Rescue at Cardwell Ranch

“Everyone seems to be running late this morning,” he said, and wondered why that was. Because they’d all been given a heads-up? Gus noticed the way both cops were looking at him, scrutinizing him as if he had horns growing out of his head.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” the woman cop said. “Ms. Sheldon has asked us to first see that you remove your belongings from the premises.”

“What?” he demanded. “The bitch is firing me? Has she lost her mind?”

P. Donovan’s eyes went hard and cold at the word bitch. The word had just slipped out. He’d known McKenzie had it in for him, but he’d never dreamed she’d fire him.

“I’m her biggest-earning salesman,” he said as if there had been a mistake made and he hadn’t made it. Neither responded. Instead, he saw the male cop looking around. “What?”

“Are there some boxes in the office you can put your belongings into?” the cop asked.

Hadn’t either of them been listening? “She can’t do this.” Gus heard the hopelessness in his voice. He hated nothing worse than the feeling that came with it. He wanted to break something. Tear the place up. Then find McKenzie Sheldon and punch her in the face.

The male cop had gone into a storage room. He came back with two boxes. “Please take only those items belonging to you personally. We’ll watch so we can tell Ms. Sheldon.”

Gus gritted his teeth. McKenzie didn’t even have the guts to face him. Well, this wasn’t the last she’d see of him. He’d catch her in a dark alley. He started to shovel the top of the desk off into one of the boxes, but the male cop stopped him. T. Bradley, the name tag read.

“Leave any inventory you’ve been working on.”

He grabbed up his coffee mug and threw it into the box. The couple of tablespoons of coffee left in the cup made a dark stain across the bottom. The same way McKenzie’s blood was going to stain the spot where they met up again, he told himself.

His personal belongings barely filled one box. That realization made him sad and even angrier. This business should have been his. When he was a boy, he used to sleep on the floor of the main office when his mother had to work late. This place had been more like home than home during those years when she’d been growing the business.

“Is that everything?” P. Donovan asked.

He didn’t bother to answer as T. Bradley asked for his key to the building.

“Ms. Sheldon has taken out a restraining order against you,” the cop said. “Are you familiar with the way they work?”

He looked at the cop. “Seriously? Do I look like someone who is familiar with restraining orders?”

“You are required to stay away from Ms. Sheldon and this building. If you harass her—”

“I get it,” he snapped, and handed over his key. As he started toward the door, T. Bradley blocked his way.

“We’re going to need you to come down to the police station with us to answer a few more questions.”

“About what?” The receptionist, bloody hell. “Look, I haven’t done anything that any red-blooded American male doesn’t do. I like women.” He realized they were staring at him. “Come on. She liked it or she wouldn’t have led me on.”

“Whom are you referring to?” P. Donovan asked.

He frowned. “Cynthia. The receptionist. She was threatening to call the cops last night, but I didn’t really think she’d do it. Why would you ask me that? Who else called the cops on me?”

“Didn’t she ask you to leave her alone?” the woman cop asked.

He shrugged. “I thought she was just playing hard to get.”

“What about Ms. Sheldon? Did you also think she was just playing hard to get?” T. Bradley asked.

Gus closed his eyes and sighed. So she’d told them about that time she’d caught him in her neighborhood. “There’s no law against sitting in your car on a public street. I didn’t even realize she lived in the area. I was looking at the house down the block, okay?” Not even he could make the lie sound convincing.

“Let’s go,” P. Donovan said and led him out of the building as if he were a criminal. In the small parking lot, he saw his colleagues waiting in their vehicles for the police to take him away.

He wanted to kill McKenzie.

“Please open the trunk of your car, Mr. Thompson,” T. Bradley said as Gus started to put the box in the backseat.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Just please open it,” P. Donovan said.

He thought they probably needed a warrant or something, but he didn’t feel like making things any worse. He cursed under his breath as he moved to the back of the vehicle and, using his key, opened the trunk. It was empty, so he put the box in it. “Satisfied?”

It wasn’t until T. Bradley rode with him to the police station and they had him inside in an interrogation room that they demanded to know where he’d been last night after he’d left the office.

“We know you didn’t go straight home,” P. Donovan said. “Where did you go?”

So much for being Mr. Nice Guy. Through gritted teeth, Gus said, “I want to speak with my attorney. Now.”

Chapter Four

He’d failed.

Failed.

The word knocked around in his mind, hammering at him until he could barely think.

You got too cocky last night, you and your perfect record.

It wasn’t his fault. It was the woman’s. The fool woman’s and that cowboy with the Southern accent who’d rescued her.

That rationale didn’t make him feel any better. He’d had one woman who’d fought back before, he thought, tracing a finger across the scar on his neck. But he hadn’t let her get away and she’d definitely paid for what she’d done to him.

The possibility of not only failure, but getting caught was what made it so exciting. He loved the rush. But he also loved outsmarting everyone and getting away with it. Last night should have gone off without a hitch. The woman was the perfect choice. He’d done everything right. If he hadn’t had to knock her out... Even so, a few more seconds and he would have had her in the trunk. Then it was a short drive to the isolated spot he’d found by the river.

His blood throbbed, running hot through his veins, at the thought of what he would have done to her before he dumped her body in the Gallatin River. He had to kill them for his own protection. If he were ever a suspect, there couldn’t be any eyewitnesses.

Except last night he’d left behind two eyewitnesses—the woman and the cowboy. Had either of them gotten a good look at him or his vehicle? He didn’t know.

A costly mistake. He mentally beat himself for not waiting until he could leave town before grabbing another one. The northwest was like a huge marketplace, every small town had perfect spots for the abduction and the dumping of the bodies. Small-town sheriff’s offices were short on manpower. Women weren’t careful because people felt safe in small towns.

Also, he had the perfect job. He traveled, putting a lot of miles on the road every year with different vehicles at his disposal. He saw a lot of towns, learned their secrets at the cafеs and bars, felt almost at home in the places where he’d taken women.

But last night, after a few weeks unable to travel, he’d been restless. The ache in him had reached a pitch. His need had been too strong. He’d never taken a woman in his hometown. One wouldn’t hurt, he’d thought. No, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d taken a terrible chance and look what had happened.

He gingerly touched the side of his head where she’d hit him with whatever canned good had been in her grocery bag. Fortunately, other than being painful, the bruise didn’t show through his thick hair. His shin was only slightly skinned from where she’d nailed him with her high heel and his fingers ached. No real visible signs of what she’d done to him. Not that he didn’t feel it all and hate her for hurting him.

It could have been so much worse. He tried to console himself with that, but it wasn’t working. The woman had made a fool out of him. It didn’t make any difference that he shouldn’t have gone for so long since the last one. But it had begun to wear on him. Otherwise, he would never have taken one this close to home. He would never have taken the chance.