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Rancher's Hostage Rescue
Beth Cornelison


She's his only chance at redemption…  And he's her only chance at survival! When Lilly Shaw and her murdered sister’s ex-boyfriend Dave Giblan are taken hostage at gunpoint, they must race against the clock to outwit their enemy. First, putting aside their differences to save one another once and for all.







She’s his only chance at redemption...

And he’s her only chance at survival!

After her sister’s murder, Lilly Shaw has stopped giving anyone—including Helen’s ex-boyfriend, Dave Giblan—second chances. But she and Dave are suddenly shoved together when a deadly criminal takes them both hostage at gunpoint. As they race against the clock to outwit their enemy, Lilly and Dave must put aside their differences and save one another once and for all.


BETH CORNELISON began working in public relations before pursuing her love of writing romance. She has won numerous honors for her work, including a nomination for the RWA RITA® Award for The Christmas Stranger. She enjoys featuring her cats (or friends’ pets) in her stories and always has another book in the pipeline! She currently lives in Louisiana with her husband, one son and three spoiled cats. Contact her via her website, bethcornelison.com (http://www.bethcornelison.com).


Also By Beth Cornelison (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)

The McCall Adventure Ranch

Rancher’s Deadly Reunion

Rancher’s High-Stakes Rescue

Rancher’s Covert Christmas

Rancher’s Hostage Rescue

Cowboy Christmas Rescue

“Rescuing the Witness”

Rock-a-Bye Rescue

“Guarding Eve”

The Mansfield Brothers

The Return of Connor Mansfield

Protecting Her Royal Baby

The Mansfield Rescue

Black Ops Rescues

Soldier’s Pregnancy Protocol

The Reunion Mission

Cowboy’s Texas Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Rancher’s Hostage Rescue

Beth Cornelison






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09416-0

RANCHER’S HOSTAGE RESCUE

© 2019 Beth Cornelison

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


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“Are you okay?”

“The change in position made my head throb and the room spin, but I’ll live.”

As he positioned himself, Dave’s body heat and his soap and leather scent enveloped her, and the occasional brush of his thigh against hers or his chest at her back sent a tingling sensation to her belly. With her wrists taped together, her range of motion was seriously restricted as she felt blindly for his pocket. Her fingers found the soft cotton of his T-shirt over the taut plain of his belly, and he hissed.

Lilly jerked her hand back. “What? Did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m...ticklish.” Was that embarrassment she detected in his tone?

He grunted. “Ignore me. Just...try again. Lower.” His body skimmed along hers as he moved to better align her hands with their target.

An awkward awareness shot through her, along with a ripple of something she refused to call pleasure. She was not, not, not attracted to her late sister’s boyfriend...

* * *


Dear Reader (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700),

As I write, a book’s characters become very real to me. They are my friends, my family, my children. It’s truly rewarding for me to give my heroes and heroines happily-ever-afters. But my empathy is not only for the main characters. Every now and then, a secondary character will stand out to me, whether because of their bold personality or because they were innocents, left without their own happy ending. The hero of this book, Dave Giblan, was one of those characters. I knew he needed closure, a happy ending...and maybe a bit of redemption along the way.

Who better to match him with than the one person who shared his grief over a certain loved one’s death? I hope you will enjoy Rancher’s Hostage Rescue, and Dave and Lilly’s second chance for a brighter future.

By the way, as in all my books, Rancher’s Hostage Rescue includes a cat. But this is no ordinary cat. I’m pleased to introduce you to Maddie, my grandcat! My son, who grew up surrounded by my felines, learned to love cats and all their eccentricities almost as much as I do. I was thrilled for him when he adopted a skittish long-haired cat during his first year of graduate school. Maddie has overcome her scary pre-adoption beginnings (mostly) and is now an attention-hungry, lovable fluff ball. Thanks, Jeffery, for sharing Maddiecakes for this story! You can find pictures of our family’s cats on my website, bethcornelison.com (http://www.bethcornelison.com).

Happy reading,

Beth


To Paul and Jeffery—all my love


Contents

Cover (#u3747ec48-9fa2-581c-a08f-13ed71905141)

Back Cover Text (#ud7ec2837-b446-5759-ad53-2ca899d1d3dd)

About the Author (#u066251cc-747d-520f-bd38-9e36221fec2e)

Booklist (#u550d07f0-c732-5ffd-bcab-bd47621b76f8)

Title Page (#u3b522e0f-125f-51a2-8465-ea0cfcb3b8c7)

Copyright (#u1a65b7b3-0533-5a5d-a739-4c718f8b484d)

Note to Readers

Introduction (#u2256270b-2da0-501f-ab86-b69374a6b31b)

Dear Reader (#ua63b7e9e-0b28-5866-bd71-6e1bb4d3463d)

Dedication (#u4d571624-f585-57d7-802e-f3e124e3ac2f)

Prologue (#u11c362b7-1f41-585a-ade9-f6e8055f5329)

Chapter 1 (#ue6d652ad-9de2-5441-b827-e98f9160daa3)

Chapter 2 (#u123f42da-37db-50a0-9d7d-7e80ade0dc4d)

Chapter 3 (#u30c1ccae-a5a1-56f6-847c-41282e68201a)

Chapter 4 (#ueab93573-138f-5066-8b7d-a1e653a549c9)

Chapter 5 (#u0cd16be1-7fcd-57a7-859b-59b02a4339ca)

Chapter 6 (#uf82c2e9a-a630-501f-8d5c-c29beb23792d)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


The plan was ready. His weapon cleaned, primed, loaded. His target identified and surveilled. His escape mapped out. Contingencies decided. The time had come.

He stashed his gun in an accessible place on his person, then covered it with his long shirt, his jacket. By this time tomorrow, he’d be out of state, on his way to his next small-town target as he made his way to the Mexican border. To freedom.

Wayne Moore strapped on his grandfather’s watch, the only thing he had left of his grampa’s. His father had given it to him just days before he’d died. Wayne acknowledged the familiar tangle of regret, longing and disgust he experienced when remembering his father. A complicated legacy. A love-hate relationship. Jacob Moore had taught him well. Some lessons were learned on their homemade backyard shooting range and some at his father’s side as they held up gas stations, diners and liquor stores. Others were taught with fists and belts. His dad’s last lesson had been taught through his failure.

Wayne shook his head, remembering. His father had gotten careless, cocky. Had taken on a large city bank without adequate backup, without considering all the ramifications and obstacles. Had seen only his past successes and the promise of a bigger payday. He’d paid for his hubris with his life, shot by the security officer as soon as he fired his own weapon.

Lesson learned. Stick to small jobs. Keep it simple.

Small-town banks had smaller payouts, but also a smaller risk of capture. And the number-one goal, above the take, was not to be captured. Stay out of jail and be free to do another job on another day. Wayne wasn’t sure how many days he had left, but if he didn’t get some money for all his medical bills, they were sure to end sooner rather than later.

After a last check of his supplies, his weapons, his escape plan, Wayne climbed in his old beater sedan and headed for his target.




Chapter 1 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Five excruciating months had passed since Helen had been murdered. Five months of grief, loneliness and, most of all, guilt. He hadn’t taken her life, but that didn’t exonerate him from his other wrongs. He’d taken her for granted, not given her what she deserved, acted the fool when he’d had a good woman who loved him.

Dave Giblan sat at Helen’s graveside, his bad leg stretched in front of him and the moisture from the latest spring rain soaking through his jeans. He made biweekly visits to her grave, often bringing flowers to brighten the still-raw earth from her burial. Flowers he should have given her more often while she was alive. Instead, he’d laughed at his boss’s advice to show Helen his feelings, his appreciation of her. Now it was too late.

Grunting as he shoved to his feet, he swiped at the damp seat of his jeans and whispered, “Bye, Helen.” Turning, he headed back to his pickup. He still had a slight limp, minor pain and stiffness following the surgery to repair his broken leg last December. The accident, a fall from a ladder, had been so random, so senseless...and just a few days before Helen was murdered. He lost both his girlfriend and his job within days of each other.

The McCalls swore that he’d have a job again when his leg was fully healed, and he could do the work of a ranch hand again. But since making that promise, they’d hired two new hands. Although he’d heard the Double M was climbing out of the financial quicksand it had been sinking in, he was skeptical they had the means to pay a third hand. Especially one who had a limp that may or may not ever go away.

He moved slowly down the grassy cemetery hill, using the cane he’d borrowed from the McCalls for use on uneven terrain. The handcrafted wooden cane with a simple scalloped design near the hand grip had belonged to the late father of the senior McCall, Michael.

Once back to his truck, he checked the list he’d left on the passenger seat. He’d been by the hardware store, taken his rent check to the post office, refilled his prescription for his anticlotting medicine and visited Helen. Only thing left on his list was a stop at the bank to cash his unemployment check.

He drove back into the business district of Boyd Valley, a small town nestled at the intersection of the Rocky Mountains and the plains of eastern Colorado. The country station on his radio played a sad song about loss and regret, and he reached over to turn it off. He didn’t need a song to tell him that story. He lived it.

Five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of First Bank of Boyd Valley. The lot was largely empty. Only a couple of cars in the customer section. The convenience of online banking was rapidly shrinking the need for brick-and-mortar banks, human tellers, personal service. Just one more way the town, and the sense of community, was shrinking, dying in this age of technology.

Call him old-fashioned, but Dave preferred to do his banking in person, preferred to see the face of the teller who cashed his checks. His mother had been a teller in this very bank when he was growing up, and although she was gone now, buried in the cemetery just a few rows over from Helen, Dave felt her presence in the bank. Rose Charmand was the only teller there who still remembered working with his mother, and she always had a smile for him. Most days she’d also share a story about her memories of him as a kid, afternoons he’d spent behind the counter doing his homework, eating the lollipops that were supposed to be for the customers and waiting for his mother to drive them both home.

Today as he approached the window where Rose worked, her smile flashed brightly, as usual, before an odd shadow crossed her face. When her gaze darted toward the vault, Dave glanced in the same direction, curious what had distracted Rose. A woman with glossy gold hair and a knockout figure stood just inside the vault at the wall of safe-deposit boxes. A sense of déjà vu skittered down Dave’s spine as he watched the woman. Brow furrowed in confusion, he faced Rose.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said with a half grin for the older woman. He slid his check across the counter. “How’s life treating you?”

“As well as a woman my age can expect,” Rose quipped. “The usual? Deposit half, half in cash to you?”

He nodded, then glanced back at the golden-haired woman in the vault. “Who’s that?”

Rose glanced up briefly from counting out bills. “You don’t recognize her?”

“Her back’s to me. Maybe if I saw her face...”

The teller kept shuffling money, her eyes down, as she mumbled, “Honey, that’s Lilly Shaw.”

Even as the name registered, the woman turned. Helen’s sister.

His breath stuck in his throat. Though they didn’t resemble each other in more than hair color, the sight of her brought a flood of memories that drowned him with fresh waves of guilt and grief.

Why was she in town? Why had he picked this moment to deposit his check? He really couldn’t bear a confrontation with Helen’s last living relative. The one person who loved Helen as much as he had. Maybe more so. Lilly hadn’t taken Helen for granted. Hadn’t needed to be badgered for demonstrations of affection. Would never forget an important anniversary. Could never be accused of half-assing their relationship.

His gut rolled. The last time he’d talked to Lilly, at Helen’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration, she’d looked him straight in the eye and called him a first-class jerk. She threatened him with bodily injury if he hurt Helen, a vow he’d laughed off. He’d told Lilly she had nothing to worry about, that the complaints Helen had about him were just her sister blowing off steam. Things between him and Helen were fine.

He knew the instant Lilly spotted him. Her gaze, which had passed casually over him at first, darted back to him in surprise, her steps faltering. The very next second, the soft, feminine curves of her face hardened. Her lips pinched, and flinty disdain filled her eyes.

He’d avoided Lilly at Helen’s funeral. He’d been too swallowed up in his own shock and heartache to face Lilly’s accusations and criticism. But he deserved anything Lilly could dish out. She’d been right about his lackluster attitude toward his relationship with Helen, and now he lived every day with regrets he could never correct.

At the very least, he owed Lilly an apology. Well, he owed Helen an apology, but with Helen gone, Lilly was as close as he’d get to earning forgiveness for his blithe attitude while Helen was alive. He wiped his damp palms on the seat of his jeans and headed toward her. Her brow furrowed, and her gaze dropped briefly to his bad leg as he limped toward her. Had Helen told her about his accident, his surgery, his temporary unemployment?

Lilly’s shoulders squared as he approached. Blinking hard, as if battling back tears, she glanced toward the door and took a few quick steps in that direction.

He blocked her path, wrapping his hand around her arm when she tried to brush past him.

“Lilly, wait. Please.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Her green eyes glinted at him, and she tugged at her arm. “Let me go.”

“Give me just five minutes. Please.” He heard the rusty sound of his voice and paused to clear it. “I want to apologize.”

His request stilled her attempt to get free. She narrowed a suspicious glare on him. “An apology. For what?”

“For...lots of things. The way things went down between me and Helen.”

She scoffed. “Isn’t Helen the one who deserves that apology?” She tipped her head in mock enlightenment and added, “Oh, wait. She’s dead. It’s too late to apologize for the way you treated her.”

Guilt pooled like acid in his gut. “I know that, but—”

“But nothing, Dave!” she said, her voice rising.

The other customers in the bank glanced their way. The security guard, a retired sheriff’s deputy who’d once busted a sixteen-year-old Dave for trespassing on school grounds after hours, put his hand on his utility belt and strolled over. “Is there a problem here?”

“No, Deputy Hanover,” Dave said, flashing a tight smile. “I just need a moment’s privacy with Ms. Shaw.”

Hanover glanced to Lilly for her response. After a few seconds to consider, she frowned and gave the security officer a nod. Deputy Hanover stepped away, and Dave guided Lilly out of the main lobby toward a corner near the loan offices.

“Look...” he said and sighed. Now that he had her ear, what did he say? He hadn’t prepared anything in the last few weeks on the off chance he might run into Lilly. He’d honestly thought he’d never see her again.

“I—I had a ring. Have a ring. An engagement ring,” he began awkwardly.

Clearly his opening caught her off guard. She blinked rapidly and gave her head a small shake. “Excuse me?”

“I was going to give it to her on New Year’s Eve. I had this whole thing planned with dinner and driving out to this lookout spot and—”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked in a low growl.

“Because... I want you to know I did have feelings for Helen.” He scrubbed a hand on his face, deciding what needed to be said next.

She arched a delicate eyebrow, her expression cool. “You had feelings for her?”

“Yes! I was serious about her, not just playing at a relationship.”

“Evidence would say otherwise.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to cut him off. “You can’t even say you loved her. You have to use phrases like you had feelings for her.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s a sentiment that will make a girl want to marry you. ‘I have feelings for you, Helen. Let’s spend our lives together.’”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. Even as irritation with her sarcasm scraped through him, he reminded himself he’d earned Lilly’s scorn. He flexed and balled his hands at his sides, trying to recalculate. To find the right words. He might not get another chance to set things right with Helen’s only family. Maybe earning her forgiveness shouldn’t matter to him, but...it did.

“I screwed up with her. I know. She was a great, kind, terrific person, and I blew it. Okay? I know that!” He took a cleansing breath, his stomach knotting as he added, “And I did love her. I only... It’s just hard to say the words now because she’s... It makes it harder now that she’s...”

“Dead,” Lilly said, her stare penetrating and unnerving. “My God, you can’t even say that word? Helen is dead. Say it.”

“Why?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

He swallowed hard. “She’s dead.”

Lilly’s mouth puckered a bit, and she glanced away. But not before he saw the sparkle of tears that filled her eyes.

Dave poked his fingers in his jeans pockets, shifted his weight...then shifted it back when his bad leg protested with a dull throb. “Lilly, I’m sorry.”

Her gaze darted briefly to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She drew a slow tremulous breath. “Thank you. And... I’m sorry...for your loss, too.”

She caught him off guard with that, and he had to work to suppress the rise of emotion in his throat. “Why, um, why are you in town?”

“I’m in Boyd Valley to close her house and put it on the market, if that’s what you mean.” She gave him a matter-of-fact look, and her tone had regained its sharp edge. “I’m at the bank to empty her safe-deposit box.” She raised both eyebrows now in a way that said, “Satisfied, Mr. Nosy?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t even known Helen had a safe-deposit box. And knowing that Lilly was preparing to sell Helen’s house, was getting rid of all the things that represented the life of the woman he’d loved, gave him a sick feeling in his gut. After a beat too long, he finally managed a flat “Oh.”

She snorted a wry laugh. “You have such a way with words.”

He gritted his back teeth, then took a moment to push aside her biting comment. Rather than answer her quip with one of his own, he said, “If you need any help with the house—”

She shook her head. “No. I can do it by myself.”

“Are you sure? ’Cause I can—”

She shot him a hard look, so he dropped the matter.

“Was that it? You just wanted to tell me you had a ring? You thought I needed to know you had feelings enough to plan a proposal that never happened?”

Okay, now her mocking was starting to tick him off. He had to take a couple breaths to swallow the snide reply that frustration, annoyance and his own grief pushed onto his tongue.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Cornering her was probably a bad idea. He should have waited, gone to Helen’s house and taken the time to think about what he wanted to say. Waving his hand in dismissal, he mumbled, “More or less.”

Lilly hiked the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and jerked a nod. “Goodbye then.” She took three stiff strides before turning back toward him. “I did find some men’s clothes at her house that I assume are yours. If you want them back, and anything else of yours you left there, you can come by later today. Anything still there on Saturday goes to charity.”

With that, she marched toward the front door of the bank...just as a man wearing a dark hoodie and wielding a gun stormed through the entrance and shouted, “Everybody on the ground! You try something heroic, you die!”




Chapter 2 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Lilly froze when she saw the gun wielded a scant few feet from her. Her brain blanked for a couple of stumbling heartbeats as she tried to process the horror. Was this really happening?

In the next second, the man in the black hoodie grabbed her arm and swung her around. He snaked his arm around her throat and held her against him as a human shield. The truth of the situation slammed into her like a fist to the gut. Bank robbery. Hostage. Gunfire?

Gunfire! Her ears rang from the loud shots the robber fired, as well as from the screams of the other women in the bank.

“I said no heroics!” the robber shouted, his arm aiming off to her right.

Fresh terror washed through her. She registered the movement of people dropping to the floor and covering their heads, as though watching through water. Someone to her left sobbed.

The robber pushed her forward, and she stumbled, her feet as heavy as concrete blocks.

“You, behind the counter,” he shouted, waving the gun toward the tellers. “Let me see your hands! No alarms or I shoot you. Got it?”

The two tellers gaped at him, their hands shaking as they lifted them over their heads.

“Got it?” he asked again in a roar.

Their heads bobbed, and the younger teller whimpered, “Please, don’t shoot. I have babies at home. They need me.”

The gunman swung his weapon toward the young mother behind the counter. “Do what I say, and you’ll live to see those kids again. Start filling bags from the drawers. Make it quick!” He turned slowly, dragging Lilly in a 360-degree pivot with him as he checked the room. He paused when he spotted a man on the floor with his cell phone out, pointed toward the robber. He fired his weapon two more times, shattering the phone and wounding the man’s hand. “Really, asshole? Is a video for your Twitter feed really worth dying over?”

As the robber continued turning, Lilly’s gaze darted toward where Dave had been standing. Some part of her brain knew he was her best chance of assistance. But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. Her breath sawed in panicked gulps as she scanned the lobby. She spotted him hovering over the security guard, who was lying on his side, blood staining the front of his uniform shirt. Blood. Lilly’s gut swooped.

The robber noticed Dave, too. He swung the handgun in his direction and yelled, “Hey, cowboy! I said no heroics. On the ground, hands where I can see ’em. Now!”

Dave lifted both hands, which were smeared with red. “Whoa. Easy, man. The old guy is bleeding out from where you shot him. I’m just trying to help him.” Dave put his hands back on the guard’s wound, clearly trying to staunch the bleeding. “You could say I’m helping you, too. You don’t want a dead security guard added to your rap sheet.”

The gunman glared at Dave, then whipped his attention back to the tellers. “Where’s that money? Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The older woman behind the counter shoved a stack of bills toward him along with a bank bag full of cash. The robber, obviously needing to free the arm he had around her neck, released Lilly, shoving her toward the floor. “You get down and don’t move.”

She obeyed, and when she glanced up at him, he waved his hand toward her large hobo-style purse. “Give me the bag.”

Again, fear and disbelief rendered her motionless.

“Do it!” He kicked at her and grabbed the strap of the bag, snatching it off her shoulder with force. Jerking open the snap closure, he jammed handfuls of bundled bills into the purse.

Frowning, he paused in his frenzy and waved a banded stack of cash at the older teller. “Ones?” He leaned across the counter and smacked the woman’s face with the money.

The woman gasped and pressed her hand to her cheek as she staggered back from the counter. Lilly tensed, hot anger flaring in her gut.

“Do you think this is a game?” he shouted at the teller. “That I did all this for ones?” Then a movement or noise must have caught his attention, because he whirled around, swinging his weapon toward the lobby. “Stay down! Hands out where I can see ’em!”

A ripple of murmurs and gasps rose from the customers and employees hunkered on the floor. Lilly cut a glance toward Dave.

Helen’s ex had a glacial stare pinned on the robber. Although he was mostly flat on the floor, one hand was still out of sight, under the injured security guard, presumably tending to the man’s wound.

Then Dave’s gaze flicked to Lilly’s and locked. Softened with concern and questions. Her heart gave a soft bump, and an odd warmth spread inside her. Dave’s concern for her made her feel less alone, less frightened.

But a moment later, Dave returned a steely glare to the robber, who’d finished grabbing up the bagged money and stuffing her purse with bills. The thug backed toward the door, making his getaway.

Knowing that some punk was able to come in here, shoot people and take what wasn’t his, then waltz out again, offended Lilly on a deep, cellular level. Rage flared in her core like a blacksmith’s furnace. She wanted to launch herself at the man and claw his eyes. Wanted to scream in his face the way he’d—

A man from the street entered the bank, walking blindly into the robbery. The thief spun around. Panicked. Fired toward the new customer. Lilly jolted, stunned.

The man from the street grabbed his side, then turned and ran out.

Screams filled the bank lobby as the robber fired again toward a desk where a secretary had crawled to hide. When the robber aimed his weapon at the front counter of the bank, Lilly rolled toward a stuffed chair in the waiting area outside the loan offices.

Two more shots rang out. Different weapon. Different pitch to the blasts.

Shaking, she peered out from behind the chair. The robber was hunched forward, his shooting arm limp. Spitting out a curse, his booty clutched in his left hand, the robber scuttled toward the exit. Another shot boomed from the new weapon, shattering a glass partition at the bank entrance. And then...silence. As if everyone in the bank was holding their breath, uncertain. Was it over?

Lilly sat up slowly, trembling, her mind reeling, her heart slamming against her ribs. A groan, a sudden movement near the fallen guard, drew her attention. Dave had surged to his feet, a gun in his hand, and he jogged, limping, toward the door where the robber had fled. The expression he wore was determined. Murderous.

* * *

He’d kill the sonofabitch, Dave swore, gritting his back teeth in pain as he rushed out of the bank. Given a clear shot, he would stop that bank-robbing cretin from maiming innocent bystanders, assaulting old ladies and killing security guards ever again. But his bum leg slowed him down. He didn’t make it to the parking lot before the robber had climbed into a rusty sedan and was racing onto the main road through town. Dave knew better than to fire at a moving vehicle on a city street. Too many drivers shared the road, too many people had poked their heads out of nearby businesses, likely having heard the gunfire.

Growling under his breath, he lowered the revolver he’d taken off Deputy Hanover, and raised a hand to rub his face. He stopped when the blood on his palm caught his eye. A sick feeling swelled in his gut. He’d tried to help the fallen guard, but the older man had died even as Dave tended him. He’d had his hand on the man’s chest and felt the slow drub of his heart stop.

“Dave!”

He faced Lilly as she stepped out of the bank, warily eyeing the parking lot and the gun still in his hand. He sighed heavily. “He got away.”

Even to his own ears, he sounded defeated. Could he have stopped the robbery? He’d known Deputy Hanover had a revolver on his belt, but for better or worse, he’d made aiding the wounded man his priority.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked Lilly.

She shook her head. “Just scared me.” She blew out a tremulous breath. “I’ve never had a gun pointed at my head before. So not fun.”

He twisted his mouth in wry agreement. “No.”

Her gaze dipped to the red staining his hands. “Is any of that blood yours?”

“No. It’s Deputy Hanover’s.” Dave furrowed his brow, felt a knot of emotion tighten his throat. “He didn’t make it.” The answer scraped from his throat, as rough as sandpaper.

“No, he didn’t,” she said. “I checked on him before I came out here. I’m sorry.”

Regret poured through him. He’d weighed his options, tried to balance the risk of agitating the robber and drawing more fire on innocents against the possibility of putting an end to the crime in progress. When the scumbag had shot at Gill Carver and his cell phone, he’d made his choice to act. But he’d had to work to get the weapon out from under the dead security guard’s hip without drawing attention.

Too little, too late.

That had become a theme with him. Forget roads. He was paving entire interstates to hell with all his useless good intentions.

The whine of a siren filtered through the rattling thoughts and recriminations in his brain.

“We should go back inside.” Lilly touched his arm. “You don’t want to be standing out here with that gun when the cops arrive.”

His cheek twitched in a weak grin. “True that.”

Dave followed Lilly back into the bank, his leg throbbing from the recent abuse of diving to the floor, crawling around and attempting to run with his full weight on it. Inside, the other customers and personnel of the bank were huddled in clusters. One group tended to Gill Carver, the man whose hand had been shot, and that was the direction Lilly went first. Another group surrounded the branch manager, who held a phone to his ear, and a few women were comforting the younger teller, who seemed to be hyperventilating. Someone had draped their coat over the fallen security guard, covering his wound and face.

Dave laid the revolver on the ground next to Hanover, nudging the weapon out of sight with his toe. He grabbed a bunch of facial tissues from a box on a secretary’s desk, along with a squirt of hand sanitizer, and cleaned as much blood from his hands as he could. Drying his palms on the seat of his jeans, he headed over to Rose Charmand, who sat in one of the lobby chairs with another woman crouched beside her.

She gave him a wobbly smile as he approached. “Well, that was a bit more excitement than I’d expected for today.”

Dave kneeled, grunting in pain, and took Rose’s hand. “Are you all right? I saw him hit you.”

“With a stack of money,” she added and gave a hooting laugh. “That’s one I can cross off my bucket list!” She held up a finger, gnarled with arthritis, and added, “No, wait. Not getting slapped with money. Rolling naked in money. That’s what’s on my bucket list.”

Dave flashed her a grin while trying fervently not to picture the septuagenarian doing anything naked. He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lilly approach and squat beside Rose’s chair, next to the other woman. Rose acknowledged Lilly with a smile. “Oh, good. You made it. I called this meeting today to discuss the future of the kingdom. Who will reign when I’m gone?”

Dave arched an eyebrow. “How hard did he hit your head?”

The woman next to her chuckled. “Can’t blame a concussion for that craziness. That’s typical Rose. Best evidence yet that she’s fine.”

“Are you fine? Both of you? Any injuries or shortness of breath?” Lilly asked, giving both of the women a close look.

Dave regarded Lilly, remembering vaguely that Helen had said her sister was an ER nurse in Denver.

Rose and the other woman both shook their heads.

“How is Gill’s hand?” Dave asked, nodding toward the injured man.

“Mostly just cut up as the phone busted in pieces. Someone wrapped it in a shirt. He’ll be fine until he gets to the ER for stitches.” She drew a deep breath and added, “The bullet is lodged in the floor, mere inches from where his head was.”

Dave bit his bottom lip to catch the curse word he refused to say in front of Rose.

“Hmph,” Rose said, her expression pinched with distaste. “Too bad the bullet didn’t get Gill in the ass, so he’d know what we feel whenever he’s around shootin’ off his mouth.”

The teller beside Rose covered a laugh, and Dave bit the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. Gill might be a pain in the butt, but he didn’t want to appear insensitive in front of Lilly, who frowned at Rose’s harsh remark.

“I’m going to check on Shelly. Don’t give away my claim to the throne,” the other woman told Rose. With a wink, she stood and moved to the group comforting the sobbing younger teller.

Dave and Lilly locked gazes for a moment before Rose said, “You two do know each other through Helen, right? I saw you talking before that—that...jackass came in waving his gun.”

He wasn’t sure why, but hearing Rose curse after he’d censored his own reaction brought a brief grin to Dave’s face. Lilly’s countenance remained grim, however, and he sobered quickly, remembering Deputy Hanover...and the subject of his previous conversation with Lilly.

“Yes,” Lilly said, her tone subdued. “We know each other.” She held his gaze and said, “You’re limping.” A statement, not a question.

“Yeah. Broke my leg and had a rod put in back in December. Helen didn’t tell you?”

Her expression reflected a moment of realization, then sadness. “Oh, right. She did mention it. In all this confusion, I just...” She waved her hand vaguely and didn’t finish the thought.

The memory of Helen hovering at his side after he’d broken his leg made his heart squeeze, and he tore his gaze from Lilly’s before she read too much in his eyes.

A sound at the front door and new voices drew his attention as deputies from the sheriff’s department entered the building. Within minutes, the tense process of questioning and evidence-gathering began.

* * *

Lilly twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, trying her best to answer the deputy’s questions. The loan office and the branch manager’s office had been commandeered for interviews, and after two tedious hours of waiting, she’d been called in to give her statement.

She’d finished recounting the events, up to the point where the robber was making his getaway and Dave had returned fire.

“Where did Mr. Giblan get the gun?” the officer asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. I assume he used the security guard’s gun.”

“Did you see a weapon on Mr. Giblan when you spoke to him before the robbery?”

Lilly shook her head. “No. But I wasn’t looking for one.”

“How many shots did Mr. Giblan fire?” the deputy asked.

“I don’t—” Remembering the deputy’s previous request to think hard when she’d voiced her uncertainty, she closed her eyes and let the terrifying moments replay in her head, working to recall specifics of something she’d rather blank from her mind. One bang. Two. The robber jerking, then his arm going limp.

“Maybe two? I think at least one shot hit the guy. He hunched forward, and his gun arm seemed to go slack.” She reviewed the scene again, and a chill raced down her back. “I think he fired again as the robber ran out. The glass by the main door shattered.” What she knew for certain was that Dave had stopped the gunman from firing any more random shots at the bank customers. His actions had probably saved lives.

“Dave made the right call. He’s a hero,” she said, more voicing her thoughts than answering the deputy’s questions. “He stopped the guy from hurting anyone else.” She surprised herself, defending Dave’s actions even before anyone criticized.

The deputy frowned. “Officially speaking, our office cannot condone or encourage vigilantism.”

Vigilantism? The word conjured images in her brain of old Westerns with cowboys hunting down bad guys and taking revenge on all degree of criminals and cretins. She pictured Dave on his knee beside the older teller, his hand clutching hers as he comforted her and joked about her bucket list. The word vigilante didn’t mesh with the gentle man she’d witnessed in those moments.

“And then what happened?” the deputy asked.

She retold the robber’s escape, Dave’s pursuit, how she’d checked on the guard and found him dead, before following Dave outside.

“Did you see the suspect after you left the building?”

She shook her head. “He was gone by then. Dave said he’d driven off in a hurry in a—”

“I can’t use hearsay, ma’am. Only what you saw or heard, firsthand.”

She flipped up her palm. “Then that’s all I have. Dave and I went back inside and checked on Mrs. Charmand and the other patients’ conditions until—”

“Patients?” the deputy said, interrupting her again.

She blinked, thinking about what she’d said. “Oh, well, I guess that’s how I think of them. I’m a nurse, and my focus was treating injuries. Sort of triage. Checking everyone’s physical and mental condition. There was another customer there who also has medical training—as a veterinarian—who was helping out, as well. He was keeping an eye on the man with the injured hand while I surveyed the rest of the group.”

The deputy nodded and glanced down at his clipboard. He handed her a business card. “If you remember anything else that could be helpful, please contact us.”

Out of habit, she reached behind her for her purse. Stopped. Her shoulder gave a small twinge as she remembered the violent tug when the robber had ripped the bag from her. The thief had her wallet, her keys, her phone and a dozen other things she’d miss. Her favorite hairbrush. That perfect shade of plum lipstick she’d just bought. The Dior sunglasses, a splurge she’d bought on her last vacation with Helen. The butterfly key chain her mother had bought her when they’d gone to Dollywood when she was nine years old. Every lily needs a butterfly, and you are the prettiest flower of all. Her sentimental fondness for and collection of butterfly-themed items began that day. A hollow ache filled her heart for the lost memento.

Sighing, she stood and exited the small office. Now what? She had no car keys to get home. The thief had... Another realization slammed her like a gut punch. The bank robber had everything she’d just taken from Helen’s lockbox. The jewelry pieces that had been their mother’s, Helen’s passport and birth certificate and God knows what else that had been in those little boxes and envelopes she’d scooped into her purse to examine later. Irreplaceable things that Helen had treasured.

Anger, grief and residual fear flashed through her in an overwhelming flood. Her knees buckled as she walked into the lobby of the bank, and she sank—crumpled, really—into a chair near the front door. Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream she wanted to let loose. Instead, she cried, shoulders shaking and her chest aching as she struggled for a breath between sobs. Other than the day she’d learned about Helen’s murder, she’d been strong, she’d held it together. But the loss of the things from Helen’s lockbox felt like losing her sister all over again.

“Lilly?”

She jerked her head up. Dave stood beside her, his eyes narrowed with concern. She dashed her hand under her eyes, swiping at the tears. “What do you want?”

He lowered himself awkwardly onto an adjacent chair, favoring his right leg, which he extended stiffly in front of him. He leaned toward her and pitched his voice low. “Are you all right?”

She dismissed him with a snort. “Peachy.”

“Can I do anything?” he asked, his voice a soft rumble. Compassionate. Soothing. The way it had been when he’d spoken with the older teller. To continue to rebuff him with sarcasm in light of his kindness would only make her look bitchy, so she modulated her expression and simply shook her head.

“Okay,” he said after a brief pause in which he studied her with an unnerving scrutiny. He pushed back to his feet with a soft grunt of pain as he put weight on his bad leg. “Goodbye, Lilly. I’ll be by the house later this week to get my things.”

The house...

“Dave, wait.” She dabbed at her runny nose and drew a cleansing breath. “Could you...drive me home? The robber took my purse...with my keys. You could get your things now, and I could get the spare keys for my car and come back up to retrieve it.” She hated asking anything of the man who’d failed her sister in so many ways, but her proposal was the most logical solution to two issues.

Dave scratched the back of his head as he considered her request for all of three seconds. “Um, sure.” He spread his hands. “Of course. You ready?”

She stood and smoothed the seat of her slacks. “Yes. More than ready.”

Lilly followed him out to his truck, and he held the passenger door for her while she climbed in the cab.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said after he slid behind the steering wheel. He tossed a few fast food wrappers and empty drink cans behind the seat. “I’d have cleaned up if I’d known you would be—”

“Don’t bother,” she said giving him a flat look. “My opinion of you and how you treated my sister is not going to change in the next twenty minutes while you get your things from her house.”

Dave firmed his mouth, and his eyebrows dipped in a low line over his dark brown eyes. Bedroom eyes, she could remember Helen calling them when she’d first started dating Dave and she’d gushed to Lilly about her handsome new boyfriend.

Okay, he was handsome. She’d give him that. But the mess in his car underlined the impression she’d formed in subsequent conversations about Dave. A man who was just too casual in his relationships, in his housekeeping, in most aspects of his life. No plan for the future. No commitments and few responsibilities.

She spotted a distinctive cone-shaped plastic sleeve on the floor and bent to pick it up. The grocery store sticker on the plastic wrap verified what the contents had been. Fresh floral arrangement, $8.99.

“Wooing a new girlfriend?” she asked, knowing her tone was brittle and not caring.

He started the engine and sent her a cool look. “No. Visiting the grave of the woman I miss every day.”

His reply shocked her. Shamed her. She hadn’t been to Helen’s grave since the funeral. She planned to go before she left town, but...it was too painful, and she hadn’t yet mustered the nerve to go.

“Oh.” She let the wrapper fall back to the floor. “Sorry. I...shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Like I said earlier,” he said, facing the road as he drove, “I was going to give her an engagement ring on New Year’s Eve.”

Lilly’s heart contracted. “She’d have said yes. She loved you, despite—”

He cut a sharp gaze toward her, his dark eyes full of pain, but said nothing.

Lilly cursed under her breath. “Dave, I guess it’s obvious I’m no fan of yours. You strung her along for five years, forgot important anniversaries—”

“I know.”

“—dismissed her unhappiness when she tried to talk about it, flirted with other women in front of her—”

“Now that’s not true!”

“—stood her up on her birthday—” Lilly’s volume grew as her anger heated.

“That wasn’t my fault!” he argued, matching her volume. “There was an emergency at the Double M, and I couldn’t get away. I explained that to her, and we went out the next night!”

“And you were always making excuses for your shortcomings. Never taking responsibility for your screwups with her!”

He smacked the steering wheel and shouted, “I know I did! I hate myself for it!”

She fell silent, studying him. He flexed his hand then squeezed the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared as he breathed deeply.

After a moment, he cut a dark glare toward her, his tone calmer, quieter. “I regret it every hour of every day. She deserved better. I let her down. I know that.”

Lilly turned toward the side window, blinking away the tears that stung her eyes. Why had she lit into him like that? Berating him wouldn’t change the past, wouldn’t bring Helen back. Helen had loved him, despite his shortcomings, and she’d be appalled to know Lilly was calling him to task for the things she’d confided in sisterly phone conversations. Venting, Helen had called it. Maybe all women needed to let off steam now and then about their mates’ foibles. If she’d vented to Helen about Alan’s faults and transgressions, would she have been in a better position to have saved her own marriage? She’d never know. Alan was gone, remarried, and she was...

Lilly closed her eyes. Never mind what she was. Where she was. What she’d do next. She just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. One day at a time. She might be alone in the world, but she would not wallow in self-pity. She would be strong, like her mother had been after Dad left.

But in the short term, she simply wanted to complete her business with Dave Giblan and see him on his way so that she never again had to see the man who was a painful reminder of Helen’s too-short life. After that, she’d pour a large glass of wine and put this horrible day behind her.

* * *

After their brief shouting match, Lilly grew sullenly silent. Dave wasn’t proud of himself for responding to her anger and accusations with the heat he’d used. After all, everything she’d said was true, was something he’d castigated himself for in the last few months. Most everything. But the fact that he had a legitimate excuse for missing her birthday dinner was cold comfort in hindsight. Had he not been so prone to disappointing her, the birthday dinner would have been more easily forgiven. Instead it had been just another letdown on a long list that she’d reported to her sister.

“How long will you be off work?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He rubbed his leg almost without thought and sighed. How long, indeed? “I should be released by the doctor to return to limited work in another month or two.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, except...”

She turned and met his glance. “What?”

“The McCalls told me when I broke my leg that I’d have a job waiting when I was ready to come back, but...they’ve hired a couple replacement hands already. One is a woman. A former rodeo champion.”

“Really? A woman?” she asked, clearly intrigued.

“You ever meet Zoe Taylor at the diner in town?”

She nodded. “Good food. Nice lady. I remember her.”

“It’s her daughter they hired. Back right after Christmas. Then earlier this spring they brought on another guy. I can’t see them taking me back and letting one of them go, so...”

“Maybe they’ll keep them and take you back,” she offered.

“Not unless they’ve recovered more from their financial setbacks than I’ve heard. Things were real tight last year.” He shook his head and squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m guessing I’ll have to look elsewhere for work.”

She hummed her acknowledgment then aimed a finger out the side window. “This is your turn.”

He faced her and lifted a corner of his mouth in a sad smile. “Yeah, I know.”

She twisted her mouth in a chagrined frown. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

An-n-nd...the awkward silence was back.

When they reached Helen’s house, Dave parked in the side drive and cut the engine. Even before he could unfasten his seat belt and hobble around the front end of his truck, Lilly was out and hurrying up the front steps. She walked to the end of the porch, where she lifted a flowerpot with a dead plant—some kind of Christmas plant that still had tinsel and tiny red balls on it—and extracted the spare key hidden there. Dave stared at the brown needles and wilted boughs of the tiny tree while Lilly unlocked the door. Helen would be crushed to know her plants had died. She’d had the golden touch with so many domestic things. Cooking, gardening, sewing. He’d teased her about it, calling her “Mary Homemaker.” Now he wished he could tell Helen how much he regretted teasing her. That, in truth, he admired her talents.

The familiar squeak of the screen door hinges snapped him from his deliberations. Lilly pushed open the front door, and he followed her inside.

“The box of stuff I’ve been collecting for you is in the back. Wait here while I get it.” Lilly waved a hand toward the sofa in the living room as she headed down the hall.

Dave didn’t want to sit. If Lilly was selling the house, this could be the last time he was here. He had a load of memories, both good and bad, invested in this house, and he wanted a last look around. Closure, he thought people called it.

He wandered into the kitchen, the heart of Helen’s home, and he pictured her at her stove cooking up one of her many drool-worthy dishes. She’d loved cooking, baking, creating new foods that were state-fair blue-ribbon quality. He scanned the counters, imagining the cookie jar and cake stand full of her latest indulgent dessert. He’d definitely eaten well while he’d dated Helen.

He spied a glass hummingbird figurine on the windowsill over her sink and went to pick it up. He’d given her the hummingbird for her birthday the first year they’d been dating. She’d fawned over it in a gift shop when they’d gone hiking at Rocky Mountain National Park, and he’d doubled back to the shop without her knowing to buy it. One of the few romantic gestures he’d ever done for her. His lungs tightened with grief when he thought of the bright smile she’d given him when she opened the gift. Why hadn’t he tried harder to make her that happy all the time?

He would keep the hummingbird, he decided, as evidence that he hadn’t been a complete heel and a reminder of one of their better days. As he reached for the figurine, he noticed odd stains in the sink. The spots looked like...blood. Frowning, he followed the trail of drips from the sink toward the hall. Another line of blood spots went from the sink toward the back door. And there, on the door frame, was a smear of red. What the...?

A prickling uneasiness skittered up his spine. He moved to the back door to get a closer look at the smudge and, through the decorative glass door, he noticed a familiar-looking car parked behind the house. A sedan that seemed to be held together by rust and prayers.

With his next breath, he connected the dots and remembered where he’d seen the battered sedan...

And horror constricted his lungs.

He spun to run to the bedroom, to get Lilly out of the house before—

A chilling scream ricocheted down the hall, and Dave knew.

Once again, he was too late.




Chapter 3 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Steeling himself, Dave slid one of Helen’s best knives from the butcher’s block. He sent up a silent prayer as he moved as quickly and quietly as he could down the hall toward the master bedroom. He pressed his back to the wall. Stopped outside the bedroom and leaned sideways to peer around the door frame.

“I know you’re out there, man,” a voice said from inside the room, along with Lilly’s muted whimpers of fear. “Get in here, before I blast a hole in this one’s pretty head.”

Dave hesitated. Did he dare? Was following the robber’s demands his best move, or was there some better course of action he couldn’t see?

He touched his pocket in search of his cell phone, and his heart sank as he remembered he’d left it his truck, charging. He mouthed a vile word. His thoughts were scattered, adrenaline hiking his pulse and blood thundering in his ears. He only had a knife. The cretin had a gun, one he’d been quick to use at the bank.

“Do it, man! I swear to you, I’ll shoot her!”

Dave believed him.

Sticking the knife in his jeans at the small of his back and covering it with his shirt, he raised his hands and crept into the bedroom. His eyes went first to Lilly, wanting to assure himself she was unharmed. She stood trembling, at the business end of the robber’s gun, and her terrified eyes pleaded with Dave for help. He gave her a small nod, trying to reassure her he’d do whatever he could.

He shifted his attention to the robber, sizing him up with a rapid up-and-down glance, then a closer scrutiny of the punk’s face. The robber from the bank had shed the black hoodie, his countenance now fully visible. He was younger than Dave had estimated when he talked to the cops after the robbery. Midtwenties maybe. Large ears. Extremely short brown hair. Rounded nose. Acne scars. A wan complexion. His expression was pinched, his face sweating despite the cool temperature in the house. His breathing was shallow, fast.

“Well, well,” the gunman said, curling his lip. “If it ain’t Mr. Hero from the bank.”

Remembering the blood he’d seen in the kitchen, Dave dropped his gaze briefly to the dark stain on the man’s side, just under his arm. Pain, then. That’d explain the guy’s pale appearance and rapid breathing. Dave had a brief moment of self-satisfaction, knowing one of his shots at the bank had hit the robber.

When the thief’s glare narrowed on him, any smugness vanished. The robber had the upper hand now, and Dave could only pray he wouldn’t be vengeful. And what were the odds of that mercy?

“Get in here!” The thug jerked his head toward the bathroom door. “Get the belt from that robe and bring it here. Hurry up!”

Dave glanced at the bathrobe in question, a light blue silky number. Lilly’s he’d wager, since he was certain he’d never seen it on Helen. Again he hesitated, hating to comply but seeing no option while the guy had a gun on Lilly.

Maybe before he’d hurt his leg he’d have felt more confident in his ability to overtake the robber, but his bum leg slowed him considerably. When he didn’t move for a couple seconds, the robber swung the gun toward him and fired into the wall just inches from his head.

Lilly screamed, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Do what he says, Dave. Please.”

“Yeah, Dave,” the guy mocked. “Do what I say. I can’t promise no one will get hurt, but it’s still the wiser choice.”

Expelling a harsh breath and trying to keep his back and any evidence of the knife facing away from the robber, Dave moved slowly to the robe. He removed the belt and carried it to the robber.

In a move Dave had been unprepared for, the robber dropped his grip on Lilly and shoved the gun under Dave’s chin instead. “Now hand her the belt.”

He did.

Lilly took the silky strip of fabric and swallowed audibly.

Keeping the weapon trained on Dave’s head, the robber eased behind him, yanked up Dave’s shirt and pulled the knife from Dave’s jeans. He scoffed, “Nice try, Hero, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He tossed aside the knife, and it clattered as it fell onto the linoleum floor of the bathroom.

“Now, you,—” he looked to Lilly “—tie his hands behind him.”

Lilly met Dave’s eyes, as if asking what she should do. The robber noticed her hesitation, her subtle eye consultation, and shouted, “I’m not playing around here, lady! If either of you tries something, I will shoot you both in a heartbeat and lose no sleep over it. Now, move!”

She edged past Dave and gave his hand a squeeze before pulling his wrists together. He kept his arms slightly apart, allowing for some slack in the belt as she wrapped it loosely.

Dave heard the robber huff a frustrated breath. “What did I just say?”

When neither of them answered him, he yelled, “What did I just say?”

Lilly gasped and whispered, “I... I’m not—”

“No tricks! Tie him tighter.”

“It’s okay, Lilly,” Dave said, hoping to ease her guilt.

She drew the belt tighter, still allowing for a degree of comfort and a slim chance of freeing his hands later.

“Tighter!” their captor growled.

She cinched the belt marginally tighter, then inhaled sharply when the thug grabbed the belt and jerked it, hard.

“Now tie it off and find something to bind his feet.”

* * *

Lilly’s stomach churned sourly as she knotted the ends of her belt around Dave’s wrists. Without Dave’s assistance, how was she supposed to escape the robber? Maybe the bastard had no intention of leaving them alive to bear witness to his crimes. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he killed them yet?

He swung the gun toward her again, and her pulse leaped.

“You got some rope somewhere? Or tape?” He shifted his gaze to the boxes she’d been packing. “Where’s the tape you’ve used on these?”

“I, uh, don’t remember.”

The gunman stepped toward her, making a low growl in his throat. “Find it.”

As they started out of the bedroom, the gunman smacked the butt of the gun against Dave’s head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious. Lilly gave a cry of distress. Anger, fear and concern for Dave tangled in the plaintive sound.

“Let’s go. I’ve got plans for you.” He jerked his head toward the door to the hall, and steered her toward the front of the house. “First, find that tape, then you’re gonna take care of this.” Lifting his shirt, he dipped his chin and his gaze to the wound in his side.

“Me?”

“You’re a nurse, ain’t cha?” he asked, lifting a thick eyebrow.

She blinked, and an itchy feeling crawled down her spine. “How d-did you know?”

His dismissive expression was the equivalent of a shrug. “Went through your purse to find anything that I thought would help me. Very informative, your purse. Found your name badge from the hospital in Denver. What’s the name again? Lorna? Lisa?”

She held her breath, disgust writhing in her gut.

“Lilly?” he asked, and she couldn’t stop the cringe. He laughed. “Lilly. We have a winner.”

Violated was too mild of a word for what she was feeling. Her skin crawled as if he was pawing her, stripping her naked and—

Bile surged up in her throat. I’ve got plans for you...

He could still do much worse to violate her than going through her purse, learning details of her life against her will. They entered the living room, and she spotted the large roll of packing tape, one of many she’d bought, on the coffee table.

He jabbed the gun in her back. “Get that tape.”

She retrieved the roll and carried it back to the bedroom, the muzzle of his weapon poking her between the shoulder blades. Following his orders, she removed Dave’s boots and socks, then lashed Dave’s feet together.

“Keep going,” her captor said when she would have stopped at a few layers. “More around his ankles, then tape his legs to the bed, so he can’t go anywhere.”

Her heart in her throat, she bound Dave’s feet to the leg post of Helen’s bed. When she finished securing Dave, she crawled to his head and examined the red knot on his forehead. The goose egg was swelling outward. A good sign. Maybe he’d escaped damage to his skull, his brain. Then she lifted his eyelids to check his pupils. They were responsive to light, which was also good, and he groaned as she probed him, which was even more encouraging.

“What are you doing?” the gunman snarled. “Get away from him.”

“You hurt him. He needs medical attention.”

The man sneered. “Screw him. It’s his fault I’m not headed to Mexico right now. I need medical attention.”

Her gaze darted to the bloodstain on his shirt. “How bad is it?”

He raised his shirt again to show her the bullet wound. “Hurts like fire, but you’re better able to say how bad it is.”

Inhaling deeply for composure, Lilly tried to push aside her fear and focus on the robber not as her captor and a murderer, but as her patient. She examined the gash on his side but didn’t touch it. Her hands hadn’t been sanitized. “It’s deep, but it looks like a flesh wound. I need more light and a chance to wash my hands before I can examine it any closer. It needs to be irrigated and disinfected for starters, probably a butterfly bandage or stitches.”

Inspiration struck.

“Yes, definitely stitches.” She pinned the man with the steadiest look she could, praying for the authority in her voice that would cover her duplicity. “You need to go to the local ER. Stat. Without cleansing and stitches, the wound can fester, lead to sepsis—”

His eyes narrowed. “Sepsis?”

“That’s when infection spreads throughout the body. Sepsis can lead to organ failure and death.”

The gunman frowned and cocked his head. “Bullshit.”

She squared her shoulders. “I’m serious. Sepsis is dangerous. That wound, left untreated, could easily spread infection throughout your body and make you very ill.” She squeezed her hands in fists at her sides, trying to stop them from shaking. She was taking great liberties, exaggerating the seriousness of his condition, and he couldn’t know she was trying to scare him with medical horror stories. “Why do you think so many people died in the old days from things as simple as a stab wound or strep throat? They didn’t have the means to fight infection the way we do now. Simple infections spread and overwhelmed patients’ defenses.”

He seemed to be considering her warning, but the doubt never left his gaze. The muscle in his jaw worked, and he leaned close enough for her to smell his fetid breath. “I ain’t going to the hospital.”

His tone was dark and low. Final.

Her heart beat hard enough for him to see the quivering of her shirt if he looked. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm the skittering sensation there. “You should. You need—”

“Shut it! Anything needs doin’, you do it. You think I stopped off here at your house instead of hightailing it out of town ’cause I like your decorating?”

His comment sent a jolt through her. Her mouth dried. “What?”

“I said, you’re gonna doctor me. Now get to it!” He grabbed her arm and shook it. “Whatcha need? You got a first-aid kit or something?”

She shook herself from the shock of his comment about why he’d retreated to Helen’s house and waved vaguely toward the bathroom. “I’m, um, sure we can find s-something in the bathroom.”

He waved her that direction with the muzzle of the gun. “Get on with it then. I don’t want none of that sepsis stuff you talked about.”

She moved to the master bathroom, which adjoined the bedroom, casting a glance to Dave as she passed his prostrate form on the ground. His eyes were closed and he was still, but she thought she saw the muscle in his jaw tense as they walked past. Bound hand and foot as he was, she knew he would be no help to her if things went south with the bank robber.

She was on her own. As usual. She should have been used to the feeling, but somehow, under the circumstances, “on her own” was emptier. Bleaker. Scarier.

Lilly opened the cabinets in Helen’s bathroom and rummaged the shelves for anything she could use. First-aid disinfecting spray. Hydrogen peroxide. Bandages. Tylenol. Sterile pads.

“Take your shirt off,” she said as she set the items on the counter around the sink.

Giving her a wary eye, he set the gun on the rim of the bathtub behind him and carefully peeled off his T-shirt.

She washed her hands and dried them on a clean towel, then began ripping open sterile pads to begin cleaning the wound. “Can you raise your arm? I need better light on it.”

Grunting, he held his arm up to shoulder level, then winced when he tried to move it higher.

“That’s good. Hold it there.” She really wanted to irrigate the gash but didn’t see anything—a squirt bottle or syringe—for the sterile wash. She began dabbing at the wound with a sterile pad soaked with disinfecting spray. Cutting a quick glance to her captor as she worked, she asked, “What did you mean about coming here instead of getting out of town?”

“What do you think?” he scoffed. “On top of a place to lay low, I needed doctoring and couldn’t go to the ER. When I found your hospital name tag in your purse, I knew you could fix me up.”

A sick feeling washed through her, and she stilled as the truth sank in. The cretin had come here because of her. Her life, Dave’s life,was in danger because the robber had sought her out. Horror crawled through her and soured in her gut.

“But...” She paused for a breath, forcing her concentration back to his wound. “My name tag is for a Denver hospital. How did you find this house?”

“The envelope full of goodies in your purse. All the documents listed someone named Helen Shaw with this address.”

Lilly’s heart seemed to slow. The things from Helen’s safe-deposit box. The nausea swirling through her intensified.

The thug continued, “Figured that had to be where you were staying while in town.” He snorted. “I ain’t as stupid as I look.” He turned his head to eye her. “So should we be expecting Helen to join us soon?”

Tears filled Lilly’s eyes, and she whispered hoarsely, “No.”

“You sure about that? If I find out you’re lying to me—”

“She’s dead.” Lilly met his gaze directly, angry that he’d forced her to speak the words she’d been trying to avoid since December. “She was murdered right before Christmas.”

He held her stare as if searching for deception, then muttered, “Damn. That’s gotta make for a sucky holiday.”

She scoffed bitterly. “You think?” Dropping her gaze to continue dressing his wound, she grumbled, “Kinda like the sucky days that poor old security guard’s family will have thanks to you?”

His lip curled up on one side, and he stuck his face close to hers. “I did what I had to. Better him than me.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing that debating the morality and necessity of his actions wouldn’t be productive. She swabbed his wound harder, not caring any more if she hurt him.

He hissed in pain. “Hey, take it easy!”

“You want it cleaned or not?”

His only answer was a scowl.

As her initial flood of fear and adrenaline receded, lulled by the familiarity of the task at hand, a new feeling swelled inside her, boosted by her anger and grief over Helen, fueled by her disgust for the man who’d invaded Helen’s house and terrorized her. A boldness. A realization that if she was going to die today, she didn’t want to go quietly.

Maybe, if she could get the gunman to see her, make some kind of connection with her, he’d have a harder time shooting her.

After another moment of working to clean the wound, she asked, “So you got a name?”

“Of course I do. Everyone does.” He arched an eyebrow as he turned a smug look on her. “But I ain’t telling you mine.”

“Is that fair? You know mine, but won’t tell me yours?”

He gave a brittle laugh. “Fair? What do you think this is—kindergarten? Life ain’t fair. Deal with it.”

“No. Life is certainly not fair. A fair life wouldn’t have seen my sister murdered, my father leaving us when I was nine, or my mother dead from breast cancer when she was barely fifty.”

He flinched. If she hadn’t had her eyes fixed on the wound she was doctoring, she might have missed the small shudder that rolled through him.

“What?” she asked, eyeing him.

“What what?”

“Do you know someone who died of cancer? Your mom?”

He angled a glare at her.

“Was it breast cancer?” Keeping half her attention on his expression, she finished disinfecting the bullet wound and moved on to clean the rest of the blood from his arm and chest.

He snatched his arm away to unbuckle the analog watch from his wrist. He turned to the sink, took a rag from the tiny shelf over the toilet and began washing his arm and chest for himself. “My mother died of a drug overdose in a crack house in California,” he said coldly, his resentment obvious. “At least that’s what my dad told me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He snorted. “Good riddance.”

“Then someone else had cancer?”

He pressed his mouth in a grim line and shot her another quelling stare. “Shut it.”

She raised her palm in acquiescence. “Fine. Fine.”

As she turned toward the supplies she’d piled on the sink to find a butterfly bandage, she moved his watch out of the way. His hand clamped hard on her wrist. “Don’t touch that.”

“I was just moving—”

He gave her wrist a shake and another firm squeeze. “I said, don’t. Touch. My watch.”

She gave the watch another look, curious what about it made him so protective of it. She could tell by the well-worn leather strap that it was old. The face was scratched and the gold-toned metal case showed wear. A family heirloom perhaps? The thing didn’t look valuable but she knew well enough that you couldn’t put a price on sentimental items.

She nodded, and he released her arm. After picking out a bandage for his wound, she faced him in time to see him lift a hand to his chest and rub a neat, red scar there. A surgical scar, if she wasn’t mistaken. And it clicked.

“You had cancer!” she blurted before she could catch herself.

His head snapped up, and the startled, pained look in his eyes spoke for itself. In the next moment his countenance darkened, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled harshly. “Have,” he growled. “The damn thing came back.”




Chapter 4 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Dave’s head throbbed, but when he tried to raise a hand to his aching skull, he found his hands bound behind his back. He groaned and blinked against the overhead light that glared in his eyes.

He was on the floor. Why was he on the floor and—?

Angling his head, he discovered his feet were bound as well. A surreal notion of danger flooded him, setting his senses on full alert even before he could muddle through fog that muddied his brain. He turned his head, squinting against the light as he tried to place himself. The decor was familiar, yet...different. Helen’s room? Why—?

Reality crashed on him like a boulder, crushing him. Helen was dead. Bank robbery. Gunman at Helen’s house.

Lilly! His breathing accelerated, keeping time with his pulse, as he thought of Lilly alone with the bank robber. If he’d hurt her, if he’d...touched her... He couldn’t even think the more accurate word without fury scorching his veins. He tried to sit up, and the pounding in his head sent him back flat on the floor. Slowly.

So...head injury. The robber had smacked him on the temple. Hell...

A movement to his left snagged his attention, and he angled his head to peer into the shadows under Helen’s bed. A fluffy black-and-brown cat with a white chest blinked at him. Meowed softly.

But... Helen didn’t have a cat. So where...?

The sound of voices drew his attention away from the cat and toward the bathroom.

“I’m sorry.” Lilly’s voice. “I didn’t—”

“Shut up!” A male voice. Presumably the robber. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk at all! Just finish up with this and keep your trap shut. Okay?”

The man’s hostility set Dave on edge. The guy was armed, unpredictable and currently alone with Lilly. Dave rolled on his side and curled his body so that he could see his feet. He had a thick band of clear tape around his ankles. Then tape had also been looped around the leg of the bed. He was useless to defend Lilly if the dirt wad tried to hurt her.

“Do you want something for the pain?” Lilly asked, her voice drifting in from the bathroom. “I have Tylenol here, and I think I have ibuprofen in my purse. Assuming you didn’t lose the bottle when you snatched my purse from me.”

“Screw that. I have some of the good stuff. Serious painkillers.” There was a beat of silence, then the robber bit out a curse. “Left my pills in the car,” he grumbled.

“I can get them for you,” Lilly offered.

The cretin chortled. “Like hell you will. You’re going in there with your buddy. Are we done here?”

“I—”

“Never mind that.” He heard a clatter. “We’re done.”

Dave tensed as he realized they were returning to the bedroom. He had no plan, and he scrambled mentally. Should he pretend to still be unconscious? Was there anything nearby he could use as a weapon? His hands might be bound behind him but if the opportunity arose...

“Well, look who’s awake. Won’t be trying any more of your stupid tricks now, will you, Hero?” The robber shoved Lilly’s shoulder. “You. Get over there with him. On the floor.”

Lilly gave the gunman a disappointed look. “Is that really necessary? I’m not—”

“Yes,” the man replied, his expression sour. “It is necessary. Until I figure out what I’m gonna do with you two, how I’m gonna get out of town with this delay... Hell, if I’m going to leave town. Maybe hiding out here for a couple days is my best bet. Huh?”

Lilly stood motionless, staring at him. Her shoulders were back, and her eyes glowed bright with challenge.

Dave’s stomach swooped. What was she doing? Challenging a desperate man with a gun was asking for trouble. The thug had already proven his willingness to kill innocent bystanders. Dave tested the bindings on his wrists for the hundredth time. Nope. If the gunman attacked Lilly, he’d be useless to her. His incapacity clawed at his soul. He had to find a way to protect Lilly, to rescue her from this lunatic before she was hurt.

“Go!” The man gave Lilly’s shoulder a nudge and took a roll of packing tape from the top of the dresser.

Lilly trudged over to Dave and squatted beside him on the floor, taking a moment to check the bump on his head. “How do you feel? Any nausea? Double vision?”

She touched his face, just below the spot on his head that ached from the robber’s assault. Even the slight pressure of her fingers sent lightning bolts streaking under his skull. He sucked in a breath, startled by how much his head hurt—and by how good her cool touch felt on his skin. Despite the pain from the knot on his brow, Lilly’s soft caress, the concern in her green eyes and the subtle floral scent that surrounded her were a heady combination.

Dave shook his head slowly. “No. None of that. Just a sore skull.”

The screech of tape ripping from the roll redirected his attention to the robber. “Yeah, boo-hoo. You shot me. This—” he pointed to the bandage on his side just below his armpit “—ain’t no picnic, either. So stop your griping.”

Dave’s attention went to the revolver tucked in easy reach in the waist of the man’s threadbare jeans.

“He wasn’t griping,” Lilly said, glancing over her shoulder. “I asked him about his symptoms.”

Dave lifted an eyebrow as he glanced at Lilly, surprised to hear her defend him. She might hate him for his history with Helen, but they were united by their captivity at the hands of the bank robber. A frail and unfortunate connection, for sure, but not one he would dismiss. They needed to trust and depend on each other if they were going to survive this ordeal.

“Hands behind your back,” the cretin barked, kneeling beside Lilly.

Sighing, she complied. “What are you going to do with us?”

Dave was wondering the same thing. If the robber meant to kill them, wouldn’t he have done that already? Why bother binding them and holding them hostage if he meant to be rid of them?

“I don’t know.” The thug began wrapping the packing tape around her wrists, and she grimaced. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mr. Hero there screwed things up when he shot me. I should be a hundred miles from here by now.”

“Going where?”

The robber jerked a startled gaze toward Dave when he spoke. “Away from this Podunk town. That’s all you need to know.”

“In that rattletrap?” Dave said and scoffed. “You’d be lucky to make it fifty miles before something essential fell off or gave up the ghost.”

The thug narrowed his eyes on Dave. “Did I ask you?”

“Just sayin’.” Dave wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with his comments, but an idea niggled at the back of his head. He followed where the forming idea led him. “If you plan to make your getaway in that thing, you’re gonna need some work on the engine at least.”

“And you know this how?” the robber grumbled, pausing from his work binding Lilly’s wrists.

“I followed you outside the bank when you drove away. I heard the motor.” He lifted one shoulder. “I work on farm machinery primarily, but the ranch trucks need tweaks every now and then. I know engines.”

The robber held his stare for a tense moment before tearing off the tape and dropping Lilly’s hands. “Well, I can’t hardly take the thing into a shop around here and wait around while they give me a tune-up, now can I? Cops all over the state are looking for me by now.”

His gut felt as though snakes were writhing inside him, biting his flesh and filling his blood with poison. He swallowed hard and said, “I’ll do it.”

Beside him, Lilly stiffened. The robber blinked in surprise, then twisted his face with skepticism. “What?”

“I’ll fix your engine.” Confidence in his impromptu idea flowed through him, emboldening him. “If you’ll let us go, unharmed, then I’ll do whatever repairs are needed to get you on the road and out of state.”

Lilly gaped at him. The robber sat back on his heels and rubbed his cheek.

A bubble of hope swelled in his chest. This could work. He cocked his head in question as he eyed the robber. “So...do we have a deal?”




Chapter 5 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Dave held his breath, while in his mind, the details of his plan began spinning out and taking shape. This could work, if—

The thug snorted. “Nice try, Hero. But I wasn’t born yesterday. If I let you two go, your first stop will be the police, and I’ll have cops on my tail inside of twenty minutes.”

Dave’s hope deflated a little, but he wouldn’t give up. “We won’t go to the cops.”

“Sure, you won’t,” his captor said, sneering. “And the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus are real.” He faced Lilly. “Feet together, Lilly.”

“How about this,” Lilly said, complying with his demand. “We give you twenty-four hours to drive as far out of Colorado as you can before we go to the cops.”

The robber gave Lilly an ugly grin. “But that arrangement still has you going to the cops. And that is the deal breaker.” He tore another long strip of tape from the roll with a jarring rrriipp and began binding Lilly’s feet.

Dave gritted his back teeth. At least they were talking, negotiating. He knew that, deep down, the guy was intrigued, tempted. The thug had to know his car was crap and was on the verge of breakdown. The promise of repairs that would facilitate his escape had to be enticing the thug on some level. “Then don’t let us go.”

Lilly’s head swiveled toward him, her eyes wide, her mouth slack.

But he had the robber’s attention, and he continued, “I fix the crap-mobile, and you leave us safe and uninjured, still bound, right here in the bedroom. You drive away, scot-free. But you have to swear not to hurt us. We are not injured in any way. That is my deal breaker.”

He cut a brief look to Lilly, praying she’d trust him, and met her baffled expression.

The robber stood and tossed the rest of the tape roll on the dresser. He twisted his mouth as he glared at Dave. “We’ll see. I ain’t making any deals now. I’m hurtin’ and need time to rest, regroup. I’m better off hiding here while the cops spin their wheels lookin’ for me.” He rubbed his side, carefully touching his bandage before walking into the bathroom. When he returned, he wore his shirt and had the gun in his hand again. Scowling, he divided a hard look between them. “I gotta get my pain pills outta my car. Don’t try anything while I’m gone, or I swear I’ll start shooting off toes.”

The hardwood floor vibrated as the robber stomped out of the room.

Dave muttered under his breath, calling the cretin every foul name he could think of.

“You forgot ‘bastard’ and ‘son of a bitch,’” Lilly said quietly.

“Hmm. Didn’t forget ’em. I was saving them for you.”

She chuckled wryly, as he’d hoped she would, then fell silent. He searched for something, anything he could do to encourage her and buoy her spirits. As bad as things looked for them, he needed her not to give up, not to accept defeat. He’d rather she be fighting mad than fearful or hopeless.

She scooted across the floor, pushing with her bound feet and wiggling her bottom a little at a time, until, back to back, they could lean against each other. He heard—and felt—Lilly heave a sad sigh. “I’m so sorry I got you into this, Dave.”

He furrowed his brow, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What? How...?” He gave a short dry laugh. “How is any of this your fault?”

“He’s here at the house because of me. He told me that when I was cleaning out his gunshot wound.”

“Are you saying you know him? I noticed he used your name.”

“No. Nothing like that. It’s... He took my purse. Remember?”

He grunted an acknowledgment.

“Well, he saw my hospital ID in my purse and decided I was going to fix him up. He found Helen’s address on the stuff I took from her lockbox. I’m the reason he’s here. And I’m the reason you’re here, because I asked you to drive me and get your things.”

Her forlorn tone gouged at his heart. He wished he could comfort her in some way. A hug, a smile, a pat on the back, but none of those options were available to him. “Stop it.”

“Huh?”

“Stop blaming yourself. I could just as easily say it was my fault. If I hadn’t shot him, he wouldn’t have needed medical attention, and he wouldn’t have come here.”

He felt the movement, the stir of her hair as she shook her head. “No. I’m glad you shot him. You saved lives. He was panicking and firing at anyone who moved. Things were spiraling out of control, and you helped put an end to his reign of terror.”

Dave expelled a weary breath. “Until he ended up here, holding us hostage.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“Look, Lilly, if anyone is to blame for our situation, it is him. He robbed the bank. He broke into the house. He tied us up. Don’t take this on yourself.” He turned his head, wishing he could look into her eyes as he pleaded with her, but could only manage a glimpse of her slumped shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Now say it like you mean it.”

“Okay!” Her answer was edged with irritation, but he preferred that to her self-pity.

Dave inched his hands to hers and hooked a couple fingers with hers, the closest he could come to holding her hand while his wrists were bound as tightly as they were.

“I’m going to find a way to get you out of this mess, Lilly. I promise.”

“Don’t you mean get us out of this mess?” She gave a low, wry chuckle. “Seems to me you’re right in the middle of it yourself.”

“True enough, but...you’re my priority. If something happens to me, so be it. But I will do everything in my power to see you through this ordeal safely. I swear.”

She was silent, and he could imagine her skepticism.

“I know I don’t have a good track record, based on the promises I made Helen, but... I want to make up for all that.” He felt Lilly stiffen, her back straightening behind his. “For disappointing her. For falling short too many times. Her death was a wake-up call. Too late to do anything for her, I know. But... I will try to do better. For you.”

They sat in the silent room for several minutes. Then her hand moved. Her fingers curled to grip his more tightly. And a lightness spiraled through him. He’d been given a second chance. Although he’d failed Lilly’s sister, he had an opportunity to make a difference for Lilly.

Somehow he would. Or he’d die trying.

* * *

Lilly flinched when she heard the back door slam and the heavy footsteps of the robber returning.

“Listen, Lilly. If, at any time, he shoots at us,” Dave said, in a hushed and hurried voice, “get low. Try to get under the bed. I’ll do my best to cover you.”

Lilly’s heartbeat accelerated. While she’d been dwelling on the horridness of their situation, Dave had been working through strategies, possibilities. Plans that involved him sacrificing himself to protect her. “Dave, you can’t—”

“Just do it! Roll under the bed if at all possible. I’ll—”

“Hey!” The robber appeared again at the door of the bedroom, an orange prescription bottle in his hand, and he sent them a warning look. “What are you two talking about?”

Dave sat taller, and against her back, she felt the tension enter his body. “Nothing.”

The robber stepped into the room, his expression darkening. “Don’t lie. I heard you talking.”

“He was asking me if I was all right. If you’d hurt me,” Lilly said, hoping her apparent cooperation would win points, maybe a degree of trust. “I told him you hadn’t. That I’d helped you with your wound and that was it.”

The robber lifted an eyebrow and nodded slowly. As if remembering the pills in his hand, he twisted off the childproof lid, shook out a capsule and swallowed it without water. When he pressed the cap back on, he fumbled the bottle. It fell to the floor and rolled toward Lilly. The robber grumbled and trudged over to pick it up.

Lilly cut a quick glance to the prescription bottle, reading the label to see what he was taking, an address, anything she could glean about the man before he recovered the pills.

The chain-drugstore logo jumped out at her and below that tramadol and Wayne Mo—

Their captor snatched up the bottle and shoved it in his pocket.

“Wayne,” she said quietly, and he jerked is head around to glare at her.

“What?”

“That’s your name. Isn’t it? Wayne.”

He frowned as he blinked at her. “How’d you guess?”

“It was on the pills.”

He twisted his mouth in frustration and defeat but didn’t confirm her assertion.

“Tramadol,” she continued. “That’s heavy-duty stuff.”

His pale-eyed stare met hers. “Cancer causes heavy-duty pain.”

Dave raised his chin, his attention clearly snagged by this information.

The robber—Wayne—angled his head as he growled, “That’s right, Hero. I got cancer. So what? It doesn’t change a thing about this situation.” He motioned with the gun, indicating all three of them. “Now, you two behave yourselves while I go find something to eat and get some rest. I need to be sharp to figure out what’s gotta happen next, and right now, I feel like crap.”

He stopped at the door and pulled something from his back pocket. “Oh, and in case you were hoping to get your hands on this—”

He held up her cell phone, and Lilly’s gut swooped. Obviously he’d ransacked her stolen purse.

“—thinking you’d call the cops or someone would track you by it...think again.”

He stashed the gun in his waistband to free that hand and pried the protective, butterfly-decorated case off her phone. Wayne flipped over her phone, and thumb-scrolled one-handed through her screens of personal information.

“By the way,” he said with a smirk, “Gloria sends her best. Says she knows how hard this is for you and proposes you two go out for drinks when you get back.” He thumb-scrolled again, still reading her texts.

Lilly clenched her back teeth, fighting tears of outrage for his violation of her privacy. She hated being at this man’s mercy, feeling so helpless.

“Jillian is canceling for the thirtieth.” Wayne flicked a casual glance at her. “Forgot her kid had an orthodontist appointment. Wants to reschedule when you get back.” With a gloating grin twisting his mouth, he gazed at her from under hooded eyes. “Maybe she should say if you get back. Alan says the alimony check will be late next month. Still waiting for a client to pay their bill before he can pay you.” Wayne cast her a curious look. “Alimony, huh? Good news, Alan. You may soon be off the hook for that.”

“You ass,” Dave grumbled, his tone venomous.

Wayne ignored him and continued, “Gail P. sent a picture of a kid with ice cream on his face with an L-O-L. And someone named Isaac wants to trade work days on the weekend of the fourth. And, finally, your phone bill is ready for viewing and will auto-draft on the fifteenth.” He met her eyes and cocked his head. “There. All caught up. Now...”

Digging his fingernails into the side of the phone, he pried off the back, tapped out her battery, pinched the SD card from the slot and dropped the rest of the phone on the floor.

“Don’t!” she cried desperately, knowing what he had in mind a fraction of a second before he stomped the screen and shattered the device to sad pieces. Carrying the SD card in his fingers, he disappeared into the bathroom, and she heard him flush the commode.

She drew a deep breath, searching for the stoicism she wished she could present Wayne. Despite her best efforts, her sigh still shuddered with emotion. As Wayne emerged from the bathroom, she firmed her jaw and forced steel in her spine. She met his gloating grin with disdain in her glare.

“Problem solved. Now, keep it quiet in here.” Wayne strode to the door and shot them a minatory look. “Nothing has gone right today, and I’ve got to make a new plan.”




Chapter 6 (#u30a78ded-e4ca-5e9a-904e-2c7b5d364700)


Pressing his hand over the throbbing wound just under his arm, Wayne sank onto the sofa and rocked his head back to stare at the ceiling. The cottage-cheese texturing overhead was the same kind he’d had on his bedroom ceiling as a kid. Unlike this one, the ceiling in his bedroom had had spider webs dangling in the corners and a water stain by the light. He’d stared at the popcorn bumps many a night listening to his parents argue...or screw. Or hearing his mother rant about nonsense when she’d get high.

His bedroom had grown silent at night the day his mother OD’d. She’d gone out to meet up with her dealer and had never come back. No great loss there, he’d told himself stoically. With her death, he and his dad were free to do their own thing. Move around the country. Never look back.

Only time he missed her was when his dad vented the drunken rage he used to take out on his mom on him. The beatings forced Wayne to grow up fast. He’d learned to hide on the nights his dad drank, and as he gained his own muscle, he’d learned to fight back. His dad said facing the belt had toughened him up, taught him respect. Maybe it had. Mostly the beatings added bitterness to the love-hate relationship he’d had with his old man.

Moving slowly, Wayne raised his feet to the couch and stretched out, his gut full of sour reproach. If his dad could see how things had gotten screwed up today, he’d be laughing his ass off. Or smacking him around to teach him a lesson. He’d scorned his dad for checking out at the St. Louis hit. Today, Wayne had blown a much smaller job. Who was the real screwup?




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