ONE
Clunk.
Brandi Callahan spun around, her eyes landing on the tack room. The muffled sound made it impossible to make out the source.
Cold seeped into her very being, making her regret leaving her coat on the back of her office chair. She’d sprinted out of the emergency dispatch office so fast she hadn’t been thinking after that call from her sister.
Her presumed-dead sister.
She shivered as she waited at the door of her grandparents’ barn, miles from nowhere at four thirty in the morning, wondering if she should have waited until daybreak to come. But how could she not come if Sadie were truly alive? A quick check of her grandparents’ vacant three-story Victorian house had turned up nothing but scurrying rodents and a deep yearning for family—a reminder of all Brandi had lost.
“Sadie,” she called.
It took a moment for Brandi’s eyes to adjust, as a beam of light shone through the cracks of the barn door from her headlights onto old square bales of hay. A tiny blind spot in her left eye made it easy to miss details, so she adjusted her view to make certain she didn’t miss anything. A noise sounded somewhere in the distance. More rodents? She glanced over her shoulder, the headlights blinding her. Hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “Sadie, are you here?”
As soon as she moved deeper into the old structure, darkness overtook her.
Ding. This time, there was no mistaking something had moved. It wasn’t only the creaks of an ancient building.
“Sadie.” She said the name a little louder. If anyone was nearby, they would’ve already heard her movement and seen her Cavalier outside, so there wasn’t any reason to be quiet. Even louder, she called, “Sadie. Please come out.”
This time when the scuffling resonated, her gaze fell on Grandpa’s truck. When they were kids, she and Sadie used to play in the seat and pretend to drive. She crossed the room and yanked open the rusty truck door.
Two frightened eyes stared back at her. A dark-haired little boy, no more than eighteen months old, huddled with his blanket and a stuffed Christmas-reindeer teddy bear. His lips trembled with fear.
Brandi’s heart took a nosedive. Who would leave a toddler alone on a farm, miles from any other homes in the cold? Someone desperate, that’s who. Did her sister leave this precious boy? The thought stunned her. “It’s okay, little fellow. Here, let’s get you warm.”
“No,” he cried and crawled to the other side of the cab. The denim blanket flipped over, and she read the name Levi embroidered in red in the corner.
“Levi...”
He looked up. She didn’t blame him for being scared; she kept her voice low and soothing. “Is that your name? Levi? My name is Brandi. I won’t hurt you.”
His lip puckered and his eyebrows turned down, giving her a don’t-touch-me warning.
“Are you hungry? I have a doughnut in my car.” A half-eaten doughnut.
Before the boy could answer, an engine revved from outside. Gravel sprayed as a vehicle came to a stop.
Panic driving her, and not understanding what was going on, she reached across the seat and grabbed the boy along with the bear and his blanket. Getting to her vehicle wasn’t an option. She dashed for the barn’s side exit. Before she made it, the main door swung open and a burly, bearded man with a gun stepped inside.
“Stop!”
She didn’t obey but slammed into the small side door, knocking it wide. Clinging to the boy, she raced for the house.
Almost every day for the last few years she’d dealt with a wide range of crises as an emergency dispatcher, but she had sat safely behind a desk. She didn’t like being on this side of danger.
A shot rang out.
Her heart stampeded in her chest. What was going on? What had Sadie gotten herself into? She could barely see as she took the porch steps two at a time to the side door of her grandparents’ home and then slung the screen door open. With hands shaking, she hurried inside and slammed it so hard the knob didn’t latch. The little fella whimpered as she started to dash upstairs. But no, that was where the bearded man would expect her to hide. Instead, she ran past the wooden dining table and into the small pantry in the corner of the kitchen. She knocked a pile of brown paper sacks and an old ice cream maker out of the way.
Just as she slid to the floor with her back against the wall, footsteps pounded across the wooden porch. The kitchen door screeched open, causing her lungs to freeze. She leaned to the side, hoping the mop and broom would cover her. But that was silly. If nothing else, she could use the broomstick as a weapon.
Levi’s brown eyes connected with hers as boots scuffled across the linoleum floor in the kitchen. As if the toddler sensed the danger, he remained silent, and she pulled him against her chest and softly whispered against his ear, “It’s okay.”
Movement outside the pantry stopped, and she pictured the man listening. She didn’t breathe. Please don’t let him sense we’re in here. Silent seconds ticked by.
Finally, footsteps headed across the wooden floor to the stairs. As soon as the man was on the second floor, she repositioned her grip on the boy, climbed to her feet and tiptoed fast out the door. She closed the door and sprinted for her car. A commotion sounded from the house, but she ran for her life, not turning to look.
“Stop! Jarvis County Sheriff’s Department. Brandi Callahan, let me see your hands.”
What? The unexpected but familiar male voice shocked her, causing her to stutter-step. A Jarvis County sheriff’s deputy stood with his gun raised. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Brandi stumbled while yelling, “There’s a man with a gun in the house. He shot at me.”
“Stop.”
“I can’t... Please.”
Just then, a shot rang out from the porch. Confusion and anger etched across the officer’s face as he did a double take at the gunman. “Get to cover, Callahan,” Deputy Norris barked as he moved behind the back of his car.
Brandi ran and then slid inside her own car as the deputy talked into his mic.
“I need backup now, at the Callahan farm.”
Suddenly, more popping broke the silence.
Pings bounced off the deputy’s hood, and the windshield shattered.
Levi screamed as Brandi turned the key in the ignition.
Deputy Norris fell to the ground.
A shriek escaped her throat. Disbelief shook her. Without a moment’s thought, she threw her car into gear. The boy clung to her neck, making it difficult to see as she flew down the drive. She couldn’t tell if the gunman followed her, but she had to assume he would.
Her hands shook as frightened tears rolled down her cheeks. Nervous for the boy’s safety, she hit the brakes and placed him in the passenger seat and put the seat belt on him.
Who was this guy? Where was Sadie?
Two years ago, everything Brandi had ever believed in—family, love and security—had been ripped away in a matter of weeks, engulfing her life in bitterness and resentment. Her father was accused of stealing, and then apparently killed himself. This was followed by Sadie’s disappearance, making Brandi question if her sister had something to do with the theft. Authorities believed Sadie was dead, but Brandi didn’t buy it.
If it was the last thing Brandi did, she aimed to prove her father’s innocence and restore the family’s reputation. And she planned to start by finding her sister.
If she lived that long.
A glance over her shoulder showed headlights on the treetops of her grandparents’ drive. He was coming for her. She floored it. All she could think was that she had to get away.
Faster.
Faster.
Texas Ranger Rhett Kincaid ran his fingers through his damp hair as he stepped into his kitchen. He didn’t have to be at work until seven this morning, so he’d taken advantage and gotten in a couple of quick miles on the treadmill before he took a shower and dressed. He grabbed a K-cup from his cabinet, planning to make coffee, when headlights shot through the kitchen window. He glanced out and saw a car speeding down his driveway. Who would be here at five fifteen in the morning?
He retrieved his gun from the top of the refrigerator, stepped into his boots and strode to the front door, prepared for trouble. As he looked out, the headlights went off and the silhouette of a woman scrambled out of a coupe. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out her identity, but a light fog hung in the air. Rhett’s house sat at the edge of town, the last property on a dead-end road. Not necessarily in the boonies, but no one drove out this way unless they were visiting him or were lost.
He stepped out on the porch. “Can I help you?”
She looked up, her shoulder-length blond hair blew across her face, and their eyes collided. His throat tightened as realization hit him that the woman was Brandi Callahan. It had been two years since he’d laid eyes on her.
Momentarily caught off guard, he hesitated before he crossed the wooden porch. Just then a jacked-up vehicle whipped into the drive and barreled toward Brandi’s coupe.
She jumped back into her car.
“Wait!” He hurried down the steps.
Gunfire ripped through the night. A bullet whizzed past his ear.
Brandi hit the gas, mud flying as she peeled out of the drive, the SUV right on her tail. Rhett ran for his truck.
Possible scenarios ran through his mind, but he couldn’t fathom why someone was after Brandi. He took off in the direction of the two vehicles. One thing was clear: if she had been looking to him for help, that meant she was in deep trouble. Brandi wanted nothing to do with him.
Rhett was familiar with the back roads, and though he took them at high speed, he couldn’t see taillights in front of him. Hazardous curves littered the road.
He accelerated even more, and after a couple of minutes, the red glow of taillights came into view. Thankfully, the half-frozen ground prohibited dust clouds. He closed the distance on the SUV. Brandi’s taillights were just ahead. He had to do something, but sixty-five miles per hour was much too fast to shoot at her pursuer. He moved in and identified the vehicle as an older brown-and-white Ford Bronco.
As they entered a long straightaway, Rhett’s truck hit a deep pothole and jolted. He barely kept it under control. He needed to get this guy off the road and planned to perform a PIT maneuver. The Bronco sped up. Rhett gripped the steering wheel tight at the upcoming curve in the road.
Please, Brandi, slow down. Even though she had broken off their engagement, Rhett hadn’t stopped thinking about her. He hated the way things had ended between them and had never understood how she could dump him so easily after agreeing to marry. After his father had abandoned their family, Rhett had put commitment with a capital C at the top of his own list of priorities. Evidently, Brandi didn’t feel the same way.
But no matter what Rhett said or how he tried to help with the disappearance of her sister, Brandi had lumped him together with the Mulberry Gap citizens who she felt had turned their back on her during her time of need.
Desperate to get the man off her bumper, Rhett closed in and clipped the Bronco’s rear. The SUV fishtailed, red taillights dancing in the mist, and then slid through the curve on two wheels. The Bronco hit the ground again and regained control. The driver slammed on his brakes. Rhett had expected the move and dodged the back end, pulling to the right of the Bronco. Rhett slowed down until he was again behind the vehicle.
A mile or so ahead was a sharp T. Did Brandi remember it was ahead?
He had to end this now. Again, he floored his truck and with his heavy-duty grill guard, clipped the left side of the Bronco’s bumper, sending it sideways and out of control. The monster vehicle bounced and slammed into the ditch. Rhett hit his brakes, expecting the Bronco to get stuck in the trench, but the engine roared, the large tires sending mud flying.
Rhett grabbed his gun and exited his vehicle. He watched as the Bronco gained traction, plowed through a barbwire fence and fled through a pasture. He didn’t wait but jumped back in his truck and took off to find Brandi.
His heart pounded, praying she was all right. He didn’t know why this guy had chased his ex-fiancée, but his intent had been deadly. Rhett grabbed his phone and tried to call Brandi’s phone, hoping her number hadn’t changed. The call went straight to voice mail.
As he approached the T in the road, he slowed, his headlight beams bouncing from the treetops. His gaze latched onto skid marks—the lines went from the middle of the road and disappeared straight ahead. An eerie glow illuminated the deep ravine. Fog filtered through the air.
He came to a stop and jogged to the edge of the rock road.
His breath hitched as he eyed the back of her car. Taillights glowed in the steam that lifted from the hood. Her car dangled precariously over the deep ravine. The small, bare tree branches bent, ready to snap any second as the front end slightly bounced up and down.
Through the uncanny silence, a child’s scream sent chills down his neck.
A child? He hurried toward the car and called out, “Brandi, don’t move.” His boots slid in the mud as he stepped off the road toward the wreckage. “Are you hurt?”
“Rhett...” Her voice was shrill. “Help us!”
“Are you hurt?” he repeated.
“No, I don’t think so. The car’s going to fall. Get us out of here!”
“Hold on.” The fear in her voice ramped up his already elevated adrenaline. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t move.”
A rope or chain. His mind whirled, trying to remember what he had in his truck. Behind his back seat he had a small toolbox.
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