With his heart pounding a mile a minute, Houston hurried through the back of the house. He tried to keep his steps light so that he wouldn’t give away his position, but it was nearly impossible, because his boots seemed to echo on the hardwood floors.
Thankfully, there were other echoes, too.
He heard the footsteps. Two sets, he thought. He prayed there were two, anyway, because that meant Gabrielle was still running. Still trying to escape.
Houston made it to the kitchen. It was empty, just as he’d expected, and the only illumination came from the milky light that was on over the wide, stainless steel stove. He hurried to the side of the room where Gabrielle should soon appear.
But the sound of the footsteps stopped.
Houston thought maybe his heart had stopped, too. Had she quit running because she was hurt and couldn’t continue?
He wanted to call out to Gabrielle again, but he didn’t want to let the gunman know he was in the kitchen waiting. Houston wanted the element of surprise on his hands. He knew every inch of this house, knew every nook and cranny.
Then he froze…and didn’t like the sickening feel that formed in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the gunman was as familiar with the house, too, because the person behind that ski mask could be Dale. Or his father.
Hell.
Houston didn’t want to have to kill either of them, but he would if one of them was the person responsible for this.
He waited again, but it didn’t take long for him to hear
more movement. It seemed to come from both sides of the butler’s pantry and overflow kitchen that the cooks used for canning and party preparations.
Unlike the formal sitting room, there weren’t as many places to hide in there, but obviously Gabrielle and the gunman had found some spots.
Houston inched closer toward the room, and he tried to pick through the darkness and see if he could locate Gabrielle. Thanks to the moonlight filtering in through the windows, he finally saw her. She was stooped down at the side of a large, stainless steel prep table.
The relief flooded through him. She was alive and didn’t appear to be hurt.
Gabrielle saw him, too, and her gaze locked with his. Houston put his finger to his mouth in a stay-quiet gesture, and she nodded.
The sound to his left sent Houston pivoting in that direction, and he aimed his gun. The man was there, somewhere amid the china and storage hutches, but unlike Gabrielle, Houston couldn’t see him. So he waited, hoping the guy would make a mistake and leave cover.
“Mr. Sadler?” someone shouted.
The unexpected sound jolted through Houston, and it took him a second to realize it hadn’t come from the butler’s pantry but from the back door of the kitchen.
“Mr. Sadler?” someone called out again.
Houston recognized the voice. It was one of the ranch hands, and he started to pound on the door.
“I heard a noise,” the ranch hand said, his voice so loud that it drowned out everything else.
Gabrielle ducked down out of sight.
“Are you okay?” the ranch hand asked. “Because what I heard sounded like gunshots.”
Houston silently cursed. He wished to hell the ranch hand had just called the sheriff, but he probably hadn’t. That would soon change. Houston couldn’t call out to him and give away his position, so the guy just kept knocking on the door and kept calling out Houston’s name.
“The phones aren’t working,” the ranch hand said. “Should I go get someone?”
Houston still didn’t answer, and the ranch hand continued to knock. Soon, very soon, the guy would give up and just go get the sheriff. He hoped.
There was a scurry of movement from the butler’s pantry, but it merged with the sounds of the ranch hand’s voice and his persistent knocking. Houston heard another sound. Did Gabrielle gasp?
It was definitely some kind of sound of distress, and Houston knew he had no choice but to leave cover.
With his gun raised and ready, he raced to the entry of the pantry room and looked around.
Hell.
This was not how he wanted this to play out.
Gabrielle tried to call out to Houston, she tried to tell him to watch out, but the hand that went around her mouth cut off any warning she wanted to give.
Oh, God.
The gunman had her again.
With all the noise and shouts from outside the kitchen door, Gabrielle hadn’t heard the gunman scurry toward her, not until it was too late. He’d grabbed her, positioning her in front of him again.
This time she intended to fight back.
It was a risk, but she reminded herself that the gunman hadn’t killed her when he first took her. So he obviously wanted her for something. Ransom, maybe. Maybe to force Houston to cooperate in some way. That was perhaps what the note was about.
“I’ll give you what you want now,” Houston had told the gunman, after he read that note. “But Gabrielle doesn’t leave. She stays here.”
Gabrielle could only imagine why this man wanted to get her away from the house. Maybe it was because he thought that might be the easiest way to get a ransom. Or maybe because this wasn’t a simple kidnapping.
God, did he intend to torture her first? She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to anyone to make them want to do that to her.
Houston was there, barely hidden behind the door-jamb that separated the kitchen from the room she was in. He couldn’t fire. He couldn’t get to her without giving the gunman an easy shot at killing them, so she wanted to do something before Houston reacted. She didn’t want him hurt or worse.
Gabrielle swung her arms and her body, trying to break free, but the gunman held on, and he snapped her hard against his body. She wanted to scream and claw that mask off his face. She wanted to hurt him just as he was hurting her, but she forced herself to pull back. To stay calm.
If she continued to struggle. It would only prompt Houston to come to her aid. He was probably fighting the urge to do something, anything, that would get them out of this situation.
The knocking on the back door stopped, and Gabrielle hoped the man was on the way to get the sheriff, or some kind of help from the other ranch hands. She definitely didn’t want the gunman to be able to get her off the ranch.
She thought of Lucas and prayed he wasn’t crying or upset. Yes, he was too young to have a clue what was going on, but he might pick up on Lily Rose’s fear. Gabrielle had to do something fast so she could get back to her son and keep Houston out of the line of fire.
Despite the death grip the gunman had on her, Gabrielle continued to struggle. The gunman continued to hold on to her, and he jerked her backwards until they
were against the wall, with his gun aimed not at her but at Houston.
“Don’t!” Gabrielle shouted when Houston started to lunge forward.
She felt the gunman’s hand tense until his muscles felt like iron, and she knew he would shoot. But why was he so willing to do that, if he intended Houston to pay some kind of ransom to get her back?
Houston stayed put, thank God. He didn’t lower his gun. He kept it trained on the man holding her hostage.
“I have money in my office,” Houston told him. “It’s not as much as you’re asking, but there’s plenty of stuff around the house that you could take.”
The man only shook his head and continued to point his weapon.
Houston moved, just slightly. He crouched down a fraction. “There’s also a safe in my dad’s office,” Houston said, trying again, “and there’s some jewelry. Why don’t you let Gabrielle go, and I can give it all to you?”
She felt the man tense again, and she didn’t think it was because he was about to shoot. Was Houston getting through to him at the mention of the safe in Mack’s office? Or was his reaction because of something else?
Gabrielle hated the thought of giving this monster one cent, but she also didn’t want him in the house—not around Lucas. And if money and jewelry would get him to leave, then it seemed a small price to pay.
The gunman started to move with her, dragging her with him as he inched toward the kitchen. Gabrielle struggled, trying to delay and trying to buy Houston and her some time so they could figure out what to do.
Basically, they only had two options: continue to bargain with him, or wait until he made a mistake.
The waiting was hard, but Gabrielle held on to the hope that the ranch hand had called for help. Of course, that might create a new, dangerous scenario, if the gunman felt trapped. He could possibly try to shoot his way out of there.
“Where are you taking her?” Houston asked.
Of course, the gunman didn’t answer.
Houston shifted his position, moving back as the gunman and she moved closer. He ducked to the side of the fridge when the gunman maneuvered her into the kitchen.
She saw Houston’s face then—his expression. Every muscle in his body was primed and ready for this fight, but she also saw the worry, too.
“It’s okay,” she tried to reassure him. Which was laughable considering she was literally being kidnapped while Houston had a gun trained on the man holding her.
Gabrielle glanced around the kitchen to see if there was anything she could grab and use as a weapon. It would be a risk, but at this point anything was a risk.
Everything was clean and unfortunately in its place. The knives were at the other end of the room, on the counter and stored in a wooden block. She wouldn’t be able to reach the gleaming copper and stainless steel pots hanging from an oval baker’s rack.
Then she spotted the trio of horseshoes that had been mounted on the wall next to the door. The horseshoes had been modified in a key rack, and there were several sets of keys dangling from them. If she could manage to
get one of the sets off a hook, she might be able to use them to gouge her attacker.
Gabrielle waited, holding her breath, and she continued to put up a token resistance in hope that the gunman wouldn’t get suspicious. Each step took her closer to both the keys and the door. If she failed, if she couldn’t stop him from getting her outside, then this might all be over.
She gave Houston one last look, and tried to convey to him what she was doing. He lifted his left eyebrow, questioning her, and Gabrielle gave a slight nod, then reached for the keys.
In the same motion, she slammed her elbow into the gunman, connecting with his stomach. He staggered back, just an inch. But an inch was all she needed.
“Get down!” she yelled to Houston.
But she couldn’t see if he had done just that. Gabrielle grabbed the keys, turned and went after the man behind her.
He had already regained his balance and lifted his gun to aim it at her. The shot blasted through the air.
Had she been shot?
She wasn’t sure, but she fought back anyway, and continued her attack. So did the gunman. He latched on to Gabrielle’s neck. She used her arm to try to keep the gun pointed away from her, and she used the keys to go for his eyes, the only exposed part of his face.
Another shot.
Her ears were already ringing, the deafening echoes pulsing so loud through her head that she couldn’t hear, but she thought she heard Houston call out her name.
She certainly felt someone grab her, and it wasn’t the
gunman, who had the weapon in his right hand, and his left hand was clamped around the front of her throat.
Gabrielle raked the keys across the gunman’s face, but she missed his eyes. She cursed, thinking she’d failed, but then the metal grooves on one of the keys caught onto some threads in the ski mask. She gave it a fierce jerk, tearing and pulling. The mask gave way, the momentum jerking it away from the gunman’s face.
Gabrielle heard herself gasp. And then she froze. Because she couldn’t believe the man who was staring back at her.
H
OUSTON TRIED TO PULL
Gabrielle to safety. He tried to get between the gunman and her. Those two fired shots had taken decades off his life, and he still didn’t know if she’d been injured.
She
had
to be all right.
Everything inside him was yelling for him to protect her and get her out of harm’s way. In that moment, he didn’t care who was on the other end of that gun. Hell, he didn’t care if he got shot. He just knew he had to do everything to save her.
He couldn’t lose Gabrielle.
Another shot tore through the kitchen, and it ricocheted off something metal. Houston heard the deadly pinging sound, and once again tried to drag Gabrielle to safety.
The gunman held on to her throat while he waved the gun around. He was obviously trying to re-aim, to get off a kill shot, so Houston grabbed on to the man’s right wrist. At that same moment, the man turned.
And Houston looked right into Jay Markham’s face.
Part of him was relieved that it wasn’t his father or Dale, but that didn’t lessen the danger. Jay was obviously a man on a mission, and that mission appeared to be to kill his own sister.
The note Jay had given him asked for a five-million-dollar ransom for both Gabrielle and Lucas. Which meant Jay intended to kidnap them both. Gabrielle and Houston had apparently thwarted the part to include Lucas in on this, but Gabrielle was still right in the middle of the fray.
Someone knocked on the back door again. Houston didn’t take the time to shout out to the person. He focused all his energy and attention on stopping Jay.
“I’ll kill her!” Jay shouted. He slammed Gabrielle into Houston, and that jolt dislodged Houston’s gun and sent it flying across the room.
Gabrielle went after her brother’s face with the keys again, but Jay clamped harder on to her throat. Houston could tell she was having trouble breathing. At best, she might pass out, but Jay could also kill her with that deadly grip. He could crush her windpipe.
Houston had to do something fast.
He slammed Jay’s hand against the wall, pinning the gun. But that didn’t stop Jay from firing. This shot went into the ceiling, and Gabrielle gasped. Houston knew why.
Even though Lucas wasn’t directly above the kitchen, he was just several rooms away, and that shot could have landed near him. Their baby could be hurt. The rage was instant, and Houston let it fuel him when he went after Jay. He turned Jay’s gun, forcing it toward the floor. Jay pulled the trigger again.
The bullet slammed into the hardwood floor and
kicked up debris and splinters. Still, it was better than the alternative. A bullet in the floor meant it wasn’t going anywhere near Lucas.
Houston moved Gabrielle out of the way so he could land his fist onto Jay’s face. But the punch still didn’t cause Jay to let go of Gabrielle throat. The man had to be working on pure adrenaline, because he seemed to have the strength of a dozen men.
Gabrielle made a horrible gasping sound that tore at Houston’s heart. Jay seemed immune to Houston’s punches to his face. He seemed oblivious to everything— except trying to choke his sister to death.
Jay dropped his gun and went after her with both hands, trying to squeeze the life right out of her.
“You chose him over me,” Jay taunted. “Bad idea, Gabrielle. Never choose water over blood.”
Someone bashed against the back door, obviously trying to open it, but Houston continued to pound his fist against Jay.
Gabrielle went limp, her body sagging forward against her brother.
Was she dead? Houston was too afraid to even consider the possibility, and he wasn’t giving up. She might need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and for that to happen, he had to get Jay off her.
Jay moved, dragging Gabrielle in front of him to stop Houston’s punches. It was a risk, because Jay still had his hands clamped on her throat, but Houston latched on to Jay’s throat. And he didn’t just squeeze. He jammed his thumbs against the man’s Adam’s apple and dug in.
It didn’t take long, though the seconds felt like an
eternity, before Jay released Gabrielle. She slid to the floor, lifeless, unmoving.
Houston pushed aside his fears that she might be dead, and he latched on to Jay. He slammed the man face-first against the wall. It wasn’t hard to put some muscle behind the slams, because Houston had to end this as soon as possible so he could get to Gabrielle.
The back door finally gave way, and three armed ranch hands bolted inside. Houston saw them out of the corner of his eyes, but he was too deep in the fight to respond. He bashed Jay against the wall, again and again, until the man went limp. Houston then shoved him in the direction of the ranch hands, just in case Jay was still capable of trying to come after Gabrielle again.
“Hold him!” Houston ordered.
In that moment, he didn’t care if Jay was dead or alive. He only cared about getting to Gabrielle and saving her.
Houston dropped to his knees and put his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. He couldn’t feel anything because every inch of his hand was pulsing from the fight.
“Gabrielle?” Houston gently tapped her face, trying to revive her. Her eyes were closed. She didn’t move.
“Get an ambulance,” he told the ranch hands. Maybe, just maybe, they could get the phones to work. Because they would need a miracle.
Houston tilted back Gabrielle’s head, lifted her chin and put his mouth to hers. He blew his own breath into her body and prayed that it would be enough to save her.