Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (25 page)

Chapter 25

After Holt’s shocking dismissal, Maddy sat numbly in
Luke’s truck for the ride to the Valley-D. Tears threatened every time she
allowed her fears for Bobby to surface.

To add to her sore ribs, her stomach cramped. Who
could have him? Where was he? Was he warm and fed? Did the kidnappers know to
rub his back when he fretted in his sleep? Did they know that his little
wrinkled brow meant he was wet? Did they care?

Oh, God! Bobby
!

At the ranch, she began to pack her duffel, but then
little things seeped into her wooly brain.

Holt’s initial concern for her at the hospital, his
gentle caring. His relentless nobility and damned sense of responsibility. The
fury in his eyes that hid a deeper fear, for her as well as for his nephew. He
ordered her to keep out of it not to get rid of her, not because he could no
longer stand the sight of her, but because he loved her.

He was sending her away to protect her.

That perception gave her the strength she needed. She
couldn’t leave Holt any more than she could leave before she knew Bobby was
safe and sound and home.

Impetuosity might be such an integral part of her
nature she couldn’t change. She could change in another way. Holt had accused
her of running whenever things got rough. Fight or flight, was it?

Maybe he was right about the past, but this time she
chose fight.

*****

When Holt returned after midnight, he found Maddy
asleep in the kitchen rocking chair. He fisted his hands at his sides, steeling
himself.

She startled awake with the click of the door.
Blinking, she sat up. A fleeting grimace told of the pain in her ribs. “Bobby?”

He shook his head. “No news. Writing on this note was
different from the other one.”

Her breath hitched as she seemed to suppress a sob.
“What will you do?”

“We’re setting a trap for him. Beyond that...” He
shrugged, his throat too tight to find words. His jaw tensed at what he was
bound to say next. “You packed and ready to go?”

She scooted forward and pushed to her feet.
Perspiration beaded her forehead. In spite of pain that had to be like a knife
in her side, her stare was determined and level if her stance was not. She
crossed to the table and gripped a chair back for support. “I’m not leaving.”

“Your calendar job starts in less than a week.”

“I cancelled that. And the rest of my contracts.
You’re stuck with me. For better or worse. Isn’t that what we vowed? I want to
help. I can take Bobby’s place.” Her chin took on that stubborn cant.

What was she saying? His heart raced at the
possibilities. The impossibility. And a trade was out of the question. The
kidnapper wouldn’t trade. He’d have them both.

He shifted on his boots, paced to the cold woodstove,
unable to stand still. “God, Maddy, your offer to trade yourself is braver than
I can ask. I’m more grateful than I can express for your help, but your part in
this is done. You...you can’t stay. The marriage was just for the baby’s sake.”

“Maybe at first. No more. I’m in love with you.”

“In love with me? Love
me
?”

Her words wrapped around his heart like a warm
blanket. He shoved them away before he could let himself believe them. “Like
you loved Rob? And we know how long that ‘life together’ lasted.”

“By now I’d think you’d understand Rob and I weren’t
meant to be. If you keep looking over your shoulder at the past, you’ll miss
your whole life. Our whole life
together
. I believe you love me too. We
have a chance to make a future as a family, and I won’t let you throw it away.”

He watched the determination in her features, but
couldn’t make the leap. “I know you’ve changed, matured. But it doesn’t change
who you are. You’re a nomad.”

In the coolness of the late hour, boards creaked in
the old house. The wall clock seemed to tick louder to make up for the lack of
a baby’s cries.

Maddy wanted to weep. She wanted to scream at Holt for
being so blind. So proud and stubborn. But that pride and tenacity were part of
what she loved in him.

She tried to speak clearly over the tension in her
throat. “I’ve
been
a nomad, but it’s not who I am. You refuse to see the
truth.”

“And that truth is?”

“I’ve been running from my feelings for you for eight
years. Maybe we wouldn’t have had a chance together then but we do now. I love
you. I love Bobby and the babies we can have together. And I love this ranch.
My roots in these mountains aren’t as deep as yours.
Yet
. But I’m
not
leaving.”

“Maybe not today. Maybe not next month. But you’re
used to the jet-set life, to taking off to all parts of the globe.”

“Been there, done that. Freelance photography helped
me grow. But I can take pictures anywhere. Even here.”

An inarticulate humph was his only reply.

She gazed at the ceiling, seeing their crazy situation
as a whole. “Ironic, isn’t it? You fought loving a woman you don’t trust, and I
fought loving a man who won’t let himself trust me.”

He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his
eyes. “There’s more to a marriage than love. I need a wife to help run the
ranch. In good times and bad. You’ve spent only summers here, the easy time. No
winters when you might have to slog through deep snow to rescue damn fool cows
that wander off. Nor when a blizzard might strand you, limit you to between the
house and the barn for days at a time. Nor—”

“Early spring calving when you might be up every night
for a week doctoring newborns with scours and coaxing new heifer moms to nurse
their babies. I know all about that,” she added softly. “And
I’m
not
Bonnie.”

He sagged, looking bushed, his features tight with
anxiety. “Knowing isn’t doing. How could I be sure you’ll stay?”

“You can’t be sure.” She edged toward the hallway.

“Then what do I do?” Exhaustion and worry etched deep
lines in his face and honed his voice to razor sharpness.

Time to play her trump card. “Take me on faith. Your
brother doesn’t need your guilt trip any more, but
your wife
needs your
loyalty.”

“Maddy, it’s not a real marriage.” His tone bordered
on desperate, as if he needed her to convince him he was wrong.

She tossed her head, would flounce about if not for
the pain. “It’s real if we make it real. Sometimes I wonder if your blindness
is guilt or just pigheadedness. You who pride yourself on family loyalty will
have to trust my word I feel that same family loyalty. I love you and I will
stay with you. Forever.”

Twitching her hips, and with a show of confidence she
didn’t really feel, she headed to the bedroom. With every step, every twitch,
the demons stabbed spears at her ribs.

She turned to find Holt staring after her with hungry
eyes.

“I’ll be right here if you think of some way I can
help bring Bobby home.” Her lips curved in what better look like a sensual
smile, and she lowered one eyelid in a slow wink. “Oh, and I notice you didn’t
deny that you love me too.”

*****

By the time the sun climbed above Ghost Mountain’s
rugged slopes, Holt and the others had settled into hiding places in and around
the old silver mine. Sheriff’s department vans dropped them off on the old
trail, and they’d hiked up in the dark.

The mineshaft was little more than a gaping maw in the
cliff with three tumbledown sheds to its right, just enough to qualify as a
ghost town.

Holt tried not to dwell on what could happen to Bobby
if something,
anything
went wrong. Delivering Maddy to El Águila, which
he would not do under any circumstances, wouldn’t ensure the baby’s safety.
Surrounding the drop the kidnapper chose seemed the only alternative. “We still
have awhile to wait.”

“The note said nine A.M.” Luke hunkered down in the
rocks beside him. He eyed Holt doubtfully. “You were awful hard on Maddy last
night. Have you talked to her?”

“Back off. That subject’s off limits.” He wouldn’t
talk to anyone about Maddy.

He turned away and held binoculars to his gritty eyes.
Shadows laced the rocky path leading to the mine. The trail was empty except
for darting songbirds. A flock of chattering nuthatches settled on a
low-growing juniper. The sparse Ponderosa pines and other evergreens would
provide little cover for anyone climbing the trail—or avoiding the trail.

The mountainside surrounding the mine was a litter of
boulders, smaller rock piles, and scrub. He couldn’t spot the other watchers.

A good thing.

If he couldn’t detect the sheriff’s bulky form to his
right on the slope or the several deputies and DEA agents scattered around in
the sheds and behind boulders, neither could the bad guy—or guys.

Even old Bronc had stashed himself somewhere on this
mountain to aid in rescuing the helpless baby.

They didn’t have much of a plan. The drug lord would
send one—maybe more—of his goons. Their main hope was to snatch the man and
grill him before he realized Maddy wasn’t here. Force him to disclose where
they were holding their hostage.
Bobby.
Those thoughts would paralyze
him. Holt focused on the hillside.

Shivering in the early morning chill, he snugged his
sheepskin collar tighter. After Maddy’d gone to bed, he spent a restless night
on Chris Hawke’s recliner.

Ten times he rose to telephone her.

Ten times he stopped himself, telling himself he
didn’t want to wake Bronc, who’d volunteered to bed down in the living room
with his rifle. The old man said she was still in the bedroom when he left the
house.

Maybe she’d be gone by the time this was over, and the
twin agonies of wanting her and not trusting her would end.

Sure.

Even injured, her first impulse had been to say she’d
give herself up for the baby. If he’d learned anything about Maddy in the last
month, it was that she wasn’t selfish or pampered. And at the darkest point in
that long night, he admitted to himself that he’d fallen in love with her. But
ask her to stay? No, he couldn’t set himself up to be bucked onto his ass when
she decided to kick up her heels and gallop away.

She’d changed, was it enough that she’d stay with him?
Did she really love him like she said? Take her on faith? Hell, how could he
know? Better she leave now than later. Get it over with. Rip out his heart
instead of picking at it little by little.

He had Bobby to worry about. That was all. That was
everything. Had to be.

*****

“Thanks, Chris. I needed to know what was going on.”
Maddy disconnected. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Less than two hours until
the deadline, the drop, as Chris Hawke had termed it. In her stiff and sore
condition, she might need every minute of it to reach the mine on time. She
swallowed one of the painkillers, less than the prescribed dose, but she needed
to be alert.

No telling who she’d have to face when she got
there—El Águila or some of his henchmen—or what she could do. But she had to
help. She had to try. Perhaps she could distract them to give Holt and the
others an edge.

Panting shallow breaths against the pain, she donned
the sheepskin jacket. Stomping her feet into the riding boots was less painful
than bending to tie sneakers, but just barely.

In the barn, she contemplated how to manage saddling
Chica. The buckskin watched her patiently, with apparently less apprehension
than Maddy felt about the process. “Yes, I know, girl. It’s impulsive of me to
do this, but I have to. That’s me—impetuous, impulsive Madelyn McCoy...Donovan.
Don’t forget the Donovan. I sure as hell won’t.”

Today she felt better, but sagged when she Holt’s bed
hadn’t been slept in. She’d spent the night in the house alone. Then she’d
telephoned Chris Hawke.

The pitchfork-wielding demons had departed during her
drug-induced but fretful sleep. The wrestling gorilla, however, had not.
Tossing the saddle blanket over the mare’s back prompted him to squeeze her
ribs a good one. The racking pain bent her double, and she propped her hands on
her knees and breathed with deliberate slowness until she could straighten
again.

Good. The pain would help her focus and not
concentrate on what she had to do for Bobby. She could crash once he was safe.

Now for the saddle. Maybe she’d slip on the bridle
first.

*****

By nine o’clock the sun soared high over Ghost
Mountain. Holt loosened his coat and turned his face to the sun. The time Maddy
was supposed to surrender. Unless the bad guys knew she wasn’t coming, they
should have arrived by now.

He pursed his lips and frowned. “It prods me like a
rock in my boot why El Águila would choose this old mine.”

Luke turned to face him and propped his rifle across
his knees. “Remote. Difficult access. Maybe he figures we can’t chase his man
or find him if he bolts.”

“But how’d he know about it? It’s not public
knowledge.”

“Ah, we’re back to the local gun theory.”

“Not a theory I first put a loop on, but it’s looking
better.”

Down the mountain out of sight, stones clattered.

Holt focused the binoculars. “Someone’s coming.”

Ducking farther behind his rock, Luke checked his
rifle. “I didn’t take part in the meadow-shooting investigation, so I don’t
know the details. Seems like the sheriff should’ve found that black truck you
saw when you and Maddy were shot at.”

Reality tilted. Holt’s breath clogged his throat. In
two powerful moves, he knocked Luke’s gun to one side and slammed him face down
onto the hard ground. He twisted his right arm behind him and held on. He knelt
on the other arm.

“Hey! What the hell!” Luke struggled to wrench away
from the body pinning him. “Donovan!”