Chapter Nineteen
An arm came around Blakely as she approached the second row in the parking lot.
“Got you, bitch.” It was the same voice from the other night. She was certain of it. She searched her memory bank for what Johnny Spear’s voice had sounded like and came up without a match. Nothing made sense as a band tightened around her body, pinning her arms to her side.
Blakely tried to throw an elbow into her attacker’s midsection. The band tightened.
The light closest to her was out. A glow in the distance was too far to make anything out by.
She wondered why Jules was still sitting in the driver’s seat, facing forward. Oh no. Please don’t let it be that something bad had happened to Jules. She wasn’t moving. It was like a mannequin sat in the driver’s seat instead of a real person. This situation was bad.
Blakely would never forgive herself if she got Dalton’s sister killed because of her actions. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not while this man’s grip was around her like a vise, making movement impossible.
She had to break free. Blakely attempted to jerk her arms free.
No use.
He was strong. Too strong.
She attempted to drop down, forcing her legs to become rubber.
No use.
The trick didn’t work. She needed to think. Think. Think.
Blakely couldn’t get a good look at the attacker since he’d come from behind. She tried to memorize details about him. He had no particular smell that she could identify like a cologne or the stench of cigarettes. There was no alcohol smell either.
What else?
The man was tall. Roughly six feet. That much she could tell. Otherwise, he had on something thick, a hoodie. She could see the thick cotton material on his arm even in the darkness.
Struggling against her arm restraints, she tried to squirm out of the man’s grip.
Once again, to no avail.
“Take this,” he said in a growl.
The next thing she knew, a hard object slammed into the crown of her head.
The urge to vomit caused bile to rise up the back of her throat. She swallowed and tried to focus blurry eyes as she was being ushered toward Jules’s vehicle.
Once again, she tried to fight.
“Hold still,” the man growled.
Another blow to the back of her head made her dizzy.
It hit with such force that her teeth rattled.
A dark cloud was closing in over her brain, but she knew better than to give in to it.
She knew 100 percent that she would be dead before she ever opened her eyes again if she allowed the darkness that was threatening to close around her like a heavy cloak.
No way in hell did this sonofabitch get to win. Not as long as she had air in her lungs.
She had to make a move. It was now or never.
Blakely fought like a wild banshee, pushing against the tight grip around her arms.
“I got you,” came the voice. “You won’t get away this time.” There was so much anger and frustration in a voice that was so unfamiliar to her. “You’ll pay for scratching me up before, honey.”
Her next thought was this bastard had scared her nephew into hiding. Anger fired through her, giving her a boost of adrenaline. With it, she mounted another fight. This man had the strength of an ox. Fighting was no use.
So she screamed at the top of her lungs.
There was no one around in the parking lot, but she expected Jules to turn her head. When she didn’t, all hope Dalton’s sister might still be alive was dead. This animal had just murdered a US marshal. He would think nothing of doing the same thing to a judge.
Her thoughts immediately turned to Dalton and what losing his sister would do to him. It would destroy him, and she would be responsible for bringing this tragedy to his doorstep. It was her fault.
Blakely screamed again, more out of frustration than anything else.
Because no one came in or out of the doors on this side of the parking lot. It was getting late in a town that rolled up its streets by eight o’clock every night.
“Shut your mouth,” Hoodie ordered.
The man was going to kill her.
Her first thought might have been about Dalton, but her second was for Bethany and Chase. How would her sister survive without Blakely’s help? What would happen to Chase? His family was already falling apart as it was. She couldn’t let him lose his aunt.
Renewed determination to live filled her.
“Who are you? And what do you want from me?”
“Honey, you’re my meal ticket. Nothing more,” he said in a chilling tone. Those words, spoken with such detachment, sent chills racing up her spine.
Two words stuck out. Meal. Ticket. Was it possible someone had hired this man to “handle” her? Could she get this bastard to talk? Maybe trip him up? She had a law degree for heaven’s sake. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.
“You want money?” she asked. “How much is my life worth to you?”
“I—uh,” the man stuttered. “Just shut your trap, honey.”
The word honey was the equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard to her.
“No. It’s only fair if you’re going to kill me for money to give me a chance to buy my way out of it. I have a lot of money. Are you sure the person who’s paying you does?”
“He does just fine.”
“How do you know?” If she could just plant a few seeds of doubt in this man’s mind, maybe she could talk her way out of this.
“Shut up!” His tone was final. She didn’t like the panic in his voice or the anger. Her tactic could backfire on her and cause him to put a knife in her back right now, leaving her for dead like Dalton’s sister.
Speaking of murder, why didn’t this bastard just shoot her from a distance and leave her for dead?
Did he want to take her to a different location so he could dump her body or scrub it?
Had Jules gotten in the way?
None of this was encouraging, but she needed to dissect the situation and search for an out. One thing was certain, this man meant business. He was very clear about that.
“You need to go to sleep,” he whispered before another blow practically knocked her teeth loose. The next strike was harder than the first and hit the same spot at the crown of her head. What had he used?
The butt of a gun or possibly a knife handle?
His one arm, wrapped around her like a band, was stronger than both of hers put together. Now that he’d picked her up and was holding her to one side, could she throw her head back and cause the man some pain at the very least?
Get some of her DNA on him? Or his underneath her nails?
Screaming in the isolated parking lot wasn’t doing any good. She had to try something.
* * *
Dalton knew something was wrong. He fired off a text to his sister, asking what was going on and what was taking them so long. Then he waited. A minute passed with no response.
“What is it?” Grandpa Lor asked. “What’s wrong?”
Dalton shook his head. “She should have been back by now. And Jules isn’t returning my text. Something’s off.”
Dalton looked up and caught Grandpa Lor’s stare. The second their eyes connected, Grandpa Lor’s expression said he knew exactly what Dalton was talking about. Once a marshal, always a marshal. Those instincts never went away.
“Go get your girls.”
Dalton nodded before standing up and rushing toward the hallway. He stopped at the door and looked back. It did the soul good to see his grandfather awake and alert.
He tapped the doorjamb a couple of times. “Watch out for anything suspicious while I’m gone, okay?”
Grandpa Lor reached toward the call button. “It isn’t much, but it should stir up a bee’s nest of attention should the need arise.” His mischievous smile was back, and it warmed Dalton’s heart to see its return.
Dalton offered a small smile before making a beeline toward the elevator bank.
Blakely could be anywhere, but his money was on the parking lot since Jules hadn’t returned his texts. The thought of anything happening to his sister was enough to cause his hands to fist. Add Blakely to the mix, and he was downright boiling over.
You should have gone down instead. The voice of shame shot daggers straight through his heart. Guilt consumed him. He should have been the one to run down to pick up the food. Now, he’d not only put Blakely in danger but his sister too.
If anything had happened to Jules…
Nope. He couldn’t go there. Not until he assessed the situation.
But he had no time to deflect the shame as he tapped the elevator button for a third time in a row.
Would constantly hitting the button make the metal machine move toward him faster?
He didn’t know and didn’t care. It gave him something to do with his hands while he waited.
Besides, his tombstone would never read: Here lies a patient man.
The elevator dinged and then the doors opened. His chest squeezed when it came up empty. He wanted Blakely and Jules to step out of that elevator and tell him what a worrier he was. He wanted to be wrong about the pair of them being in trouble. He wanted, no, needed, both of them to be safe.
Instincts honed by years of experience said he was about to find out just how badly he’d misjudged the situation. And he would never forgive himself for the mistake.