Sovereign Sheriff

That possibility was enough to get her moving. She lurched from her car and stood on shaky legs.

The lights from his vehicle showed the damage to her rental car. The trunk and rear bumper were caved in. A scrape gashed into the back door. It was sobering to see how close she’d come to disaster, but she couldn’t allow herself to sink into helpless terror.

“Wait.” She balked. “My luggage.”

“I’ll have someone come back for it.”

“At least, I need my purse.” She leaned into her wrecked car and reached across the driver’s seat to grab her purse. Her gaze slid toward the matched burgundy leather suitcases behind the front seat; she wanted her guns. “Can I get my luggage?”

“Forget it.”

“We can leave the other bags in the trunk.” With the rear end crushed in, it would take the Jaws of Life to retrieve those suitcases. “But I need that one.”

“Why?”

It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell him that she’d brought a couple of Berettas. Facing him, she drew up her shoulders and said, “I’ve got to have my makeup.”

Without another word, he scooped her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes.

Upside down, she was shocked by his manhandling. Saida was a princess, after all. His arm pinned her legs so she couldn’t kick. Her arms flailed wildly. With her purse, she whacked his butt. “Put me down.”

“This is for your own good.”

She’d heard those words before—many, many times before, and the statement never failed to infuriate her. For my own good? Really?

At his SUV, Jake dropped her to the ground, opened the passenger-side door and shoved her inside. While he circled around to the driver’s side, she debated whether she should fling open the door, run to her car and grab her guns. Why had she thought Jake would be different? He was just like every other man in her life who wanted her to be a good girl and do as she was told.

The fear that threatened to swamp her consciousness was replaced by anger. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been attacked. Given the circumstances, she’d handled herself well.

Jake slid behind the steering wheel. “Seat belt,” he said.

Though outraged, she snapped the belt. “Apologize.”

For an instant, his gaze locked with hers. “I won’t say I’m sorry for saving your life.”

He swung the SUV in a U-turn. Instead of using the police dispatch radio on the console, he took out his hands-free cell phone and made a call.

“Where are we going?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring her questions, he continued with his call. It seemed that he was giving someone directions to find her car.

“My luggage,” she said. “Have them bring my luggage.”

Jake lobbed a hostile glance in her direction and said to the person on the phone. “There are a couple of suitcases in the back. Bring them.”

“There are other bags in the trunk,” she said.

“How many?”

“Two in the back, four in the trunk, that’s six altogether.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Exactly how long were you planning to stay in Wyoming?”

“There’s a certain standard of dress required of someone in my position. I can’t throw on a pair of sweatpants and go waltzing out the door. I don’t expect you to understand. Most men don’t.”

As he returned to his phone call, she sank back against the seat. If she told Jake that the reason she wanted her luggage wasn’t just vanity, would it make a difference? Would he take her more seriously if he knew she’d come to Wyoming armed? Or would he insist on pushing her around? For her own good.

Jake ended his phone call and turned toward her. “I have to ask you some questions about what happened.”

His tone was brisk and businesslike. The balance of power between them was all wrong. He was completely in charge, and that needed to change.

She grasped for control. “Tell me where we’re going?”

“For now, we’re headed back to my place.”

Though her initial intention had been to link up with him, his choice of destination seemed odd. She’d been the victim of vehicular assault; a crime had been committed. “Shouldn’t we be going to the police station?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “Can you describe the vehicles?”

“One was a truck. Not one of those huge heavy-duty monster trucks with big wheels. Just a pickup. It seemed kind of old, and I think it was black or dark gray.”

“What made you think it was an older model?”

“It wasn’t shiny. It looked used.” She wished she’d been more observant. “I didn’t get a license plate. And I’m not good at identifying make and model.”

“What about the other vehicle?”

“A black sedan. A four-door.” She shook her head. If it had been a Lamborghini or a Bugatti, she could have told him more. Most other cars looked the same. “It was similar to my rental car. Maybe it had tinted windows.”

“It did,” he said. “I only caught a glimpse of the truck when it came past my house, but I saw the sedan pretty clearly. They were driving in formation. It appeared to be an organized assault.”

“They were working together. The sedan pulled in front. The truck tried to force me off the road.”

The explanation sounded so bland—nothing at all like the harrowing reality of the chase. She called upon the regal poise that had been drummed into her since childhood to stay in control.

He asked, “Who knew you were coming to Wyoming?”

Though she hadn’t informed anyone in the royal entourage, she hadn’t made a secret of her plans. “The Minister of Affairs made my travel arrangements and reservations. I’m not sure if he talked to anyone else.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Totally.” She’d known Nasim all her life. “He’d never betray me.”

“Someone did,” he said. “Those cars were waiting for you. They knew you were coming.”

They were approaching Jake’s house. Again, she wondered, why had he brought her here instead of the police station? As part of a class in law enforcement, she’d been on a ride along; she knew he wasn’t following standard police protocol. “You haven’t turned on the police siren or the lights.”

“That’s right.”