Ethan straightened and cracked his knuckles. “I’d say that merits a conversation.”
Chapter 23
“You don’t have to do this, Harley.” Miranda knew her voice shook, betraying the fear clawing its way up her throat, but there was no help for it.
He lifted a brow but not the knife currently poised between her breasts. “Do what?”
“Whatever you’re planning. Everything up to now has been harassment. Vandalism. Petty stuff. You haven’t done anything more than scare me.” They’d leave off the kidnapping charges for now. “You can still walk away from this.”
Amusement curved his lips. “Why would I want to walk away?”
“Because you have a choice. You have a reputation, Harley. Wouldn’t you rather be known for an act of goodwill and compassion instead of as the town drunk and a wife beater?”
Harley sat back on his heels and stared at her. “Are you really trying to give me a speech about being a better man?”
“You can always make the choice to be better.”
He frowned, tossing the knife on the little table covered in dust and cobwebs and a handful of some kind of farm tools. Pulling a flask from his pocket, he took a long swig. “You really believe that?”
A glimmer of hope sparked in Miranda’s chest. “Yes. People can change.” She’d seen evidence of that before, so many times. If she could talk Harley Forbes down, then she could do anything.
“Damn woman, you really are a fool.”
“Am I? Think about what you’re doing, Harley. Because the moment you cross the line to hurt me, there’s no coming back from that. Ethan’s coming for me. He’s going to find you. And if I’m hurt or—” Dead. No, she wouldn’t say that. “—worse, he will hunt you down, and you’re going to end up locked away for the rest of your life or dead. Is that really what you want?”
The open-handed blow caught her across the check. Pain exploded in her face and tears flooded her eyes as her head snapped to the side hard enough to make the whole chair tip over. She crashed into the table before falling over, crying out as she landed on one arm.
“What I want is to capture the arrogant son of a bitch and string him up so he can watch while I carve you up. Maybe while I fuck you, since you ran my wife off. Might be nice to have a woman with some spirit again.” He reached down and rubbed himself, as if testing that idea.
Miranda struggled not to vomit.
Harley crouched down. “And when I’m done, I want to gut you both like that little ol’ raccoon. You can bleed out together. Your last act as a couple, since I’m feeling magnanimous. That is what I want.”
Pure malevolence glittered in his eyes.
“He’s going to kill you.”
Harley just smiled. “He can try.”
When he reached toward her, Miranda cringed back. Then he stopped, looking toward the door.
Was that another car?
Rising to his feet, Harley grabbed more duct tape, slapping another piece across her mouth, and left her where she lay. As soon as he’d stepped out of the tack room—taking the knife with him—she began to wriggle. The crash had loosened the spindles of the old chair. Maybe she could get free of the ropes. Her shoulders screamed as she tugged, but she thought she felt a little give. Frantic, she jerked again and again, hearing a little crunch as the spindle broke free.
Miranda went still as voices sounded outside the tack room. Should she try to make noise? Was it friend or foe? Before she could decide, the door swung open. Another man stared inside.
She screamed behind the tape. Help me. Please.
“Jesus Christ, Harley. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Just some personal business. I needed somewhere to bring her where we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“What the hell are you thinking? You can’t do that shit here. I can’t risk exposure of my operation. I already lost one stash. Do whatever you need to do, but get her the fuck out of here.” He slammed the door and Miranda felt hysteria beginning to take root.
No time. Get your ass moving.
Struggling with the ropes, she felt the spindle pull free of the chair. No longer held in place, the ropes that had been twisted unwound until she was able to pull her hands loose. Now how the hell was she going to get free of the duct tape?
Rolling to her knees, she managed to bring herself level with the top of the table. Most of it was old tack cleaning supplies. But at the end she spied a hoof pick. It was old and rusted, but the tip still looked sharp. Sharp enough to pierce duct tape.
Tears streamed down her face as she forced her abused limbs to standing, carefully pivoting her back to the table and groping with numb fingers for the pick. When they closed around it, she wanted to sob with relief. But she was a long way from safe. It took three tries to pick the tool up properly and another six to get it dug into the tape. She scratched her wrists in the process and the blood slicking her hands made her fumble and almost drop the pick. But at last she felt the tape begin to give. With one more mighty wrench, she broke free.
Her arms ached. Her breath heaved through her nose so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything else. How long until Harley came back? How long had he been gone?
Hurry. Hurry.
She ripped the strip free from her lips and sucked in lungfuls of air as she attacked the strips around her knees and ankles, poking holes with the tip of the pick and pulling. It went faster because she could see what she was doing.
Outside the barn, she could hear the sound of a car door. Whose? Probably not Harley. He didn’t intend to leave her.
Didn’t matter. She needed to get out of here.
Keeping hold of the pick, she crept toward the door on sock feet and listened. Where was Harley? If he was outside, watching the other guy drive off, she might only have seconds before he came back in the barn.
Taking a chance, Miranda cracked open the door and slipped into the main aisle of the barn. No Harley. Lurching into a stumbling run, she made a beeline for a smaller door at the back.
Gripping the edge, she pulled. The door didn’t move. Casting a desperate look behind her, she shoved the pick into her pocket and used both hands to tug. C’mon. C’mon!
But the door didn’t budge. It was blocked or locked or something. She couldn’t get out this way.
Desperate, she grabbed the pick again, looking for somewhere to escape or hide. But the only way out was the front, where Harley surely was. He’d see her, and with the cramps in her legs she couldn’t move fast. Where was the light?
She saw a switch on the far side of the barn, near the open front door. Turning, she scanned the back wall, finding another switch near the locked door. Would it turn off all the lights? Only one way to find out.
Knowing she might not get another chance, Miranda hit the switch.
The barn went dark and she ran.
Service weapon drawn, Ethan circled around the dilapidated house with the sagging roofline. Light flickered behind the blinds in what was probably the living room. Somebody was watching TV. A deputy closed in from the opposite direction. If Eugene Willig was home, there was a good chance he’d bolt out the back when Judd and another deputy knocked on the front door.
Voice low, Ethan radioed Judd. “We’re in position.”