The hard-edged tone ruthlessly sliced through the blackness. She still felt the lifeless weight of her husband’s body. She’d waited and waited for him to take a breath.
“Look. At.
Me
.”
She blinked.
Sea-gray eyes bored into hers.
“Zander?” She was on her knees, pushing him away from her.
His painful hold on her shoulders loosened. “Fuck, baby.” He yanked her forward, hauling her into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her. They were sitting on the ground. Earmuffs and safety glasses lay nearby in the snow.
Snow.
This was California, not Texas. Not her ranch. She swallowed, trying to keep her breakfast down.
“What the fuck happened?” She knew the voice. Logan.
“Guessing a flashback.” Zander drew her closer on his lap, enfolding her in strength.
“That sounded as if she saw a murder,” Simon said.
She burrowed her head against Zander’s shoulder. Red still hazed the edges of her vision, and shudders shook her until her bones hurt.
“More than just
saw
. She didn’t react to us shooting. Didn’t react till she used the S&W herself.” His callused palm cupped her chin and lifted, forcing her to look at him. “You shoot your husband, Lindsey?”
She quivered under his hard words, his merciless stare, his unbreakable grip on her face—yet he held her to his chest. Relentless and gentle. A Dom’s paradoxical traits.
Around them, the tree branches creaked in the light wind. The world was so still she could hear the thudding of her heart.
“Lindsey, answer me.”
“I killed him,” she whispered, turning her gaze away. But Victor’s eyes stared back at her from a dark tree; red started to pool in the snow. A scream built up inside her, filling her ears, erasing the silence.
“Stay with me, pet.” Zander shook her lightly. “Why’d you kill him?”
“I—”
Why?
“He…” She saw the rifles along the side of the metal walls. “There were guns.” She hadn’t meant to shoot him.
The boy. Screaming. The pistol bucking in her hands. Blood hot, covering her chest.
“He wanted…”
“Fuck, she’s lost in it.” A stinging smack on her cheek. “Girl, look at me.” Zander’s sharp gaze pinned her in the present.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—”
His eyes turned soft as a morning fog over the bay. “You’re doing good. Now, step by step.”
She nodded.
“Back me up, Simon,” he muttered.
“I ask and push; you comfort.” Simon went down on one knee, facing her. His olive complexion and black hair stood out against the whiteness of the snowdrift behind him. “Lindsey, where did this happen?”
“My ranch.” While Zander stroked her shoulders, soothing her, she said, “I told you—remember the phone call about a pretty boy? I went to the ranch. To see.” As her shaking eased, as she did her best to think, she froze. What was she doing? She’d—oh
God
—she’d told them about Victor. Told them—
“Too late now, babe,” Zander whispered into her ear. His stubbled cheek rubbed hers. “Get it out.”
Simon was crouched in front of her, expressionless. She looked to her right. Logan leaned on a stump, arms crossed on his chest, gunmetal-blue gaze on her. She heard her voice saying the words,
“I killed him.”
She’d dug her own grave; might as well finish burying herself.
They’d turn her in—they’d have to. A tremor ran through her.
Zander squeezed, reminding her she was on his lap. In his arms. “Spit it out. Afterward, we’ll figure out how to fix it.”
How to fix it.
“You can’t. I tried.” Misery drained her hopes into the ground. Down and down and down. “They’ll kill me.”
He shoved her face into his chest, and she inhaled the wild clean scent of him, as if he’d been born in a pine forest. “Nobody is going to kill you,” he grated out.
She clung for a moment, unable to let go.
“Let’s go through this step by step, pet,” Simon said quietly, and she raised her head. “You went to the ranch. What happened?”
“I drove there at dark, only I wasn’t sure exactly where to look.
‘Hey, Parnell, got a pretty boy for you. I’ll stash him in the usual spot at your ranch.’”
Like a book on tape, her voice kept going, reciting the movie in her head. “Victor’s car wasn’t at the main house. I found it at the old one.” Knowing she was stalling, she tried to explain how the original ranch house was used occasionally for guests during hunting season. Victor hadn’t been there or at the broken-down stable.
She walked across the flattened ground toward voices coming from the aged metal shed used to store broken machinery.
There was a high, muffled scream.
“You little bastard, hold still!” Victor’s voice.
The door opened under her hand…and she froze. An unshaded bulb cast light over a young boy, barely past puberty, lying on the concrete floor. Wrists and ankles tied together in front. Gagged. Jeans pulled down.
Victor stood there, unbuckling his belt.
“What are you doing?” Her voice emerged shocked. Stupid.
Somehow, Simon’s black gaze came into focus—she was still talking, wasn’t she? She said to him, “I should have run. Should have—”
“Tell us,” Simon prompted.
His face dissolved as she felt Victor’s hands grab her and throw her. “I hit the crates…” Her voice didn’t sound real as she kept talking…
She’d slammed into a pile of wooden crates a few feet away from the boy.
Blinking, half-dazed, she stared around her. Ranch machinery had been shoved against the metal walls to make room for heaps of small boxes and the stacks of long cases. One crate lid was pried off, showing gleaming rifles. “Guns? What are you—”
“Jesus, you’re a stupid cunt. Why would I want a cunt like you when I can fuck sweeter meat? Like him?” He nudged the terrified boy with his shiny dress shoe and buckled his belt as he walked over.
Cold grew inside her. “Why?” Her numb lips had trouble forming the word.
“This place. Miles of emptiness right along the border.”
My ranch? He married me to get the ranch?
He had. He smirked at her, so smug, his chest puffed up with pride. She’d kissed that chest. Kissed him.
Sickness twisted her stomach—and as she breathed in the snowy mountain air, she heard herself whimper. Zander’s arms tightened around her. “I got you, baby. I got you.” Warmth. Safety. Caring. She folded it in, made it her own.
“Go on, pet,” Simon said. “Let’s get through this.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I said to him—to Victor—
‘You’re smuggling.’
He jeered at me.” Word by word, she continued, tracing the path of the nightmare she’d walked so many times before.
“
You’re smuggling.” Somehow she had to get up. Free the child. Find help. She couldn’t. Her head spun like a dust devil when she strained to move.
Victor sneered. “Aren’t you so smart when it’s all laid out?” He reached behind him where his coat was draped over a crate stack and pulled out a pistol. “Drugs and fresh meat in, weapons and ammo out. Rake in the cash.”
Her land had been in her family since Texas was settled. The Rayburn honor was polluted by this bastard. Anger flared inside her; fear clogged her throat.
He waved the pistol. “Guess I’m going to be a widower sooner than I figured. Travis’ll find your body eventually. Your family’s heard me tell you not to take long rides by yourself.”
They had. And now she knew it hadn’t been because he cared, but to keep her from blundering into the men doing the smuggling. She felt as if she were drowning in filth.
He never loved me
. And she’d made love with the monster, let him inside her. “You bastard.”
“Hell, you married me for my money,” Victor snapped. “You just didn’t realize I married you for your ranch.”
As her words echoed in the air, beneath her, holding her in the snow, Zander went rigid. “Jesus, you
did
marry him for his fucking money.”
She turned and saw his face.
Cynicism twisted his expression, filled his gaze with ice. Even while she sat on his lap, he was…distant. Gone. He blamed her. He actually thought she was as greedy as his wife.
Again.
His rejection seemed to burn through her, crisping every support beam to ash, letting the last few timbers fall around her.
“Lindsey.” Simon directed her attention back. “How did you get away from your husband?”
She wanted Zander’s arms—no, no, she didn’t. She didn’t want him anymore anyway. Not if he could think that. Yet losing him…hurt far more bitterly than losing her ranch, even her life.
As her skin chilled, she wrapped her arms around her waist. She was the sole support and comforter for her own self. Why did she keep forgetting that? “No more questions.”
No more help. No more friends. And now, she had to leave. Run. Start over…again. Another strange city. Buy a different name. Find a new job.
Don’t ever try to find friends or lovers again. The future had turned dark, not from clouds on the horizon but from an engulfing blackness.
Zander wasn’t holding her anymore. He was so distant, he could have been in a whole different county. She pushed to her feet.
Her legs trembled, but she could walk. Their old tracks would lead her back to the lodge.
“Lindsey.” Simon had risen to his feet. “We need to hear the rest and figure out how to fix this.”
She couldn’t keep from looking at Zander. His face was expressionless, his eyes flat and cold, as if he’d never met her before. She wanted to kick him.
To cry.
The deadness inside her grew, a black hole sucking away all warmth. She’d move on again…to nothing. Why hadn’t she just let Ricks kill her? “No need. I’ll be gone within a half hour.”
Zander didn’t speak.
“Hey,
deVries
, thanks for believing in me.” She burned to say more, to scream at him, but her throat closed with sobs instead, and she walked away.
The trail down kept tripping her as her blurry eyes missed seeing logs and rocks. Eventually she realized footsteps trailed behind her. Hopes rising, she turned.
Not Zander. Logan.
“Go away.”
“Sorry, sugar. I’m walking you down.” He didn’t look as if he’d listen to reason or sentiment. In fact, he looked about as tractable as the granite mountaintop behind him.
Fine.
Without speaking, she spun and kept going. At least anger burned the tears away for the moment.
“
HEY, DEVRIES, THANKS for believing in me.”
The bitterness in her voice was a knife to deVries’s skin. His heart.
Dammit, she’d killed her husband. Whom she’d married for money. DeVries felt as if he had blundered into a firefight. The thunder still hung in the air. He shook his head hard, trying to cast off the fucked-up shit in his skull. Forcing himself to not run after her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
He had to get his act together first.
He realized Logan had gone with her. That was good. Should have been him. Jesus, someone better shoot him for real. Guilt twisted the blade already stuck in his chest. How could he have fucked her up like that?
He couldn’t hold back any longer; he needed to get to her. He pushed to his feet. His snow-crusted, wet jeans stuck to his skin, hindering his balance for a second. He started after her.
“You leave her alone,” Simon snapped, grabbing deVries’s arm, spinning him around. “You’ve done enough damage.”
DeVries staggered back a step.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Simon shoved him another foot.
“She got me by surprise—and I’m a fucking asshole.” Unwilling to fight, deVries caught the next blow and held.
Eyes black with fury, Simon slapped deVries’s fingers from his wrist. “She needed your support.”
The blade dug deeper into his soul. “I know. I fucked up.” Turning away, deVries unloaded the revolver and tucked it, bullets, and gear into his range bag. “I got to get down there.”
“I’ll bring Logan’s bag. Head out.”
Simon caught up to him a few minutes later on the trail. “Would you mind telling me what happened there?”
DeVries worked his jaw and forced the words out. “My wife dumped me to marry a rich dude. For his money. Hearing Lindsey did the same…”
“You don’t know that. She told us what the bastard said.”
“Simon, I think she did.” The first morning, he’d asked,
“What did you do—marry for money?”
and her guilt had been obvious. After stepping over a half-buried log, he ducked a snow-covered branch hanging over the trail. “But dammit, money doesn’t mean much to her.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
DeVries sucked in a breath. “I had a brain-dead moment.” From the very beginning, he’d found she didn’t care about getting rich. In fact, rather than conning him out of grocery funds, she’d tried to convince him she loved mac ‘n’ cheese. Had told him the best accommodations came with pets—like the mouse in her kitchen. She hadn’t wanted to accept a lower rent from her friend. Never asked him for anything. Hell, she had more pride than sense sometimes. “If Lindsey married the bastard for money, she had a hell of a good reason—and it probably wasn’t for her.”
“I’m pleased to see you’re not a total moron,” Simon said in a dry voice.
He deserved the reprimand. “Since the killing was self-defense, why’s she running and using a fake name?” Why was she wanted in Texas for murdering a cop?
“Let’s find out.”
“Yeah.”
The trail emerged from the forest and into the lodge clearing. DeVries headed down the winding path leading to the cabin.
They met Logan halfway there. “Here.” He tossed Lindsey’s keys to Simon—rather than deVries.
Ignoring the unspoken insult, deVries asked, “She see you take them?”
“Nope.” Logan gave him a hard look. “Your head on straight yet?”
DeVries suppressed the urge to bury his fist in the man’s gut. He’d earned Logan’s question. “Got bit by shit in the past. I fucked up.”
The muscles in Logan’s jaw eased as he shrugged. “I can’t bust you for something I’ve done myself. Thank fuck women are forgiving creatures.”