Page 135 of Stolen for Keeps
But inside, I was screaming.
Wishing, hoping, for just one face.
Noah.
Harlow gave me no chance to look, no space to speak, and no room to breathe. He shoved me into the back seat like this wasn’t my life they were dismantling in front of everyone.
“Mrs. Appleby!” I managed, twisting toward the open door. “Call Noah! Please! Call him.”
The door slammed, and my voice cut off. But even with the glass between us, I could still feel the town’s silence pressing in like a second set of cuffs.
The car lurched forward.
No warning. No explanation. No stop at the sheriff’s office. We were moving too fast for this to be anything but what it was. An extraction. I didn’t know where they were taking me. I just knew it wasn’t going to be local.
I didn’t know if Mrs. Appleby even had Noah’s number. But I had to believe she’d find a way. She was resourceful. And fierce when she needed to be.
And I needed someone. Because the moment we passed the Buffaloberry sign, I was out.
Out of time. Out of options. And out of reach from the man who made me believe I was still worth saving.
All I could do was pray someone was coming.
40
NOAH
I was helping Hank check the perimeter fencing at The Lazy Moose when my phone rang. It was Deputy Granger.
“Noah, we’ve got a problem,” he said, straight to the point. “Harlow picked Maya up this morning. He arrested her at Butterberry.”
For a second, I couldn’t speak. My grip tightened around the fence post. “What?”
“Mrs. Appleby called me. She saw the whole thing. Your girl didn’t put up a fight, but Harlow made a scene. Told the sheriff after the fact. Technically legal, but sneaky as hell. Sheriff’s tied up near the canyon hours away. I’m heading to intercept them now. Don’t know if I can stall them, but I’ll try.”
“Where are they going?”
“Bozeman.”
I didn’t even hang up properly. I was already running for the truck. Hank called out from behind me and said he’d handle things here. I didn’t stop. All I saw was Maya, alone, afraid, and reliving every nightmare she thought she’d buried.
When I barreled into The Sundown, Dom was fresh out ofthe shower, wearing nothing but shorts and a towel over his shoulder.
“She’s gone,” I rasped. “Bozeman.”
His eyes narrowed. He flung the towel aside, grabbed a shirt, a tie, and pants, and took off running. “Let’s go.”
“She’s not spending a day in jail, do you understand?” I yelled.
“Got it,” he said.
He pulled on his pants and shirt in the passenger seat while I tore down the highway, hell nipping at our wheels. He was already mid-battle, calling, texting, and typing. Somehow, in the chaos, he even knotted his tie without a mirror. Because that’s what Dom did. He showed up armed.
“Tell the clerk I want it filed now. No delays. She’s being moved across county lines. Yes, I know what it means. Yes, I’ll owe you.”
I didn’t know what exactly he was doing. I just prayed it would work.
We saw them just before the Ravalli border—Deputy Granger and Harlow pulled over on the side of the highway, Harlow red-faced and gesturing wildly, and Granger standing his ground with that tired, stubborn patience only good men seemed to have.
