Return to the Black Hills (21 page)

Her ankle was healing, but nowhere near quickly enough to be able to compete at an international level. She’d known that from the start, but like everything in her life, needed to come to grips with the reality of her situation at her own speed.

She pulled back, half laughing, half fighting tears, of all things. “Jessie is as hardheaded as my neighbor’s pit bull,” Mama used to tell people. “Only, she’s a lot sweeter on the inside.”

Jessie pushed her hair out of her face and sat, immobile, thinking. The orthopedist wanted to start her on a long-range rehabilitation program. “We have some excellent physical therapists in the area, but your needs are pretty specific. A true sports-medicine therapist might be better for you. If you reinjure this ligament before it’s completely healed, you’ll be looking at surgery,” he’d told her.

She hadn’t been ready to listen to him. She hadn’t wanted to leave for some reason.

Some reason?
One reason. Cade.
Okay, two. Shiloh, too.

She got off the machine and walked to the bench where she’d left her phone and sat, drawing her right ankle across her knee. The bruising was gone, the swelling was mostly back to normal, but the strength simply wasn’t there. She probed the tendons and wiggled her toes. Not perfect, but strong enough to carry her through the activities of a normal person. She could probably even return to stunt work—if she picked her jobs carefully.

But admitting that
Kamikaze
was not going to happen meant she also needed to address the issue of Girlz On Fire. Without the prize money she’d planned to win, there was a good chance she’d never be able to rehabilitate Girlz anytime soon.

She grabbed the plastic water bottle she always carried and heaved it across the room. It hit the wall with a solid thud and rolled under the treadmill.

“Damn,” she swore. There had to be another way. Grants, maybe. A giant fundraiser, perhaps. This wasn’t a glamorous charity—angry girls with attitude did not become media darlings—but there might be a way to keep the dream alive if Jessie used her head instead of her physical aptitude.

Jessie knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t cut out for the bookkeeping side of the business—hadn’t she willingly handed over that part to Dar without any oversight whatsoever? But she knew people. The stunt community was strong and generous and supportive.

She couldn’t make this happen overnight. It would take work, but she could reshape the dream and maybe even expand to other places…like here. Shiloh was a perfect example of a young girl who easily could have become a victim if she hadn’t had a father willing to do whatever it took to protect her until she found her footing in this world.

At the beep from her phone she picked it up and looked at the display. A text from Cade?
Seriously?
She smiled, thinking it would say something about coming back to bed. She was ready now. Her ducks were lined up and swimming in the same direction again. She could relax and be happy in his bed, his arms.

Alarm bells went off in her head like a Fourth of July fireworks show. Zane. Somehow he’d lured Cade out of the house and ambushed him. She had no idea how, but that didn’t matter. She needed to get help. Swearing under her breath, she shot to her feet.

She didn’t bother going upstairs to check on him, because she could see from the foot of the stairs that the alarm had been turned off. She dashed to the house phone and called the front gate. She needed to alert the guards.

The call went through but no one answered. She said a silent prayer that whoever was on duty hadn’t been bushwhacked, too.

She started to punch in Hank’s number when her phone beeped again.

She scrolled down to Hank’s number and pushed Call. “Yeah? What?” a sleepy voice growled.

“Sorry, Hank. Jessie Bouchard. We have a situation. Cade’s not in the house. I’ve gotten two suspicious texts and nobody is answering at the gatehouse.”

“I’ll call it in. Stay put. Someone will be there soon.” He hung up, sounding wide-awake.

But there was no way in hell she could follow his order. Cade was in trouble. It was her fault. She’d brought this mess to his doorstep and she wasn’t going to risk his life by playing it safe.

She opened the door. She had her hand on the porch light switch but changed her mind. She didn’t plan to make this easy for Zane. Two could play commando.

The moment she stepped outside, Sugar scampered up the steps to greet her. The little beast seemed agitated. She was shivering, but that could have been from the stiff wind that seemed to have blown up. “Hello, sweetie,” she said, picking up the raccoon. “It’s a bad night, baby girl. Time for you to go into your crate.”

She closed the door on the plastic carrier and hurried away. She pulled up her hoodie and dashed from the edge of the patio to the wooded knoll where she and Cade had made love. She could feel a twinge in her ankle from walking over uneven terrain, but she ignored it.

Using her phone as a flashlight, she checked every so often to make sure she didn’t trip over anything. The temperature was a good fifteen degrees cooler than when they got home and the sky was a muddy color—too black to call gray, despite the moon’s attempt to break through the layer of fast-moving clouds.

She shivered in her thin sweatshirt, pausing a second to zip it all the way to her neck.
Cade will warm me up,
she thought. A promise and a hope.

A thin blade of yellow was visible beneath the walk-in door, but she wasn’t dumb enough to march straight into a trap. She edged around the side of the building, praying for another entrance. She found it. A drop-down trapdoor apparently used to funnel hay or feed or something into a trough.

The opening wasn’t large. No way in hell Zane could have gotten through it, but she would crawl through even if she had to strip to her bra and panties. She grasped the wooden toggle that apparently kept it from falling open, then slowly, quietly lowered the door. The rusty hinges protested but she spit on them and gradually got the door open.

She tried hard to listen, but the rush of the wind blocked any sound beyond a distant noise she couldn’t quite make out. Sirens, she hoped. Sirens. Hank.

She dropped to one knee and hunched over her phone to shield it from view and tapped in one word:
barn.
If anything happened to her, he had to know where to look. Then she stowed her phone in her pocket and climbed—good foot first—into the breadbox-size opening.

She needed every bit of her upper-body strength to lower herself into the barn without making any noise. She didn’t for a minute underestimate Zane, who may not have actually served in Special Forces but had convinced himself he was an American ninja.

Once both feet were on the ground, she flattened her back against the wall and looked around. The barn was black except for the glow near where Cade had set up her yoga mats. Earlier, he’d turned on the overhead lights to see by. Reality hit a second later. The flickering quality, the yellowish tone… Candles.

She cursed under her breath. She should have guessed. Zane knew her story. He’d seen her back. He went straight for her weakest point—her greatest fear. Fire. The thought struck her that maybe Remy’s dream was a prophecy. If she got out of here alive, she was never going to doubt her sister’s dreams again.

She couldn’t just sit, paralyzed with fear. Cade was here. Somewhere. And she was damn well going to find him. Screw Zane and his twisted threats.

The first thing she needed was to get out of the feed box or whatever this was. She climbed over the edge quietly and dropped to all fours. This spot gave her a clear view to the door. Red plastic containers appeared to anchor the four corners of the carpet Cade had put down. And in the middle of that carpet, lying very still—corpselike—was a body. Cade’s body.

She sprang to her feet, instinct warring with caution. But it was too late to play cat and mouse. The mouse she’d been hunting had found her—and he was better armed.

“Hello, Jessie,” a familiar voice said as the cold, hard muzzle of a gun touched the back of her neck. She hadn’t realized until that moment that her hood had fallen off. Damn blond hair, she thought irrationally.

She didn’t move, but she did answer him, trying very hard to appear calm and cool. “Zane. What have you done to Cade? Is he alive?”

Cade moaned, apparently in response to their voices. His head turned her way, his eyes squinting, but she wasn’t sure he could see her.

She spun around without warning, sweeping her leg knee-height, the way she’d been taught. The move might have dropped a lesser man, but Zane was a highly trained athlete with self-defense skills every bit as formidable as hers. And he had a gun. Which went off less than a foot away from her head.

The shot went wild, but the ringing in her ears disrupted her focus and equilibrium. Zane’s free hand shot out and grabbed her around the neck. “Stupid blonde girl, when will you learn that you can’t play this game? You don’t belong. You proved that last summer. Remember? You faltered, bitch. And you cost me a pretty penny.”

His fingers squeezed, keeping any sound from passing through her lips. He brought his face close to hers and said, “I hated you for that. So, when your ex-partner offered to split the insurance money she had on you fifty-fifty, how could I say no? Accidents happen, right?”

Jessie struggled. She wasn’t going down without a fight. The eyes, a voice in her head said. She jabbed with all the force her oxygen-deprived body had left. Her aim felt true even though a black haze blurred her vision, robbing her of seeing Zane’s reaction. But he dropped his hold and stepped back, his hands going to his face. His gun must have dropped to the ground, but Jessie’s eyes were watering too much to see clearly.

He swore and made a grab for her, but she darted away, her fluid gymnastics training serving her well. She parried left, spun to the right. Graceless and slow compared to her usual form, but fast enough to evade Zane’s rage-blinded attempt to catch her.

She couldn’t fight him one-on-one. She didn’t have a weapon. And she had to get Cade the hell out of the barn. Gas cans and candles told her exactly what Zane planned. Hank was coming and there was plenty of help nearby, but none of that would matter in the least if Zane shot them both and set the barn on fire to provide a distraction so he could escape.

Wits. She could always try outsmarting him.

“You’re a stupid, cowardly fool, Zane, hiding behind your little pistol. Where’s that big brave Special Ops guy now? Oh, wait, you lied. You’re a liar, too. You washed out of the military. They said you were too dumb.”

Another shot rang out and a hunk of wood splintered a few feet to her left. She dropped to the ground and made a combat crawl under the shiny new table Cade had set up for her boom box.

The candlelight was working in her favor now. Her hearing was returning and she knew without looking that Zane was searching the far side of the barn. Cade was lying very still but she was certain he was listening as hard as she was. His feet were bound with plastic zip ties, as were his wrists. Getting him out of here was not going to be easy.

Distraction.

Damn. She had only one chance. It was dangerous. Probably stupid. It might cost— She stopped thinking and acted.

She dashed from cover, grabbed the first red gas can she encountered and snatched up the closest votive. Its flame shivered as if it was going to go out, but she carried it close to her body as she returned to her safe spot. She needed a wick. Her shirt. Perfect.

She tugged off her hoodie and pulled her top over her head, gooseflesh erupting over every inch of her bare skin. Cade’s head turned her way. She kept her focus on her mission. She didn’t know for certain that what she planned would work. All she could do was try.

“Where are you, you dumb bitch?” Zane bellowed. “You can’t get out. Well, you can, but your lover boy is going down.”

Jessie rezipped her sweatshirt and moved away from the sound of his voice, inching along the outer wall of the barn toward where she dropped in. He was right. She could leave but getting Cade out that feeder hole would never work. She had to hope their rescuers would break down the barn door in time.

She paused to listen for sirens. None.

Stall.

“You are stupid, Zane,” she called once she reached the farthest corner away from Cade. “You know that, right? Dar is in jail, dumb ass. And her husband just had a visit from the IRS. The cops told me Roger is singing like a freaking canary. Attempted murder, Zane. If you were smart, you’d get the hell out of here and run for the border, dude. You’re going down, baby.”

A chunk of wood exploded above her head. She knew she was trapped, but this time she was armed. Poised to strike, muscles bunched, she listened hard. His breathing gave away his exact position.

She held the candle to the hem of her shirt—the only part sticking out of the gas can. The smell was nearly enough to overcome her; the first crackle as the fire grabbed hold made her hands start to shake. She willed herself to stay calm, keep the memories at bay.
I can do this. I can.

When she decided he was in range, she stood and hurled the heavy container. He was closer than she thought. He was forced to dodge to the right to avoid the flaming projectile. She saw the look of surprise in his eyes, but that was the last thing she saw. She used his moment of hesitation to vault over the horse stall to her right. She landed hard. Her ankle protested, but adrenaline and abject fear—fueled by the smell of smoke—gave her the extra burst of speed she needed.

She spotted an ax leaning against the wall near an old tool bench. She grabbed it in passing. The wooden handle was splintery and heavy, but all she needed was one good hit to knock away the padlock Zane must have put on the door after he realized she was in the barn.

She lost track of Zane in the smoke that billowed toward the front of the barn, driven, she guessed, by the draft from the hatch door she’d left open. An intense crackling sound told her the leftover hay and straw was providing fuel. The old timbers would ignite soon.

She swung with all her might. A miss. She tried again.

“Jessie. Cut me free. I can do it.”

She turned to see Cade struggling to a sitting position. “Cut you?” She looked at the rusty ax. What choice did she have?

She dropped to her knees in front of him and secured the ax blade upright so he could saw the plastic band back and forth across it. “You’re doing it. Good job.”

Once his hands were free, he grabbed the ax and used it to break the bond around his ankle. She helped him up. He staggered, but once he was stable, he looked around, checking for Zane before he headed for the door.

Once. Twice. Metal on metal. A spark glinted in the low light. The padlock dropped to the ground.

“Yes,” Jessie cried. She took one step toward him before an unexpected force yanked on the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling her backward.

Instinct took over. She’d taught her students at Girlz exactly what to do when someone grabbed you from behind. She went limp, falling backward like a sack of feed. Her motion threw Zane off balance. He was pulled forward. One step. Two. Then he met the blunt end of an ax, midchest.

His scream of pain gave Jessie the only warning she needed to roll out of the way as he dropped to the ground. He curled into a ball, writhing and gasping for air.

Cade reached out. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

The fire.

She didn’t hesitate. She took his hand and followed, choking on the smoke that seemed to have taken on a life of its own.

She gulped in deep gasps of cold, fresh air the second they made it outside. She could hear the sirens now. A lot of them. Trucks and people, too. She looked up and understood why. Beautiful red-and-gold sparks danced in the night sky. She’d seen this view before. From the gurney that took her to the ambulance that raced her to the burn hospital.

She looked at Cade, who was speaking. She couldn’t make out a single word, but she held out her arms and fell toward him, sobbing.

Apparently, her tear ducts weren’t melted shut, after all.