Broken Fences (A TroubleMaker Novel, #1) (7 page)

“No he won’t.”
Colden yanked on the knot, tightening it, and DeSanto winced. “‘Cause when they
come for you, you’re gonna tell them where he is.” He reached down and checked
the rope around his ankle. “If you don’t,” he said, looking up at DeSanto
sternly, “you’ll have to deal with me.” Colden glanced over at Dusty, who was trying
to listen to their conversation. He kept his voice low when he turned back to
DeSanto. “And next time, she won’t be around to save your sorry ass.” He tugged
on the rope one last time. “There. He’s not going anywhere.”

Relieved finally
to have the threat on Dusty’s life all tied up, Colden put his hands on the
floor to get up, twisted around, and stopped when he saw his own gun aimed right
at him. He smiled, pleased that his tough girl hadn’t let him down. He’d scared
her by threatening to kill the man in the middle of her living room, and he
knew he should have realized that before he handed his weapon over, but he
couldn’t chance DeSanto getting loose and going for her. All things considered,
he’d had no other choice. Colden had to give her the gun so she could protect
herself.

“You’re not
going anywhere either, Colden.” Her hand was steady, but her voice shook with
each word. “Now grab the rope and tie up your own legs.”

He sank to the
floor, lounged back on his palms, and raised a knee. “And if I don’t?” he
tested with a playful tilt of the head.

She held the gun
firm in her hand and frowned at him.

He let out a
small chuckle. “Come on, Dusty girl. We both know you’re not gonna kill me.”

“No?” The corner
of her mouth lifted. “Maybe you’re right, but if you don’t do as I say, I might
just maim you to buy some time for me to get away.” She lowered the gun to his
legs. “So, Colden, the choice is yours. Left or right?”

DeSanto laughed,
and Colden reached over and smacked him in the head. The goon Riggs had
obviously sent to kill him, to kill Dusty, had sobered right up. Colden had no
doubt that when Jack Norton got a hold of him, DeSanto would sing like a
canary, giving Riggs up in no time. The thug had only been working for Riggs
for a few months anyway, so loyalty, bribes, threats, and blackmail—all the
tactics Riggs used to keep everyone under his thumb—hadn’t had time to settle
in.

Colden reached
for the rope. He knew Dusty was scared, and his experience had taught him that
scared people often did impulsive, crazy things. As long as she had the gun in
her hand, especially while it was pointed at him, he had to go along with
her—at least until the situation prompted him to do otherwise.

For the sake of
easy release, he used the bowline technique. Making the last loop of the knot,
he was about to ask Dusty what her next move was going to be, but when he
looked up, he caught a flash of the flying gun. She’d tossed it across the room
and ran right out the door. “Shit!” He hurried to untie the knot, then kicked
his feet free.

DeSanto laughed
again, but Colden had no time to give the man another well-deserved smack
across the head. Just as he made it to the front door, Colden heard Dusty’s
truck start up.

“Shit!” he
cursed again, remembering that her keys were conveniently in the purse she’d
left on the porch with her noisy shoes. The tires spun as she tore up the dirt
driveway.

Whatever
happened, he had to stop her. “Fuck!” Colden screamed. He reached around and
pulled DeSanto’s gun from the back of his pants. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said,
then raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.

Chapter
Seven

Dusty’s heart
was racing, not as fast as it had been back in the house, but it was working on
overdrive. She put the key in the ignition and started the truck. Why she
hadn’t grabbed her purse when she’d fetched her keys was beyond her. Then
again, she knew it was a ridiculous waste of precious time to question herself.
She’d just left two gun-slingers tied up on her living room floor.
Forget
about the purse
!

Her first
priority was putting as much distance between herself and them as she could.
She shifted the truck into drive and slammed the pedal to the floor. “Breathe.
Just relax and breathe, Dusty.” She tried to calm herself but couldn’t seem to
catch her breath as she started down the driveway.

Just as she
reached the street, she heard an extremely loud and very short
bang
! The
beat in her heart stopped. The truck skidded off the road, but before coming to
a complete stop, the front fender slammed into her fence. Dusty’s body jolted
forward, but the airbag lessened the impact. Had there been any air left in her
lungs to breathe, it would have been knocked right out of her.

“Dusty!” First
she heard Colden’s voice, and then the truck door flew open. “Are you hurt?” He
reached in and started touching her face, her shoulder, and her arms, checking
her over from head to toe.

“No.” She shook
her head. “But this…airbag.” She tried to push it away, but the overgrown
inflatable was surprisingly strong.

Colden reached
down to his leg and pulled out a knife.

“You’ve gotta be
kidding me! Are you Rambo or something?” Her head fell back against the seat,
and she released a short, hysterical chuckle. “What other deadly weapons are
you carrying around in those pants of yours, St. James?”

A smile that
appeared to be more from relief than naughty thoughts turned up his lips.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Dusty girl.” He placed a protective arm across her
chest and stabbed the bag.

The pressure
released from her body as the loud hissing sound filled the car.

Colden ran his
hands over her legs, then back up her body. He cupped the side of her face and
looked into her eyes.

She gulped from
the concerned stare.

A gentle thumb
stroked her cheek. “You sure you’re all right?”

It became
difficult to breathe again, because his worry had her all choked up. Her sense
of fear kept her in a state of caution, but at least her heart had started to
beat again. She touched his wrist. “Really, I’m good.”

The warmth on
her cheek vanished as he swayed back to help her out of the truck.

Gripping his
shoulder, she stepped down to the ground on shaky legs. As soon as Colden let
her go, she pushed past him. “What happened?” She walked around the truck to
inspect it. “Why did I…” She stopped. “Oh!” She inhaled sharply. “My tire blew!
How did that happen?” She turned to Colden for an answer, but he only stared
blankly at her. Then it suddenly dawned on her. The loud
bang
she’d
heard was a familiar sound, like a car backfiring or… “Oh my God!” Her head
slowly turned to a stoic Colden. She walked over and pushed him hard in the
chest. “Did you shoot my tire?” She shoved him again.

His body didn’t
budge, but his jaw flexed.

She punched him
in the arm. “Answer me! Did you shoot my damn tire?”

He shrugged and
offered a grimace. “I couldn’t let you get away.”

“You shot at my
truck with
me
in it!”

“Don’t worry.”
He gestured with an insignificant wave of the hand. “I know where a gas tank is
on a—”

“The gas tank?
Really? You think that’s what I’m pissed about?” She curled up her fingers and
hauled her arm back for a swing.

Just before she
made contact with his smug face, he caught her hand and yanked her to him.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but there’s no time for all this kind of foreplay right
now.” Tightening his grip, he started toward his own truck, dragging her behind
him.

“Hey! Let go of
me!” She struggled to pull her hand free, but he was as strong as the airbag,
and he wasn’t letting go.

“We need to get
out of here.” He opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She dug her bare
feet into the ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you! You’re crazy! You
coulda killed me!”

“On the
contrary, I’m trying to keep you safe. So please get your pretty little ass in
the truck, sit back, and cool down.”

“Cool down? Why
you—”

“My patience is
running real thin here,” he grumbled between tight lips.

Wanting nothing
more than to kick him hard in the shin, Dusty huffed. If he wanted her ass up
in that truck, she had no doubt he’d get it there, one way or another. Not
allowing Colden’s hands to touch her again, she reluctantly pulled herself into
the seat.

Grinning, he
reached in front of her, popped the glovebox open, and pulled out a pair of
handcuffs.

“And just what
do you intend to do with—”

Before she could
finish the sentence, Colden apprehended her hand and clicked a metal cuff
around her wrist. “I need to go back in the house for the gun you tossed across
the room.” He clamped the other cuff to the door handle. “And we’ll need our
bags.” He looked at her as though he hadn’t just handcuffed her to the vehicle.
“Would you like me to grab your purse and some shoes?”

“Screw you,
Colden James! As far as I’m concerned, you can take your gun and your bag and
shove it where the sun don’t—”

“Hmm. I guess
I’ll take that as a, ‘Why, yes. Thank you, Colden, for being so considerate and
for going to all this trouble to save my uppity ass.’” He winked.

“Ooh, I hate
you!” she raged, yanking on the handcuffs.

He watched as
she battled with the unbreakable bindings. “It’s not worth the effort…and
you’re gonna hurt yourself doing that.” A strong hand gently touched her wrist,
subduing the fight. He tapped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Under any
other circumstances, after I gave you what you’re so afraid to ask for, I’d let
you go.” He leaned in closer. “But you’ve been a very bad girl, so you’ll not
be rewarded. You’re not getting out of those handcuffs until you learn to
behave.”

Dismissing the
growing ache between her thighs from the naughty innuendo, her eyes hissed up
at him.

A sexy, boyish
grin rolled over his lips. “I bet that’s not something you’re used to doing, is
it, Dusty girl? Do you even know how to behave?”

Inches away, his
mouth, the heat of his breath, and those seductive green eyes lay in wait. Not
giving in to the bait, she turned from him. Dusty heard him chuckle as he
walked away. She stomped her feet into the floormat, fantasizing about Colden
James again—this time about all the ways she could kill him.

* * * * *

As he headed
back inside the house, Colden called the special agent in charge, Jack Norton,
to put in a request for someone to come out and pick up the garbage he’d
managed to tie up in Dusty’s living room. “You oughtta be able to get him to
drop the dime on Riggs,” he said.

The plan was for
Colden to drive north for a few hours, then stop and get a room for the night.
When there was any news, Norton would be in touch.

After Colden
picked up the bags, the gun, and a few other necessities, the nice little chat
he was having with DeSanto was interrupted by the loud sound of a horn blowing.

“Damn it, girl,”
Colden grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. “Don’t you ever give up?”
With the bags tossed over his shoulder, he darted out the front door, sweeping
Dusty’s purse from the porch on the way. The horn blared the whole time, even
when he made it to the truck, opened the door, and tossed everything in the
small back seat. He slipped into the front seat and snatched her hand from the
horn. “Stop!”

Black eyes darted
at him, throwing daggers. Her pale skin always made her eyes look sinful, but
in that moment, they appeared purely evil. She wanted to do bad things to him
for cuffing her to the truck and not the good kind of bad things either.

Realizing he’d
clearly upset her, he coaxed, “Just relax, Dusty.” He watched her chest rise
and fall with each puffing breath. She was frightened and pissed, a combination
that usually ended up in trouble. He wanted to confess everything to her, to
console her, to vanquish her fears, to hold her in his arms, but there wasn’t
any time.

“We need to get you
somewhere safe, and I have to drive in order to do that, so this nonsense has
to stop.” He glanced at the horn-wielding hand he was holding in the air and
searched her eyes for any sign of surrender. “Am I gonna have to handcuff this
one too?”

“No.” She yanked
her hand away and rested it in her lap.

“Good.” He put
the truck in drive and headed toward the road.

As they drove
through town, the silence was deafening.

“Colden?”

The disruption
of the quietness shifted his eyes over to her. She was nibbling her bottom lip.
Man!
His heart squeezed tight. She was so beautiful
.
“Yeah?”

“Can you please
drop me off at the police station?”

“No,” he said,
refusing to let her go, no matter how sweetly she asked.

“Look,” she
gently started, “I don’t know what’s going on, why that man was in my home, or
why he called you Johnny. Honestly, I don’t even wanna know. Just drop me off
at the police station. They need to know there’s a man tied up on my floor,
and—”

“Don’t worry
about that, sweetheart.” He patted her gently on the hand. It was, perhaps, a
little condescending, but he had to let her know that no amount of sweetness
was going to set her free. “I already reported it. They’re probably picking up
the bad man as we speak.”

“You called
them?” Her words came slow and guarded.

“Yes.”

“The cops know
what happened then?”

He nodded. He
knew he had to tread lightly, unsure of how much of the truth to reveal. It was
of some benefit that she was scared. If she knew the truth, that he was one of
the good guys, she’d mistakenly feel it was safe to run.

“Then let me
go,” she said, her sweetness turning bitter.

He shook his
head. “Can’t. We gotta get somewhere safe.”

“
You
need
to get somewhere safe, not me. They’re after
you, Johnny
!” she screeched,
her bitterness turning completely sour.

They stopped at
a red light, and he stared at her. He felt pathetic. Looking into her confused
and frightened eyes, he couldn’t confess that he’d brought the danger of his
life into hers. Because of him, her life was at risk too, simply because he
hadn’t been able to disconnect himself from the past they’d shared six years
prior. Colden had never been able to let go of her. He’d carried around that
troublemaking picture of her in his wallet because carrying her in his heart
wasn’t enough. He’d always wanted more than one night with Dusty Owens. In his
heart, he felt she belonged to him, that she would always be his and his alone.
Now that he’d discovered his hands were the last to touch her, it only fed the
crazy notion that she was his to keep. He’d kept the picture so he could look
at her face whenever he felt like it, so he could imagine a different life, one
shared with her. It had been careless, selfish, and risky, and it had put her
in danger. If Riggs knew about Dusty, if he had indeed found the picture in his
wallet, he wouldn’t hesitate to use her as leverage to get to Colden. He was a
ruthless bastard, and he would hurt her or even kill her if he had to. He never
would have known about Dusty if Colden hadn’t been so desperate to carry her
around with him. Now, if it meant scaring her, making her angry, hurting her
feelings, or kidnapping her, Colden had no problem doing it to keep her safe.

 “C’mon, Dusty
girl,” he said, shooting her his best smile. “Don’t you wanna keep me company?”

“No!” She pulled
her hand away. “Not when there are people out there trying to kill you…and me
by association!”

“Well, I’m
sorry, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I can’t do without your company.” His voice
turned hard and firm. “So just sit back, keep quiet, and enjoy the ride.”

Her mouth
opened, but he raised an eyebrow, shushing her.

“I think there’s
some duct tape in the glovebox, and I can still cuff your other wrist if I feel
the need to.”

Her mouth
snapped shut. After shooting him a nasty scowl, she turned and looked out the
window for the remainder of the three-hour ride.