Rescued By The Marine
Julie Miller
He’s vowed to succeed – even if it costs his life!Five million dollars for rescuing a kidnapped heiress? To reclusive Jason Hunt, the job's about redemption, not money.But when the troubled former marine finds megarich Samantha Eddington, opposites begin to attract…
A guilt-racked hero vows to succeed
...even if it costs him his life.
Five million dollars for rescuing a kidnapped heiress? To reclusive Jason Hunt, the job’s about redemption, not money. But when the troubled former marine finds megarich Samantha Eddington, opposites attract as they escape her captors. Odds are they won’t survive the brutal Teton Mountains or the mercenaries after them. And if they do, will Jason’s reward be redemption or heartbreak?
JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY best-selling author of breathtaking romantic suspense —with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to juliemiller.org (http://www.juliemiller.org).
Also by Julie Miller (#u763d1fd9-adff-54dc-9b52-253f97212a2b)
Beauty and the Badge TakedownKCPD ProtectorCrossfire ChristmasMilitary Grade MistletoeKansas City CopAPB: BabyKansas City CountdownNecessary ActionProtection Detail
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Rescued by the Marine
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07937-2
RESCUED BY THE MARINE
© 2018 Julie Miller
Published in Great Britain 2018
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.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my father-in-law, Howard Miller,
and his lady, Dotty Robarge.
A Navy veteran and the widow of an Air Force veteran.
Now a fun, lovely couple.
Thank you both for your service to our country.
Contents
Cover (#ubca320b5-dea5-59c8-a9a0-cce751fce936)
Back Cover Text (#u2c34ca39-dd8e-5470-8070-6edf80f87360)
About the Author (#u98b88597-6706-5956-807f-b8ce3b52c1e6)
Booklist (#u6cda0269-a1c3-56e2-8f8a-dea55dfc8419)
Title Page (#ue2e594d0-d3f8-57b3-aa50-ab32cf8c5005)
Copyright (#u4508f740-751e-55e4-b271-d28621eba221)
Dedication (#ud12fcffc-1423-506b-bb5d-6731095fedb9)
Prologue (#u4c71e532-4b20-5584-9421-39122b4694db)
Chapter One (#ufe503335-566e-58ec-84c2-a475ef2de566)
Chapter Two (#ub1708223-ebcc-5d07-86c2-5ce7a61b9a39)
Chapter Three (#u24ed4d21-9426-5037-9c3d-65b80e67e7f9)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u763d1fd9-adff-54dc-9b52-253f97212a2b)
Jason Hunt hung by his fingertips 7,400 feet up in the air. And his phone was ringing.
Another 600 feet and he’d have been out of cell range.
Relying on the strength of his arm, and the sure grip of his hand, he relished the last few milliseconds of silence between each ring. The summer sun was bright overhead, its rays warm on his skin, its heat reflecting off the granite outcropping he’d been scaling for the past hour. Sure, he could have stayed on the marked trail like the tourists, but then he would have missed this view.
Wide-open sky. Miles between this mountain and the next. Snow at the peaks, then silvery-gray granite that gave way to the deep rich greens and browns of the tree line. He even caught a glimpse of Jenny Lake’s crystal gray-blue outline from this vantage point. He shifted his grip to swing around the other way, inhaling air that was cooler and cleaner than any part of the world he’d seen. And he’d seen more than he cared to. From here, he could see all the way past the lower peaks into Jackson Hole, the natural valley between the Tetons and Wind River Mountain Range where he’d grown up.
But his phone was ringing.
He eyed the rough granite cliff for the next handhold, doubled his grip of the rock and continued his climb. His next breath wasn’t quite as free and calming, but he grounded himself in the unshakable strength of the rock itself and kept moving. These mountains had endured, and he would, too.
He appreciated the quiet of how alone he was between each urgent ring. Save for the wind whistling through the narrow cave a few feet to his left, he’d found the reprieve he needed today. No mortar fire. No grinding of tank and truck gears, no orders to engage or pleas for help shouting in his ear.
Jason found a toehold and pushed himself up another three feet, nearing the top of the rock face. He lived in these mountains. Worked in these mountains. Escaped the memories that time and therapy could never fully erase. He needed the silence. The solitude. The space. No tight quarters here. No small huts or narrow streets filled with fire and booby traps and too many vehicles and people to know his allies from his enemies.
There was no woman dying in his arms up here.
With every ring, Jason’s serenity and forgetfulness was shattered. It was a lonely life here in Wyoming. But it was a life.
Until his phone rang.
Mentally bracing himself for the reality of answering that call, he swung himself up over the top ledge.
He shrugged out of the small pack he carried, pulling out both a bottle of water and his cell. The number was no surprise. Neither was the sudden heavy weight of responsibility bearing down on his broad shoulders. With his long legs dangling over the edge into the Teton Mountains’ rocky abyss, he swallowed a drink of water and answered his phone. “Yeah?”
“Captain Hunt?”
He pulled off his reflective sunglasses and squirted some of the cooling water on his face before squeegeeing it off his cheeks and beard stubble with the palm of his hand. “We’ve been stateside for two years, Marty. I told ya you could call me Jase.”
“Yes, sir.” Marty Flynn was only a few years younger than Jason, and they’d both retired from the Corps once their last stint had ended. But he still spoke to him like the stray puppy he’d first been when he’d been attached to Jason’s unit over in the Heat Locker of the Middle East. “Um. Right. Jase.”
“What’s up, Lieutenant?” Although he already knew. These mountains weren’t just his escape now, they were his world.
“Very funny.” Yeah. He missed laughter. Not much call to tell jokes when you lived as far off the grid as he did now. “I know it’s your day off. Thought you might be locked up in your cabin, shaggin’ that pretty girl who was throwin’ herself at you at—”
“Talk to me.” Like anything resembling a relationship was going to happen after losing Elaine over in Kilkut. Like he’d ever be interested in some brainless twit who couldn’t talk about anything but the size of his truck and how hard it was to find sexy clothes at the local boutique. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the young woman’s feelings when his search and rescue team had stopped at Kitty’s Bar in Moose, Wyoming, to toast their commander’s pending retirement. She seemed to think getting laid by a veteran Marine was some sort of badge of honor. In his book, it wasn’t. He’d left the celebration early. Alone.
“So, you and Lynelle didn’t hit it off? You wouldn’t mind if I—”
“Marty.” Jason exhaled an impatient breath. “You called me. I assume there’s an emergency?”
“Right.” Marty might be a natural-born flirt, with more charm than discipline in his repertoire, but he was a damn fine helicopter pilot. He’d saved the lives of Jason and most of his men by flying into an ambush to evac them to the safety of the base. That was the only reason Jason put up with his goofy idol worship—the only reason he’d agreed to take the job with the search and rescue team Marty worked for. He owed him a life. “We’ve got a missing hiker. Family excursion hiking the String Lake Loop. Little boy wandered off this morning west of Leigh Lake. He’s been missing four hours now. Parents searched an hour on their own before calling it in.”
Jason climbed to his feet, surveying the mountains in every direction. He assessed the quickest path, the weather, the position of the sun in the sky. “It’s already midafternoon.”
“And it’s summer. Kid doesn’t have any bear spray on him. No jacket. Nothing but the clothes on his back. Predators will be out after dark. We need to find him before they do.”
Jason tucked the water bottle into his pack and pulled out his vest with a large green search and rescue cross on it. “Or he succumbs to exposure or drowns in the lake.”
“You got it. The team’s been activated, but we need your expertise in the backcountry. We need you to save the day, big guy.”
Right. Because he was so good at that. At least, stateside, nobody had died on his watch.
Jason put on his sunglasses, adjusted the brim of his cap and started moving.
“I’m about fifteen minutes away from the clearing up by Solitude Lake. You can land the chopper there. Come get me. You can drop me at the trailhead, and I’ll track the kid from there.”
“Will do.”
He slipped his search and rescue vest on over his T-shirt and doubled his speed. “Hunt, out.”
Chapter One (#u763d1fd9-adff-54dc-9b52-253f97212a2b)
Nine months later... The Midas Lodge outside Jackson, Wyoming
“Samantha, what are you doing?”
Wishing I was anywhere else.
Hearing her father’s tsk-tsking tone above the white noise of conversations, laughter and chamber music drifting in from the reception area of the Midas Lodge’s main lobby, Samantha Eddington bit down on the ungrateful thought and stretched up on her toes on the arm of the leather chair she’d pulled from the neighboring window alcove. She closed the back of the mantel clock and screwed the casing shut with her thumbnail before pushing it back into place over the two-story stone fireplace. “Hi, Dad. It stopped at four twenty this afternoon. Fortunately, it was just the batteries.” She showed him the oxidized rust stains on the paper napkin wadded up in her hand. “I cleaned them and put them back in, but they won’t last for long. We’ll need a new set.”
Walter Eddington had the build and face of a bulldog, an ironic contrast to the expensive tailored suit and diamond-studded lapel pin he wore. A self-made man who’d served in the Army before Samantha was born, he was as at home in the backcountry with a hunting rifle as he was in the boardroom of the hotel empire he’d purchased on a dare and built into a fortune over the past thirty-five years. Too bad she hadn’t inherited either of those skill sets. She didn’t share his love for a good party, either, like tonight’s shindig that mixed hotel with family business.
But she did love him. Adored him, in fact. After losing her mother when she was seven, they’d become a team—sharing grief and comfort, and helping each other pick up the pieces of their fractured lives. She’d never quite been the tomboy he wanted, nor was she poised enough to serve as the dutiful hostess and helpmate a businessman of his standing needed. And while she understood the numbers and demographics of the lodging and tourism industry, she’d never shared his interest in running a corporation. She loved analyzing the architectural designs and engineering strategies that went into building hotels and resort lodges, but her intellectual acumen and aversion to board meetings, press conferences, and parties like tonight’s grand opening celebration with investors and local bigwigs kept her from being the heir he’d hoped for to take over the Midas Group and run the family business one day. Still, Walter Eddington loved her anyway. He was her daddy, the first man she’d loved. And even at twenty-nine, she was his little girl.
“Come down from there.” He held out his broad, calloused hand. She took it and smiled as he helped her down from her perch. He dropped a kiss to her cheek, just below the rim of her glasses. “This is supposed to be your party. I realize we’re combining business with pleasure by scheduling the grand opening of the new lodge with your engagement announcement to Kyle. But you know how much I want to change the press’s perception of you as some kind of eccentric recluse who never recovered from your mother’s murder. Hiding out from our guests doesn’t help change that image.”
“I’m not a recluse. My mind just gets occupied with other things.” Too many other things. Like the guilt she felt at putting that worry dimple between his silvering eyebrows.
“I know that,” he assured her. “But the last time your picture was on TV and in all the papers, you were only seven. You were so brave. So sad.” He captured both hands and backed up to skim his gaze from the loose bun at the nape of her neck to the unpolished wiggle of her bare toes on the woven throw rug in front of the fireplace. He smiled. “You look pretty tonight. All grown up. A woman of the world.”
His eyes, the same shade of green as her own, turned wistful. He was losing himself in the past until Samantha squeezed his hands, bringing him back into the present with her. “I miss Mom, too. Tonight of all nights, especially.”
Walter nodded, pulling her into his barrel chest and capturing her in one of the bear hugs she’d always loved before he set her back on her feet. He chucked her lightly beneath the chin. “I know you take after my side of the family, but...” He brushed aside a rebellious lock of dark blond hair that had caught in her glasses and tucked it behind her ear. “I see your mother in you tonight. How I wish Michelle could be here to share this with us.”
Samantha reached up to straighten the knot of his tie and smooth his lapels, the tender ministrations more of a comfort than a need. “Me, too.”
“It’s been twenty-two years tonight since that bastard murdered...” Muttering a curse, he blinked away the moisture that glistened in his eyes and pulled something from his pocket. “I want to show you something.”
Samantha lit up when she saw the familiar engraved locket on a silver chain that dangled from his fingers. “Mom’s necklace. The one you gave her when you got married.”
“It’ll be yours one day. But tonight, I’m carrying it for luck. That everything goes smoothly, and that Kyle makes you as happy as she and I were. Even if it was for too short a time. I wanted you to know she’s with us.”
She rubbed her fingertips across the locket’s etched surface the way she had as a curious child when it had hung around her mother’s neck. Then Walter drew it up to his lips and kissed the heirloom before tucking it back into his pocket. “Don’t tell Joyce.”
“Don’t tell Joyce what?” Samantha’s stepmother appeared behind her father in a swish of pale pink satin. “The party’s in the other room, you two.” She pointed to the lobby behind them. “Where all the guests are.”
With a wink that said he’d cover for Samantha, Walter caught his second wife’s hand and kissed her fingers before linking her arm through his. “You’ll need to speak to the staging crew, dear. Sammie had to repair this clock. It wasn’t working. You know I love the beautiful things you selected to decorate the new lodge. But I expect things to do their job, too.”
“Of course I will, dear,” Joyce assured him. “I want everything to be perfect tonight.”
“I opened it up and cleaned the batteries,” Samantha explained.
“Cleaned them with what?” She suspected her stepmother was frowning, although her face revealed little evidence of emotion, one way or another. When Samantha showed her the dirty cocktail napkin, Joyce snatched it from her hand and tossed it into the fireplace.
Unlike Samantha, Joyce knew how to work a room and make a business deal as well as Walter did. His successes were hers and vice versa. Samantha had never quite fit into the family equation the same way after her father had remarried and adopted Joyce’s daughter, Taylor. “You are the guest of honor, not maintenance personnel. Are you forgetting that I told the press photographers to be in position at eight? After your father gives his welcoming speech, Kyle will go down on one knee and propose. Just like we rehearsed.”
Because nothing says romance like a staged proposal. Samantha scratched at the rash itching beneath the stays of her dress. True, she’d been seeing Kyle Grazer longer than any other man she’d dated—not that there were many names on that list. Being the socially awkward, plain-Jane daughter of a wealthy man like Walter Eddington made it pretty near impossible to trust any man who claimed to be interested in her. But Kyle had persisted. They’d become friends after Joyce had introduced them. Then, her father had offered him a job as an executive in the company, and they’d become something more.
So what if she didn’t get the topsy-turvy stomach turbulence she’d expected when she fell in love? Logically, they were good for each other. He helped bring Samantha out of her shell, and she offered him a quiet refuge from the heartache of a girlfriend who’d dumped him and the pain of a father who’d raised him with a harsh, unsympathetic hand. Besides, Kyle was immeasurably patient with her inexperience. He praised her efforts to learn more about kissing and seduction, and promised their lovemaking would improve as she developed more confidence in her relationship skills.
Besides, Grazers came from money. Kyle’s father owned a chain of hotels on the East Coast, so she knew he wasn’t with her just to get a part of her father’s fortune. And her father had assured her more than once that the expected merger of companies that would follow the announcement of their engagement would be negated on the spot if he thought for one moment that Kyle wouldn’t take care of her and make her happy. Even if there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on that kept her relationship from being everything she’d hoped for, Samantha was happy. Wasn’t she?
She rubbed her hand over the hives she’d lived with since her father had asked her to make the engagement a public event and schedule it for tonight—the anniversary of her mother’s murder. “I want to create a positive memory for you,” he’d said. “Make this a happy day instead of the anniversary of a nightmare.”
For the company, for her father, for her future—Samantha had every intention of saying yes when Kyle proposed in front of the cameras tonight. This would no longer be the day her mother had been kidnapped and murdered. It would be the day Samantha Eddington got engaged and gave her dad a reason to smile. Now if she could just make the hives go away.
“I didn’t forget about the time,” Samantha answered, explaining why she’d wandered into the anteroom to fix a broken clock. “Tonight’s a big night and I’m understandably nervous. I ran out of small talk after I lost track of Kyle. And the lobby was so crowded, I was getting overheated, so I came out here to check the time, look out the windows and cool off.”
“Look out the windows at what? It’s pouring down rain out there.” Joyce pointed to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. “You can’t even see the mountains it’s so dark.”
Samantha crossed to the windows, drawing her finger through the condensation beading there. “You have to admit the rain is cooling things off.”
Joyce shook her head, as if the scientific fact made no sense to her. “What do you mean, you lost track of Kyle?” Joyce moved past her husband to straighten the turned-up hem on the embroidered sheer overlay on Samantha’s navy blue cocktail dress. “And where are your shoes?” Samantha adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and spied the strappy three-inch heels she’d discarded to climb onto the new resort lodge’s furniture. She slipped her feet back into the tan patent leather and fastened the ankle straps, cringing at the sore spots screaming a protest on each of her little toes. “This absentminded professor shtick was cute when you were a teenager, but now it’s getting old.”
Shtick? Once the wedding was done, Samantha had every intention of becoming a real professor at a reputable university. She’d already earned her PhD. Or, at least she would once she finished her dissertation on the mechanics of waste management design in alpine geographies. If more nights like this one didn’t keep her away from her computers and schematic drawings.
“Joyce,” Walter chided, joining them. “Ease back on the throttle a bit. This is a big night for Sammie.”
“Of course it is. It’s a big night for all of us.” She batted Samantha’s fingers away from her torso when she tried to scratch again. “I’ve planned everything down to the last minute, from the guest list to the schedule of events to Samantha’s dress.” A line that could be a dimple or a frown the Botox had missed appeared beside Joyce’s mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing the red dress Taylor and I picked out for you? She has better fashion sense than both of us put together. It’s more photogenic.”
For one thing, Taylor was built like a petite fashion model while Samantha was a feminine version of her father’s sturdy build. For another, her adopted stepsister’s fashion sense reflected the fact that she could wear anything and look like a million bucks, while Samantha was lucky she’d found heels to match her dress. And finally, “Taylor did help me pick this out.”
Joyce waved her hand in front of the embroidered flowers covering the A-line dress. “This one is so busy. It’s very sweet, but I’m afraid you look more like a girl going to her first communion rather than a woman who’s about to get married.”
“I like this dress.” Couldn’t say the same for the three-inch heels of her shoes that chafed her ankles and squeezed all sensation out of her little toes. “Blues and grays are my favorite colors.”
“I think she looks lovely,” Walter insisted. “Considering she usually wears pants and a lab coat or she’s out at a construction site in muddy coveralls, I think she’s very dressed up for the occasion.”
“You’re right, dear. Of course. It is a pretty dress.” Joyce’s agreeing smile quickly disappeared. “Could you at least put in your contact lenses? Your glasses will reflect the lights when the photographers take pictures.” She made a shooing motion with her lacquered fingernails before latching onto Walter’s arm again. “Go upstairs and fix yourself. I’ll see if I can find Kyle while your father talks to the lieutenant governor.” She tilted her face to her father’s. “That’s why I came looking for you—to tell you she and her husband are arriving.”
“Better not keep them waiting.” Her father shrugged his big shoulders. Maybe he didn’t enjoy these big command performances any more than Samantha did. “I’ll see you in the spotlight at eight.”
Samantha managed to summon a smile. “I’ll be there, Dad.”
“Excuse me, sir.” A big man with dark hair and a perfectly shaped handlebar mustache walked up behind her father. Dante Pellegrino’s muscular bulk was accentuated by the holster and gun he wore underneath his suit jacket. The chief of Midas Group security rarely changed his expression from stoic disinterest, so it was hard to tell when there was an emergency and when he was simply relaying information. “Ma’am. Miss Eddington.” He acknowledged Samantha and her stepmother. “Walter? A moment?”
“Is this necessary, Dante?” Joyce asked. “We have a schedule to maintain. Walter is greeting guests until seven forty-five, and then he goes to the podium to make a welcome speech.”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Something unexpected has come up.”
“Very well.” Not one wisp of Joyce’s silvering blond hair moved as she swung her gaze around, scanning the guests through the open suite of rooms. “I’ll stall the lieutenant governor for a few minutes.” Even though he was twice her size, she pointed a warning finger at the security chief. “Don’t keep him long.”
“No, ma’am.”
As Joyce bustled away in another swish of stiff satin, Dante whispered in her father’s ear. Samantha waited expectantly, wondering if something was happening that would compound her father’s worries about this evening’s success.
Walter’s expression hardened to his time-to-do-business face. “Make sure one of your men stays with Sammie. She’s going upstairs for a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samantha tugged on her father’s sleeve when he would have pulled away. “Is everything okay?”
“Nothing your old dad can’t handle. Don’t be late. I want tonight to be all about you.” He kissed her forehead and strode away to handle whatever situation Dante had whispered to him.
Either her father didn’t think she could understand the problem, or he simply didn’t want to worry her. Maybe Dante would be more forthcoming.
She tipped her chin to meet his dark gaze. “What is it?”
He chewed once on the gum that seemed to be perennially in his teeth. Maybe the man had given up smoking, or used the subtle action as a stress-reducing ritual. But since her father had hired his firm a couple of years earlier, she’d never once seen him without the sticky wad in the side of his mouth. “Storm’s coming up. There’ll be more rain tonight. Snow higher up in the mountains.”
She arched a confused brow. “You talked to Dad about the weather?”
“It changes plans.”
“What plans?”
“Weather like this brings unexpected guests.”
Samantha curved her lips into a wry smile. “We are a hotel.”
“One that’s not open for business yet.” Dante gave her a look that lacked any emotion—or any real explanation—as he tapped the radio on his wrist and summoned one of the bodyguards who worked for his security team. “Filly Number One is on the move. Metz? You’re up.” The bodyguard typically assigned to watch her at public events must have responded in the hearing device wired to the security chief’s ear. “Copy that. Pellegrino out.”
“Having unexpected guests show up for a party is a security issue?”
“It is tonight.” His mustache danced atop his lip as he shifted his gum from one cheek to the other. “It’s my job to make sure everything goes as planned. If you’re not at that podium at eight o’clock, I’ll come get you myself.”
Was that a threat? Or just a reminder that she was a commodity in Dante Pellegrino’s eyes? Protecting her was no different from guarding the diamond jewelry Joyce and her father were wearing tonight. Grumbling a curse under her breath, Samantha turned and left as quickly as her toe-pinching shoes would let her.
Filly. Although it was a word she was familiar with—she was Number One and Taylor was Number Two when it came to coded security team communications—the nickname only added to her anxiety. She felt like prize livestock tonight, being paraded around for a group of wealthy investors, high-powered executives and gossipy reporters looking for a sensational headline. Joyce was probably hoping that marrying Samantha off would allow her to shift the spotlight over to her own daughter and maybe snag the interest of one of the wealthy guests here tonight to send a son or nephew to come court Taylor. Samantha might have had her fill of socializing, but Taylor would relish all the attention. And she was welcome to it.
Samantha wasn’t good enough for her stepmother. She was invisible to the guests. Her father worried too much about her. And she might as well be a horse in the family’s stable as far as the security chief was concerned.
“I am so taking a private honeymoon with Kyle,” she muttered, hurrying her steps to the trio of elevators. She didn’t think her numb toes could handle the staircase up to the mezzanine floor. Even if Kyle wasn’t in their room primping for his big moment in front of the cameras, Samantha needed the time away from the people and noise to give herself a pep talk and get her extrovert on. If she was lucky, Kyle would be in the room. A few private words and a kiss would go a long way toward reassuring her that she was making the right choice in saying yes to his proposal.
The bodyguard Pellegrino had summoned appeared in the hallway behind her. Brandon Metz might be the closest thing she had to a friend here tonight. Even though he was part of the elite security team her father had hired to safeguard the family and top executives at the company two years ago, Brandon was usually assigned to her at public events. Although sworn to be discreet, he knew her embarrassing idiosyncrasies. He knew she’d rather be almost anywhere else than dressing up and giving a speech in front of a microphone and flashing cameras.
Samantha pushed the elevator call button as Brandon’s long strides quickly ate up the hallway behind her. “Samantha?” he called to her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “What’s the hurry?”
If she could get in and close the door before he caught up to her, he’d be forced to take the stairs up to the next floor to keep an eye on her. She darted inside and pushed the button, eagerly anticipating a whole fifteen seconds or so of peace and quiet.
But Brandon caught the door and stepped into the elevator with her. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She sagged against the back railing. “Sorry. I just needed a break.”
His golden-brown eyes narrowed in a reprimand that she probably deserved. “I know you’re crawling out of your skin dancing through hoops for your family tonight. But it’s my job to keep you in my line of sight at all times.” Ironically, he turned his back on her, facing the front of the elevator while he spoke into his radio. “Filly One is secure. Heading to mezzanine.” He glanced over his shoulder to question her. “The anniversary of your mom’s death getting to you?”
“A little,” Samantha confessed. Although the grief wasn’t as intense as it had been growing up, she still felt the hole in her life that the woman who loved her unconditionally was supposed to fill. But if she started down the trail of all the landmark events in her life her mother had missed, and would miss, then she’d become the weepy little girl pushing her way through a crowd of reporters, asking them where her mother had gone. She was years past allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. A tart tone of sarcasm was one of the defensive tools she’d developed as she’d grown up. “I have to go fix myself so I’m up to my stepmother’s standards and don’t embarrass my father when the paparazzi start flashing pictures.”
Brandon chuckled and finished his report as the elevator stopped. “Will keep you posted when she moves again. Yes, I know the timeline,” he groused. “Metz out.” He held the door and checked the hallway before ushering her out ahead of him and following her to the room she shared with Kyle. “And here I thought you were skipping out on the party to go have a rendezvous with Loverboy.”
“I wish.” She slipped her hand beneath the hem of her skirt to pull her key card from the leg of her shapewear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kyle the last half hour or so, have you?”
“He’s not my assignment.”
She slid the card into the lock and opened the door to the faint garble of muffled voices. Maybe Kyle had come up here to catch the market report on the news or listen to one of his motivational podcasts. If he’d abandoned her to watch television or psych himself up for tonight’s show, she’d be angry, but at least she’d have an explanation for his disappearance. Samantha nodded to the settee and chairs where the private hallway opened onto a dramatic picture window above the lodge’s front entrance. “Relax if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He nodded toward the closest chair and side table with its fake potted fern. “I’ll give you five minutes. After that, I’ll come knockin’.” With a lopsided grin, he pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and retreated into the hallway. She heard him calling someone with another Filly One update while she locked the door.
Samantha’s deep exhale buzzed her lips as she sagged wearily against the door for a moment. The voices she’d heard had gone silent, so no television. No Kyle, either. She eyed his polished shoes that had been kicked off onto the carpet, and his suit jacket tossed in a lump on the rumpled bedspread beside her purse. Samantha peeked around the corner to knock on the bathroom door. Rumpled was not a typical state for her fiancé. Had he spilled something on him and come up to change? Was he not feeling well? “Kyle? Are you okay?”
The bathroom was empty, and the light was off. The inkling of concern that he might be ill faded. Samantha flipped on the light switch and studied her reflection in the vanity mirror, adjusting her glasses on her pale face before digging through her cosmetics bag to dust on another layer of blush. She was going to have to reach down deep inside her to find the strength and grace to make this evening the success her father wanted it to be.
Once she was sufficiently convinced there was nothing she could do to transform herself into the beauty of the family, Samantha set out her contact lenses and saline solution. But she quickly put her glasses back on when a more proactive way to improve her evening hit her. She returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, giving her squished toes a break, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. It would be more efficient to text Kyle and ask his whereabouts than to wander around the ski lodge in hopes of running into him, or trust that he was simply going to show up in the right place at the right time to propose.
After she hit Send, a buzz answered from Kyle’s jacket.
Samantha frowned. Even more unusual than Kyle tossing his clothes about was his not having his cell with him. She tugged his jacket into her lap. A black velvet ring box fell from the folds of wool. An unexpected twinge of feminine anticipation made her catch her lip between her teeth as she opened the box. The large marquise diamond surrounded by a double halo of emeralds and tiny seed diamonds was much too gaudy for her tastes. She’d never be able to wear this in the lab or out in the field when she was working. She snapped the box shut, trying not to feel too disappointed by his impractical choice. Why hadn’t Kyle bought the simple solitaire she’d shown him?
Since her curiosity had gotten her this far, she didn’t hesitate to pull out the folded slip of paper she found in his jacket pocket when she tucked the ring box back inside. This was probably some sappy poem or crib notes he planned to use when he proposed, instead of honest, heartfelt words.
Samantha’s jaw dropped open and her breath rushed out as her whole future closed in on her in one humiliating, suffocating moment. She read the names and numbers on the paper. This wasn’t even a stupid poem. It was a receipt for the ring. More expensive than she’d imagined. Charged to her stepmother Joyce’s account.
“Why would she buy my engagement ring?” If Kyle didn’t have the money for that shiny eyesore, then he should have purchased something smaller, more tasteful—a gift from the heart she would have treasured. Had he asked her stepmother to visit the jeweler for him because he’d been away on business so much lately and didn’t have time to shop?
She crumpled the receipt in her fist. Maybe this wasn’t about the money or time. Were her father and Joyce that worried about her? She was going through most of this for them. Did they think they were doing all this for her? How much of this whole engagement was for the benefit of public relations and the family name? Was any of this marriage bargain real?
Samantha pulled out the velvet box again and squeezed it in her fist. She was sorely tempted to track Kyle down and shove this ring and whatever bargain he thought he’d made with Joyce and her father down his throat.
The whole bed rattled when something thumped against the wall, startling Samantha from her vengeful thoughts. The interruption gave her a moment to temper her emotions, a moment to think more rationally about her discovery. Maybe her own doubts about this engagement were feeding her suspicion of Kyle.
But then she heard the giggle.
Chapter Two (#u763d1fd9-adff-54dc-9b52-253f97212a2b)
A moment of cold dread was quickly erased by the angry understanding that followed. She should have trusted her instincts. It wasn’t the pomp and circumstance of the evening that made her break out in stress hives. It was the idea of marrying Kyle.
When another thump against the wall made her jump, Samantha went to investigate. The door on her side that could be opened to turn the neighboring rooms into one large suite was unlocked and slightly ajar—as was the connecting door into the next room.
She’d like to go back to that whole television-or podcast-watching theory. But Samantha knew better as she pushed the second door open and entered the room that mirrored her own. Though still hushed, she could distinguish the voices and giggles and breathy moans now. She turned past the desk to the closet door, wishing her hearing was as lousy as her myopic vision.
A woman laughed from inside the closet. “Stop shushing me. You said no one could hear us in here.”
Oh, how she wished she didn’t recognize that voice.
“Just do it, baby. Do it now.” Betrayal drove a stake through her heart at Kyle’s gasping reply. “Stop talking and...”
Samantha whipped the door open to see Kyle leaning against the closet wall and her stepsister, Taylor, kneeling in front of his unzipped pants.
Oh, hell. Oh, double hell.
Kyle swore.
Samantha watched her stepsister tumble onto her bottom as Kyle pushed off the wall. She backed away, shaking her head.
Taylor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Samantha? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”
“Screw my boyfriend?” Seriously? Were those tears? “Or just get caught doing it?”
Kyle made a token effort to button his shirt as he stepped out of the closet. “I can explain.”
“So can I.” Fortunately, he was in a condition that made it difficult for him to hurry after her as Samantha headed to the connecting doors. “Apparently, you lost track of the time. And which sister you’re proposing to.”
Kyle grabbed her wrist and tugged her around to face him. “Baby, you know I’m committed to you.” He captured her by the shoulders, his handsome blue eyes searching hers. Hadn’t he just called Taylor baby? Real special endearment, jackass. “To us. I will see this thing through to the end. I just needed to get this out of my system before we settle down.”
“This? You mean having sex with my sister?” Samantha twisted in his grasp, and his hold on her tightened painfully.
Taylor scrambled to her feet to follow them, tugging her dress down to her knees. “Out of your system? What does that mean? You said—”
“Shut. Up.”
When Kyle turned to dismiss her stepsister, Samantha finally put those three-inch heels to good use and stomped on his stockinged foot, freeing herself. He cursed her and the pain, and stumbled into Taylor. While he teetered off balance, Samantha shoved him back inside the closet, knocking Taylor in with him. The two traitors were falling to the floor, pulling coats and hangers down with them, as she hurled the ring box at them and slammed the door. Tuning out both demands and apologies, she wedged the desk chair beneath the doorknob. Blind with rage and hurt and even a little self-loathing that she hadn’t seen this coming, Samantha marched back to her own room and locked the connecting door behind her. She just wanted to escape. If she’d needed a reprieve from the social event downstairs, then dealing with this kind of humiliation demanded nothing less than utter and lengthy solitude.
But she wasn’t going to find that here. She spared a moment to pull the luggage rack with her suitcase in front of the door to block the exit, further trapping the two on the other side before grabbing her purse and pulling her checkered trench coat from her own closet.
The argument from the next room continued, mixed with knocks against the walls and periodic swearing. “You said you were with the wrong sister. That you wanted me. Was that just a line to get me to—?”
“Shut up, Taylor.” The doorknob rattled. He pounded on the wall between them. “Samantha, open this door. We need to talk. You’re being a child.”
And you’re being a bastard.
“I love you,” he insisted, in the most rote, carefully practiced and insincere tone she could imagine. “I’ve told you that countless times.”
“If only you meant it any one of those times,” she muttered before slipping into her black-and-white coat and exiting into the hallway.
She barely noticed Brandon springing to his feet. She hated that her eyes were gritty with tears, hated that she cared enough to hurt like this. But her brain seemed to function, even when her emotions couldn’t get their act together. Although Kyle couldn’t get to her through the room they’d shared, he’d be able to reach her through Taylor’s door. No sense risking that he’d be able to break out of the closet and chase after her. She knocked over the side table, spilling it and the silk fern in front of Taylor’s door.
“Um, trouble in Happy Couple Land?” Brandon dodged to one side as she dragged the leather chair in front of the door, building a bigger barricade. “Your mother asked me to remind you—”
“Stepmother, Brandon. Joyce is my stepmother. My real mother died.” And apparently, so had any chance at a relationship. After swiping at the tears that clouded her glasses, Samantha booked it down the hallway toward the elevators, leaving the banging and swearing and shouting behind. “Tell Joyce and Dad something came up. I’m leaving.”
Brandon stayed right with her. “What did that lowlife do? Is he cheating on you again?”
Samantha stopped in her tracks. “Again? You knew he...? This isn’t the first...?” So much for protecting her. She tore her gaze away from the bodyguard’s pitying brown eyes and punched the elevator button. Be angry, not hurt. “I knew something wasn’t right between us. I was trying so hard to make it work. I’m such an idiot.”
“Where are you going? I can’t let you leave on your own. Especially when you’re like this.”
“Like what? Awake to reality? Standing up for myself? Saving what little dignity I have left?” The strain of the evening intensified the rash on her torso. Ignoring the habitual urge to scratch, she dug into her purse. “Fine. Then you’re coming with me. Here are my keys.” She stepped into the elevator, handing them to the confused bodyguard. “Bring my car around back by the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you there. I’m not walking through that lobby and facing all those people again.”
“Pellegrino will want to know your destination. He doesn’t like changing plans when security is already in place. The rain is pouring—”
“I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care if I get wet. I just have to get out of here.” She jerked at the crash of splintering wood from down the hallway and punched the first-floor button. “Now.”
Brandon grabbed the door to stop the elevator from closing. “What do I tell Pellegrino and your father?”
“Tell them I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’m flying to the moon. I don’t care.”
“Samantha!” Kyle’s shout reached her through the makeshift barriers she’d put up. The closet door was down.
Brandon pulled back his jacket, resting his hand on the gun holstered there. “You want me to stop him?”
At last someone was on her side. But she needed him to do what she needed him to do. “Either get the car right now, or I’m leaving on my own.”
He nodded and ran toward the stairs, allowing the doors to close. “I’ll meet you under the parking canopy at the kitchen’s delivery entrance in back.” She could hear him reporting in as the elevator dropped toward the first floor. “This is Metz. Be advised that Filly One is...”
Without even a glance toward the lobby, Samantha hurried toward the kitchen area by one of the lodge’s service corridors. With the catering staff out working the party, there was only the chef and her assistant in the kitchen when Samantha pushed her way through the swinging metal door. Ignoring their curious looks and offers to help, she quickened her steps toward the walk-in refrigerator and storage pantry near the back entrance. When the door crashed open behind her and the assistant squeaked in startled surprise, Samantha ran as fast as her aching feet and starched dress allowed.
“Samantha! You have to talk to me.”
Kyle hadn’t stopped to put on his shoes, and his stockinged feet made no noise as he raced up behind her. She yelped when he grabbed her and spun her around, backing her into a stainless-steel worktable, pinning her there with his hips and hands. His chiseled cheekbones were flushed with exertion, his perfect white teeth clenched as he panted in her face. “I thought you were an adult. Running away is what a child does. You owe it to me to listen.”
“I owe you?” His fingers clamped down tightly enough to bruise her skin when she shoved at his chest. “Let go of me.”
“Clear the room,” he ordered the catering staff. When they were too stunned by the argument to budge, he shoved a tray of hors d’oeuvres onto the floor. “Get out!”
Samantha wished she could leave with them as the door swung shut on their backsides. Dishes and pans rattled on the steel table as she squirmed in Kyle’s grasp. “You need to let me go.”
He released her arms to grab either side of her face, pulling at the pins that held her long hair in place and pinching her scalp, forcing her to look up at him. “You and I are getting married. We have an agreement. Your family likes me.”
“Some more than others, apparently.”
“Don’t get snarky with me. Yes, I screwed up. You have to forgive me.”
“Says who?”
“You think there aren’t things I would change about you?” he challenged.
How was this her fault? She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes and fought through her emotions to find the words she needed to say. “I’m not the one who’s cheating.”
“I have a weakness. Okay?”
“No. It’s not okay. You didn’t even pick out the ring yourself. You couldn’t spend that much time on me?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I can see that.”
“With work! I was a little strapped for cash and couldn’t afford the ring I wanted to get you, so Joyce helped me out.” He was the son of a millionaire and had a good job with the Midas Group. How could he possibly be short of money? Before she could voice the accusation, Kyle touched his sweaty forehead to hers in a supposedly tender gesture, and Samantha wondered how she’d ever found him handsome or charming. “I am committed to us. You know I’m good for you. I help others see beyond the professor and the glasses. We make a good team.”
What about needing her? Or wanting her? Or any other stupid compliment that could make her believe he was ever in love with her? The urge to cry disappeared. She let his lips brush against hers, but the moment he thought he was winning her back and his hold on her eased, Samantha twisted from his grasp.
He paused long enough to curse before pursuing her again. “This is a misunderstanding. You need to clue in to how the real world works. I have needs.”
She whirled around. “You need to keep your pants zipped around other women. If you wanted to get laid, you should have asked me. It’s not like I haven’t wanted you to...teach me more.”
The creep actually smiled. He cupped his fingers against her cheek. “Is that what this is about? Baby, you’re too good for a quickie.”
She slapped his hand away. “But my sister’s not?” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.
“Taylor’s young and fun. But she means nothing to me. You mean everything.”
“Liar. How many others have there been?”
At least he had the good grace to look guilty. For a split second. Then he was reaching for her again. “Look. Truth. You’re learning. Eventually the sex will be great between us, but until you get some confidence—”
She slapped his hand away. “A relationship isn’t just about sex. It’s about trust and caring and respect. You have no clue—”
When she felt his hand on her arm again, Samantha reached for the first weapon she could find, a heavy skillet resting on the edge of the metal table. She swung around, whacking him in the shoulder. He cursed, grabbing his bruised arm. She knew a moment of guilt, sensing she’d gone too far.
“You are not dumping me.” When his eyes narrowed in rage instead of pain, her brain took over.
She had a feeling that escape wasn’t just an emotional need at that moment. Shoving the pan into his gut, she forced Kyle back a step. She ordered him to open the refrigerator door. “Get in there. Get in or I swear I’ll run straight to my father and tell him you were banging Taylor tonight instead of earning your spot as Midas’s newest vice president.”
Kyle raised his hands and moved toward her. “You don’t want to upset your father tonight...”
“Get in!”
If she’d had any doubts that she was nothing more than a means to an end for Kyle, his willingness to step inside the cooler in exchange for her silence confirmed the truth. As disgusted with herself for being taken in by his promises as she was with the man himself, Samantha closed the refrigerator door and slipped the pin into the lock.
Instead of cursing her or shouting her name, Kyle pulled his cell phone from a pocket and held it up to the window beside his gloating face for her to see.
“How did you...?” Had he broken out through their room? Taken the time to retrieve his phone? Did he have a second cell? Whom was he calling?
Samantha dropped the skillet and opened the back door.
“This is Grazer. I need your help.” With the rain beating down on the loading area’s metal canopy, she lost the rest of the conversation until he started shouting. “I mean right now! She’s taking off. Running out the back door. This is plan B!”
Whoever Kyle’s ally was, she wasn’t waiting for his help to arrive. Slightly breathless with the exertion of fending off Kyle, she scanned the row of employee cars on the other side of the driveway for her silver BMW. The rain fell in sheets on either side of the canopy, blackening the night sky and shrinking her world to the lights beneath the canopy and parked vehicles ahead of her. Her steps stuttered to a halt beside the caterer’s van. Where was Brandon? Surely, he’d had time to fetch her car from the lot in front of the lodge to drive back here. “Where are you?”
Although she was out of the elements, the moisture in the air dotted her skin. She shivered with a chill that was part Wyoming springtime and part apprehension. Samantha took out her own phone and pulled up Brandon’s number. Should she call him? Give him a few more seconds?
A powerful engine revved nearby. Too big to be her car. Tires screeched against the wet pavement somewhere out in the darkness. Two headlamps came on, their bright lights crystallizing every raindrop, blinding her. Shielding her eyes, Samantha drew back to her side of the driveway so she wouldn’t be run over.
Just as she punched in her bodyguard’s number to get her out of this madhouse, a black van erupted from the wall of rain and skidded to a stop only feet away, sending a wave of dirty water splashing over her feet. “Hey!”
The side door opened and two men in dark camouflage gear and ski masks jumped out. One was carrying what looked like a machine gun.
Samantha screamed.
“Shut her up!” a growly voice ordered.
She spun around and slammed into a third man. Where had he come from? Strong arms snugged around her like a vise, knocking the phone from her hand. “Let go of me!”
“Get that phone!” someone shouted.
Someone tore her purse off her shoulder. She kicked. Clawed. Twisted. “Brandon! Help! Help me! Ky—!”
A gloved hand slapped an oily cloth over her mouth and nose, forcing her to breathe in some nasty fumes, making her dizzy. Rough hands lifted her off her feet. Her knee cracked against the running board of the van before she was shoved inside. “Help me,” she wheezed. The hands let go and she rolled across the floor of the van, slamming into the opposite side. “What’s happening? Who are you?”
“Samantha!” Help. Brandon was coming for her. She heard two sharp pops, and jumped inside her skin at the metallic clank of two bullets striking the back of the van.
A man in the front seat thrust his hand out the window and fired a gun that made a whup, whup sound. A silencer. Her would-be rescuer wouldn’t hear the man returning fire.
She pushed herself up, tried to warn him. “Brandon!”
The side door slammed shut. The van lurched forward and she fell.
“Glasses.”
Cruel hands pulled them off her face, blurring the world around her. “Please... I can’t see—”
“I said shut her up.” She felt the prick of a needle in the side of her neck. “Get the tracking device.” The man giving orders cursed. “Drive!”
Those same cruel hands tugged at her coat. A sharp blade pierced the back of her shoulder. Her world blurred into a woozy haze of faceless men and squealing tires.
Kidnapped. Just like her mother. Michelle Eddington had been taken on a raw night just like this one.
Samantha’s brain went dark on one final thought.
Kyle’s betrayal, seeing his daughter used and being played for a fool himself, might anger her father.
But this would break him.
Chapter Three (#u763d1fd9-adff-54dc-9b52-253f97212a2b)
A beer bottle sailed through the air. Jason dodged the flying projectile and watched it shatter against the wood door frame behind him at Kitty’s Bar.
He halted a moment to brush off some of the beer that had sprayed his jacket and quickly assessed the combatants of the fight he’d just walked in on. Looked like locals versus outsiders. Located on the outskirts of Moose, Wyoming, Kitty’s was usually a quiet hole-in-the-wall where a man could get a drink and meet a friend without running into too many people. But at o-dark-thirty on a Friday night, this place had more people in it than he’d ever seen—and half of them were throwing punches.
“Stop it!” Kitty Flynn yelled from behind the bar as a table tipped over, spilling playing cards and poker chips over the warped floorboards.
He spotted a familiar search and rescue ball cap sliding across the floor before zeroing in on a head of curly red hair. Sure enough, Marty Flynn, Kitty’s nephew and Jason’s coworker, was right in the middle of it, landing a punch on a blond guy in a three-piece suit before pulling a dark-haired waitress out of Blondie’s arms and pushing her toward the bar and his aunt. “You get out of there, Cathy, before you get hurt.”
Marty shoved at a dark-haired twenty-something wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. That was one of the Murphy boys, twins who ran a gun shop with their dad. He never could tell Cy and Orin apart. The kid shoved right back, trying to get at a tall, lanky man who already sported a black eye. Jason pulled off his knit cap and shook the rain from the dark hair that dripped onto his collar. He never should have answered his phone.
“Hey, Captain. I’ve got a woman we need to track down in the Tetons.”
“Missing hiker?” Jason had asked, thinking the woman was a fool to risk going up into the high country in the spring before the upper elevations had thawed. But he was already grabbing his go bag to load into his four-wheel-drive truck. Night was the worst time to be lost in the mountains. And all this rain and snow, depending on where she was on the mountain, made this a particularly miserable night.
“Not exactly.” Either the woman needed their help, or she didn’t. Jason waited for the younger man to explain. “Meet me at Aunt Kitty’s place. I’m not calling in anybody else on the S&R team because the guy who wants to hire us says this rescue needs to stay off the books. Hell, I’m not even filing a report with the boss, just getting clearance for a flight plan from the airport. I don’t think we need anybody else. And we could make some good money. A lot of it.”
Jason didn’t care about the money. What he cared about was living with his conscience. Letting another woman die when he could do something to help was his Achilles’ heel. Letting anyone die in those mountains when he knew them better than just about anybody in a hundred-mile radius wasn’t something he could hide away from, although he tried damn hard to hide from the world as much as it would let him. He’d found that five-year-old kid who’d wandered off from his parents last summer. He’d tracked down a mountain biker who’d had a run-in with a cougar, carried the guy on his back to clear ground so he could be life-flighted to the hospital. There’d been skiers and snowboarders who’d needed his help, and he’d been there, too, for them.
But it was never enough. The debt was still there. He’d lost too many lives over in Kilkut. No matter how far off the grid he got, that need to balance the scales—a life for a life—demanded that he answer Marty Flynn’s call. Maybe one day the score would be even, and the losses he’d suffered in the Corps, the anger and the guilt, wouldn’t be able to find him anymore.
And so, he was here. At Kitty’s Bar on the outskirts of Moose after midnight, walking into the middle of a bar fight.
Looked like Marty was actually trying to stop the fight, and was getting cursed and dinged up for his trouble. Four more locals, judging by their boots and jeans like Jason wore, were going after four guys in suits who seemed to be toying with them. One of the suits, an older man with a square face and silvering hair, hung back behind the tall guy and a bruiser with a handlebar mustache. Although he seemed mature enough to avoid duking it out with men half his age, he wasn’t above shouting orders, or answering taunts about getting the hell out of where he didn’t belong. Mustache Man had training. He blocked every punch, braced his feet when another drunk local charged him and used his attacker’s momentum to shove him off to the side.
Blondie wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and grabbed the older man’s arm, pulling him away from two men who knocked over a bar stool and toppled to the floor. “Stay out of it, Walter. Let the professionals handle these yokels. That’s what you pay them for.”
“I’m not afraid of a fight.” While the older man didn’t dive into the thick of swinging arms and wrestling men, he did shrug off the young man’s grip, stepping forward while Blondie waved him off with a dismissive curse and pulled out his cell phone.
Marty looked a little outnumbered, since neither side seemed interested in backing down. But Jason’s priority was the missing hiker, not bailing Marty out of a tough situation because someone had made a joke with the wrong person, or the city dude had made a move on one of the small-town country girls.
Sure, Jason could handle himself in a fight. The Marines had trained him to do that better than most. And the fact that he was built like a tank and stood almost a head taller than anyone else in the room generally dissuaded all but the drunkest or most stupid from picking a fight with him in the first place.
But he didn’t wage war anymore. Only the one inside his head. Not even for a friend from the Corps. Jason backed toward the broken bottle and swinging door. Marty could call in a different favor on another day.
Jason was big, but he wasn’t fast. Not fast enough to make his escape, at any rate.
“Captain! Jason. Thank God. This is the—” Another local boy with a dark crew cut and tats lunged past Marty, trying to get at the old man. He recognized Richard Cordes Jr., the son of a militia leader who’d led a remote compound in the area back when Jason had been a boy. “Damn it, Junior, I said back off!”
“Mind your own business, Marty.” More glass smashed. “Eddington!”
“Jase!”
Putting every emotional survival instinct on hold, Jason squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled a deep breath and answered Marty’s plea for help.
He grabbed the young man who was picking himself up off the floor and shoved him down in a chair with a warning to stay put. Kane Windisch—he was Junior Cordes’s cousin. Jason captured the next punk in a neck hold and twisted him out of his path to reach Marty and Junior, who was wielding a broken bottle, ready to cut anyone who got too close.
And that’s when he saw the guns. The bulges inside their suit jackets indicated Mustache Man and the lanky suit guy already sporting a black eye were both carrying.
“You shouldn’t have come here at all, old man,” Junior whined. The young hotshot poked the jagged edge of the bottle at the old man who must be Eddington. Mustache Man pulled back his jacket and reached for his gun. “Accusing me of stuff you know nothin’ about.”
As Junior lunged forward, Jason grabbed him from behind, lifting him off his feet and trapping his arms at his side, shaking him until his grip popped open and he dropped the bottle. Jason kicked it aside and set Junior down. The kid reeked of beer and smoke, like he’d just come in from camping. Jason shoved him back and pointed a warning finger at him. “You need to sober up and calm down.”
Junior smacked his hand away. “Get out of my face, Jase.”
“Who are you supposed to be?” Mustache Man sneered from behind him. “The cavalry? We got this covered.”
Jason turned on him next, unused to looking men straight in the eye, but not fazed by the man’s size, either. He nodded to the gun in his hand. “You need to put that away.”
“And he needs to back off,” Mustache Man warned.
“These boys aren’t armed.” No telling how many rifles and shotguns Junior and his buddies had stowed in their trucks outside. But Jason figured Mustache Man already knew that. This guy was a pro, former military if not a trained bodyguard for the old man and Blondie. Like Jason, he probably even knew about the revolver Kitty kept behind the bar for protection and to break up fights like this melee. But that didn’t mean Jason would allow him an unfair advantage over a group of young men who were too plastered to think straight. “I said put it away.”
“You ain’t fightin’ any fights for me, Jase.” Jason heard Junior squirming against the restraining grip Marty and one of the twins had on him. “I ain’t afraid of you, Eddington, or your peacekeepers you brought with ya.”
“Dante.” The silver-haired man in the pricey suit put a hand on Mustache Man’s shoulder. “Put the gun away.” But his eyes were fixed at a point beyond Jason’s shoulder. “I’ve been watching you for two years now, Mr. Cordes, and I’ve been content to keep my distance. As far as I’m concerned, justice was served the day of your father’s execution. But if you’ve done anything to my daughter, I will make it my business.”
Junior’s lips buzzed with a beer-fueled curse. “Justice, my ass.” He elbowed Marty in the gut, freeing himself. “You here to take my land, too? The way you took my daddy’s?” He charged the older man. “You’ll see how we do justice around these parts.”
Dante was definitely Eddington’s protector. The big man moved forward to block Junior. With barely a twitch of his mustache, he twisted Junior’s arm behind his back, pushing him into the dark-stained pinewood bar and smashing his face down onto the polished bar top.
One of the twins lunged forward to help his buddy. But he pulled up short, raising his hands in surrender as Mustache Man pulled his gun and aimed it squarely at the young man’s face.
“Back off,” Mustache Man warned.
Enough. Jason pulled the young man out of harm’s reach and stepped forward to take his place. The gun was now pointed at his chest, but it didn’t waver as Mustache Man’s dark eyes narrowed.
“Take a deep breath, mister,” Jason stated in a calm voice. The other suit had pulled his gun, too. An MK-23. He hadn’t seen a laser-sighted pistol since his last deployment. Didn’t know why any man would need hardware like that stateside. These two meant business.
Mustache Man pushed a little harder on Junior’s skull to keep him pinned to the bar. The damn gun didn’t move. “You are outmatched, my friend. There are two of us, and you’re not armed. I am Dante Pellegrino, owner of Pellegrino Security.”
“Good for you.” Jason wasn’t impressed by the posturing.
“Yo, Jase.” Marty Flynn materialized at Jason’s side, dusting off his cap and plunking it backward on his head. “This is Jason Hunt, Mr. Eddington. The guy I told you about. Served with him in the Corps.”
“Dante.” Like a superior officer, the bulldog who answered to Mr. Eddington spoke to his man in a tone that said he expected him to listen. “Let Cordes go. I need to talk to this man. Put your gun away. Brandon, you, too.”
With a deliberate chomp on the gum or chew he held in his cheek, Pellegrino released Junior and holstered his weapon. His sidekick did the same. When Junior sprang toward Pellegrino, Jason tripped him and shoved him out of harm’s way, warning him to walk away from the fight before Jason chose a different side.
“You, too, Kitty.” Jason’s tone was a little more indulgent with the barkeep, since she reminded him of the mother he hadn’t spoken to in two years.
“Jason Hunt, if you didn’t look so much like your daddy...” With some noisy grousing about people telling her what to do in her own place, she circled back behind the bar and put the revolver away in its drawer. “Cathy, get the broom and dustpan out of the back room.” The young waitress eagerly hurried off to do her boss’s bidding. “Wash your face while you’re back there, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Only after the weapons were all accounted for did Jason take his eyes off Pellegrino. He glanced over to where Junior was downing a surviving shot of some dark liquor and grinning like an idiot. “Go on home.” He nodded to his cohorts who were already gathering their jackets and hats. “One of you sober enough to drive?”
One of the twins—Orin, he thought—nodded. He’d been the one with the gun shoved in his face. He shrugged into a lined denim jacket. “Yes, sir.”
But Junior had been the son of a fiercely independent militia leader. In addition to inheriting his father’s rebellious attitude toward all things authoritarian, he was a little too drunk to choose keeping his mouth shut and leaving as the wiser course of action. He adjusted his stained and twisted cowboy hat over the crown of his head. “You owe me, Eddington. You owe my family. You don’t know who you’re messin’ with.”
Kitty circled around the bar with a tray and wet rag to clean the messy table. “Please, Junior, just go. Drinks are on the house. Whatever beef you’ve got with these people—”
“You don’t need to do me any favors. I ain’t so broke that I can’t pay my debts.” He tossed a couple of bills onto the table before turning to volley one last shot. “You took my daddy from me, Eddington. You watch out or I’ll take something from you.”
“Damn you, Cordes.” The older man surged forward. “If you’ve harmed my daughter in any way... I’ll give you the money right now if it means getting her—”
“You can’t give him the cash.” Pellegrino moved to intercede, but Jason hooked his arm around Pellegrino’s shoulder to stop him from turning this argument into another fight, especially when Kitty would be caught in the middle of it. Pellegrino sloughed off Jason’s hold and bounced a warning glare from his dark eyes.
Kitty stepped in front of the older man. “I told you, Junior has been here all night, playing cards. He couldn’t have taken your daughter.”
Taken? That word left a very bad taste in Jason’s mouth. What had Marty gotten him into?
“I’m goin’, Kitty. I’m goin’.” With his posse urging him toward the door, Junior put on his jacket. He paused when he brushed past Jason’s shoulder, looking up as though seeing him for the first time. “I could have taken him, you know.” No, he couldn’t. Not with the buzz on that clouded his judgment and coordination. Not against firepower like Pellegrino and his man were carrying. “You talk to your daddy recently? You’re lucky you still can. I heard Nolan’s been to see the doctor a couple of times this last month. You ought to call home sometime, instead of spending all your days building that cabin up in the woods. Or interferin’ with my business.”
A flash of concern that Jason’s father, Nolan Hunt, was facing some kind of health scare he didn’t know about blindsided Jason for a split second. He was equally steamed that Junior had chosen to make his screwed-up life his business, just because his pride was wounded. But Jason quickly shoved both emotions back where they belonged, relaxing the fist at his side. There was a reason Jason was out of the loop on family matters, a reason why he chose the wide-open space of the mountains over life in Jackson, Wyoming, where his parents lived. And no taunt from a drunken kid was going to make him forget that reason.
“Good night, Junior. Stay out of trouble.”
After the door swung shut on Junior and Orin, the older gentleman in the three-piece suit stepped up to shake his hand. “Mr. Hunt. I’m Walter Eddington. Thank you for coming on such short notice. What’ll you drink?”
Kitty scooped up her tray and headed back to the bar. “I’ll get a fresh pot of coffee brewed for you, Jase, and bring you a cup.”
He nodded his thanks and followed Marty and Eddington to join the blond man who’d left the fight to make a call at a large, stained table at the far side of the bar. He hung back when Dante Pellegrino and his sidekick flanked him, refusing to come any closer until they gave him the space he needed. Pellegrino smoothed his thumb and forefinger over the curves of his mustache, sending Jason a very clear message that he was used to calling the shots around his employer. But with Jason not budging, Walter Eddington muttered a choice word and ordered Pellegrino to take a seat. Before obliging his employer, he shifted his gaze to his hireling and nodded toward the bar’s front door. “Metz. Check outside to make sure Cordes and his boys drive away and don’t come back. I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes, sir.” As the younger man buttoned his suit jacket and jogged toward the door, the ladies’ room door opened in the back and the drama of the evening took a turn into Circus Land.
Two women who looked as out of place in this beer-scented joint as daisies in a patch of weeds came out of the ladies’ room. A twenty-something blonde in a shiny silver dress wheeled out a duffel-shaped overnight bag, while an older, equally dolled-up version of sophisticated beauty murmured something dismissive into the cell phone at her ear. The older woman met Jason’s assessing gaze before ending her call. While Marty pulled out a chair for the young woman, the mature blonde sat next to Eddington at the head of the table. “I’m assuming it’s safe to bring the money back out now that Mr. Cordes and his unpleasant friends are gone?” She squeezed his hand. The proprietary gesture and white gold band of diamonds on her hand told Jason they were husband and wife. “Are you certain they have nothing to do with Samantha?”
“I’m not certain of anything anymore.” Eddington pulled her hand to his lips to kiss it. She reached over to brush a strand of silver hair off his forehead with a lacquered fingernail. The tender gesture drew attention to the older man’s weary expression. His skin had been ruddy with emotion during that standoff with Cordes, but now his face had a gray quality to it, as if the toughness he’d summoned for that confrontation at the bar had faded away. “Mr. Hunt, this is my wife, Joyce. My younger daughter, Taylor. And I don’t believe you met Kyle Grazer. He works for me at the Midas Hotel Group. He was supposed to become my future son-in-law tonight.”
“Supposed to?” Grazer paused in the middle of pulling out a chair beside the younger woman. “Nothing has changed in my plans for Samantha. They’ve only been delayed.” He picked up the heavily packed duffel bag and dropped it into the middle of the table, rattling every glass and earning a glare from the older man. “This isn’t even what they asked for. Screw your principles. If we do what they tell you, we’ll get her back. Otherwise—”
“Kyle.” Joyce Eddington shot him a look that forced the young man into his seat. Clearly, the woman was very protective of her husband. But the outburst triggered a gasp and a sniffle from the young woman. Joyce tutted a reprimand behind her teeth, but put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Jason suspected that one reason for the trip to the bathroom had been for Taylor Eddington to apply a fresh coat of makeup to mask the puffiness around her red-rimmed eyes. “Taylor, dear, I need you to be stronger than this. Kyle, we need your handkerchief.”
When he hesitated, Marty pulled a blue bandanna from the pocket of his jeans and held it out to the petite blonde, sliding into the empty chair across from her. The young woman slid a quick glance up to Grazer’s glaring expression before softly thanking Marty and dabbing at the moisture on her face. “I’m all right, Mother. I’m just worried about how Samantha is doing. She must be so frightened. And we’re still sitting here, talking about what we should do when she might already be—”
Joyce squeezed her hand, shaking her head to keep her daughter from finishing that sentence.
Before anyone else snapped or glared or cried, Jason reached over the table to unzip the bag. He didn’t have to open it very far to see the bundles of cash packed inside. Ransom. A far cry from a cache of high-tech weaponry and intelligence info, but the bargaining chip was the same—a woman’s life.
His blood scalded like acid in his veins at the vivid memories he couldn’t escape. He wasn’t sure he could do this again. Marty thought they were going to make some easy money. He had no idea what he’d signed them up for. How much it could cost them if they failed.
But once a Marine, always a Marine. Jason was hardwired to be mission-oriented, and a shot at redemption was as tempting as it was unsettling. He closed the bag and pulled out a chair, swinging it around to straddle it beside Walter Eddington. “Who’s been taken?”
“Straight to the point. I like that. I’m a military man myself. Served a stint in the Army back in Vietnam.” For a brief moment, Walter Eddington looked truly old. But with a deep breath that expanded his barrel chest, he pulled out his phone and slid it across the table in front of Jason. “This was texted to me at midnight. My older daughter, Samantha.”
Eddington turned away, unable to watch the screen. He pulled a silver chain from his jacket pocket, running his thumb over every link as if he was counting rosary beads. That wasn’t a good sign. Jason’s jaw tightened as he took the phone and played the video message.
Hands that belonged to unseen men plucked a black hood off a woman’s head. She put her bound wrists up to her face and squinted against the sudden brightness of the lights shining on her, lights that also obscured her captors and their surroundings. Long ash-blond waves tumbled down one side of her neck while straighter strands still caught beneath hairpins floated upward with static electricity. When the gloved hands pulled her arms away from her face, she winced, but didn’t cry out.
An off-camera voice muttered something unintelligible and she blinked open big green eyes. She ran her tongue across her full bottom lip and cleared her throat, as if she was thirsty and struggling to speak. “I can’t even see the camera without my glasses, much less read that scrawl of yours.”
“Give ’em to her,” the muffled voice ordered.
She glanced blindly about until the gloved hands reappeared and thrust a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses onto her face. As Samantha Eddington blinked the world into focus, she whispered a soft “Thank you.”
Jason fought the urge to bolt. This was Kilkut all over again. The hair and eye color might be different, but with those glasses, she looked too much like... The memory of a bullet hole through the shattered lens of a woman’s glasses superimposed itself over Samantha Eddington’s face. He curled his fingers into a fist, fighting off the past and focusing squarely on the present reality of those big green eyes.
“Say it.” The harsh voice wasn’t muffled now.
Samantha nudged her glasses into place and looked into the camera. “Dad? Um, I got myself into some trouble here. Never should have left that stupid party. I’m so sorry. Is Brandon okay? He tried to help. I know you’re thinking about Mom right now. I felt like I needed to get away before I exploded, but I never thought any of this—”
“Cut the sentimental crap and read it.”
“Will you take me to use the outhouse if I do? My bladder’s about to bust.”
Her answer was the distinctive sound of a bullet sliding into the firing chamber of an automatic handgun. “Read it.”
Her green eyes widened and locked on to someone off camera beside her, no doubt holding a gun on her. Samantha Eddington was pale, scared, dressed in some nonsense fancy dress that curved over her generous breasts and left her visibly shivering. Or maybe that was fear. But other than the edge of a bandage peeking out beneath the flowery strap over her left shoulder, at least she didn’t appear to be injured.
She turned her focus to something at the right of the camera and started reading. “We—these men, of course, not me—want five million dollars. Wow. That’s a million dollars apiece. You must think—”
“Stop ad-libbing.” The barrel of the Sig Sauer pointed at Samantha entered the camera shot, inching closer to her caramel-blond hair. “Word for word.”
Although this was hard to watch, Jason was learning more about the situation in the few seconds he watched the nearsighted socialite on camera than he’d learned in the previous few minutes with the rest of her family and employees. At least five men, armed with pricey hardware, were holding her someplace that had an outhouse. So not in town, and not anyplace where a military-grade weapon like that would be noticed. There were snowflakes dotting the black camouflage material on the arm holding that weapon. Snow meant they were at a higher elevation. Samantha Eddington was smart—maybe a little too clever for her own good if her kidnappers caught on to all the clues she was dropping and punished her for it.
With a jerky nod, she lowered her gaze to the script. “If you don’t pay us the money, you’ll lose your daughter...” She hesitated, twisting her lips into a frown, blinking back tears before reading on. “...just like you lost your wife. I’m sorry, Dad. I know how hard this is for you. If anything happens to me, promise me you won’t blame—”
“Read it!” The gun ground against her temple and she froze.
Tilting her head away from the gun, she continued. “We’ll call tomorrow morning at eight with an account number where you will deposit the money. Once the deposit has cleared and we’re out of the country, we’ll call again and give you Samantha’s location. If the money isn’t there by noon, all you will find is her body.” A delicate muscle rippled down her throat as she swallowed again. “Unless...the scavengers find her first.” She shook off the terror that threat must engender and read on. “No cops. No FBI. Don’t send your fancy security force after us. It’s time to pay up. Five million for your daughter’s life.” Her green eyes darted toward the camera. “I tried to fight them, Dad. But my toes are freezing up here. Remember when you tried to teach me how to hunt? I wish I had that gun now—”
“Shut her up.”
The gloved hands whisked the glasses off her face. “Please, don’t. I read what you wrote. You don’t understand what my father’s been through. He won’t pay—”
“He damn well better.”
She was struggling with her captors now. And losing. The men pushed her down to the floor and the camera followed.
“Stop! Please... No!”
“We’ll kill her if you don’t cooperate, Eddington,” an off-screen voice promised.
Another pair of hands pushed her loose hair off her face, exposing her long, creamy neck to the syringe they held. She grimaced when the needle pricked her skin. Her words were already slurring as she looked toward the camera. “I love you, Dad.”
The screen went black before a cue icon beckoned Jason to replay the disturbing images. But he’d already memorized any useful intel he could get off the video. His blood simmered as experiences from the past were already painting a dark outcome for Samantha Eddington’s future. He’d put his fist through the table if he watched it again. If he couldn’t block these emotions, he’d be no use to anybody. And clearly, Samantha desperately needed somebody’s help. His kind of help.
But Jason wasn’t sure he was mentally fit to handle this kind of dark ops rescue mission anymore. He handed the phone back to Samantha’s father. “You got five million dollars?”
“I do.”
“Pay the ransom.” He rose from his chair, giving the best advice he could, even as he tried to save his sanity and make an exit.
“I won’t give in to their threats.” Eddington was sentencing his daughter to death on some kind of principle? The older man stood to block Jason’s path to the door. “You may not know who I am, Captain Hunt, but this isn’t the first time I’ve gone through this. I paid a million dollars to Richard Cordes and his militia for my wife Michelle twenty-two years ago. The kidnappers killed her, anyway.”
Twenty-two years ago, Jason had been a middle-schooler, discovering girls weren’t icky, counting the days until his father returned from his latest deployment and not paying attention to the news. But even now, he had a glimmer of a memory about the dead woman who’d been found in a gully outside Cordes’s militia compound. He glanced over to the table where Richard Jr. had been playing cards. “You came here to accuse Junior of taking your daughter?”
“Yes. He and I were both there the day his father was executed for Michelle’s murder. He said things... I know he blames me for his father’s death. He thinks I cheated his family when I bought the militia’s land to build a ski resort. Of course, they didn’t own it. They were squatters who’d taken over government land. I had a legal deed and I paid a fair price for every acre. But I’m sure that’s what his father preached to him his entire life. I didn’t want to argue with him. I just wanted—”
“Samantha back.” Joyce rose beside her husband as his shoulders sagged. She took over the conversation when Walter couldn’t immediately continue. She dragged the duffel bag across the table. “I told Walter we should come prepared to make a deal. He scraped together over a hundred grand in cash. But Mr. Cordes was insulted by the offer. Of course, he was also drunk and hitting on my daughter.”
“Mother.” Taylor Eddington seemed embarrassed to be any part of this conversation.
Kyle Grazer, however, didn’t seem to have any problem making himself heard. He pounded the table with his fist. “Pay the damn ransom, Walter! All of it. Your stubbornness is going to get her killed.”
The accusation galvanized the older man. His cheeks flushed with anger as he pushed his wife aside and met the younger man nose to nose. “You have no say in this. If you had stayed by Samantha’s side tonight—”
“I’m the one who tried to stop her from leaving.”
Taylor burst into tears and dashed off to the bathroom while Joyce Eddington urged the two men to behave like gentlemen and Pellegrino inserted his shoulder between them and forced Grazer back a step. The younger man tipped his chin up to the mustachioed bodyguard and swore. But, as Jason suspected he would, Grazer backed off.
Pellegrino’s dark eyes never left Grazer’s as he put the microphone on his wrist up to his lips and called his man back inside. “Metz? If the coast is clear, I need you in here to walk Mr. Grazer out to the limo.”
“Save your damn escort,” Grazer whined. “You can afford to lose five million, Walter. Can you afford to lose anyone else you love? If anything happens to Samantha, it’s on your head.” He pulled out his cell phone and stalked toward the bar’s swinging door, exchanging a sour glance with Brandon Metz on the way out as the younger bodyguard came in.
Metz shrugged in confusion, but joined them at the table when Pellegrino waved him over. “Grazer can walk it off.” He reached for the duffel bag of cash. “I need you to secure this.”
“Yes, sir.”
But Eddington was taking charge again. He pulled the duffel bag from Pellegrino’s hands and shoved it into Jason’s chest. “Mr. Flynn says you’re the best. Consider this a down payment. I’ll give you the five million if you bring Samantha home alive.”
Pellegrino immediately intervened, taking the bag back into his custody. “Whoa, Walter. I said my men and I would go after Samantha. This guy will be our guide. You can’t pay some stranger to rescue her.”
“The message said specifically not to send you. No cops, no FBI.”
Mrs. Eddington wasn’t about to be left out of the argument. “I think Kyle is right. We should pay the ransom. Make sure Samantha is safe. Then worry about bringing these men to justice.”
Walter raised his voice. “I want her home before the next phone call. Before it’s too late.”
Jason shot a look across the table, catching the wry apology on Marty Flynn’s face. Damn Marty for getting him involved with this. But he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t live with another Elaine Burkhart on his conscience.
“I’ll do it.”
His nostrils flared with a deep breath as he summoned the years of training in both the military and search and rescue that lived inside him. Those skills triggered the muscle memory and do-or-die mind-set that turned him into a man he didn’t want to be anymore. But he had to become that man to do this job, to salvage his conscience, to save an heiress with pretty green eyes so he’d be able to sleep at night. “I need to know everything about your daughter’s abduction, and an explanation for those clues she was feeding us on that video.” Jason felt a clock ticking now. Whatever needed to be done would have to happen within the next few hours, before the 8:00 a.m. deadline. “Did you take Samantha hunting? Stay at a cabin with an outhouse?”
“She didn’t have the right shoes on that trip.” With Jason’s urging, Eddington processed the information from the video. “When she was twelve, I took her up past Marion Lake and showed her how to use a gun. She didn’t want to aim at any of the birds we were after, but she’d shoot at a paper target. She liked the mechanics of the weapon. My girl always did like to tinker with gadgets and fix things. Sammie spent more time taking her rifle apart and cleaning it than she did with any actual hunting. I’d rented a cabin for the weekend. She was tucked in and asleep by the fire before I realized she’d worn her tennis shoes instead of the boots I’d got her. Her feet were soaked and her toes like ice before I got her warmed up.”
“Where was that cabin?”
“On the trail going up to Teton Canyon.” Walter shook his head. “That place was torn down six years ago. They can’t be holding her there.”
“But if she’s familiar with that area, that could be the connection she was making.” The national park alone covered 485 square miles. It was imperative that they narrow down the search area if there was any chance of rescuing Samantha before the kidnappers called again. “There are supply cabins and a handful of rental properties all along that trail. The kidnappers could be holed up in any one of those.”
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