Audrey forced herself to calm down and listen. She was being walked through the woods, caveman style. With every step, her body bounced. This sonofabitch took her from her own home. The cabin was the one place she’d felt safe after leaving Remington Paint Ranch.
Fighting back right now would give away the fact she was alert. She must not have been out for too long. It wasn’t too late to find a way out of this.
The element of surprise was her best chance of beating this bastard.
Thinking hurt. It felt like her skull was cracked, no doubt a result of being hit in the back of the head with something hard. A rock? A brick? Hell, it could have been a hammer for all she knew.
Panic gripped her.
Every step he took produced another wave of pounding, like the hammer was inside her trying to whack its way out. Audrey had been in a few scuffles since becoming a deputy, but she’d never been abducted.
Why hadn’t he shot her already and got it over with?
This had to be the man who’d handed over a wad of cash to Jenson and got the kid killed in the process. It dawned on her the bastard might have paid Jenson to come cover his tracks. It would explain the boot prints versus tennis shoes and the fact Jenson wouldn’t be caught dead wearing work boots.
She forced her eyes to open a crack. Thanks to the caveman carry—some called it a fireman carry—she could see the man’s backside.
He was a large guy. Tall and thick, like a football player. Since he was carrying her without so much as breathing heavily, he was also strong as an ox.
And he had on a pair of work boots.
How was she going to get away from him before he took her to an isolated location where he could do as he pleased with her?
Leaves slapped the backs of Audrey’s thighs and feet as her arms dangled. They weren’t bound. Neither were her ankles. She hadn’t put on shoes since she was only supposed to be stepping outside for a few seconds.
A creepy-crawly feeling came over her at the thought this guy wanted to kill her so badly that he kept watching her home despite having Duke there.
Of course, the Ponytail Snatcher must have been lurking around. Those had to have been his footprints around her home. He was too quick to seize the opportunity when it presented itself to have been far away. Had he been camping in the nearby woods?
Was he taking her there now?
Chapter Eighteen
Duke rubbed eyes that felt like someone had slipped sandpaper inside them. The room was dark. How long had he been out? Sitting up, he listened for signs of Audrey moving around the house. The last thing he wanted to do was catch her off guard or scare her. She’d been through a lot and was jumping at little sounds, so he cleared his throat and checked the time.
It wasn’t late. Only half past six.
Where was she?
Duke stood up and stretched his arms out. His right leg had fallen asleep, so he pounded his thigh a couple of times with his fist to wake it up. There was no sign of her in the kitchen, so he listened for shower water. Didn’t hear that, either.
Was she taking a nap?
He walked across the room to the main bedroom.
“Hey,” he whispered in case she was up reading and didn’t want to disturb him. No response came, which jacked his heart rate up a couple of notches. She could have earbuds in, playing music.
None of those thoughts rang true. He was grasping at straws.
Gut instinct told him that something was up. He had a bad feeling. He turned tail and checked outside to make sure his truck was still there. It was parked on the pad right where he left it. Her vehicle was in front of his, blocked. She couldn’t have driven to the store. The back door was unlocked, and the porch door was open.
His cell buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, didn’t recognize the number. He decided to answer in case it was the hospital calling. “Hello?”
“Mr. Remington?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “May I ask who wants to know?”
“This is Cybil from Mesa General,” she said. Hearing those words alone made his chest clench. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Lorenzo Remington, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, not liking where this was going one bit.
“I’m afraid your grandfather has had a cardiac event,” she stated with sympathy in her voice. “You might want to head this way in case the doctor needs you to sign off on any paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
“For procedures,” she clarified. “It’s precautionary.”
“What happened to my grandfather’s heart?” he asked.
“He was resuscitated from cardiac,” she continued.
“Is he conscious now?” he pressed.
“No, sir,” she answered. “It’s not uncommon for a patient not to regain consciousness. Recovery could take hours or weeks, or longer.”
“Does that mean he could stay as a vegetable forever?” he asked, needing to know if he was facing one of the worst possible scenarios. He couldn’t even consider the other one, death.
“It’s too early to tell,” she said. “The doctor hasn’t figured out why he went into cardiac arrest in the first place, and he would like to run a few tests.”
