Chapter 36
LENNOX
Three days after the phone call, I’ve almost convinced myself we’re overreacting.
Nothing has happened. No more calls. No more feelings of being watched.
Just everyday ranch life with extra vigilance.
I’m starting to relax. Starting to think maybe the threat was empty. A scare tactic that hasn’t worked.
It’s early afternoon. Sebastian is on a conference call with his California properties, something about permit issues that required his immediate attention. I’ve been restless, cooped up in the house for three days straight, and finally decided I needed air.
“I’m going to check on Duchess,” I tell Sebastian, interrupting his call.
He mutes the phone. “Take a gun with you.”
“It’s a hundred and fifty yards to the barn. In broad daylight. With cameras everywhere.” I’m already pulling on my boots. “I’ll be fine.”
“Lennox,” he growls at me.
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. If I’m not, you can send the cavalry.” I kiss his cheek. “I’m not living in a cage because the Marshalls made threats; that’s letting them win.”
The walk to the barn feels good. Fresh air; the heady perfume of lilacs fills the air, and I drink them in as I walk. The sun is out, and I turn my face toward it and soak in the vitamin D. Ranch hands work in the distance, their shouts and laughter making life feel normal.
I’m almost at the barn when I hear it. A vehicle. Moving fast. Coming from the back access road instead of the main drive.
I turn and see a black SUV barreling toward me, kicking up dust, moving with purpose, making my stomach drop.
Run.
The thought is instinctive and immediate. I start sprinting toward the barn, toward people, toward safety. But I’m in the open, exposed, too far from cover.
The SUV cuts me off, sliding to a stop between me and the barn. Doors fly open, and three men pour out.
“Mrs. Drake,” one of the men sneers. “Going somewhere?”
I back up, already reaching for my phone. But another man is behind me, grabbing my wrists, yanking the phone from my hand, and throwing it to the ground.
“Help!” I scream as loud as I can. A hand clamps over my mouth. Chemical smell. Sweet and wrong. Chloroform or something like it presses against my nose and mouth.
I try to hold my breath, try to fight, but there are three of them and one of me. Strong hands drag me toward the SUV. The world is starting to blur at the edges.
In the distance, I hear shouting. Pete’s voice, maybe. Or another ranch hand. Running toward us.
Too far away. Too late.