Royal Trouble (37 page)

Wes pinned Roxanne with his eyes.  "Remember biker boy?"

Her brows knit over her eyes, as she replied, "The motorcycle riding cowboy who gave her a ride when her car broke down?  Yeah, I remember him, why?"

"That's who took her, and I'm going to kill the bastard," Wes ground out over his shoulder as he rode into the clearing and swung down from his horse.  Pulling his shotgun from the saddle holster, Wes cracked the barrel open, and loaded shells, then slammed it shut, before shoving a box of shells into his utility vest.  Barely seeing anyone around him, he headed toward his truck with purposeful strides.

"Wes, wait!" Rocky yelled behind him, then she was at his elbow trying to stop him.  He shook her off and kept walking toward his truck.

"Wes, you can't go out there half-cocked!" she protested, grabbing his shoulder this time. 

He spun around to face her and gritted his teeth.  "Trust me, I'm fully cocked, and that bastard is gonna find that out."

"He's not the only one out at that ranch, Wes.  As much as I want to grab my gun and help you, you need to let the police deal with it.  They'll go pick him up and question him.  If you go out there, you'll wind getting killed yourself."

"I don't give a shit, Rox.  That bastard put his hands on her.  Ran her into a goddamn tree, he's not going to get away with that.  He could have killed her!"

"If you go over there and kill him, who are we going to question?  We'll never find her Wes, think about it!  And what about Trey?"

"Trey is with my mother," Wes told her with a huffed breath.  His heart was beating so hard in his chest from adrenaline he couldn't breathe.

"I mean forever, Wes.  Trey needs you here, not in jail.  Just let the police handle it." 

Rocky grabbed his arm and all but dragged him over to a huddle of police officials near a dark van.  Some wore uniforms, but there were a few in dark suits.  One woman with short blonde hair who looked to be in her thirties had on an ugly black suit, but she looked to be in charge.  Why he thought that he didn't know, but she had that aura about her.  That is who he chose to confront. 

"I just got a call from Leigh Ann Baker.  Trace Rooks, a rough-looking cowboy at the Diamond Bar Ranch kidnapped her."

The woman's initial look was surprised, but she quickly masked it with a frown.  "Who are you?" she asked giving him a once over.

"Wes Jepson, the local vet.  Leigh Ann worked for me.  Who the hell are you?" Wes countered holding her gaze hotly.

"Susan Whitmore, Special Agent in Charge of the Dallas FBI office," she told him smugly.  "I'll need to confiscate your telephone, Mr. Jepson," she informed at the same time she jerked it out of his hand. 

Wes grabbed her wrist, and before he knew it, the shotgun was out of his hand and his arm was bent behind his back, right before he saw the ground coming up to meet him.  He landed with an oomph that jarred his teeth, then she was sitting on his back twisting his arm up between his shoulder blades.

The damned woman must be a ninja or something, he thought, as his mind spun to grasp what had just happened.  She had taken him down without much effort at all.  The woman was tall, but not nearly his size or bulk.

"Get the fuck off of me, lady," he growled and tried to twist out of her grip.  She pulled his arm up tighter and pain shot through his collar bone, and up his neck.

"Wes, just chill out," Rocky told him with a touch of humor in her voice.  "Ms. Whitmore, he didn't mean any disrespect, he's just upset.  My sister is more than his employee..." she said and Wes managed to twist his head to glare up at her.

"Well, assaulting a federal officer is a crime, ma'am.  That is what Mr. Jepson, just did to me, so he's under arrest," she said shifting her weight on him.  Wes felt cold metal against his right wrist, then a click before he felt it tighten on the wrist she'd already almost broken, and he groaned.

"Apologize, Wesley," Rocky demanded.

"I'm sorry," Wes said with less than convincing conviction behind the words.

"I'm sorry?" Susan Whitmore scoffed, then clicked the other cuff on his wrist, before she stood and jerked him up to his feet by his sore arm.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Whitmore,
ma'am
," Wes said, only because he knew if he was arrested he would have no hope of saving Leigh Ann at all.

A dark-haired, very large and muscle-bound Latin man stepped up beside her and took Wes's arm.  "Sue, cut him a break," he told her with a wink and a smile. 

Wes wanted to scream.  He was sitting here in handcuffs, Leigh Ann was missing and probably in danger, and they were playing tug of war with him?  And flirting?

The woman's hard blue eyes miraculously softened along with the line of her lips.  "Am I going overboard again?" she asked the man quietly and he nodded imperceptibly.

After staring into the man's dark eyes for a moment, she told Wes, "Looks like it's your lucky day, asshole.  Carlos thinks I should cut you a break, so I guess I will.  Just remember to keep your hands to yourself next time." She walked behind him, and after a few scraping tries, the cuffs released and his hands were free. 

He rubbed his wrists then rounded on her.  "Lady, I need help finding Leigh Ann, and I don't know why the feds are here, but I'm going out to that damned ranch and find Trace Rooks.  Ya'll are welcome to help, or not.  One way or another I'm finding out where she is," he said as he leaned down to pick up his shotgun, before striding away from them.

"Hold up there, buddy," Susan said and he stopped in his tracks, because he knew what would follow if he didn't.  Wes did not want to wind up face down in the dirt again. 

She jogged over to him and grabbed his arm to pull him away from the crowd.  She led him to the row of trucks parked alongside the road, before she said quietly, "You can't go out there."

"Why the hell not?  If I don't go, who will?" he asked shortly.  These people milling around out here talking didn't seem to be any hurry to find Leigh Ann.  Now that he knew who was responsible, and they did too, they should be scrambling to question the man.  But they hadn't moved, or seemed too interested in his revelation.

"We're going to send some uniforms out there to pick him up for questioning," she told him looking around like she was making sure she wasn't overheard.

Wes breathed a sigh of relief.  He didn't trust this woman as far as he could throw her, but he didn't have much choice here.  Roxanne was right.  He could go to the Diamond Bar with guns blazing, and probably get himself shot, or he could let them go pick Trace Rooks up to question him.

"Give me my phone back, in case Leigh Ann tries to call again."

"She won't be calling," the woman told him.  "For now."

"My son is crazy with worry about her."  Wes was too.  This whole bizarre situation had him wanting to find the nearest bush and toss his cookies.

Unbelievably, her eyes flashed with sympathy.  "You love her, don't you?" she asked with a slight curve of her lips.

"Yeah, I love her," he admitted for the first time out loud.  Why he chose this woman to tell, he had no idea.  She asked.

"Just chill out like your friend suggested, and we'll find her, okay?" Susan assured him, but he still wasn't convinced.  "Let us do our job, and as soon as we find her, we'll put you in touch with her."

Wes nodded, and fought the urge to run to his truck and head for the Diamond Bar, or the nearest bar to ease the heavy weight in his chest that used to be his heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Leigh Ann was bored out of her mind, and worried sick.  She had no idea exactly how long she'd been in the tiny hotel room located only god knew where.  All she had to do with her time was stare at the faded paint on the four walls, and study the ugly yellow and brown painting the hotel owners tried to pass off as art.  Or re-read the four magazines the men holding her had given her when she complained.  Or worry more.  That is what she'd done mostly.

The TV had been taken out the room, there wasn't a clock and the windows were covered in blackout drapes.  Time crawled in very slow ticks in her head, but she thought she'd been here a week.  She felt like a prisoner, had even asked the guard posted outside her door that exact question when he brought her food one night.  He only laughed, and she wanted to punch him in his big nose, but he dropped the greasy burger bag on the bed and left before she could. 

That was another thing, the food they were giving her was the greasiest, most high calorie food they could find.  Tacos, burritos, burgers and french fries, always fries with everything.  She'd asked for a fricking salad, and they brought her a
fried chicken
salad.  Leigh Ann didn't know whether to eat the garbage or tape it to her hips, because that is where it was going anyway. 

And could they have found any uglier clothes at the dollar store for her?  A hot pink floral moo moo and matching house slippers?  Come on.  She knew there had to have been at least one pair of sweat pants or a t-shirt they could have bought for her.  In another week, she would probably need that moo moo to fit her big ass in, maybe that's what they were thinking.

The door to her hotel room opened, and Leigh Ann closed her eyes feigning sleep.  She really was exhausted, but was more tired of the questions the guys holding her kept asking her.  The same questions she'd answered a hundred times each, since they brought her here what she thought was a week ago. 

They just repeated the questions over and over again, like her answers were going to change.  Like they thought she was lying or something.  Yeah, they were federal agents, but geez, not everyone was a liar.  When
she
asked them questions they never answered.

How many men were working at the Diamond Bar Ranch when she went there?  She had no idea, because she had only been looking for one man at the time. 

What did she see while she was out there?  Did she see any guns? No, she saw a bunch of horses, expensive looking horses, and cowboys.  Lots of cowboys.  Rough looking men, but no guns.

How do you know Senator Rooks?  I gave his wife a makeover and she decided to divorce him, so he's mad at me.  What other livestock was out there when you were there?  Like she would know a donkey from a horse.  Well that was an exaggeration, she would, but just barely.

Leigh Ann knew she was grumpy, but couldn't find nice inside of her anymore.  That was dried up, gone and blown away in the vortex of misery she had been sucked into for the last few months.  She missed Wes and Trey and she missed her sister.  The men holding her here were the reason she was missing them, so she wasn't overly inclined to be nice to them anyway. 

Monday had come and gone too, so that was something else she was angry about.  Her new job at the R & R was supposed to have started then.  But she was stuck here, held prisoner against her will until the feds decided to let her go.  Terri was probably pulling her hair out trying to deal with canceling all the appointments she had set for Leigh Ann.  Leigh Ann wanted that job, needed it badly, and she had been excited about it.

All things considered, Leigh Ann had ample reason to be grumpy and upset.

Leigh Ann had no idea what these men had told her friends and family either.  These guys could have even
told
them Leigh Ann was dead.  They would probably believe it too, because she was sure they had found the mangled truck.  Her family would have a memorial for her, then the feds would put her into some kind of federal hiding program and her family would grieve, never knowing she was actually alive.  She would never get to see them again.  Never get to see Trey or Wes again.  Or her sister. 

Unacceptable, she thought as sadness almost overwhelmed her.  That wasn't a life, and certainly not something she would agree to.  She would rather be dead.  As crazy and dysfunctional as her family was, her mother in particular, she needed them...loved them.  And as messed up as Wes was by his ex-wife's treachery, as bad as he'd misjudged her and treated her, she loved him too.  And she loved his son Trey like her own.  She knew the kid loved her too, as much as Wes tried to keep them apart, Trey had told her that, so he was probably hurting right now.

They couldn't make her do that kind of thing without her consent, could they? 

Leigh Ann didn't know, but she wasn't sticking around to find out.  They wouldn't tell her anything, or let her call her family to tell them she
wasn't
dead.  So the feds must have something up their sleeves.

Trace had said someone was trying to kill her and that might be true, but Leigh Ann would rather take her life into her own hands than leave it up to them to decide what kind of life she would have.  That's what she had done all her life with her mother.  Something Leigh Ann had vowed never to allow again, not with her mother and certainly not with a government agency. 

"I know you're playing possum, wake up, your lunch is here."  Lunch, that must mean it was around noon.  She opened her eyes and the biggest of the guys she had seen since she'd been held here, a brute that must be six five or more, stood beside the bed with a white bag in his hand, his mean looking gun strapped across his chest to rest under his arm.

Her eyes moved past him to the door standing open, six inches or so.  Fresh air filtered into the room on the breeze, bringing with it the smell of freedom.  Leigh Ann inhaled deeply, then sat up and took the bag from the man, gauging the odds of making the door before the lumberjack did.  She was small and fast, he was huge and clumsy, but he stood between her and the door. 

Dodging him on the way to the door would be difficult. 

Maybe she'd wait until supper, he'd probably be off duty then, and maybe the smaller guy on the night shift would be easier to evade.  Nah, that guy would be faster, because he was smaller, more wiry.  Getting away from this big man was her best odds, but not at this instant.  Maybe she'd eat her lunch, then knock on the door and pretend she was sick.  When he opened the door, she would hide by it then slip out when he came inside because he didn't see her.  Where she would go, Leigh Ann had no idea, but at least she would be free to make that decision.