Page 67 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

The cold muzzle of a gun pressed itself into my side, and the hat lifted. It was not Frankie—it was William Drayton Jr. “Do not make a sound,” he hissed. “Come with me, now.”

“Zara,” Marie called through a window. “Do you want some strawberries? I have a few in here.”

Holding Drayton’s eyes, I said, “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Drayton gestured to me, and I got up, set the bowl to the side, and slid the knife up my sleeve; he didn’t seem to notice. The man looked demented, his eyes wild with either frenzy or fear—it could be both, as I’d imagine the man realized his tower of cards was tumbling down on him. This was him pulling the last straw, frantic to take me out of the game.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said as he grabbed my arm and dragged me down the lawn.

He skirted the bunkhouse, went beyond the sheds and outhouses, and pulled me up a trail, but not one that Warrick had shown me. This trail was steep, and I fumbled in the cool night air.

I haven’t lived in this area long, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing out this way but woods, more woods, and bears who haven’t gone to sleep for the winter just yet. The wind battered me from the side, threatening to throw me over—but William's stiff grip on my arm kept me on my two feet.

The muscles in my legs burned with each difficult step I took—my sneakers sticking in the thick mud. A good reason to keep walking was the muzzle of the gun at my side. There wasn’t any good choice here.

So…I walked. And walked. And I walked even as my legs got heavier.

I stumbled, my breaths becoming shorter and harder. I needed to contact Warrick—but my phone was in my back pocket. How could I do this?

“I need?—”

He snarled. “I don’t care what you need, come on.”

“I have to pee,” I said. “Please, just let me pee.”

“No.”

I stumbled over rocks and roots, my ankle twisting in unseen potholes and slipping on loose gravel and mud. My arm was numb as I held it to my side, trying to keep the knife in my sleeve. Trying to make it look like I really needed to pee, I started walking hobble-kneed and whimpering.

“Please, I need to go,” I sobbed. “I can't hold it anymore.”

With a snarl, he stopped and jerked his head to a bush. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll shoot and ask questions later. All of you have been a thorn in my fucking side!” Not caring about that, I hobbled to the bush and gently wiggled my jeans down. Turning the cell’s volume down, and with my body shielding it, I shoved my knife into my shoe and managed to pee while I called Warrick.

Sticking it back in my pocket, I stood and went back to William. “You don’t need to do this,” I said. “It’ll only be worse for you in the end. They know who you are and what you’ve done, Drayton. If you kill me, it’ll only be worse for you.”

“Kill you?” He sneered. “I am not going to kill you, fool. I’ll send you far away where you won't be trouble for me anymore. You should have listened when your editor said to leave it alone.”

He grabbed me and towed me forward. I pitched my voice loud so the cell would pick it up. “Where are we going, Drayton?”

“To Andersons Landing,” he said. “There is a truck waiting for you to make you disappear.”

I didn’t know where that was, how far it was from here, or how long it would take Warrick to get here. I had to slow us down. “Where is that?”

“North of here,” he said. “About five miles. So get to walking.”

I’d lost all sense of direction and could only smell mud, dead leaves, and smoke; I started dragging my feet, forcing myself to trip and stumble every couple of steps. I know I was making Drayton madder, but whatever I could do to buy Warrick time to get to me, I would. Even if it gained me a lot of curses, a lot of yanking, and maybe a pistol whip, he wanted me alive. I could come back from injuries; I could not come back from being dead.

I made sure to walk what felt like a quarter-mile. I did trip for real this time; I went down hard on my knees, hitting the dirt with a pained grunt.

“Get up,” Drayton snapped, yanking me up. “You cannot keep dragging your feet. Your disappearance has to be sudden and throw that damned rancher off.”

I clambered to my feet and grimaced. “Did you drug that bull to throw Santos?”

“I have henchmen for that,” he laughed. “I do not get my hands dirty, but in this case, I will have to do it. You are a stubborn bitch, unwilling to just die.”

It felt like forever as we walked, the weight of my phone heavy in my back pocket, but not as heavy as the hope that Warrick had heard me and was on his way. Would he have the FBI guys with him too? The moon was high in the sky as we stumbled into a clearing.

No one was there.

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