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A loud, terrified whinny erupted from inside the building.
Mack’s eyes flew to where the noise had come from.
“That’s Madonna,” Bindi yelled. “We have to get her.” And without a backward glance, she took off at a sprint over the red gravel. Sahara pivoted and reared at Bindi’s sudden movement, probably already spooked by the smell of smoke and the sound of another terrified horse. She crashed into Picasso’s shoulder, sending him stumbling, the two horses almost falling as they came together. It was all Mack could do to stay in his saddle, and he lost sight of Bindi as Picasso regained his feet, then tried to bolt. Mack leaped out of the saddle and onto the ground, managing to keep hold of the reins as Picasso reared away in panic. Sahara stood a few feet away, snorting her agitation, eyes wide with growing fear, as if she, too, was ready to dash away at any second.
He couldn’t leave the horses untethered. They might take off into the bush, the smoke spooking them, and they’d be left without a means of getting out of there.
But what about Bindi?
She was almost to the other side of the clearing.
Shit, shit, shit.
He reached for Sahara’s bridle, speaking in a soothing tone. If he could capture her, then he’d swing up into his own saddle and gallop across the clearing, reaching Bindi before she did anything more foolish.
“Hey. Shit-for-brains.” The voice startled Mack, so he dropped his horse’s reins. What the…?
He turned to see a big man bearing down on him, face set in a grimace of intent. The man had massive shoulders, like a weightlifter, with a huge, black, ten-gallon hat rammed on his head. Mack recognized him immediately. It was the guy who’d accosted him in the parking lot at the rodeo. And he had a gun. Pointed directly at Mack.
Behind him, Sahara took off in a panicked clatter of hooves on gravel, unable to deal with this new threat. Mack didn’t blame her. Picasso also sidled away from the approaching man with the gun, leaving Mack standing alone and uncertain.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” the man demanded.
Mack vacillated. What to do? The man had a gun pointed directly at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bindi approach the large open end of the wooden structure. Then he lost sight of her as she dashed inside the burning building, totally unaware that he was in trouble. Fuck. Fuck. Double fuck. His pulse pounded in his neck, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest.
Was it a good thing Bindi was now out of sight? Not a good thing that she’d run into a burning building, but at least this man couldn’t shoot at her.
Mack raised his arms into the air.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Mack demanded.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare,” the man spat back. “Now turn around.”
“What? Why?” Mack didn’t know what else to say, but he knew he needed to buy time. Let his brain catch up with this shitstorm of a scenario.
“Just do as you’re told,” the guy in the black hat growled.
He was close now. Close enough not to miss if he pulled the trigger. Mack chose prudence over valor. At least until he knew Bindi was safe. So he turned around.
“Hands behind your back.”
He did as he was told and felt the man slip a plastic tie over his wrists and pull it tight. Mack’s thumping heart lodged in his throat. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that washed over him. He was used to being in charge. How was he going to save Bindi if he couldn’t even save himself?
A tug on his shoulder holster was the only warning he got as his two-way radio was pulled out and thrown on the ground, the guy stomping on it four or five times for good measure. Shit. Mack angled his body slightly away from the big man, hoping and praying he’d leave it at that. But Black Hat reached over and patted the top pocked of Mack’s shirt, almost as if he knew where his phone was kept. That, too, was thrown on the ground and stomped upon. Not that it would’ve done him much good, there was no signal out here.
Glowering from beneath lowered brows, Mack tried again to engage the guy in conversation.
“Why are you doing this? If it’s the horses you want, then take them, I don’t care.” That wasn’t strictly true, but if he had to bargain his and Bindi’s lives for the two horses, he would.
“It’s not about the horses. Although, they made good bait.” The man smiled at him. Actually smiled, like this was some sort of joke. But his words brought all of Mack’s fears to the surface, and he suddenly knew this wasn’t going to end well.
“I know you’re working for Clarissa Melman,” Mack said as calmly as he could.
“Never heard that name,” the man replied lightly. “All I know is a lady with a very sexy voice asked me to do her a favor, and she offered to pay me well enough that I can probably retire somewhere out on the coast. So, who’s to argue with a lady?” He shrugged, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. And perhaps it was. Then he waved his gun at Picasso, yelling, “Ha. Ha. Get outta here, ya dopey animal!”
It was too much for the piebald horse, and he took off in the same direction as Sahara. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mack hoped the horses were smart enough to stay away from the wildfire.
Refocussing on the man in front of him, he tried to figure out what to say that’d make him let Mack go? And where was Bindi? He hadn’t heard anything from Madonna since she’d entered the building. Had she found them and was leading them to safety right at this moment? He fervently hoped so. Perhaps if he could delay this bozo for even a few moments, it’d give Bindi the time she needed.
