Chapter Seventeen
Ben roared up, breaks squealing. The monster truck’s driver apparently spotted him and hit the gas. The powerful rear wheels threw up gravel in a hail of rocks. The vehicle thundered away.
Drawing his Glock, Ben rushed to roll down his window and squeeze off six shots. He heard them pang on the tailgate, the fender, the truck bed.
For a long, agonizing moment, Ben was torn. Chase the truck down to put a world of hurt on the driver? Or stop to help a possibly injured Sarah?
Sarah’s well-being won. Cursing, Ben pulled over behind the sedan. He flung himself from the cab and ran to the passenger side. The car was nose-first into a shallow ditch, with the entire right side of the car a mass of crumpled metal.
The figure in the passenger seat was unmoving.
On the driver’s side, Travis Butler put an unsteady hand to his head. His forehead dripped blood.
“Butler,” Ben shouted, “unlock the doors.”
Appearing dazed, Butler had the wherewithal to hit the unlock button, and Ben yanked open the door. Sarah lay unconscious, slumped over on the center console, and still strapped into the seatbelt. Releasing the belt, Ben crouched beside her. His training kicked in and he began a medical checklist.
His fingers shook as he thoroughly checked her vitals. Her heartbeat was steady and she was breathing, thank God. He didn’t know about internal injuries, yet he didn’t see any blood or broken bones.
Standing up, he yanked out his cell and called for emergency vehicles.
In the other seat, Travis stirred again.
“You okay, Butler?” Ben asked, leaning in.
“Still in once piece. Got my bell rung,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Musta hit the steering wheel. How’s Sarah?”
“I think she’s just knocked out. An ambulance is coming. Recognize that shithead who nailed you?”
Butler shook his head, then grimaced in pain. “Don’t know him or that truck.”
Swell.
Butler’s hand went to the door handle.
“Stay in the car, Butler,” Ben said. “You’re probably concussed, and you’ll just fall down. I don’t want to come over there and haul you up.”
Butler put his hand to his head again.
Ben knelt to hold Sarah’s limp fingers. He couldn’t take his gaze off her face and noticed a swelling on her temple.
Perhaps in the collision her head banged into the side window.
Maybe that’s why she lost consciousness.
If a person’s head struck hard enough and in the right place, the brain could be made to lurch against the brain pan, like a prizefighter knocking out his opponent, and cause unconsciousness.
Usually, it would result in a simple concussion.
Fervently, he hoped this injury would prove minor.
Vibrating with rage and adrenalin, he felt sweat drench him. He wanted to kill that driver, murder him. Twice. He peered down the highway road in desperate longing. If he accomplished nothing else in his life, he was going to get that guy. The guy that had tried to take Sarah from him.
Leaning back inside the car, he patted her cheek. “Sarah, come on, honey. Sarah.”
After a minute, her eyelids fluttered.
“Stay still, sweetheart. Help is on the way. You’ll be okay. You’ll be just fine.”
She moaned and her head lolled on her shoulders. “Ben,” she whispered, struggling to sit up.
She knew who he was. That was a relief.
“Ben,” she got out on a whisper. “Why? W-why is somebody trying to hurt me?”
Ben gritted his teeth. “Whoever it is, he’s sick. Loony tunes.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.”
Only he hadn’t.
As Sarah slowly regained her wits, the truth slammed home.
He hadn’t taken care of her. He’d allowed her to be hurt.
This happened when she was supposed to be under his protection.
Fury at his own incompetence filled his mind, made his vision go black.
What a failure. And he, who’d thought himself skilled at his job.
Ben Paxton, the big man. The former Navy SEAL commander.
The owner of Paxton Security. Sweat dripped down his jaw.
In crushing remorse, he squeezed his eyes shut.
He shouldn’t have allowed Sarah to leave the ranch at all. Or, if he had, he should have been right next to her. The mistakes he’d made lined up and marched before his mind’s eye like pitiless battle-bound soldiers.
His failure tasted bitter.
There was only one thing to do now, and as soon as Sarah received a clean bill of health, it would be done.
****
The hospital didn’t feel it necessary for Sarah to spend the night and sent her home with orders to ice her temple and rest.
“I don’t see any symptoms of concussion,” the doctor said. He clicked a pen and stuck it into his lab coat pocket. “No dizziness or nausea. She’s not sensitive to light. Her mental acuity appears normal. She’s lucky. However, I recommend someone monitor her tonight.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Ben muttered darkly. He wouldn’t be moving more than inches from her now.
While physicians were examining her and Butler, he’d made a call to Chief King and reported the incident.
Predictably, King was furious at the attack, told Ben he’d put out an APB for a big truck with oversized tires and damage to the body.
He arranged for Butler’s car to be towed to town for examination.
Then, Ben let an alarmed Big Jim know about the incident and promised to bring her home shortly.
Ben drove both Sarah and Butler. Butler needed only a few stitches in his forehead. Letting him out at his home, Ben waited for the other man to open the door.
His head bandaged, Butler said, “I’m sorry, Sarah. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
“It’s not your fault, Travis. Whoever it is, he’s evil.”
They said goodbye and Ben drove up to Sarah’s home.
A worried Jim greeted them at the car, opening Sarah’s door. “Can you walk?” he asked. “Or should I carry you?”
“No, I can walk. I’m just a little wobbly.” She took her dad’s arm.
Willie ran up from the barn. “Miss Sarah, are you all right?” Concern tightened his young features. Before she could answer, he faced Ben. “Nothing happened to her here on the ranch, Sir. I’ve been watching out real close.”
“No, I know that, Willie.” Ben came around the hood. “I was on the highway when the accident happened. Saw it all. You’ve done well here.”
“Don’t want to lose my place on Team Sarah,” he said, studying her pale features.
Ben clapped the youth on his back. “Your place is solid on the team. Keep up the good work.”
Sarah forced a weak smile. “I’m okay, Willie. Just bruised.” Slowly, she moved toward the house.
Ben followed.
Because she didn’t want to go to her room yet, she lay on the living room sofa and accepted a cold compress for her head.
While she rested, Ben pulled Big Jim into the kitchen for muttered explanations and to tell him of his plans.
Jim nodded. “I think that’s best.”
After that, Ben took up night vigil. He made an outdoor circuit of the house, made certain all windows and doors were locked tight, then viewed the video camera feed. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
In a chair opposite Sarah’s sofa, he took out his Glock, checked the chamber, and then laid it on the coffee table. He turned the lamp down low and laced his fingers over his stomach.
As the evening progressed, they didn’t talk much and in a couple of hours, Sarah fell into a fitful sleep.
He didn’t relax. The evening was long and the hours stretched out. He was a sentinel in the night now, a guard dog on hyper alert. He didn’t sleep.
At daybreak, Sarah awoke, stretched, and blinked sleepily. She spotted Ben in his chair. “Did I pass out here on the couch?” She began to sit up. “Ouch,” she said, her hand going to her temple. The contusion was already turning blue.
“Yep,” Ben said, getting to his feet. “Glad you’re awake. We need to head out now.”
“Head out?”
“Pack a bag. You’ll be gone for a while.” The urge to leave right then gripped him.
“I will?
“It’s too dangerous to stay here. We’ve got to get you off the X.”
“Maybe it’s just early morning” —she pushed hair from her eyes— “but I feel like you’re speaking a foreign language.”
“The X is the most dangerous place you can be in the battle zone,” he explained, picking up his weapon and holstering it.
“If a squad of military men find themselves in the worst possible position and under fire, that’s the X—the hot zone.
That’s where we are right now. This asshole tracking you is getting too close.
” He rubbed his beard stubble. “I have to get you out of here. At least for a while. Until things cool down.”
“Where am I going?”
“To Texas,” he said. “With me.”