Matt (21 page)

O
h, Matthew.” Grace hugged her grandson fiercely the minute Luke's motorcycle arrived at the back door of the ranch.

Within minutes the rest of the family pulled up in their various vehicles and gathered around. It was clear that all were stunned by the look of him. Between the blood that smeared his clothing, and the smoke and soot from the explosion, he looked more dead than alive. But the fire burning in his eyes left no doubt that he was very much alive and ready to go to war with his attackers.

He brushed off all their questions. “How much do you know?”

It was Frank who answered. “Eugene Graystoke sent us a video uploaded to Vanessa's father by her kidnappers. We feared they had killed you to get to her.”

“They think they did. What's this about a video? I want to see it.” Matt strode inside, and the others trailed behind.

Frank put an arm around his wife and bent to whisper, “Courage, Gracie Girl.”

Her eyes reflected the pain she felt. “Did you see the blood? Frankie, he needs a doctor.”

“You saw the look on his face. He's still standing. That will have to do for now.”

Colin, who had remained behind, nodded to his parents. “I've never seen him like this before. And it isn't just his injuries. Our Matt is carrying a heavy load of guilt.”

“What does he have to be guilty of?” Grace demanded.

“He asked Burke to keep the wranglers away from the range shack so he and Vanessa could have some privacy.”

“I see.” Now that she knew, the old woman saw much more. Her grandson had found that one special woman, who had driven him to throw caution to the wind in order to be alone with her. And now he was riddled with guilt for having risked her safety.

Grace sighed and allowed herself to be led indoors.

In the kitchen they gathered around the table and watched Matt's reaction as he viewed the video. At the first sighting of Vanessa, he flinched as though struck by a whip before his eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.

He waited until the short video was over before muttering, “They hurt her. She's bleeding.” His hands clenched at his sides in impotent fury. “They hurt her.”

Nobody said a word.

He sucked in a breath. “I need to call her father.”

Nelson started to say, “I don't think that's a good—”

Grace shot her father a look, and his words of disapproval died.

They watched and listened as Matt called Elliott Kettering at the number Captain McBride had promised would be a direct line to both Kettering and the Chicago PD.

The phone was answered on the first ring.

“Mr. Kettering, Matt Malloy.”

Elliott's voice was both angry and weary. “Tell me what happened. And tell me how they managed to take my daughter without taking you.”

As briefly as he could Matt described being shot and put into a truck, which was sent crashing into a deep ravine, where it exploded into flame, before he was rescued.

While he spoke, his family looked stunned and horrified to hear him speak so calmly about all that he'd gone through.

“I'm grateful you survived. And now?” Elliott asked.

“I'm back at the ranch and was just shown the video Nessa's kidnappers sent.”

Elliott's voice mirrored his fury. “They dared to hurt my daughter.”

“Yes, sir. I saw the blood. I want you to know that I hold myself personally responsible.”

“I don't see how you can make such a claim when you were shot and nearly burned to death.”

“All because of my own carelessness. None of that matters now. But your daughter's safety does. And I give you my word that I'll get her back to you or die trying.”

“There's no need. Our state police are working with your authorities there. Let the professionals do their job.”

“You don't understand.” Matt's voice was pure ice. “Nessa's safety is on me. I allowed this to happen. I won't rest until I find her.”

He disconnected then, leaving Elliott Kettering no time to voice any further argument.

He turned to his family. “Play the video again. I want to be certain of the location.”

While Yancy complied, Frank said softly, “They'll be long gone from there by now, son.”

“I know that.” Matt studied the video again before saying, “But I'll start there. They may have left something, some tracks or even something at the scene that I can follow.”

Grace looked alarmed. “First, Matthew, you have to see a doctor.”

“Not now. There's no time.” He turned away. “I need a rifle.”

Luke raced from the room and returned with an armload of weapons and ammunition from a locked cabinet in the office.

As he passed them around, Matt said, “I'm taking a truck. Grandpop, I'd like you and Gram Gracie to go up in the plane. Maybe you'll spot something from the air. And Great One, you and Yancy man the phones here, in case the authorities report something. You can relay the information to all of us.”

Luke closed a hand over his brother's arm. “I'm going with you.”

“No.” Matt shook off his hand. “Take your Harley.” He turned to Reed. “Your ATV can go places other vehicles can't. Colin, Burke, you and the wranglers take trucks and fan out.”

His uncle Colin paused. “Sheriff Graystoke may have something to say about this.”

“He and his men will do what they're trained to do. But I'm not waiting around for anyone. This is on me, and I'm going to do what feels right.”

Grace pressed an emergency medical kit into his hand.

He shot her a look.

“There's something for pain and an antibiotic to hold back any infection from that bullet.”

“Thanks.” His tone was dismissive. “I'll take the antibiotic, but I'm not going to risk getting muddled with pain meds.”

As Matt walked away, old Burke paused to say to the others, “I know he's been wounded, and he's going on pure adrenaline. I know you're all worried about him. I am, too. But even so, I'd rather have Matt, injured and angry, than just about any damned army in the world. So if those kidnappers are still anywhere in Montana, my money's on Matt finding them.”

Frank squeezed his wife's arm before starting for the door. “You heard the man, Gracie Girl. Let's trust his word and follow our leader.”

Sheriff Eugene Graystoke and Deputy Archer Stone arrived at the Malloy Ranch with a swarm of police vehicles. A team of state police sharpshooters had been brought in by helicopter.

The sheriff entered the ranch house and found only Yancy and Nelson in the kitchen. He looked around with a puzzled expression. “I was expecting everybody to be here by now. Where are they?”

“Here and gone.” Nelson pointed to the sky. “Frank and Grace are airborne. The rest have scattered, searching for the bad guys.”

The sheriff's eyes narrowed with anger. “This isn't some cops-and-robbers movie, Nelson. This is real life, and an innocent young woman's safety hangs in the balance. Captain McBride wants this played by the book.”

“I guess we didn't get that memo.” The old man shot the lawman a wry grin.

Archer's voice was low with sarcasm. “How did Matt let this kidnapping happen? I thought he'd appointed himself Miss Kettering's personal bodyguard, and the rest of you his backup army.”

As quickly as possible Nelson described what Matt had endured at the hands of the kidnappers.

The sheriff blanched. “How in hell is Matt still standing?”

“He's a Malloy,” the old man said simply.

With a muttered oath the sheriff and his deputy turned their backs and strode outside to join their men.

After a lengthy meeting to outline their strategy, they separated and went in various directions, the sheriff still muttering about how he hoped to hell the Malloy family didn't get in his way. Just to make certain, he pulled out his phone and called Matt.

“Yeah, Sheriff.” Matt's tone was abrupt.

“I'm at your ranch, where the Great One informed me that you and your family are already out searching for Miss Kettering.”

“That's right.”

“Just so you know, her safety is our main concern. I don't want any would-be heroes barging in and causing her any more harm than has already been done to her.”

At the ominous silence on the line, the sheriff cleared his throat. “Look. I heard what they did to you. I know that this isn't something you asked for, Matt. But now that it's happened, I want you to remain in contact with me and my men every step of the way. The State Police have men trained for this very thing. There are more of them than there are of you and your family. But if you happen to find where they've taken her, I want your word that you'll step back and allow us to do our job.”

At the continued silence, his voice took on a low note of authority. “Do I have your word, Matt?”

“I've already given my word to her father. I'll see her returned safely to him, or die trying.”

“My men and I are here to prevent anyone's death. Yours and Miss Kettering's. So see that you rein in that famous temper, and ask the rest of your family to do the same. You got that?”

In reply, the phone went dead.

Sheriff Eugene Graystoke uttered every rich, ripe swear word he knew as he made his way to his squad car.

Captain Daniel McBride stood before a giant map of the town of Glacier Ridge, Montana, and the thousands of acres of land that made up the Malloy Ranch.

It was one thing to imagine a sprawling ranch, and quite another to see thousands of acres mapped out in three dimensions, with every hill, mountain, ravine, and lake dotting the landscape. The sheer size of the place was mind-boggling. What was even more amazing to a man born and bred on the south side of Chicago was the isolation of the place. He figured there were more cattle per square mile than humans. Thousands of acres of uninhabited land where a couple of thugs could hide without ever encountering another human being.

And in the middle of all that was Elliott Kettering's daughter. A helpless young woman at the mercy of men hired by a man who, if convicted by a jury, had nothing to lose by ordering another murder. And all that stood in the way of that death sentence was a small-town sheriff and a handful of Montana State Police.

Captain McBride pulled out his cell phone. If he couldn't be there to handle things, he could at least direct the operation and give them the benefit of his years of experience with Chicago thugs.

As soon as he heard Sheriff Eugene Graystoke's voice he took charge, barking orders. “I want all roads leading into and out of the Malloy Ranch to be sealed at once.”

The sheriff's tone was gruff. “These men don't need roads. They're so deep in the wilderness, they could drive for days without seeing another human being.”

“Then you need aircraft and an army of sharpshooters.”

“Already got 'em. They've targeted the area where the video was shot.”

“How about trackers?”

“One of the best is already on it.”

“One?” McBride's tone was incredulous. “Shouldn't you have dozens?”

“This one knows the land better than anyone. It's Matt Malloy.”

“The stupid cowboy who allowed her to be captured? I don't want that clown anywhere near this investigation.”

The sheriff's eyes narrowed. It was one thing to have his feathers ruffled when the Malloy family stepped on his toes. It was another entirely to hear a city cop demean the family that had offered shelter to a stranger. “You might want to check that attitude, Captain. We may be small town, but we know how to fight for what's right. Matthew Malloy is one tough cowboy. In a fight, I'd rather have him on my side than a dozen of your finest.”

Captain McBride stared at the phone in his hand before letting loose with a string of curses. And though he would never say it out loud, he didn't give Elliott Kettering or his daughter much hope for a happy ending to this mess.

W
hile Frank piloted the Cessna, Grace sat beside him, her binoculars trained on the land below.

She pointed. “There's Matt's truck.”

They circled the area, and could see their grandson kneeling in the grass.

Grace dialed his cell phone number and turned on the speaker so both she and Frank could hear.

“Yeah.” Matt's voice showed signs of frustration. Or perhaps pain. It was clear that he hadn't bothered to look at the caller ID. “This is Matt.”

“We're above you, darlin'.”

“Sorry, Gram Gracie.” He looked up and saluted. “Any sign of them?”

“Nothing so far.” Grace paused a moment. “Are there any tracks you can follow?”

“Enough to know they're heading west. Straight into the wilderness.”

“That could work to our advantage,” Frank said. “We know this land. They don't.”

“But they've been here long enough to study a map of it.” Matt sighed. “If so, they've figured out that just over these hills is a cattle trail that leads to an old, abandoned road that will eventually connect with the interstate. Once on that, it's clear sailing.”

“So we need to patrol this area until they decide to make a run for it?”

At his grandmother's question, he hesitated before saying, “Once that happens, it will be too late for Nessa. If this thug directing the operation is found guilty, I don't believe they have any intention of taking her with them.”

There was total silence as his grim words sank in.

Grace put a hand to her mouth to cover the little gasp that escaped. “Oh, dear heaven.” She looked over at her husband, who gave a slight nod of his head.

Matt's voice sounded a long way off, as though thinking aloud. “These men are hiding somewhere until they get the word from their boss.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Then we'll keep searching until we find out where those rats are hiding.”

“That's the plan.” Matt paused before adding, “How are you at praying, Gram Gracie?”

“I've had a lot of practice over the years.”

“Good. I think we could all use some now.”

As dusk stole over the land, Vanessa listened to the drone of a plane's engines. Earlier, it had been directly overhead, as though circling, and her heart had nearly burst out of her chest at the thought that someone was searching for her. But now it could be heard growing more and more distant. As the sound faded, and the night grew quiet, all she heard was the snoring of the two men. After they'd polished off several sandwiches and an entire bottle of whiskey, she wasn't surprised that they'd offered her nothing. Why bother to feed someone they considered as good as dead? They'd made it clear to her that their loyalty to DePietro was absolute. Whatever he ordered, they would do without question.

Did her life or death depend on the jury's verdict? Or had this vicious criminal known all along that once she was taken, there would be but one ending?

She shivered as she faced the very real possibility that her fate had already been decided. These two couldn't let her live to identify them. And if, as her father believed, the case against DePietro ended in a guilty verdict, her death would be a criminal's final show of power against the lone man who had stood up to him and his empire.

It was clear that these two were simply awaiting the final word from their leader.

Matt glanced skyward, where the far-off drone of the Cessna told him that his grandparents were heading back to the ranch to refuel and wait until morning to resume their search.

He ought to do the same, but the slim chance that the kidnappers might risk a fire had him still driving slowly across the barren hillside, hoping against hope for any sign of them.

He'd hoped the view from the air would reveal a glint of vehicle somewhere in this vast area. Apparently the kidnappers had given this a lot of thought. There were so many heavily wooded areas, as well as rock ledges and caves, where they could take refuge.

He parked at the top of a hill and stepped out of the truck, staring around at the darkened outline of rocks, trees, and distant mountain peaks. Somewhere in this vast wilderness, Vanessa was cold and frightened. And hurt. The very thought of the blood he'd seen in the video had fury bubbling to the surface. It was that fury, that knowledge that she was hurt, that kept him going.

He'd long ago stopped feeling his shoulder, where a bullet was lodged, radiating an all-consuming pain from the top of his head, down his spine to his toes. His body was now simply numb. But he couldn't stop the thoughts that drove him nearly insane. Vanessa in the clutches of madmen. Men awaiting orders to kill her. Men who didn't care about the pain they inflicted. Men who may have been given license to do whatever they wanted with her before disposing of her body.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he closed his eyes against the thoughts and images torturing him. Because of his carelessness, he was reduced to this—chasing after shadows while the woman he loved was suffering.

The woman he loved.

Why hadn't he said more when he'd had the chance? He'd begun to declare his love, and then, seeing Vanessa's wide-eyed reaction, he'd backed off and left the cabin to chop wood and work off some of his restlessness. He'd believed it was too soon to shock her with so many personal feelings. And now he would live with that regret for a lifetime.

He'd known. Maybe not at first. It had been perfectly normal to confuse lust with love. Vanessa Kettering was gorgeous, smart, funny. What man in his right mind wouldn't be attracted? But long before he'd given in to his passion, he'd known it was so much more. And still he'd worked overtime to keep those feelings low-key.

It was that damnable Malloy pride. Look at his uncle. Colin was forty, and still determined to remain a bachelor. He loved to boast that the woman wasn't born who could tie him down. That same mantra had been adopted by all of them. But they'd all known it was a joke, used to cover up any deep feelings they had. They were all very good at repressing feelings. Of loss. Of pain. But love? Frank and Grace were perfect examples of the way love ought to be. And hadn't his own parents been wildly in love?

It was what he wanted. What they all wanted.

Maybe that was why he'd wanted to soft-pedal his declaration of love. It was the most important emotion in the world, and it could be snatched away in an instant.

What he wouldn't give to be able to declare his undying love to his beautiful Nessa this very minute.

Sweet Nessa. How she must be suffering.

He'd asked his grandmother to pray.

It would take a miracle to find where those monsters were hiding her in this vast tract of wilderness.

Vanessa had put in the worst night of her life. Afraid. Alone. And plagued with horrible images of Matt, dead at the bottom of a ravine.

She needed to get free. But she couldn't imagine a scenario that would persuade these two to release her for even a few minutes. When she'd begged for a bathroom break before dark, the beefy, coarse one, Homer—whom she'd mentally nicknamed Bulk—had told her to soil herself, except he hadn't used such proper terms. And once again the two men had enjoyed his little joke, laughing themselves silly.

So what would persuade them to untie her?

Throughout this endless night, she'd played with a dozen different ideas. Feigning sickness. Pretending to be unconscious. Nothing seemed compelling enough to work to her advantage. They didn't care about her state of health. They had no reason to revive her if she fainted. She was already dead to them.

Dead.

It was so hard to concentrate when her mind always circled back to Matt. The thought of him, lying dead at the bottom of a ravine, his sweet, loving family grieving their loss, brought tears spilling down her face.

Had the wranglers in the distant hills seen the pall of smoke? Had someone come to investigate? Had they made the descent into the fiery hell that had enveloped his body? Would they even be able to identify the truck or the burned body?

Matt, her strong, fierce cowboy, his life cut short because of her. He didn't deserve this. All he'd done was offer his ranch as a sanctuary until the threat of danger was gone. And now she would never see him again. Would never hear that deep, sexy voice. Would never feel those strong arms holding her as gently as though she were some delicate, fragile flower. Would never again know the fierce wonder of his love.

The tears flowed until her throat was raw. She lay on the cold, hard ground of the cave and allowed herself to give in to a feeling of complete, absolute despair that settled over her like a dark cloud.

Hawkface, as Vanessa thought of Jasper, the tall, muscled man who always rode in the backseat, woke from a drunken sleep and got to his feet, swaying wildly.

His movements woke Homer, the driver, who aimed a fist into his middle, dropping him to his knees. “What're you doing?”

“Going out for a pizza.” Jasper wheezed out a pained breath before getting to his feet. “Whadda ya think I'm doing? I'm going out to pee.”

“Watch out for rattlers.”

That made Jasper stop in his tracks. “Do snakes come out before daylight?”

“Who the hell knows? Just saying, there could be wolves or bears or all kinds of wild things in this place.”

“It gives me the creeps. This whole wilderness thing creeps me out.” Jasper stopped just short of the cave entrance. “Maybe I'll just take a whiz in here.”

The driver swore. “Take it outside. I don't want to have to smell it in here.”

When Jasper hesitated, Vanessa's mind went into overdrive. “Homer has my phone. If you turn it on, it'll give you enough light to see what's close by.”

He reached out a hand to the driver. “Give it to me. I'm not taking any chances on stepping on a rattler.”

A scant minute later he turned on the phone before stepping away from the cave.

Watching, Vanessa sucked in a quick breath. Would her little trick work? She strained to peer in the predawn darkness, but could see little more than a thin, tiny circle of light, no bigger than the flare of a match.

Minutes later the hawkfaced man returned and handed over her phone to the driver. “I saw something move in the bushes and it had me so spooked I pissed on my shoes. But at least there weren't any bears or wolves.”

“Good. Now shut up and let me get back to sleep.”

Vanessa lay in the dark and wondered if anyone in Chicago had time to note that brief instant her phone had been engaged. Had it been on long enough to alert them of her location? Not likely. But it had been worth the effort, if only to lift her spirits.

Now her mind was even more alert than ever. She knew she ought to grab some sleep while these two slept, but it was impossible. Her thoughts kept circling back to Matt. The sudden shocking sound of a gunshot, and then the sight of him, bloody and unconscious, behind the wheel of the truck as it went over the ravine.

My fault
, she thought fiercely.
All my fault.

If she hadn't whined and complained about going to a safe house, he and his family would have never become involved in any of this. And right now he would be home with that big, rowdy family, ready to face another glorious day in his Montana paradise.

Instead, because of her, he would never again work or play or laugh.

Or love.

The pain was sharp and swift.

Like his parents, he was in the prime of life, and far too young to die. Unlike his parents, he left no children to carry on his legacy.

Because she'd lost her mother at such a tender age, she knew only too well that death claimed the young as well as the old.

There was no denying the fact that death was a harsh reality in her life. One that had left her and her father deeply affected.

Her father.

He would be inconsolable. Whatever the outcome of this trial, he would lose. And would pay the price for as long as he continued to live.

She refused to let that happen. She struggled with the restraints at her wrists and ankles until her flesh was raw and bloody. Though she knew it was an impossible task, she had to try. There would be no superhero flying in to save her. She would have to save herself.