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Guiding her to the passenger side, he opened the door partway and ordered her to climb onto the seat.
“It’s too high,” she protested. “My arms—I can’t grab anything to pull myself up.”
“Too bad. Keep trying.” He jabbed the muzzle of the gun into her back. He stood behind her in the opening between the door and the truck chassis, blocking any chance of escape.
Gasping with effort, Lexie managed to step up with one foot and push her body across the worn bench seat. If she didn’t get away before the truck started, she’d have no way out. She sat up, adjusting her position as Aaron pushed the lock button down and stepped back to close the door. Whatever happened, she had to move now.
For a heartbeat, the heavy door was between her and the man with the gun. Making a lightning turn in the seat, Lexie bent her legs like a cocked spring. With all her strength, she shoved her feet hard against the door, slamming it into Aaron’s body.
As the door made contact, a gunshot rang out—but there was no time to wonder what had happened. Using her momentum, Lexie dropped to the ground and took off at a sprint. The sound of vile cursing reached her ears, but she couldn’t look back. She was running for her life.
The distance from Aaron’s house to the Alamo Canyon Ranch complex was almost a half mile. Lexie had captained the girls’ track team in high school and even made All-State. But she was older now, and she was running in boots, with her hands tied behind her back. Even on the road, it was tough going. She was already out of breath.
She’d half expected to be shot at. When that didn’t happen, she had to assume that Aaron was coming after her. Her only chance of getting away would be to find shelter. If she could get inside the ranch house . . . but no, with her hands tied, she wouldn’t be able to open the front door. She’d be trapped on the porch. Her only option would be the open entrance to the stable. Maybe she could push the doors shut with her body or find a place to hide.
A
s she stumbled over a rock, almost falling, Lexie remembered. Shane had gone to work in the stable that morning. If he was still inside, she’d be putting him in danger, too. What could he do—unarmed and in a wheelchair—against a strong and desperate man like Aaron?
Aaron could kill them both.
From somewhere behind her, she heard the sound of the old truck—the grinding cough of the starter, then a roar as the engine caught. Lungs burning, Lexie pushed herself harder. She might be able to outrun Aaron, but she couldn’t outrun a truck. He could crush her like roadkill and pass it off as an accident.
She was coming up on the stable—the only refuge she had. With the truck lumbering closer, she cut off the road and sprinted down the narrow, brushy slope, into the yard. Even in her panic, she remembered Shane. Please don’t let him be inside, she prayed silently. Please let him be safe.
The truck followed her, lurching off the road and into the scrub. Lexie heard the engine roar, heard the whine of spinning wheels as the balding tires sank into the soft, red sand—stuck for the moment. Maybe she’d caught a break—but it wouldn’t be for long, she told herself as she dashed through the open stable doors.
The stable was cool and dark inside. It had been built with a dozen roomy stalls in a single line, but half the stalls were empty these days. Lexie’s sun-dazzled eyes peered into the shadows, all the way to the far end. There was no sign of Shane. She could only hope he’d finished his work and left.
From outside, she heard the door of the truck open and close. Aaron would be coming after her on foot. Even if she could do it with her hands tied, there was no time to close and bolt the heavy double doors. She needed to find a hiding place, fast.
The nearest stall held extra tools and tack—no cover there. The next stall was piled high with loose, clean bedding straw. The stall gate stood open. With her hands bound there was no way to close it from inside. Never mind; time was running out. Lexie burrowed feetfirst into the base of the pile, spilling straw down around her, leaving a tiny opening that would allow her to see. It wasn’t the wisest plan—if Aaron found her, she’d be cornered—but right now it was all she had.
In the stillness, she could hear him walking into the stable, his footsteps rustling the spilled straw on the floor. But there was something odd about his gait, almost as if he were limping. As he stopped within view of the open stall, she could see what it was. A bloody rag was wrapped and tied around his upper leg. The gun must’ve gone off, hitting him in the leg when she’d kicked the door of the truck. He appeared to be in pain and losing blood, but that hadn’t stopped him. It had only made him angrier. He was a wounded animal, desperate, dangerous, and intent on the kill.
Lexie held her breath as he came closer.
* * *
Shane had finished cleaning the stalls, but with little to do in the house, he’d decided to stay and spend time with the horses. Seated in his wheelchair, he was brushing down a powerful, black gelding when he’d heard someone come into the stable.
Was it Lexie? He’d almost called out to let her know he was here, but something—a prickling of his senses—held him back. Quietly, he lowered the brush and waited. A moment later, he heard a voice.
“Lexie? Come on out, little girl.” The speaker was Aaron Frye. “I know you’re in here, and you already know what’s going to happen. You might as well give up.”
Veiled by shadows, Shane ventured a wary look past the edge of the stall. Framed by the open doors behind him, Aaron stood near the entrance, a blood-soaked rag wrapped around his thigh and something in his hand that caught the faint light. Was it a gun? No. Shane’s blood chilled as he recognized the object in Aaron’s hand.
In a stable like this one, it was more dangerous than a gun. It was a cigarette lighter.
Panic flashed through his body. He forced himself to focus. Where was Lexie? How could he stop Aaron and get her out of here?
“You asked me a question, Miss Lexie,” Aaron said. “Here’s an answer you can take to your grave. I thought that seeing your father’s miserable death would give me the revenge I wanted. But once he was in the ground, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want Bert Champion dead. I wanted to destroy everything he’d left behind—little by little, like the cancer that killed him. So I started small . . . a note on your truck, an open gate, a slashed tire, a dead bull . . . even Callie turned out to be part of it.”
He paused, casting his gaze around the stable. “Now it’s time for my master stroke—the stable, the horses, and you all at one time. No need to come out, Lexie. I’ve got that covered. All I have to do is light the straw, and this place will go up like a torch. Think about how it’ll feel to burn to death. Think about the flames, the heat blistering your skin, the pain . . . You won’t be so pretty when they find you.” He clicked the lighter. A flame flickered in the dim light.
Driven by instinct, Shane moved. Yelling, he smacked his hand hard on the rump of the big black horse. With a shriek of alarm, the horse reared and bolted, bursting out of the stall and thundering toward the open door. Shane followed as fast as he could push the wheels. The pitchfork he’d used leaned against the wall. He grabbed it, balancing it across the arms of the chair. “Lexie!” he shouted. “Lexie, get out!”
Aaron stood in the horse’s path. He tried to sidestep, but his wounded leg failed him. He stumbled to one knee. The horse clipped him as it galloped past. The lighter flew out of his hand, the flame dying as it fell.
