Page 28 of Murder at Rescue Ridge

The unfairness of it galled him to no end.

Standing up for what was rightand defending someone helpless didn’t always make him popular, but he’d make the same choice every time. However, a murder charge wasn’t something to take lightly, despite his innocence. Some folks knew how to stack the deck against honest people.

“Okay, I’ll bring him right now,” the jailer said into the phone. “Happy to get rid of this one.” The jailer ended the call and turned his attention to Conrad. “It’s your lucky day. You’re going home with a new piece of jewelry.”

The “jewelry” being talked about was an electronic tag that would be fitted on his ankle. It was a GPS device that would track his every move.

At least he had his freedom. For now.

Was there any way to get a message to Nikki? He’d tossed her cell in the field. Law enforcement would have both of their phones by now. She didn’t have a phone, and he didn’t have her number if she did.

The thought of going back to the ranch, cut off from the world, from her, caused the ache in his chest to double in size. Another thought struck. Would Heath force her to go home? Or would she be waiting at the ranch?

Her vehicle might still be there. Would she come back for it? Conrad could talk to her then.

No. He shook his head as he was led down the hallway. Heath wouldn’t allow her back on Sturgess property. Could Conrad ask one of his siblings to contact her?

No. He couldn’t get anyone else involved. Not after the stunt Heath had just pulled. His siblings had been through enough recently without him adding to their problems. Could he get a message to her on social media?

No. The law would be watching her account, and possibly Heath, too. Overprotective didn’t begin to describe Heath Alastor. The man was obsessive about making sure nothing happened to Nikki.

Conrad had an idea that might work for getting a message to her. He had to try.

10

“At least look the other way while I take a piss,” Nikki said, using intentionally crude language to throw off the jerk that had followed her around a bale of hay.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

The house was far. She was a decent runner. Could she make it before being snatched again? If she blew this escape attempt, it would be even more difficult to convince these bastards to let her move until she was tucked back in the house hours away from Saddle Junction.

The shoes she’d worn might be fashionable, but they were terrible for running. So far, she’d made them work, but blisters had already formed and broken. Raw skin rubbed against leather. Slipping the shoes off could help with speed but might tear up her feet even worse in the process. On balance, it was a risk she had to take. A rolled ankle during a sprint would be even more devastating to her escape plans.

The risk she didn’t want to consider was the possibility no one was home. A truck was parked next to the farmhouse. That had to be a good sign. It didn’t necessarily offer a guarantee. Folks had multiple vehicles.

Curly turned away after she shot him another disgusted look. It was now or never.

Nikki quietly toed off her boots and then bolted toward the house. She had a ten-second head start before she heard one of the men yell, “She’s running. Get her!”

Heavy footsteps fell behind her. Curly was close.

Nikki pumped her arms harder as a burst of adrenaline kicked in. Curly took a swipe at the long hair flowing behind her as she ran faster. Turning around to check on him was too risky. Even slowing down for a second could mean getting caught. Another swipe. His hand made contact with the ends of her hair.

Shit.

Nikki closed her fists and pumped harder as her handbag bounced around. Curly made a move for her purse. Missed.

Faster.

She’d cut the field in half. A cramp in her calf nearly caused her to stumble. She couldn’t afford it.

Run.

Something told her there’d be a price to pay if she got caught this time.

“Help!” She said a prayer someone would hear her and step out onto the porch, preferably with a shotgun. Then she recalled the law enforcement officer who’d visited her middle school class. He’d warned never to scream for help. He’d said always screamfireinstead. Folks didn’t always respond to the wordhelp.But they always came outside to check on a fire.

“Fire!” she screamed, scanning the area around the house, the truck, searching for any signs of life. She shouted the word over and over again in between gasps for air as she closed in on the house.

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