feet.

“Are you okay?”

He straightened. “Yeah.” But as he heaved himself onto the horse, he had to grip the saddle hard, face pale in the moonlight. He bent and extended his palm. “Climb up.”

“Uh...” It was not the time to tell him she knew precisely nothing about riding. As she clutched his forearm, he swung her so she landed just behind the saddle. “Hold on to the cantle and keep your feet away from her flanks.”

She had no idea what either “cantle” or “flanks” meant, but she tucked up her legs and grabbed on to the leather seat back where Mitch sat. There was no way she would wrap her arms around him, that was for sure.

She wondered if the horse had the strength to carry both of them after wandering loose for hours, but Rosie seemed to respond quickly to Mitch’s click of the tongue.

“How far?”

“What?” he called over his shoulder.

“I said, ‘How far?’” she started to shout when a gunshot broke the night. Jane felt the movement of air as the shot went past, and then the horse was running full out.

She grabbed Mitch around the waist to keep from falling, and they galloped into the trees. Was Wade on foot? Horseback? On a motorcycle? She didn’t hear an engine, but the sound of her own frightened breathing and the pounding of the horse’s hooves would probably have drowned it out anyway.

Rosie kept to the trees, slowing only enough to dodge branches and piles of rocks. No more bullets followed. Rosie slackened her pace. The woods fell into silence, broken only by the creak of the leather saddle and Rosie’s soft whinny. Jane began to believe, to hope, that Wade had not followed them into the woods, until his voice carried over the night noise.

“Hey, Mitch. Who’s that with you? Have you got yourself a girl?” Wade asked in that singsong way that prickled her skin. Then his tone went hard and lethal.

“Or have you taken mine?”

FOUR

The high trill of Wade’s voice brought back all the horror in one flash of skin-rippling nausea. Though Mitch had desperately wanted to deny the accusations against his brother, he’d known deep down that every terrible detail was true. Wade Whitehorse was a psychopath, capable of unspeakable evil.

In spite of the respite he’d found working at Uncle Gus’s Roughwater Ranch, part of him had always known this day might come, the day his brother returned to destroy him.

Mitch could feel Jane’s hands clutching the back of his shirt. Terror, it could not be anything else. So now she was scared of him? After being married to Wade and turning a blind eye to his brutal treatment of other women? It was incomprehensible. He bit back the rage and urged Rosie deeper into the woods.

“Where is he?” Jane hissed.

“At our ten o’clock, on foot, unless he’s got a horse.”

“We have to get out of these woods.” Her panic transmitted clearly as she grabbed his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. “Please.”

Please. An odd word for a killer’s wife to choose. He pressed Rosie to go deeper into the screen of trees. The branches shuttered out the moonlight, leaving them in inky gloom. Now her breathing was coming in frightened pants.

“He’ll find us here—he probably has tools, night-vision goggles, military equipment.”

I know, he wanted to snap at her. Tools he used to imprison women while you stayed quiet and let him. He clucked to Rosie encouragingly, urging her around a fallen oak, squeezing between clefts of rocks into what looked like a wild tangle of overgrowth.

He could not see, so instead he let himself feel, turning his face until he caught the whiff of air that smelled of wet granite, cooled as it swept down from the mountain. He turned the horse east.

Jane clutched him tighter. “There’s no path. We can’t hide. He’ll find us.”

He’ll find us. Mitch had felt this showdown would come since that moment he’d seen his brother smile as he was taken to prison, but it could not happen now, not when Mitch was dizzy and weak, with Jane clinging to his back.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, merely guided Rosie along, following the trail of chilled air. The ground was moist, muddy in some places, which caused the horse to slow. Mitch smiled. The more mud, the better. They had to push through dense thickets, which proved no trouble for Rosie, though the branches scratched at him and probably Jane a few times. The thicker the screen, the deeper the layer of muck under Rosie’s hooves, the better he felt. If Wade was on horseback, there was a slim chance he could follow their trail in the darkness, but if he was on foot, he would wait until daylight. One thing he knew about his brother—Wade could not stand to be dirty, not even for one moment.

He recalled his own laughter as a high school senior when he and his girlfriend Paige Lynn came upon Wade, staring at the brown smear on his palm from the front door they’d just painted at their parents’ dilapidated house in Arizona. They’d offered Wade a rag, but he’d been so enraged he’d thrown it back at them, along with a vile diatribe that brought the neighbors outside. Wade had finally composed himself, and Mitch and Paige Lynn repainted the marred spot on the door. The next day Mitch found the front windshield of his car smashed, the interior ruined with paint.

A thorn scratched his arm, but he hardly felt it through the cold. Pushing through a heavily forested area over the mucky ground would not be an option for Wade and might be the only thing that kept them alive.

Jane had given up trying to question him, finally, which was a relief since they were both shivering fit to beat the band. He tried to blink away the waves of dizziness that hit him. If he fell from the horse...

Grasping the reins tighter, he stiffened his spine. Only another quarter mile, he figured. At one point he stopped Rosie.

Jane clutched at him. “What? Did you hear him? Has he found us?”

“Quiet,” he commanded.

Surprisingly, she obeyed.

He heard nothing but the branches rattling in the wind like the sound of dried bones. A light rain had begun to fall. Her fingers were dead cold on his back. If they did not get to his cabin soon, they would both fall victim to hypothermia.

Rosie responded eagerly to his click of the tongue and picked up her pace. Again they passed through an area of dense foliage, and he heard Jane cry out once when something pricked her. She sank back into silence until they emerged at his cabin, tucked in a cluster of pines.

He stopped one more time and listened for a full minute before he was satisfied. Jane was already sliding to the ground, landing with a hard jolt. She tipped her head up to look at him, still on the horse, and he was struck by how small she was, backed by the sprawl of forest behind her. The monster’s wife had seemed bigger in his memory, stony faced at the trial, insistent that she knew nothing, stalwart in her lies.

“Go inside,” he said.

“Where...? What will you do?”

“See to the horse.”

She hesitated only for a moment and then walked to the wood-sided cabin, letting herself in through the unlocked front door. He climbed off Rosie and set about removing her saddle and letting her into the fenced area where Bud, the placid gelding, greeted her from the three-sided shelter. Though every muscle in him screamed its displeasure, he took the time to dump some feed into Rosie’s bucket and quickly wipe her down and tend to the scratch on her flank.