Page 19 of Three Steps Behind

He turned and moved to the front door with long strides, avoiding having to answer Harper’s question, doubtless regarding whether everything was all right. He couldn’t lie to the lady, but he couldn’t reassure her either until he knew what was going on. He slipped on his boots by the door, grabbed his jacket off the coatrack, and then lifted his rifle from behind it. Cutting the porch lights, he stepped outside. He waited until the door was shut behind him—out of Harper’s earshot—to call Christian.

“Unwanted visitor,” he clipped.

Christian bolted up the lane leading from his house within seconds, slipping his arms into his jacket as he made his way to Deck’s side.

They stood still, listening, the purr of an engine nearly upon them but still no headlights. They moved off the darkened porch, striding parallel to the road, along the trees lining it.

Deck paused, movement catching his eye. A dark SUV headed for them. His chest tightened.

Was their dad back? Trying to yank them into some game?

He glanced across the lane to where Christian was positioned behind a hay bale. He couldn’t see his brother—his form hidden—but Christian no doubt wondered the same thing.

The car inched in front of Deck. Two men sat inside. Had his father brought someone with him, or had he led his followers to them? Adrenaline seared his limbs.

He cocked his gun slow and easy, lined the rifle up, and peered through the scope. The passenger was not his father. Too tall. A dark beard. He shifted the scope to the driver but could only see his hands on the wheel with the passenger’s body in the way.

A low whinny sounded from the horses’ pen to Christian’s three o’clock.

The driver shifted, coming into view. Also not his father.

Was Big Max looking for their dad or keeping an eye on them?

Ten

HARPER PRESSED against the front window—her cold hands resting against the glass panes. She shifted, trying to see Deckard and what had his attention.

Her breath blew small circles on the window, frost clinging to the panes in snowflake patterns.

Deck was somewhere out there, heavy snow once again starting to fall. The thick mass marred nearly everything until she finally spotted Deck heading for the house with Christian.

Her heart ramped up.

Settle down. There’s nothing to fear. And yet her fear had been triggered. She streamed out a slow breath and moved back toward the den.

Rounding the corner, she smacked into something hard.

Grabbing her in a choke hold, a man covered her mouth with his other hand. “Scream and you’re dead. You were both supposed to be asleep. I’m going to get out of here, and you are not going to stand in my way. Do you understand?”

She nodded as much as she was able in his tight hold.

“Good. Now move.”

He pushed her forward with his chest against her back, still choking her. She gasped for air.

The space around her swirled as she clawed at his hand on her neck. He led her into Deck’s office, and she struggled in his hold—squirming, stomping on his foot.

“You asked for this,” he said.

He shoved her into the closet. She tumbled forward. Excruciating pain shot through her skull, and everything went black.

Harper’s eyes blinked open. Splitting pain radiated in her skull. Reaching for her head, she winced at the tenderness surrounding a large lump.

She blinked in the dark.

Grabbling to her feet, she then held out her hands, trying to feel where she was.

A wall . . . another wall . . . another wall—so closed in. She spun in a disoriented circle as bile burned up her throat.