The Right Kind of Trouble (33 page)

He came inside her, deep and slow, and Hannah closed her eyes, already aching for more.

*   *   *

“Zeke Sanders called about bringing a dog out for us.”

Hannah opened one eye. Brannon was all sexy, awake and alert … and apparently dealing with life and phone calls and all.

She was sleepy and sated and just wanted to go back to bed.

The man who'd sold the dogs to Moira and Neve was being a bit more cautious with her and Brannon. Once Gideon had mentioned she was pregnant, Zeke had said he'd be introducing them to a few dogs before they all decided which one seemed to be a fit.

So far, they'd met two. Hannah had loved one of them, but neither of the dogs had much liked Brannon. He hadn't been amused by it, but she had.

“Fine,” she mumbled, trying to shift around in the bed. “I feel like a beached whale. You gonna make us some breakfast?”

“Us?” Brannon grinned at her, amused. He covered her belly with his hand. “I guess I can cook for my beautiful wife to be and my baby.”

“I meant me and your sister.”

For a moment, Brannon looked blank. Then he blinked. “Shit. I forgot. Moira's been so quiet. She's got to be exhausted. She's still sleeping. I didn't see her out there…”

Somebody pounded on the door, the knock so loud, it had Hannah jolting on the bed.

“Brannon. Moira. Open up! It's Gideon.”

Brannon rolled his eyes. “Like I don't know that voice by now.” He kissed Hannah quickly and stood up. “Dumbass.”

Hannah grinned at his back and snuggled deeper into the blankets. “I want bacon. Tell Gideon it better be life or death if he's trying to come between me and breakfast.”

On his way to the door, he shouted for his sister, although he imagined she was already awake after that knock.

There came another one, and Brannon shouted, “For crying out loud, give me a minute.”

He opened the door a few seconds later and glared at Gideon. When he saw Neve and Ian behind the cop, he frowned. “What's up?”

Gideon didn't respond, just pushed his way past Brannon. “I need to see Moira.”

Brannon looked over his shoulder at her still-closed door.

“If she's still asleep, wake her,” Gideon snapped.

“She was up pretty late,” Hannah said from the doorway, wrapped in a blanket. She knuckled at her eyes, scowling at Gideon. “Neither of us slept very well last night, Chief.”

Gideon didn't even blink. “Sorry, Hannah. It's urgent.”

“What's going on?” Brannon demanded.

“I need to talk to Moira, first.”

Brannon blew out a breath and turned toward Moira's door. He knocked, but when there wasn't an answer, he turned the doorknob, easing it open slowly. Then he shoved it open wide, because the bed was the first thing he saw when looking in this room. And the bed was empty.

Neatly made, and empty.

“What the hell…”

Gideon heard him and came storming over, shouldering Brannon aside.

Brannon looked over at Neve. “What's going on?” he said again.

She opened her mouth, but Gideon cut her off. “Did she leave?”

“What? No.” Brannon shook his head. “She might be out in the garden.” He headed over to the back of the loft, moving quickly through the mudroom and jogging down the steps that led into the private garden.

Moira wasn't there.

However, she had been.

There was a cup of coffee, still fairly warm, sitting on the little table by one of the Adirondack chairs.

And on the stone path that led out of the garden, half-buried in the flowers, Neve saw something else.

Moira's phone.

Gideon saw it and immediately turned away, grabbing his radio from his belt and speaking into it with that low, clipped voice Brannon had come to call his “cop voice.” He communicated in a series of orders and codes, and most of it was practically a foreign language. But there were a few things that Brannon recognized … like his sister's name, the color and make of a car … and his eyes narrowed when he heard another name.

He practically lunged for Gideon then, but Ian caught him.

“Ease up, mate. I'll explain, yeah? Just … just let him finish. We got to focus on Moira now, right? She's what matters.”

“Brannon?”

At the soft sound of Ella Sue's voice, he looked up.

She stood at the top of the stairs, holding a small suitcase as she looked around. “Where's Moira? I've got the clothes she asked me to bring.”

Brannon closed his eyes.

Gideon stopped talking for a moment, staring up at Ella Sue.

“What's going on?” she asked softly, voicing the exact same question that Brannon had asked.

But this time, Gideon answered. In a flat, hard voice, he said, “I think Charles Hurst has her.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Moira continue to feign sleep. It had been pure dumb luck that Charles had stopped the car and gotten out now when she came to awareness. He hadn't stopped for long—whether he was grabbing coffee, filling the tank, or just enjoying the damn sunrise, she didn't know. And she didn't dare crack more than an eyelid either because she was too busy trying to remember, to understand.

She'd come awake, her instincts screaming and that alone might have been her saving grace.

Unable to move, her head foggy, she'd panicked and almost screamed, but then one memory leapt into clarity.

Charles had clamped an arm around her neck right before he jabbed something into her arm.

“I remember putting these bruises on you, Moira … I didn't enjoy doing it. Don't make me do it again.”

Bruises …

Her mostly healed throat now ached again, and it was because of him.

All of this was because of him.

She'd been calm when he got back in and continued to act as though she was trapped in the grasp of whatever drugs he had given her. Acting as though she was still asleep, she lay still, frozen as he leaned over and brushed her hair aside.

“Are you awake there?” He'd tapped her cheek.

It had taken everything she had not to bite his hand off at the wrist. Sitting there still had been an act of supreme willpower. Now as they continued to drive through the countryside, he hummed endlessly under his breath.

She thought she'd scream if she had to listen to that much longer. She sat awkwardly, half-twisted in the seat with her head resting on the passenger side door. Earlier, she'd started to shiver. It hadn't been from cold, but from shock, a reaction she hadn't been able to control. Charles hadn't known the difference though and he'd tossed a blanket over her.

Such a considerate kidnapper.

She didn't know how much longer she would be able to pull off the sleeping bit, but her ex-husband seemed to recall how hard drugs had always hit her. If her internal clock was right, it had been maybe five minutes since he'd tapped her on the cheek once more and then muttered to himself, “That might have been too strong a dose.”

That's right, you son of a bitch. Keep thinking that.

Whatever he'd given her had left her thoughts muggy, and she'd had to piece the events of the morning together bit by bit. But she was thinking clearly now. After some grunting and shifting around, she'd managed a furtive look at the clock.

It was nearly eleven.

It had been just after seven when she'd slipped outside. She doubted she'd been out there more than ten or fifteen minutes before he'd shown up.

People back home would know she was missing by now.

She'd dropped her phone. Had he seen it?

She didn't have her shoes.

She didn't have her purse.

She didn't have her keys.

Ella Sue had been bringing her clothes, and if she knew anything about that woman, when Moira wasn't there to get the clothes she'd called about, Ella Sue would be raising hell.

Or at least, raising Gideon.

People would know.

Gideon
would know.

The miserable ache in her back forced her to shift again. She didn't want to, but if she didn't, she worried she wouldn't be able to move—or run—when the chance came.

This time, though, she wasn't able to do it without Charles taking notice.

“Are you waking up over there, are you, Moira?”

Better not make him suspicious
. She made a low noise in her throat and shifted again.

He sighed. “About bloody time. Of course, it's too bad, really. You'll have to nap again before too long. Can't have you spoiling the fun, now can I?”

*   *   *

Mentally, Moira counted to twenty, then shifted again and made another noise and tried to stretch. When she couldn't, she muttered and shifted again.

Then, hoping like hell she could pull this off with some of Neve's flair for drama, she jerked upright and looked around. “What the…”

“Hello, love.”

Charles gave her a serene smile.

She blinked and let herself relax a little, as if calmed by a familiar face. She yawned, moving as if to lift her hands.

The lap belt stopped her.

Charles had trapped them under the belt when he snapped it into place, leaving her pinned and mostly helpless. She'd been able to twist and work her wrists to some extent, loosening the ropes bit by bit. But she still couldn't move them enough.

He laughed.

“What's going on?”

“Oh, we're taking a bit of a drive, love. You used to enjoy them, remember?” He gave her the slow, sardonic smile she remembered from when they had first started to date.

“A drive?” She blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it, trying once more to move her hands. This time, when she couldn't, she began to struggle. Harder this time, putting more effort into it and managing to get more slack in the seat belt—and in the ropes around her wrists.

The rough weave of the blanket snagged on the seat belt, hiding the movement when she managed to pull her hands out from under the lap restraint.

Charles, eyes on the road, didn't seem to notice. He reached over and rubbed the back of her neck. “Yes, darling. We're taking a drive. I've things to show you.”

She jerked again, limiting her motions and hoping he'd think it was the seat belt.

He chuckled. She wanted to slam her fists into his larynx.

For some odd reason, she found herself thinking about a self-defense course Gideon had given. She'd gone with a couple of friends from Treasure, thinking it would be taught by one of the officers—that had been the plan, Gideon had later explained. But the officer down to teach the class had an accident while out hunting—one that involved falling asleep in a tree. Gideon had taken over.

I heard that you can get out of zip ties,
Shayla Hardee had said, flirting with him.
Is that true
?
Could you demonstrate? You can tie me up … or I'll tie you up.

Gideon had taken the question at face value, ignoring her innuendo.
Given the time and opportunity, it's possible to escape such a restraint.

He'd also talk about what to do if somebody was ever abducted.

Wait for the ideal moment. You might only get one chance.

That advice in mind, she evaluated her situation. She was tied up, restrained by a seat belt that had locked in place just a little loose and he was speeding down a country highway. If this was her ideal moment, she was screwed.

As much as she wanted to make him choke on his laughter, she'd rather do it at a time when she had a better chance of survival.

So she waited.

At the same time, she tried again to right herself and pull her hands free. The blanket fell away this time and she lifted her hands, twisting them a bit so he couldn't see how much slack there was in the rope.

Distraction—that was key. She had to keep him distracted.

She sucked in a breath.

“What in the hell is this?” There was a tremor in her voice, and as much as she wished she could've kept it from showing, she hadn't been able to.

Charles
smiled
at her. The bastard
smiled
. “The meaning? I would think that was obvious. I'm kidnapping you.”

Her mouth fell open—and that had nothing to do with her trying to convince him of anything. As she stared into his eyes, Moira saw something she had never before seen. Charles Hurst, her ex-husband, her former lover, the man she would've called friend even just that morning, was crazier than a bag of cats.

*   *   *

Neve paced back and forth in front of the large plate-glass window. On the other side, Gideon was talking to Sheriff Tank Grainger.

Tank was listening, but Neve had no idea how to read him.

Tank was … well … like a tank. His birth name was Tarrell but he'd been called Tank since high school, she'd been told, when he'd mowed down the opposing team on the football field on a regular basis, leading the football team of McKay's Treasure to its first state championship.

He was as hard to read as a piece of metal, and about as unstoppable from everything she'd heard. When she was sixteen, somebody had T-boned Tank's car—intentionally.

Tank had walked away from the accident.

Ella Sue had mentioned off the cuff that he had just had a bout with cancer—of the male variety—and had beaten it, but then, everybody knew you couldn't stop Tank. Definitely not something as trifling as cancer—that was how Ella Sue had phrased it, her eyes glinting with dark humor.

That was his slogan come election time, too.

Nothing can stop Tank
.

Every few minutes or so, he'd look at her with a reassuring smile.

She wanted to hope that smile meant something, but just then, there were only a few people she counted on. Most of them were in the room with her. Hannah, Brannon, Ella Sue, and Ian were as upset and stressed-out as she was.