Hitched and Hunted

“J-just cold,” Mariah answered, trying to keep her teeth from clacking together too loudly.

“Poor thing. I would offer an electric blanket, but the power will be out for a bit yet.” The woman grabbed a towel from the sink counter and started squeezing excess water out of Mariah’s hair. “We should get you somewhere there’s power.”

“If we can get a ride back to the rescue staging area, I can take her back to our motel. My truck’s parked there.”

“We’ll drive you. We’ve just gotten back from double shifts at the hospital—Gary’s a lab tech and I’m a nurse. We were about to head out there to volunteer ourselves.” The woman handed the towel to Mariah. “I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

She slipped out of the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with a small plastic bag and a folded set of scrubs. “Let’s get you into some warm, dry clothes. These may be a little short for you, but they should fit okay.” As Mariah took the surgical greens from Sophie, the woman turned to look at Jake with a critical eye. “You’re soaked, too. I’m not sure anything of Gary’s would fit you, though—”

“I’m fine,” Jake said firmly. “I’ve been running around so I’ve stayed warm. Let’s just get Mariah back to the motel.”

“I’ll tell Gary what we’re doing.” Sophie slipped back out of the bathroom.

Mariah finished slipping on the scrubs. Despite the thinness of the fabric, the clothes were impossibly warm.

“I’d hold you to get you warm, but I’m still sopping wet.” A hint of humor threaded through the lingering concern in Jake’s voice. Mariah hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d missed that lighter tone. It hadn’t made an appearance all day, banished by the horrors they were witnessing.

“You can make up for it back at the motel,” she promised.

“If you still want to leave town, I understand.”

She knew she should tell him no, that they’d stay and help. But the memory of Victor Logan’s malevolent gaze was burned into her brain, a reminder of why they had to leave as soon as they could get back to the motel and pack their things.

“I want to go home,” she said, hating herself a little.

Within fifteen minutes, they were safely back at the motel. Mariah took a long, hot shower that did wonders for her body temperature, then dried her hair, wrapped herself in a fuzzy robe and finished packing their toiletries for the trip home.

When she returned to the sleeping area, Jake was on the phone. He smiled at her. “Yeah, we’re cutting it short here. We may overnight in Birmingham. I’ll let you know.” He mouthed the name “Gabe.” “No, no—she’s okay. Just a little chilled.”

“Tell your brother I said hi and I’m fine,” she murmured, already eyeing the bed, where Jake had laid out warm clothes, including a cozy thermal undershirt and a sturdy pair of jeans. The rest of their clothes were packed.

“So he talked her into it finally? Well, good for Aaron!” Jake grinned at Mariah as she slipped off the robe and started donning her clothing. The appreciative look he gave her as she stripped naked did more to warm her than the thermal underwear. “Tell him congratulations for us. I’ll see you later.”

“Aaron and Melissa are engaged?” she guessed. Jake’s youngest brother had been trying to talk his girlfriend, Melissa, into marrying him for three months now, but Melissa was too pragmatic to jump into anything. Her history with men had made her a little cautious. To Aaron’s credit, he’d been far more patient with her than he was with most things in his life. “Good for them.”

“He popped the question on her birthday—talked someone at the high school into letting him borrow the gymnasium and set up their own private prom. Sappy devil.”

“Not nearly as romantic as your proposal,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his waist. “How did it go again—‘Hey, Mariah, wanna get hitched?’”

“If I recall correctly, you were duly impressed.”

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, her smile fading. He had no idea how desperate she’d been at that point in her life to find some sort of security and family. She wondered if he’d remember things differently if he knew the whole truth.

Would they even be together if she hadn’t been at the end of her rope? She’d never let herself ask that question before, perhaps afraid of what she’d discover.

Beneath her cheek, Jake’s sweater was thick and soft. He’d dressed in clothing as warm as her own. She managed a teasing grin. “Got colder than you realized?”

He smiled back at her. “My goose bumps have goose bumps.”

“Maybe you should have joined me in the shower.”

He pulled her closer, kissing her forehead and threading his fingers through her hair. “You were brave today. You saved that little girl’s life.”

“We didn’t get to tell that poor woman I’m okay.”

“We could stop there on our way out of town.”

“No, it’s not on the way, and it would just interfere with the rescue efforts.” Mariah already felt guilty enough about leaving all those poor, suffering people behind. But she couldn’t risk seeing Victor Logan again. “Besides, she probably took her little girl to the hospital to be checked out.”

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital, too. You’re still shivering.”

She couldn’t tell him her chills had more to do with the cold-eyed man who’d been seconds from tossing her back into that swollen creek before Jake arrived.

Not yet. Not until they were safely away, back in Gossamer Ridge, with Jake’s big, capable family surrounding them.

But when they got home, she was going to tell Jake the truth. The whole sordid story.

It had been a mistake to create a fictional back story for her own life. Jake deserved better, and she was strong enough to face her past.

She’d survived seeing Victor again, hadn’t she?

Barely, a cowardly voice whispered in her ear. You barely survived with your life.

THE SECRET TO GETTING away with something, Victor knew, was to look as if you know what you’re doing. In his case, it was simple enough; Victor actually knew his way around the underbelly of a truck. He’d been a mechanic since the age of sixteen, working in garages and repair shops across three states. He’d been bitten with the wander bug at an early age. With his skills as a mechanic to sustain him, he began a twenty-year sojourn across three states to find where he belonged.

Twenty years to figure out he’d never belong in this world full of cretins and imbeciles who were more interested in expanding their wallets and waistlines than improving their minds. It had taken Alex to show him the truth: he was better than all those people he’d spent his life trying to impress.

After that, he’d lived his life as he wished, taking the jobs that would best accomplish his particular needs at the time. Alex had been generous, as well, sharing his wealth with Victor in exchange for Victor’s keen eye for opportunities.

Alex’s money had bought Victor the toolkit he was using right now under Jake Cooper’s Ford F-150.

Victor had followed Marisol and her husband from the disaster scene, seen him forced to park the truck many slots down from their motel room because of the bass boat hitched to the back. It had been easy enough for Victor to park nearby, bring out his tools and act as if he was there on business.

Victor was slender enough to slide easily under the truck and snip the serpentine belt without engaging the car alarm. He left just a thread of belt intact. It would snap within a few miles, and not long after that, the engine would start to fail.

He pushed out from under the truck and walked purposefully back to his van, securing his tools on the floorboard behind the front passenger’s seat. He stepped into the van through the side door and closed it behind him, quickly stripping out of his wet, soiled coveralls.

Then he left the parking lot and set up a couple of blocks down the service road. Cooper would have to drive past him to get to any of the three interstate access roads.

And Victor would be ready.

MARIAH WAS TOO QUIET. It reminded Jake, uncomfortably, of their first interactions three years ago. She’d showed up one day, looking for work, and his sister Hannah, always a sucker for a stray, had talked their parents into hiring the shy, pretty young single mother for the clerical job at the booking office of the marina and fishing camp the family ran.

Jake had found her stunningly beautiful from the start, but her quiet demeanor had almost nipped their relationship in the bud. He’d always preferred vibrant, fun-loving girls with lots of energy and lots of sass. Mariah’s subdued, self-contained calm seemed just the opposite.

But as she revealed her past in painful little snippets over the next week, he began to understand that what he’d seen as self-possession was really lingering sadness at the loss of her husband, Micah’s father. He’d apparently died young in a tragic car accident, leaving Mariah pregnant and alone. He’d had nothing to leave them, forcing Mariah to fend for herself and her child with her own resources.

Pity had turned to sympathy, and sympathy to infatuation. By the time she’d finally agreed to go out with him three weeks after they met, he was halfway in love. Their first kiss two dates later sealed the deal for him, and it hadn’t taken long to convince her they were meant to be a family.

They’d eloped to Gatlinburg within two months of their first meeting. He’d never doubted his snap decision to marry her, or be the father to her adorable son Micah, who’d just turned three in December.

But at times like this, when she went quiet and insular, he was reminded there were still things about her history he didn’t know. Things he hadn’t thought important.

But what if they were?

Mariah looked up, her forehead wrinkling a little as she caught him watching her. “What’s wrong?”

He tried to shake off his doubts. “Nothing. Just—you’re so quiet. You’re not feeling worse, are you?”

She flashed an unconvincing smile. “Still cold, I guess.”

He started to reach behind him to the bench seat when a sharp snapping sound caught him by surprise. Almost immediately, the steering wheel grew stiff under his hand, and the engine power dropped precipitously.

He fought the unresponsive steering wheel, bringing the truck to a shuddering stop at the side of the road. The engine idled unsteadily for a few seconds, then died. When he tried to crank the engine again, the starter struggled to engage.

“What happened?” Mariah’s eyes widened with concern.

He reached over to touch her hand. He felt her hands trembling. “I think a belt must have broken,” he reassured her, although he’d checked all the belts and hoses before they left home. “I’ll take a look.”

The rain had slacked off, thankfully, only a light mist falling now. Jake slipped the hood of his windbreaker over his head and hurried to the front of the car. He raised the truck’s hood and looked inside.

The serpentine belt was hanging loose, snapped in two.

He uttered a low curse, wishing he’d taken his brother J.D.’s advice and packed extra belts for the journey. But J.D. was a control freak—who ever listened to his advice about things? He was the kind of guy who’d pack a parka for a trip to Florida, just in case another ice age hit unexpectedly while he was there.

He closed the hood and pulled out his cell phone, but his phone couldn’t find a signal. They were in the middle of nowhere, thick, piney woods flanking them on both sides. He’d taken a side road rather than the main thoroughfare, which was still clogged with traffic in and out of Buckley. He wasn’t sure there were even any houses within a square mile.

“What is it?” Mariah joined him in front of the truck.

“Belt broke.”

“What do we do now?”

Jake was about to suggest walking back to Buckley, but the sound of an approaching vehicle distracted him. He saw a white van coming up the road toward them. “We flag down this van and see if he can take us into town.”

He started waving at the van, which slowed as it came nearer. A mild glare off the windshield obscured the driver until the van was nearly on them.

It was Victor, the man from the tornado zone.

Mariah’s fingers closed around Jake’s arm, digging in. “Let’s just walk—”

He looked away from Victor to Mariah, who was gazing up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

“You folks need a ride?” Victor called out. Jake saw Mariah’s gaze shift behind him. Her face blanched white.

He turned, following her gaze, and saw Victor Logan standing in the open side doorway of the van, arm outstretched. In his hand, Victor held a large black Smith & Wesson semiautomatic, its barrel leveled with the center of Jake’s forehead.

“Let me rephrase,” Victor said, his voice cold and steady. “Get in the van or I’ll kill you.”

Chapter Four

Jake wanted to make a move on him. Victor saw it in the younger man’s watchful eyes, the taut set of his muscles as he backed up against the interior wall of the van. Victor had spent the last three and a half years honing his ability to spot danger coming from miles away. A man his age and size didn’t survive prison without knowing how to avoid danger.

When it could be avoided. And sometimes, it couldn’t.

Victor shook off the grim memories before they could paralyze him. He had work to do, and he wasn’t about to drop his guard with Jake Cooper.

Marisol was Victor’s protection. Jake would weigh any move he might wish to make against the danger his action would pose for her. It had taken only seconds for Victor to read the situation and train his weapon on Marisol rather than Jake.

He hoped it was enough to keep Jake at bay.

“I’m waiting,” he said aloud, not hiding his impatience.

Marisol’s hands shook as she followed Victor’s directions, fastening the plastic cuffs around Jake’s wrist, then hooking the cuffs through the metal clips attached to the inside of the van. The clips had been there when Victor bought the delivery van used, probably to secure stabilization ropes for transporting furniture or other large items.

He’d spent many long hours contemplating the various ways those clips could come in handy one day. He just hadn’t anticipated the day coming quite so soon.

“Sit over there.” Victor flicked the barrel of the gun toward the long wood bench that lined the opposite side of the van. Marisol glared at him with eyes full of equal parts hate and fear as she did as he demanded.

“What do you want with us?” Jake asked, not for the first time. Over his head, he flexed his wrists, testing the plastic cuffs, his movements subtle.

Victor wasn’t worried that Marisol had tried to trick him by leaving the cuffs loose. She knew better by now than to cross him. She knew the consequences.

“Marisol, do you have an answer for your husband?”

“Why do you call her Marisol?” Jake’s curious gaze slanted toward his wife.

She looked over at Jake, fear and guilt written across her face as plainly as words. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Victor, and for a brief, breathtaking moment, rage and hate eclipsed her earlier fear.

Victor’s breath froze in his throat.

Then fear took over again, and she dropped her gaze.

Victor breathed again, crossing to her side. He almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

He secured her wrists, taking care that the bindings were tight enough to pinch. Drinking in her soft gasp of pain, he took strength from the sound. Who has the power now, Marisol? Who’s in control this time?

Hooking her cuffs to the clip over her head, he stepped back, surveying his handiwork. The man was glaring at him, impotent rage shining in his eyes. But Marisol kept gazing down at the floorboard, her whole body slumped with defeat.

If only Alex were here, Victor thought with pride. If only he could see what Victor had done, how he’d taken the gift the universe had given him and turned it to his favor, things between them would be different.

With a sigh of regret Victor turned his back on his captives and slipped into the driver’s seat of the cargo van. He cranked the engine, and the van roared to life.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he said over the engine noise, slanting a look toward the rearview mirror. In the reflection, he saw Marisol’s head snap up, her gray eyes blazing hatred as they met his in the mirror. He fed off her hatred, his voice gaining power. “It’s the story of a lying, stealing, whoring piece of street trash who had the chance to change her entire world. And failed.”

THE PLASTIC RESTRAINT cuffs were painfully tight. Jake had hoped Mariah would leave them loose deliberately, had even tried to communicate that plea with his eyes as she cinched his wrists together, but she’d left him little slack to work with. Still, they were plastic and, unlike the disposable cuffs he and other deputies were used to handling back at the Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department, these cuffs were cheaply made. He had a small butane lighter in his front pocket—one he’d bought the day before at a convenience store near the motel when weather reports made it clear they might be experiencing long power out-ages due to the coming storms.

If he weren’t hanging like a side of beef from the overhead clip, he might be able to burn through the cuff in no time. All he needed was the right opportunity.

In the driver’s seat, Victor began talking, his voice deep and surprisingly cultured. Jake had noticed it before, back at the disaster site, but the smooth, educated accent was even more noticeable now, echoing through the cargo van.

“She was given everything, asked for nothing but her effort and her loyalty.”

Jake glanced over at Mariah, trying to catch her eye. But she was glaring at Victor, her color high. “Shut up!” she shouted. “You lying son of a bitch!”

Jake stared, shocked at her outburst. Mariah was one of the most gentle, even-tempered people he knew. He’d never heard a curse word pass her lips in the three years he’d known her.

“Would you prefer to tell the story, Marisol?” Victor asked, apparently unfazed.

“Why do you keep calling her Marisol?” Jake repeated before Mariah could speak again.

“Would you like to answer that, Marisol?”

Jake looked across the van at his wife, who continued to stare at their captor, her eyes ablaze with unadulterated hatred. “Mariah?”

Her gaze turned slowly to meet his, and the rage died, leaving only despair in its wake. Tears welled and spilled over her bottom lashes, trickling down her cheeks.

His gut knotting, Jake waited for her to tell him Victor was lying, that he was crazy. But she just looked down at her feet, teardrops splattering the muddy metal floorboard between her shoes.

“Your wife has kept secrets from you, Jake.” Victor’s voice nearly quivered with anticipation.

“Is that what this is all about?” Jake asked, his gaze still fastened on Mariah’s downturned face. “You knew each other before? What—he’s Micah’s father?”

“No!” Mariah’s gaze flew up, not to Jake but to Victor’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Micah?” For the first time since he forced them into the van, Victor sounded uncertain.

Jake didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on his wife as he struggled to understand. So whoever Victor was to Mariah, he didn’t know about her son. And clearly, she didn’t want him to.

And neither did Jake. Even if he was Micah’s father, no way in hell would Jake let him anywhere near the little boy he thought of as his own son.

“Do you have a child, Marisol?” Victor asked in a strangled tone that caught Jake by surprise.

“I meant her husband, Micah,” Jake lied quickly as he saw Mariah’s face turn deathly pale. “Are you his father? Mariah told me his parents didn’t approve of their relationship.”

Victor laughed. “No.”

“Victor killed Micah,” Mariah growled, her voice dark with old pain.

Jake had heard that sound, more often than he liked to remember, in the early days of their courtship and marriage, but he’d thought she was past it now, moving forward into their new and promising life together.

Clearly, he’d been wrong. In so many ways.

“It was an accident.” Victor’s flat tone was unconvincing. “I paid for my mistake.”

“You killed him so I couldn’t be with him,” Mariah countered fiercely. “That was your twisted idea of disloyalty to you. Is that why you’re doing this now? Are you going to kill Jake, too?”

“If all I wanted was to kill your latest lover, he’d be dead already,” Victor said calmly.

“Easy to talk big when you’ve got the gun and your opponent’s trussed up like a turkey, little man.” Jake watched Victor for a reaction.

Victor ignored the taunt, but Jake noted that his back stiffened at the hard words. The older man turned his attention back to Mariah, his dark eyes focusing on her in the mirror. “You made things very difficult for me. You ruined everything.”

“You ruined everything,” Mariah spat back at him. “You’re the one who couldn’t let me go.”

“Your name is Marisol?” Jake asked quietly, partly to defuse the escalating tension but mostly to distract himself from the twisting in his gut. He knew that Victor wanted him to feel disgust and betrayal at Mariah’s lies. He could see very well that Mariah wanted—needed—him to trust her.

All Jake knew was that she wasn’t going to die on his watch.

Mariah lifted her face slowly. He could see she was struggling to meet his eyes. “My name is Mariah Cooper. I changed it legally three years ago, and then changed it when we married. Marisol is a different person from a very different time and place.”

“Not so different,” Victor said flatly. “Same old liar.”

Mariah’s lips pressed to a thin line as she shot a glare at Victor. She turned her gaze back to Jake, her expression tense. “I know I have a lot to explain. I’m so sorry. But nothing you’re hearing now changes who I am.”

Jake wanted to agree, to wipe the fear and dread from her expression. But he wasn’t going to lie to her.

At the sight of his indecision, her expression fell. She turned back toward the window, her profile outlined with despair.

Jake looked into the rearview mirror and saw Victor’s black eyes watching him. “Where are you taking us?”

Victor’s only answer was a slow, enigmatic smile.

AT LEAST WE’RE STILL ALIVE .

As mental pep talks went, the silent chant running through Mariah’s head wasn’t exactly a source of inspiration. She and Jake were still alive, yes, but for how much longer?

And what did Victor intend to do to them in the meantime?

She knew firsthand what he was capable of doing. She’d seen the way he’d aimed his old green Caddy at Micah Davis as he walked across the campus service road to reach Mariah on the other side. There’d been no hesitation. No tap of the brake.

He’d known what would happen to Micah’s body when the Cadillac’s nose slammed into him at forty miles an hour. He’d counted on it.

She’d often wondered, later, if he knew she’d be there to witness Micah’s murder. For reasons she hadn’t admitted to herself until it was too late, she’d kept Micah a secret from Victor, as much as she could. Victor had been ambivalent about allowing her to attend college in the first place, as if he were somehow insulted that she needed to learn things that he couldn’t teach her.

His possessiveness—not of her body but her mind—should have been a warning of what would come.

From her position in the belly of the windowless van, all she could see of the world outside was the relentless blur of greens, browns and grays through the front windshield. Victor was driving them into the woods. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when the van finally stopped.

She dared a glance at Jake. His eyes were angled forward, slightly narrowed, his expression intent. He probably thought they still had a chance to get out of this mess alive. She didn’t have that illusion.