Chapter Fourteen
Cheyenne had begun to feel like a caged animal, cooped up in the hotel room with her mother.
As the hours crawled past, she’d forced herself to remember how her mother had spent nights tending sick children without a word of complaint, and how she’d sacrificed nice things for herself to meet her family’s needs—a pretty dress for Cheyenne, quality boots and hats for her younger sons, a new wheelchair for her husband.
Rachel had been an exemplary mother, giving her all with meager thanks and scarcely a word of complaint. The least she deserved was a little patience and understanding from her daughter in this unfamiliar place.
Rachel was napping, stretched out on her bed with her shoes off and a blanket over her legs. If she was still asleep by the time their room service meals arrived, Cheyenne would wake her. Then, if all went well, they would eat and get ready to go down to the arena.
Cheyenne’s hopes would be with Roper tonight—not only in the competition, but afterward, when Sam Rafferty’s decision would determine the course of his life. Either he would be a free man, or he would be a prisoner.
Maybe she would get to meet Lila, Roper’s boss and the woman he loved. For her brother’s sake, Cheyenne was prepared to like her. But Rachel would have her claws out, ready to draw blood. It might be best to keep the two women apart.
Cheyenne had been checking her phone all day. This time, her heart skipped as she saw the new text and began to read.
Just wanted to let you know that Chief and I made it home this afternoon.
I checked on Fire Dance first thing. Physically, he looks good—no visible injuries, and he’s eating and drinking a little.
But he’s still terrified. I can’t get near him.
If I try, he runs away when he can. Or if he’s cornered, he rears and threatens.
It is a good sign that he doesn’t attack.
I’ll keep working with him and let you know how he’s doing.
Now comes the hard part. Last night was wonderful. What you gave me was beyond precious. But I won’t hold you to anything you said. You’re young, gifted, and beautiful. And you could do so much better than a run-down cowboy with nothing to offer you but his heart.
There’s something I need to tell you, Cheyenne—something I should have told you sooner. When you know, you’ll understand why I’m cutting you loose.
When I was eighteen, I went to prison for rape and served three years.
The girl was seventeen—my high school sweetheart.
We were just a couple of dumb kids fooling around.
What happened between us was entirely consensual.
But when I decided to break up with her and go to college, she went to her parents and accused me of forcing her.
Her father was a judge. She was believed without question. I didn’t have a prayer.
I don’t have to tell you what three years behind bars was like. After I’d served my time, college was out of the question. My parents had died while I was locked up, and my younger sister had been taken in by relatives. I brought her home and got the family ranch running again.
I would have told you this up front. But I sensed that you needed me. I needed you, too. What if I’d told you the truth? Would you have let me touch you? Or would you have run away in horror?
I hope, as time passes, that you will come to understand and forgive me. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to work with Fire Dance. If I can get him to the point where he’s safe for you to handle, I’ll have him delivered to you. If not—we agreed on what we would do. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
Your friend always,
Buck
Hands shaking, Cheyenne reread the message. Her first impulse was to fling the phone against the wall. Her second impulse was to cry like a brokenhearted child.
Their lovemaking had been so tender and so real. What had possessed Buck to think his troubled past would make any difference? He’d made a youthful mistake, and things had gone bad for him. She could understand that.
But why hadn’t he trusted her enough to share his secret? Why would he use it to justify ending their relationship?
She could call him—maybe send him an impassioned text. Or she could rent a car, drive to Ten Sleep, Wyoming, and fling herself into his arms.
But what if she was making too much of this? What if she was just another pretty toy who’d shared his bed, and now he was making excuses to step away?
“Cheyenne?” Her mother was stirring on the bed. “Is our food here yet? Is it time to get up?”
“Hang on. I’ll be right with you, Mother.” Cheyenne closed the message, wiped her eyes, and put her phone in her purse. She needed to pull herself together, think about where she stood, and come up with a decision. But there’d be no time for that now.
Back in the room, Sam plugged his phone into the charger and opened his laptop to update his report. He’d expected this day to be a busy one, reviewing evidence, conducting interviews, following last-minute leads, and possibly making an arrest. Instead, it had been a day of watching and waiting.
Everything could hinge on the contents of the DNA report.
But the day was winding down, and he was still waiting to hear from Nick.
The sheriff in Wichita Falls hadn’t returned his calls either.
Hayden’s possible link to Frank Culhane’s murder raised questions he couldn’t afford to leave unanswered.
He remembered the hours back in Chicago that he’d spent on stakeout, waiting for something that could happen any minute—or not. This was the same feeling.
Too restless to work, he put the laptop away and prowled to the window.
Beyond the glass, spreading to the horizon, Las Vegas baked and shimmered in the summer heat.
At least the Race to the Slide would be starting soon.
He planned to watch it and stay for the Run for a Million.
Maybe he’d see Hayden there. Or maybe he’d get the phone call that would move his case to conclusion.
Whatever happened, he would have to be alert and ready to act.
Even if it meant hurting somebody he respected.
His nerves tightened as he turned away from the window, holstered his Glock, and clipped a set of handcuffs to his belt. Ignoring a shadow of apprehension, he slipped on a light denim jacket and left the room.
Jasmine opened her eyes. The light was bright enough to make her squint.
The only sound she could hear was the blare of a television from somewhere out of sight.
She was lying on her side, something soft and scratchy against her face.
A blanket, maybe. So she must be on a bed. But how did she get here?
She shifted, trying to sit up. Only then did she discover that her wrists were tied behind her back and her ankles were bound with something hard and thin—zip ties, she surmised. Her pulse slammed as she realized she was a prisoner.
Her head was throbbing, and her mouth was as dry as parchment. What had happened? She struggled to clear her head. Why couldn’t she remember?
Rohypnol … The word rose from a dark place in her mind.
Roofies, the white tablets were called. The date-rape drug.
Any woman who’d worked in Hollywood would know enough to be aware of them.
Maybe she’d been given some in a drink. But she couldn’t remember drinking anything.
Her shorts and tank top were intact, and her body didn’t feel as if she’d been raped. Surely she would know.
Twisting, she tried to see around the room. Her gaze found the open suitcase on the luggage rack, overflowing with clothes. Her clothes. She was in her own hotel room at the Excalibur. But was she alone?
That question was answered by the sound of a flushing toilet from the other side of the bathroom door. After a pause, the door swung open. A lanky figure emerged and walked toward her.
“Hello, Big Sister,” said Hayden Barr.
As he grinned down at her, the partial memory returned—the poolside meeting, the mojito she’d been foolish enough to accept. She couldn’t remember getting up to her room or being tied, but the picture was clear enough.
A darker picture was also clear. He wouldn’t have drugged her, brought her back to the room, and tied her hands and feet if he’d meant to let her go.
She had no doubt that Hayden planned to kill her.
What she didn’t understand was why.
“Let me go,” she said, masking the cold fear that had congealed like tallow in her stomach. “Whatever you want, you don’t have to punish me to get it.”
“Don’t I?” He pulled up a chair and settled next to the bed. “You don’t even know what I want.”
“Then suppose you tell me. Cut me loose, and I’ll listen.”
“No need for that. I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Jasmine fought to contain an explosion of rage. That, she sensed, would be giving him what he wanted.
“At least you could tell me what’s going on,” she said. “Why am I here? What have I ever done to hurt you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re probably a good person. Your only crime is being in my way.” He crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll tell you what. We’ve got plenty of time. For entertainment’s sake, ask me anything you want. I’ll answer truthfully. I’ve got nothing to hide. All right?”
“I need the bathroom first. Can you help me up for that?”
He shook his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Sorry, no. Just cross your legs. First question?”
Fine. She would play his wretched game while she tried to figure out an escape. “Here goes,” she said. “Are you really Frank Culhane’s son?”
“Yes. My mother didn’t lie, Neither does my mirror. I just need the DNA for legal proof.”
“You can have my DNA if you’ll let me go.”
“It’s too late for that,” he said. “You already know too much. Besides, I’ve already got your DNA. I took a sample while you were out. Next question.”
“Did my father know about you?”
“My mother claimed to have told him. But that’s all I know. We never heard from him.”