Deep In The Heart Of Texas

Leaves crunched beneath her feet, bushes tugged at her clothes, and several times she tripped on something but always managed to steady herself. Her strength was waning, though. An aching weariness gripped every muscle, and her legs began to cramp. Ask him to stop, her brain told her, but his words reverberated in her head. No questions, tears or complaints. She had to go on. She had to show him she wasn’t a whimpering whiny female.

The wind chilled her to the bone, and the night sounds surrounded her with magnified intensity. Her legs grew tighter and tighter, and she could barely move them. The hermit’s back became a dim shape. She was falling behind.

As that realization crossed her mind, her legs locked in pain, and she fell flat on her face. “Oh, Lord, just let me die,” she whispered, praying for the pain in her legs to ease.

“Get up,” a booming voice ordered from above.

For a moment she thought it was God talking to her, but God wouldn’t have that note of impatience in His voice.

It was the hermit.

So much for considerate.

“Get up,” he said again.

She struggled to her knees. Words like “I can’t” or “Please help me” hovered on her lips, but she ignored them. She couldn’t fall apart this soon. They’d just started their journey. She was stronger than this, surely.

The dog licked her nose and she wrapped her arms around him in gratitude. He liked her. That incentive, that warm touch, was all she needed to propel herself to her feet. Pain shot up her back, and she winced in agony, but she wouldn’t complain. She had given him her word.

The hermit turned and headed off again. Miranda slowly followed, ordering herself to pick up her feet, each step excruciating. After a few minutes he stopped.

“Time to rest for a while,” he said. He removed the pack and sank to the ground, leaning against a tree, the rifle beside him.

Miranda collapsed on a bed of dried leaves at his feet and took several gulps of cold air to still her racing heart. Thank God, thank God, she said over and over in her mind. Now her legs could rest.

As he watched her prone body, he knew she was exhausted and in pain. He’d expected her to ask him to stop, but she hadn’t. It was probably because she recognized the futility of going up against that stubborn nature of his—the one he’d been told about so many times. Especially by Sheila. He shook his head to clear the memory.

Women. He would never figure them out. Not that he had to anymore, but he’d say one thing for Miranda Maddox. She had guts. The unfamiliar woods, especially at night, were frightening to her, yet she kept walking, determined to go on. He had pushed her hard, but he had to. It was crucial that she be able to withstand the strain of the ordeal ahead of them. Amazingly she’d passed his test.

Yeah, the lady had guts.

Miranda lay on her stomach, her head on her arm. As she relaxed, the cramps in her legs began to diminish. Her body became aware of another problem—the bitter cold. An icy chill stung her nose and lips, her fingers. She rolled over, her hands finding the pockets of her coat. As she stared up at the sky, she caught her breath. Through the cobweb branches of the trees, glistening stars sparkled like diamonds, beckoning, beguiling everyone to gaze at their special wonder.

The same stars sparkled over the ranch, over her father and mother. They had to be worried about her. Her parents were divorced and her mother lived in California, but she was probably here by now. She could never cope with a crisis. She panicked if she broke a fingernail. So Miranda felt sure her mother was sedated and aware of very little. But her father was strong; he would be handling the whole situation, figuring out how to bring his daughter back, regardless of cost.

Why was Spikes doing this? Her father trusted him completely. Why—

Something rustled in the leaves beside her, and she instantly pushed herself into a sitting position, scooting nearer to the hermit. She remembered what he’d said about coyotes, and she tensed again. But she wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t lose control.

As that resolve entered her mind, a hideous-looking creature ran across her legs through the leaves into the darkness. Fear gripped her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

“It’s only an armadillo searching for food. He’s harmless,” the hermit said.

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, not knowing anything about armadillos except that they had armored bodies, long tails and pointy noses. She’d never thought she would be up close and personal with one. But the hermit said they were harmless and she believed him. She leaned against a tree, trying to quiet her racing heart.

The silence stretched between them. She sat on the ground not two feet from him. Neither spoke. For a moment she wondered if he was asleep, but realized he wasn’t. He was too cunning for that.

Glancing toward the stars, she let their beauty calm her. Something suddenly occurred to her, a question she had to ask. She gathered her courage. “Could you tell me what day it is, please?”

“Wednesday night” was the quiet response.

“Wednesday night? They kidnapped me on Monday morning,” she said slowly. “I remember sitting on the patio, drinking coffee, and trying to decide what I was going to do with my life. Someone clamped a rag over my nose and mouth, and everything went black. I woke up in that awful room. I thought I was in some horrible dream because I’d wake up, then fall back asleep. They must have drugged me. It was probably good they did, or I would have lost my mind.”

She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming.

The dog whined.

The hermit muttered a few words in a low voice; she didn’t catch them.

“Did you say something?” she murmured.

“No,” he said in a clipped tone, but he had. He was talking to the dog.

The dog came over and rested his head in her lap. She stroked the soft head with her hand. “What’s his name?”

“Bandit,” he replied. Bandit the traitor, he thought to himself. That stupid dog really liked her.

“Oh, because of the black circle around his left eye?” She couldn’t see the circle in the darkness, but she had earlier.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a sweet dog,” she added, and continued to rub his head.

He didn’t answer, but saw her glance up at the sky again, her hand resting on Bandit. “Here in the vast outdoors my problems seem insignificant.”

“They’re not,” he said shortly.

He had his mind on Spikes, but she obviously didn’t. “I’m not talking about Spikes,” she told him. “I’m talking about my problems before I was kidnapped. I’d just broken up with my fiancé, after getting engaged at Christmas. It was what I wanted and…”

Her voice rattled on inside his head. She was telling him her problems, the last thing he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to know a single thing about her or her life. He just wanted to get her back to Clyde Maddox.

“Why are men so obsessed with sex?” she asked.

The question caught his attention and his head swiveled her way. “Excuse me?”

“Sex,” she repeated. “Kevin acted as if love and sex were the same thing. If I loved him, I’d sleep with him. If I cared about him, I’d sleep with him, and on and on it went. Why can’t a man realize that love and sex are not the same thing?”

“Because to some men they are.”

God, he couldn’t believe he’d said that. He didn’t want to talk to her or become involved in her problems, whatever they were.

“I thought that, too. So I bought this black teddy and a bottle of champagne. I decided what the hell, we’re getting married in the spring, anyway.” She tried to see his face in the darkness. “I’m not a prude, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted everything to be perfect with the man I loved.”

“I’m not thinking anything, and I really don’t want to hear this.”

Instinct told her to shut up. She didn’t even know this man and she was pouring her heart out to him. But she had to tell someone. “You don’t like to talk, do you?” she finally said.

“No,” he snapped. “And I don’t like to listen to people’s problems, either.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t talk.”

He sighed with deep annoyance. Why did women love to prattle on and on? He’d forgotten that irritating habit. And leave it to a woman to notice the one thing he’d forgotten to tell her. He’d bet Miranda Maddox could make a man dance circles around her—and make him enjoy doing it. Just like Sheila. What was he thinking? Sheila and this woman were nothing alike. Or were they?

“I went over to Kevin’s apartment,” she was saying, and against his will the hermit found himself listening. “I had a key, so I let myself in. The apartment was dark, and I assumed he wasn’t at home. Then I saw the candles burning on the coffee table, and I heard voices in the bedroom. Like a fool I walked right in…and saw my fiancé in bed with another woman. He was telling her how much he loved her. I dropped the bottle of champagne, which unfortunately didn’t break, and Kevin saw me. I ran from the apartment, and I can still hear him calling my name, saying it wasn’t how it had looked. Sure.” She gave a fake laugh. “He must have thought I was really stupid. I drove around until about three in the morning, then I went home. I couldn’t sleep, so I showered and dressed. No one was up. I sat on the patio, trying to sort out my life, and then suddenly the world went black and my nightmare began. I keep thinking if Kevin hadn’t betrayed me, none of this would have happened. I’d still be in his apartment thinking he was wonderful.”

No, she wouldn’t, the hermit thought. People like Kevin didn’t change. They sucked the life out of their partners with lies and deceit until there was nothing left. She was better off learning the truth about her fiancé before that happened.

He heard her take a deep breath, and the silence lasted for a few moments. Then she asked, “Do you think Spikes has discovered we’ve left the cabin yet?”

“Oh, yeah.” His voice rose with satisfaction. “We’ve been walking for more than five hours, so I’m sure he knows we’ve vanished into the night…and he’s madder than hell.”

SPIKES KICKED A LEG of the table inside the cabin and swore under his breath. “That goddamn hermit. I knew she was in here. I should’ve killed him. I should’ve killed the bastard.”

“Whata we do now?” Peavy wanted to know.

Spikes plopped down on the cot. “We get some sleep, and after that we track the lying bastard.”

“Then what?”

“What do you think? I’m sure she knows who we are, and so does the hermit. After I kill him, I’m gonna spend some time alone with the beautiful princess before I kill her, too. For years she’s looked down that pretty nose at me, but she won’t be so smug when I’ve finished with her.”

MADDOX HOUSE was thirty minutes from Austin, Texas. The huge mansion was an impressive structure, with wings, turrets and fountains. It was a facsimile of a castle in England and somewhat ostentatious for a ranch, but Helen Maddox, Clyde’s first wife, had designed the house after she fell in love with European castles during their honeymoon. Through five marriages and two children, the residence was still the family home.

Clyde Maddox’s study was a hub of activity. An FBI command post occupied one corner of the room. Two agents sat at a table, every technology available at their fingertips. The Maddox family sat in chairs and on sofas, waiting for the next ransom call. Alicia Adams, Miranda’s mother, heavily sedated, lay on one sofa, a wet cloth on her forehead.

Clyde, a man of medium height and build, paced the floor of the large book-lined room. At sixty-five, he was an imposing figure with his graying blond hair, direct brown eyes and erect stature. He had a booming voice and overpowering personality and a weakness for women. Two of his former wives had remarried, but the other two were still a part of his life, which his fifth wife did not appreciate. In business, as in his personal life, he was a formidable opponent. He was called “The Bulldozer.” He rolled over his adversaries with little thought or regard. He never let up or gave in, and the words I’m sorry weren’t in his vocabulary.

“Why in hell don’t they call?” Clyde’s loud voice reverberated around the room.

Clyde Thomas Maddox Jr., known as Tom, a replica of his father except for the gray hair, put an arm around his shoulder. “They’ll call, Dad. We just have to be patient.”

“They’d better not harm her. I swear I’ll kill them with my bare hands if they hurt her.”

A tall woman with brown hair and green eyes walked over to Clyde. The lines around her eyes and mouth showed her advancing years. “They’re after money, so they won’t harm her,” Helen Maddox assured him. Since she was the mother of Clyde’s only son, she still held a prominent place in the Maddox family.

A petite woman with dark eyes and hair spoke up. “You don’t know that. A kidnapper is not rational.” Doreen Maddox, Tom’s wife, always spoke her mind, much to her mother-in-law’s chagrin.

“Do you have to be so pessimistic?” Helen snapped.

Doreen glared at her mother-in-law. “I’m only being realistic.”

Before a quarrel could ensue, Brandi, Clyde’s fifth and present wife, got to her feet. A tall, green-eyed, voluptuous blonde, she towered over her husband by three inches. “If you ask me,” she said cattily, “it’s all just a ploy on Miranda’s part to get back at Kevin and, of course, to gain her father’s sympathy.”

“You bitch!” Alicia cried, sitting up clumsily. In her younger days, Ali had been a famous model and she still retained her shape and looks. She brushed blond hair away from her face as her blue eyes blazed with anger. “How dare you! I’ll pull that dyed hair out by the roots.” She made a lunge for Brandi, but Clyde caught her before she fell on her face.

“Calm down, Ali,” Clyde soothed, holding her in his arms and gently stroking her hair.

Brandi’s green eyes bore into him in a seething rage as she watched him console Ali. “You’re taking her side?” she asked in disbelief.

“Your remarks are out of line,” Clyde told her.

“You bastard. You can’t even see what’s going on under your nose.” With those scathing words, she whirled and headed for the stairs.

“She has a point, Clyde,” Helen interjected. “You’ve spoiled Miranda since the day she was born.”

Clyde shot her a withering look. Trying to keep Ali from crumpling to the floor, he called out, “Frances!”

The housekeeper, a small woman with short, brown hair, appeared from the kitchen. Jane, her daughter, followed.

“Take Ali upstairs. She needs to get some rest. And, Jane, would you help your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” Jane replied as Clyde handed over his burden.

“I don’t want to, Clyde. I want to see my baby,” Ali protested.

“You go and rest, Ali. I’ll wake you if anything happens,” he promised.

Wrapping an arm around Ali’s waist, Jane asked, “Has there been any news?” Worry clouded her brown eyes. She and Miranda had been friends since childhood.

“Not since the first ransom call,” Clyde answered. “We’re waiting to find out where to drop the money.”

As the trio trudged toward the stairs, Clyde added, “Jane, phone Kevin and tell him to stop calling here. I don’t want to talk to that son of a bitch. After what he’s done to my daughter, I never want to see his face again.”

“Yes, sir,” Jane answered.

“That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think, Clyde?” Helen asked. “They’ve had a lovers’ spat. It happens to all young couples. I’m sure Kevin is very worried about Miranda.”

Clyde turned on Helen, his brown eyes blazing. “She found him in bed with another woman barely three weeks after their engagement. The FBI got the whole sordid story out of him. He hurt her, and I won’t have him anywhere near her.”

Eyebrows raised, Helen said, “If memory serves me correctly, you weren’t averse to sleeping with other women while married, and you always expected forgiveness.”

Clyde’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Shut up, Helen. If you want to stay in this house, you’ll keep your nasty comments to yourself.”

“Mother, please.” Tom intervened before things got out of hand. He took her by the arm, whispered something to her, and led her to a chair.

Doreen watched this display with dark burning eyes and bit down on her lip, but managed to keep from saying anything.

An FBI agent spoke to Clyde. “Mr. Maddox, let’s go over the routine again. When the call comes through, keep talking as long as you can. We know they’re using a cell phone, so the more time we have, the better our chance of getting the number. Ask to speak with Miranda. You want to be certain she’s okay. If they refuse, keep insisting. Tell them you need some reassurance.”

“Okay,” Clyde replied. “But what’s taking so damn long?”

“They’re trying your patience, Mr. Maddox,” the agent answered. “They want to make sure you’ll do whatever they ask. How are you coming with the money?”

Clyde turned to Tom. “Is the money ready?”

“Yes,” Tom answered. “It was hard getting two million in cash at such short notice, but John at the bank said everything was set. We should have the money within the next thirty minutes.”

“Good.” The agent nodded. “Let’s hope we can find her before you have to give them any money.”

Clyde drove a fist into his other hand. “Why don’t they call? And where the hell is Spikes?”

“I haven’t seen him or Peavy since the FBI agent interviewed them,” Tom said.

“And we’ve come up with nothing on the green van Mr. Peavy said he saw in front of the house that morning,” the agent added.

Clyde sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. “What’s going on? How could they just come in here and take my daughter without anyone seeing them?”

Everyone in the room stood paralyzed. Clyde Maddox was a rock. He never wavered under pressure, but this man with the slumped shoulders was falling apart. No one was sure what to do.

Tom glanced at the agent, then at his mother, but before anyone could make a move, Clyde jumped up, his iron demeanor back in place. “Find Spikes. I want to see him now!”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE HERMIT PASSED the canteen to Miranda. “Drink some water, then we need to be on our way.”

Miranda didn’t realize she was thirsty until the water touched her lips. She took several gulps and handed the canteen back to him. He grabbed the backpack and stood. Miranda hoped she could do the same. With her hands on the cold hard ground, she pushed herself to her feet. She felt several fingernails break, but she couldn’t concern herself with such a minor problem. She was more worried about her legs. Miraculously they held her without pain. A grateful sigh escaped her, and they started off.

As they walked, Miranda began to identify the sounds around her: an owl, the rustle of leaves, the wind, a coyote howling in the distance. Except for the night sounds, the woods were very quiet. Just the two of them trudging steadily toward the ranch and safety.

The cramps in her legs resumed, and she gritted her teeth to bear the pain. Her attention was so focused on her cramped legs that she didn’t realize he’d stopped until she walked into his back.

“Oh,” she muttered in a startled voice as she struggled to keep from falling. She flung her hand out and caught a branch. It snapped in her hand.

The hermit whirled around and steadied her, then immediately pulled his hands free when she had her balance. Maybe he didn’t like women, she mused. Or maybe he just didn’t like her.

The questions triggered so many other questions in her head. She found she was becoming very curious about him. What was his name? What kind of life had he left behind? Was there a wife? A family?

“Damn,” he said, staring at the broken branch on the ground.

“What?” she asked, not understanding the implications.

“You broke a branch. It’ll be a dead giveaway that someone’s been through here,” he explained.

“Oh, no,” she cried, and felt as if she’d committed a crime. Maybe in a way she had. Her carelessness could alert Spikes to their whereabouts. She wanted to hide the branch, maybe leave a false trail, but his words stopped her.

“We don’t have time to worry about it.”

“But shouldn’t we do something?” she asked.

“No. They’ll probably assume it was broken by an animal—especially if we just leave it here. We have other problems.”

She held her breath and waited for his next words.

“We have to find shelter,” he said, glancing toward the sky.

She followed his gaze and found that all the stars had disappeared. The sky was black. Very black.

Still not grasping the full meaning of this, she asked, “Shelter? Why?”

“There’s a storm coming.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can smell it, and the sky has changed drastically in the past fifteen minutes.”

“I see,” she murmured, thinking that he and the elements were probably best friends. Her eyes searched the barren darkness. “But where can we find shelter in these woods?”

She felt him watching her, and she knew his expression without even seeing his face. It was dark and steely-eyed, telling her she’d used up her quota of questions for the day.

His instructions. She’d forgotten about them, but it was normal to be curious. She started to apologize because she’d never make it home without his help. But then she closed her mouth. A few questions wouldn’t kill him, she thought defiantly. He didn’t have to be so stiff and unrelenting.

She was glad when he turned his attention to the matter of finding shelter. “There’s a small cave not far from here. I think we can make it before the storm hits.”

She frowned beneath the masklike cap. Did he say cave? Weren’t there bats in caves? Should she ask? No, she answered herself. He wouldn’t appreciate her nervousness. But she wasn’t used to roughing it in the outdoors. She was accustomed to central air and heat and every possible luxury. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to tolerate what lay ahead.

The pain in her legs changed her opinion about entering this cave. She hoped it wasn’t far. At least it would be a place to rest her weary body. Yes, that was the how she’d think about the cave.

Suddenly dawn crept through the turbulent clouds, dimly lighting the woods in a yellow glow. The night faded behind them, and morning beckoned with a tempestuous hand. The hermit stopped by a thicket on the side of a hill. He laid down his rifle and reached with both hands to pull back some branches. “Go ahead,” he said. “Climb through, but be careful. Don’t break any of these branches.”

She looked at him, annoyed by that critical tone of his voice, but her emotions shifted as she glanced back at the hole he’d provided. This was too much like the room he’d rescued her from. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go through that misery again. Her first instinct was to turn and run, but she knew perfectly well that wasn’t wise. She’d be lost within minutes and the buzzards would have her body for dessert. If Spikes didn’t find her first.

Biting her lip, she tried to still her fears. Lightning snaked across the sky.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he said impatiently.

Bandit darted through the hole. She took a deep breath, counted to ten and followed. The muscles in her legs tightened in protest and she fell to the dirt floor of the small cave. Dust and the smell of dog filled her nostrils. All reason left her as a large rat ran past her. She screamed, covering her eyes. Bandit caught the rat in a heartbeat and killed it. She waited for bats to swoop around her, but all she heard was the crunching of bones as Bandit started to eat the rat.

“Oh,” she moaned in disgust, feeling as though she was going to be sick.

The hermit loomed over her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

The hermit glanced at Bandit eating the rat. “Have some manners, boy. Take your supper to the other end.”