Chapter Nineteen

L ayne tasted copper on her lips. But when she swiped her tongue across them, she didn't pick up any trace of blood.

Patel hadn't beaten her. No, he was doing much worse—treating her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

Fear constricted her throat as she shot a sideways glance at him. He sat in a leather chair next to the hospital bed. He'd prepared this suite just for her. Just how long had he been planning to injure her enough to require a plastic surgeon, so he could kidnap her and bring her to this place?

He'd also sent her a threatening note with a box filled with flower stems. Maybe he really was toying with her like a cat played with its prey right before he killed it.

That knot of fear in her throat traveled lower until it spread icy fingers through her stomach.

How was she breaking free? The tight bonds around her wrists held her prisoner. She couldn't even scratch her nose if she needed to let alone dash away the tears exploding from the corners of her eyes.

"You're awake, good." The kindness in his voice didn't match the dull, crazed haze of his eyes.

Was he on drugs? It wasn't so unusual for doctors to abuse the medications readily accessible to them.

"Why me?" Her voice was a rough rasp. Her tongue parched.

He got out of the leather chair recliner that was on steroids compared to the wimpy ones of a real hospital and extended his arms over his head in a lazy stretch.

Disgust rolled through Layne as she watched him walk to a mini-fridge. He took out a bottle of her favorite drink—lemonade—and poured a little into a plastic cup. He brought this to her.

She dashed her tongue over her dry lips again. Should she trust him not to have dosed the drink with something?

Since she'd watched him open the can and seen the empty cup he poured it into, she tipped her head to accept the drink.

He held the cup to her lips. She sipped and swallowed. While the liquid solved one problem, she had far worse.

"You didn't answer me." Her voice was stronger.

His stare fixed on hers. She lifted her chin in defiance.

When he reached out and stroked a fingertip over her chin, she gulped. "This. This right here. You're so strong, Layne. Not many women are strong enough to suit me."

"Did you set out to meet me? Or was it by chance?"

"Oh, I knew about your family's business. Of course, I did all the research before I ever met you."

She suppressed a shudder. Her body still felt out of her control, her brain too stunned by the blow to the head, the anesthesia still clouding her senses…and what was happening to her.

"You live in New York. How do you practice in Wyoming?"

"It's easy once you know all the legalities."

"You came here knowing you were going to hurt me."

He tipped his head, watching her. "You forced me to do that when you started fucking that man!" His words grew from deadly soft to a bellow that rattled her. She could almost see it—Patel got angrier the more he saw her with Carson. That made him send the roses with the heads lopped off and a threatening note.

Her stomach pitched and heaved. There was no food in it to come back up, but she didn't like where this was headed.

A stubborn portion of her refused to be cowed. She wasn't going to back down to her captor, and she sure wasn't going to soothe him.

She jerked her head up a notch out of the defiance he claimed to like in her. "Carson is more of a man than you ever will be."

He drew his hand back. When it swung forward, she braced herself for a blow that never came.

He dropped his hand. "I can't undo all the exceptional work I just did to restore your beauty."

"You're not going to get away with this."

He chuckled. "I already have."

"But for how long? Carson will be looking for me. He has a whole team behind him. They aren't going to give up until you're behind bars where you belong."

His gaze roamed over her face as if he was weighing the truth behind her words.

"I'm a respected surgeon. You chose to be with me."

Fear curdled in her stomach like week-old milk. The man was delusional, unhinged.

"I'd never choose you. You are nothing to me."

When he sank to the edge of her bed, her fear swelled until her chest felt too tight to draw air. But as he lifted a hand to cup her unharmed cheek, she stopped trying to breathe at all.

"Get away from me," she croaked.

He dropped his hand but didn't look away from her face. The expression in his eyes more chilling than any she'd seen on him yet.

"You need rest. Sleep, my love." He stood and turned away from her.

Red-hot anger boiled over inside of her. "I'll never be your love."

He swung back, a chilling smile on his face. "There are things I can do to change your mind, Layne. Don't test me."

With her whole being, she willed Carson to find her. To hear her mental cry for help.

"Carson came to my rescue before. He'd never abandon me now."

His grin widened. "Carson is already dead."

At the flat and serious tone of his words, the sob broke in her throat. "N-no!"

Patel's smile was complacent. "Like I told you, don't test me, Layne. I am smarter than your Navy SEAL. I will always come out on top."

Through a thick fall of tears, she watched him leave the room.

It wasn't true. Carson would never be bested by her stalker. The man she loved was strong, smart, savvy. He was hardened by life and his military service.

He couldn't be dead. He would never leave her.

He would come for her.

What if her stalker wasn't lying?

* * * * *

"There! Stop the car." Carson threw out his arm, and Oaks jammed on the brakes.

He whipped open the door before the vehicle came to a complete stop, dragging the sole of his boot on the pavement.

As he jumped out, the low rumble of his brother Colt's truck engine echoed in the silence. A storm was rolling in—he smelled the ozone in the air. Felt the electricity already crackling.

Oaks rounded the SUV, and they swiftly approached the back of the truck. Colt was already in the bed, loading rifles. Tension radiated off his brother and compounded with his and Oaks's like the thunderclouds hanging over their heads joining forces.

Mouth grim, he looked up at Colt, then swung his gaze to Oaks. "We all know what we're getting into."

They each nodded.

"He won't just hand her over now that he has her."

"Then we'll give him a fight he won't forget." Colt tossed the rifle his way. Carson caught it neatly and double-checked the chamber.

Oaks made a low noise in his throat. A sound that might mean he had something to say and was holding back, or he might just be releasing a growl of agreement.

Carson swept a look over the back of the truck. So many weapons and boxes of ammo.

Colt cocked a brow at him in question.

"Looks adequate."

"Good. Get in." Jumping to the ground, Colt hurried to climb behind the wheel.

Carson and Oaks jumped in the back. The wind kicked up, whipping at Carson's hair and sending the sweat-dampened strands off his forehead. The tires buzzed on the road leading to Greenwood Place.

Only douchebags lived in new communities around here—the fake cowboys who were really city slickers with their three-bay garages and million-dollar properties and their lawn companies.

As they passed several paved driveways lined with new trees as cover, he gripped the cold steel of the rifle in his hand.

She might not be here. He could have taken her away.

He issued a ragged exhale through his nostrils. Oaks slanted a look at him but said nothing.

Colt zoomed past a lane. In good weather, it would be dappled with sun. Now it was dark and shadowed.

"Stop! Back up! This is it!" Carson called to his brother.

He slammed the truck in reverse. The engine whined. When Colt jerked it into forward motion again, Carson and Oaks rocked in the bed.

"He made a mistake in taking her."

He didn't mean for Oaks to overhear, but his brother had hearing just as excellent as the rest of them.

"He has no damn clue who he's dealing with. But he's about to find out." Oaks checked the chamber of his rifle too.

Carson's mind raced with various plans of attack. They flew through his mind rapid-fire. They could hit the front door one after another, split up and find Patel. Or kick in every door leading in and attack from three sides.

His heart thudded in a sickening rhythm as adrenaline pumped through him.

He couldn't lose her. Not again. Not like this.

Through the newly planted trees, he caught sight of the large home, the dark wood and stone that was native to the region cladding the front and climbing to a tall gabled peak.

In other rescue missions, they might park far away and go in on foot. That wasn't the Malone way. Colt drove right up to the front steps.

Carson braced his hand on the side of the truck bed and launched himself over it. He landed on the ground and took off in a swift crouch, weapon raised.

Colt and Oaks flanked him on his six. At the door, he signaled for his brothers to stop. Then he raised his rifle and shot off the lock. Oaks raised a boot and kicked the door in a second later.

The heavy wood blasted off the interior wall. Silence permeated the space.

The interior wasn't lit. Only a lamp burned in the far corner, casting enough light for Carson to see that Layne wasn't here.

His heart clutched painfully. But she was here. Somewhere.

He jerked his head for his brothers to follow. His footfalls were silent on the pristine hardwood floors. When they reached the end of the open floor plan, a hallway branched east and west.

"Split up. Search the place," he murmured, low but commanding.

He took the right. His brothers scattered in other directions. Moving swiftly, he sneaked up to a closed door and threw out his hearing. No voices came through that thick wood.

No screams did either.

His stomach heaved. Who would ever guess that after all he'd seen and done in his time as a SEAL, he'd be as edgy as a new recruit. His hands grew slick on the weapon he carried and a rivulet of sweat beaded on his nape before it trickled down his spine.

He reached out and clamped his hand on the black, hammered iron door lever. Mentally counting down from three to one, he threw the door open.

It swung on silent hinges to reveal an office. A desk with a lamp. Bookcases.

Art hung on the walls, eerily similar to the style and subject matter that hung in many of the rooms in the Londons' ranch home.

Where are you, you son of a bitch?

One by one, he threw open doors. When he reached the end of the hall, he was met with an opening.

And a set of metal stairs leading down.

No sound came from below or from the rest of the house that his brothers were searching.

He took a step toward that staircase and stopped. Poking his head back into the corridor, he caught sight of Oaks coming his way at a fast clip.

With a jerk of his head for his brother to follow, Carson surged forward and hit the stairs, hurtling down them in a matter of seconds.

"You really don't make a very good SEAL, do you?"

The cold voice had Carson whipping to his right. The surgeon had an automatic rifle of his own trained right at Carson's head.

One squeeze of his finger on that trigger and he'd be dead—and Layne would be heartbroken. Again.

He looked Patel dead in the eyes. "You're wrong." He shot first, and the man folded in half, the rifle clattering to the floor.

Oaks kicked it out of the way and Carson advanced on the surgeon. With surprising strength, Patel leaped to his feet, fists up.

"You don't want to fight him," Oaks warned.

From behind them, Colt added, "You'll fuck up your hands. A surgeon needs his hands."

The man was going to prison. Who the hell was he operating on there? Carson didn't mention this—he let his brothers prey on the man's vanity.

Let the bastard believe he was immune to the justice that was coming to him.

"Where is she?" Carson locked his hand around Patel's throat and slammed him against the wall. A hollow thud suggested that there was a room behind this one.

Oaks took a hasty step forward. "Go!"

Carson took off across the small space, running his hand along the wall for a cutout. An opening. Something.

When he heard a raspy cry from behind the wall, he slammed his shoulder into it. The opening gave way, and he tumbled into what looked like a hospital room.

His gaze fell on Layne, tied to the bed, her big eyes wide with shock.

She let out a small shriek. "You're alive!"

Jesus Christ. The bastard must have told her that Carson was dead.

He rushed to her side and began tearing off the bonds on her wrists. "We're getting out of here."

Her eyes were frantic. "He's coming, Carson! You've got to leave!"

"I've got you." He rushed to the other side of the bed and freed her other wrist. When he followed the IV tubing up to her arm, he cussed.

"Just rip it out!" Before he could do that, Layne grabbed the bandage and tore it out herself. Blood dripped down her arm.

He looked around for a cloth to stop the flow, but she was already throwing her legs over the side of the bed.

She swayed on her feet, and he picked her up, cradling her against his chest and running for the stairs.

"He's going to kill you, Carson!"

"My brothers have it under control. Don't worry, doll. I've got you. And I'm never letting you go."