Chapter Fourteen

FIVE CLICKS, SIX MUTEDthumps, four more clicks, pause and repeat. This was the sound her boots made as she paced across the living room floor. After the rumble of his truck had faded, the rhythm of her heels on the floor had been steady and unaltered, other than the few minutes she paused to say a prayer for his safety—something she hadn't done in a good while.

She rationalized that once discovered, if they were smart, the drug smugglers wouldn't risk hanging around, but any criminals who chose the intimidating sheriff's property as a hiding place for their illegal operation had to have more balls than brains.

A nagging worry that the man who'd fired at her may have recognized her, and would come after her, sent a cool chill snaking down her spine. It had been dark and, at a distance, odds were in her favor he hadn't, and wouldn't. Very few outside the society even knew she was here.

Deciding that wringing her hands raw and wearing out Sam's rug were getting her nowhere, she went upstairs to change out of her riding clothes that smelled of horse and salt air. With the promise of finishing what they'd started looming in her future, a hot bath would have been nice, plus, the powerful jets of his jacuzzi would have gone a long way to easing her nervous tension. But even if there was time, and deputies weren't expected at the door any minute, nothing would allow her to relax until Sam returned home. She settled for washing the salt from the sea mist and her tears from her face.

Fifteen minutes later, she came down the stairs in the same shape she'd gone up, except no longer smelling like Willow. Her pacing resumed. She was three passes of the living room in when the house phone rang. Hoping for good news, and, at the same time, figuring Sam was one of the few millennials who still had a landline, she hurried to answer it,

"Sam?"

"No, Krista, it's Jerry.

She looked at the clock. "Aren't you supposed to be with Sam, providing backup?"

"That's why I'm calling, I'm delayed. Tell him I'll be another twenty."

That foreboding intensified.

"He's not here. He went on ahead to scout out the area.

She thought he muttered, "Damn."

"Why didn't you call him directly?"

"I did. It went straight to voice mail. Does he have his phone on him?"

"You mean he's not picking up?" she restated, her voice rising along with her alarm.

"That's not an answer to my question, Krista."

"I don't know if he does or not. He told me he left it in the barn. I assumed he swung by on his way out and picked it up, but I can't say for sure."

"I'm on my way, but run out to the barn and check, honey. Then call me."

"Okay," she replied, not asking why this was important because a whole host of awful ideas were awhirl in her brain. One, had no signal, and they couldn't coordinate their mission. Two, it was going to voice mail because someone had knocked him unconscious and thrown it in the ocean. That wasn't good. When he woke, he couldn't call for help. Or three, Jerry needed to know in order to ping it and locate his dead body.

Fighting a wave of nausea, she tore out the door and raced to the barn. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning lit the sky as an evening storm approached after an unusually, hot humid day. It was a typical summer weather pattern for the area, but it was mid-April. Four short weeks ago when she'd arrived, they had ice and snow. Go figure.

The barn was dark, the hands gone for the day.

She switched on the overhead lights and made her way to Rio's stall. He nudged her in greeting, and she absently rubbed his muzzle while searching the shelf on the far side of the stall where, in the past three weeks, she'd watched Sam pile the stuff from his pockets. He liked to pull up a playlist on his phone and prop it there while he worked. Once, he'd turned it up loud to be heard in the front of the barn where he pulled her down into fresh hay and showed her what he could do with a coil of rope and a naked woman.

Tonight, the shelf was empty.

Sliding her own phone out of her rear pocket, she dialed the number scrawled in ink on her palm. In her agitated state, she could barely remember her name, let alone Jerry's call back.

It rang once.

"It's not here. Something's wrong."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Krista. I'm twenty minutes out."

"You were twenty minutes out ten minutes ago, and twenty minutes before that!" she shouted.

"I know. There was a multi-vehicle collision. That's why I'm late."

"He can't wait that long."

"You don't know that."

"He's in trouble. I'm going to look for him."

"Your ass will be in trouble if you do something risky and it turns out he is fine."

"I'll take that risk because, what if he's not?"

"Stay there and wait for me. That's an order." Spoken to in the inflexible tone of not only a deputy sheriff but a dominant, she was compelled to obey, but didn't.

"If the other two are headed this way, call them and send them on to Golden's Inlet. That's where I'll be, looking for Sam."

"Dammit, Krista—" She knew more demands were forthcoming, but didn't wait to hear them. She'd already hung up and would deal with pissed-off Dom Jerry and, hopefully, a mad-as-hell-and-alive Daddy later.

One problem. She didn't have a car.

She eyed Willow. Less than an hour ago, she'd run her ragged.

A burst of warm air blew her hair up in back, followed by the brush of a cold nose. Turning, she reached up and patted Rio's neck. Sam's gelding was bigger and stronger than the mare he'd given her to ride. He was probably too much for her, but at least he was familiar to her, and she to him. But a girl alone couldn't expect to ride in and save the day unarmed.

She ran to the house and returned in under ten minutes, with Dallas on her heels, Sam's shotgun under her arm, and as many extra shells as her pockets could hold, and his nonna's first aid kit. His dog knew the ranch better than anyone and had good instincts. If that wasn't enough, she had protection in the form of the 12-guage pump action. It only held two rounds, but she was going on memories of how to load and shoot from fifteen years ago, and this model was the only one of the five in his gun case that looked familiar. She prayed it wouldn't be needed.

Rios was much taller than Willow, and his saddle seemed to weigh twice as much, but the worst part was he didn't stand still like her mare did. On the first attempt, he sidled away, and she almost dropped it.

"Please be good, boy," she told him. "Sam needs us."

When she hefted the saddle a second time, she actually got it on his back. As she cinched it and adjusted the stirrups for her shorter legs, taking time Sam might not have, warning bells went off in her head that this was a bad move. But what other choice did she have?

Uh, maybe staying put like both Daddy and Jerry told you to?

It was the smart thing to do, but she tamped down the sage advice of her conscience.

The war on terror on the other side of the world and the war on drugs here at home were two very different things, as were the kinds of love she had for her two different daddies, but the feeling of helplessness at knowing they were in harm's way but unable to do anything about it, was identical. What she wouldn't do was sit by like a good little girl while another man she loved slipped through her grasp. She had to at least try to help.

After leading Rio out, she grabbed the flashlight from its shelf by the door, and shoved it in her back pocket. Then, while juggling the first aid kit and the shot gun, carefully mounted up. Even if she was overreacting, and Sam didn't need her help and got ticked, she'd deal with the fallout. But when she put her heels to the chestnut's belly and urged him down the road full speed, the tightness in her gut told her she wasn't wrong.

***

ON HORSEBACK, IT TOOKher more than five minutes to get to the inlet, but not by much.

She passed Sam's truck parked on the shoulder near the fork where he'd told Jerry they'd meet. As predicted, the reinforcements had yet to arrive. Remembering his warning about unfamiliar trails, she dismounted and tied Rio to a low branch nearby.

With the loaded shotgun under one arm and the emergency kit tucked under the other, Krista used her free hand to aim the narrow beam of light at the uneven, stick-strewn ground as she started down the dirt road to the inlet. Dallas sprinted ahead, quickly leaving her behind.

"If you find him first, boy," she uttered softly, "I'll forgive your desertion."

She switched off the flashlight, afraid she'd be seen. Unfortunately, it was dark as pitch, and she could barely see her hand in front of her face. The clouds moving rapidly in weren't helping either.

"Damn new moon. Why tonight of all nights?"

The roar of the waves crashing onto shore told her she was getting near. She squinted in the dark, trying to see the rocks and the rise where the shooter had used her retreating form for target practice. She still couldn't believe he'd missed. Even with her fourteen-year-old rusty skills, she could have hit a target as big as Willow.

Pausing at the end of the road where the longleaf pines and laurel oaks gave way to vines and sparse shrubs, she could make out the sea oats swaying in the constant breeze on the dunes but not much else in the darkness. Did she dare turn on the flashlight?

While debating the riskiness of that move, a faint noise off to her right caught her ear.

Krista squinted, trying to locate the source.

Feeling helping an injured Sam far outweighed the risk, she uttered, "Screw it," and switched on her light, sweeping the beam across the area where she thought the noise had come from. On the first pass, she spotted his Stetson lying upside down in the dirt. Rushing forward, she searched for the rest of him.

"Sam," she called, barely above a whisper, then held her breath listening for him to call back. All she heard was the roar of the ocean and the rush of the wind. She felt something warm brush her leg. When she looked down, her racing heart slowed seeing it was Dallas.

"Where's Sam?" she asked the dog who was looking at her as if awaiting orders. "Go find Sam, buddy."

He took off, sniffing the ground as if he'd understood her. Krista followed, scanning the ground with her light and worrying the constant wind off the ocean would interfere with the dog's tracking skills.

In minutes, Dallas stopped then pawed at something on the ground, whimpering and howling softly. Krista rushed forward, her heart lurching when the beam of her flashlight fell on Sam's body, lying face down on a sandy path leading toward to the beach. His upper half was hidden among a cluster of tall sea oats.

"No!" she sobbed. Falling to her knees beside him, she dropped the shotgun and the first aid kit, everything except the light while reaching for him. "Daddy," she whispered, bending over him.

He didn't move when she touched his shoulder and ran her hand over his cheek. Encountering wetness, dread swept quickly over her. As she raised her fingers to the narrow beam of light, she saw what she expected—blood.

Krista swallowed the gorge rising in her throat and sucked in deep breaths of air. Now wasn't the time to get squeamish; he needed her. She leaned over him and searched for a wound. In the wavering light, thanks to her anxious trembling, she could see blood trickling slowly across his cheek, but it was coming from his hairline.

Gently, she probed until she found a large bump, matted with hair and blood on the back of his head. Twisting, she searched for the first aid kit. Since it was white, it was easy to spot. She ripped it open and sifted through Band-Aids and cottons balls and small packs of antibiotic ointment, none of which were useful on a head wound. Under the top tray were tweezers and alcohol pads.

"Damn useless—" she muttered aloud.

At the very bottom, she found gauze pads and a thick, long dressing the size of a maxi-pad.

"Yes," she cried as she tore it open and held it to his wound. He stirred and moaned—a sweet, sweet sound to her ears. With something to control the bleeding, at least, she put down the light to get her phone from her pocket.

When she thumbed it on and saw zero bars, she screamed the foulest word she knew, "Fuck!" Still, she tried, but 911 didn't connect.

"What now?" she asked the unconscious man.

With him weighing two hundred fifty, at least, there was no way could she get him to the truck on her own.

"Jerry will be here soon, Daddy," she told him softly. "Hang in there for me."

She glanced over at Dallas who had taken up a guard position beside Sam's inert body. "Can you go to the road, wait on the cops, and lead them here, boy? It would be a whole lot faster."

He hopped to his feet, woofed once, and went racing back the way they came.

Turning, she watched him until he disappeared in the darkness, confounded over whether he truly understood or had scented a squirrel like Sam was always complaining he did.

"The cavalry is on its way. Good to know," a voice quietly stated.

Krista shrieked, unable to contain it, and twisted around, squinting into a bright beam of light shining in her eyes. She couldn't tell if the new arrival was friend or foe. For Sam's sake, she prayed for the former.

"He's been struck on the head and is unconscious. Please, help us."

"That's not happening."

"What?"

"You're coming with me, and Daddy can lie there and bleed out for all I care."

She gasped. Either he'd overheard her talking to him, or he knew her, and he didn't give a damn about Sam. She had to get the shotgun, somehow. Ever so slowly, she felt around on the ground behind her. By some miracle, her fingers brushed the barrel lying close to Sam's thigh.

To distract, and because she wanted to know, she demanded, "Who are you?"

"You'll find out in good time." He bent forward, caught her upper arm in a hard grip, and yanked her to her feet.

"Please, he's hurt," she cried while trying to pull free of his hold. "You can't leave him here."

"Can't I? Since I was the one who bashed him on the head, I think I can without any problem."

Then he was dragging her, his fingers digging painfully into her soft flesh. Tears flooded her eyes, from the pain, but more so from leaving her daddy hurt and helpless.

Thunder cracked and another flash of lightning lit up the sky.

"Please, a storm is coming," she begged. "The deputies might not find him until it passes. He could die."

"Aw, I'm all broken up about that," he sneered then stopped suddenly and jerked her hard against him. Bigger than her, his build was much lighter than Sam's, and he only stood a couple of inches taller than she did in her boots. "I knew you'd run home to your sheriff Daddy, and he'd come back snooping around. I also knew, disobedient little girl that you are, you'd follow."

He glanced down at the motionless body at his feet. "Sam must be slipping to not have you cowed and obedient by now."

Lightning crackled at the same time a thunderous boom sounded. The storm would be on them any minute.

"Looks like you'll be in the market for a new daddy real soon, baby girl."

She twisted and yanked on her arm trying to get free. "Don't call me that!"

"Why? Is that what Daddy calls you while he's fucking you? How sweet. I've been watching you with the sheriff. You really took to this submissive little-girl role. So much so, I've been thinking being a daddy dom might suit me, too."

"Let me go," she cried as she fought him, but he held firm.

"Yeah, that's not happening, either. You're coming home with me. If you don't cooperate, I'll take pleasure in spanking you until you do, and once your ass is firecracker red and you're begging prettily for me to stop, I'll enjoy flipping you over and watching those hot cheeks jiggle while I ram into you hard from behind. I'll likely do that if you do cooperate. Either way, I'm getting a sweet piece of Daddy's little girl's ass tonight."

"You're disgusting and cruel, and I'll fight you to my dying breath before I let you fuck me," she cried, twisting and jerking on her arms to get free

"Thanks for the warning. I'll make sure I have plenty of rope, and a gag sounds like a good idea."

He released one arm and started dragging her again.

Krista, in panic mode now, needing to get away from him before he could carry out any of the cruelties he had planned, and to get help for Sam, screamed shrilly as she tried to peel away his restraining fingers with her nails.

But he was stronger than his size hinted at, and the truck was only a few feet away. She tried a different tactic and found satisfaction in his hiss of pain when she raked her nails down the back of his hand. He let go, clamping his other hand over his injury, and spat, "Little bitch!"

It was the opening she'd been waiting for; she whirled to run. Not two steps away, he sank his hand into her hair and jerked hard. Fire ignited on her scalp and continued to burn as he dragged her the rest of the way to his vehicle. Light flashed before her eyes when he hefted her by the hair into the cab but she wasn't sure if it was from pain or the interior dome light of his truck.

Eyes watering fiercely, she could barely see when he stuck his finger in her face and shouted, "You better believe you are going to pay for that, cunt."

He released the fistful of her hair and stepped back. Though her scalp was still on fire, the pain eased off, and she got a look at her assailant.

Despite her watery vision, she recognized Geoffrey Kleinman, the young lawyer from the mansion. "It's you! Oh my god!"

"Not quite, bitch, but you can call me your new daddy," he replied then laughed, a sound filled with such malice it sent a chill down her spine. She twisted and dove for the driver's side door, but grabbed a handful of her hair again and bashed her head hard on the center console.

Stunned, she saw stars and didn't fight him when he flipped her over. When her vision cleared, she found herself staring down the muzzle of his gun about two inches from her face.

"I could shoot you for being a pain in the ass, but then I wouldn't get to play with you. Give me any more trouble and I'll think nothing of pistol whipping you like I did your daddy."

After he voiced his threat, his head jerked violently to the side and his eyes rolled back in his head. Krista thought he was having a seizure when he collapsed on the ground at her feet, until she saw the shadow of a large man looming behind him.

She froze in terror over this new threat, until she heard the low, resonant voice, gruffer than usual but achingly familiar.

"Come out of there, baby. I'll need you to lean on if I'm going to make it into the truck."

"Daddy," she breathed.

An instant later, she squealed, "Daddy!" and bounded out of the cab.

She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, barely registering his grunt until he staggered.

"Easy, darlin'," he groaned next to her ear. "It was hard getting to my feet once. I don't think I'll make it a second time."

"Ohmigod," she exclaimed. Shifting her weight so she was still against him, but holding him up instead of the other way around, she took in his agonized expression of a tightly clenched jaw and deeply furrowed brow. "I'm sorry, my only excuse for pouncing on you is I've never been happier to see anyone in my life."

"Me, too, but the son of a bitch clocked me hard. There are two of you, and the one on the left isn't the one I'm holding."

When he swayed, Krista shoved her shoulder under his arm and slipped her hands around his waist for support. There was a clatter and a thud.

"What was that?" she asked glancing down.

"The shotgun. At least I paid the asshole back in kind."

That explained the cause of Geoffrey's sudden unconsciousness.

"Seeing double after a blow to the head isn't good, Daddy. We need to get you to a hospital."

"Agreed, but I need you to secure our perp first. My handcuffs are hooked to my belt."

"Got 'em," she said after feeling around. Then, with trembling fingers, she bent to cuff the attorney. She found a lot of pleasure in the ratcheting sound the metal handcuff made when it snapped shut but then she paused, looking around for something to attach the other one to.

Sam took his foot and shoved him onto his belly. "Behind his back," he ordered, his words at a minimum, and she knew his head must be pounding.

Krista did as he instructed then stood over the restrained man, her hands on her hips, contemplating kicking him for good measure. "I knew I didn't like you the moment I set eyes on you."

Her daddy got to bash him in the head, making them even. She should be allowed a hard kick to the ribs for pulling her hair and slamming her head around. But he was unconscious, and that wouldn't be sporting. Too bad.

"What if he wakes up and gets away after we leave?"

"I hit him hard. He's going to be out for a while. If he wakes up before someone comes for him, he won't get to his feet easily with his hands bound. Besides, we know where he lives."

In what little light there was from the truck, she saw him jerk his head to the right then wince. Her gaze went in the direction he nodded, but she didn't understand what he meant. Her confusion must have shown on her face.

"His father's property butts up against mine. That's how he got away with this so long. No one thought twice about him riding the access road at night, or boating near the inlet. I sure didn't."

"Do you think his father and uncle are in on it, too?"

"I don't know. I hope not. Russ and Gerald Kleinman are good men. Geoffrey, on the other hand, well, personally, I've always thought he was a tool."

She giggled then lifted her hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry, this isn't funny at all."

"You're wired, baby. It's the adrenaline rush after what you've been through."

"You're not laughing, Daddy."

"Because I'm doing my damnedest not to pass out on you, darlin'."

"That can't happen! I won't be able to get you in the truck." She bent and searched through Geoffrey's pocket for his keys. As soon as she found them, she held them up and ordered, "Get in the tool's truck, Daddy. We're going to the hospital."

When he didn't move, she asked, "Do you need my help?" She eyed his large frame then the distance from the ground to the seat of the F-350. "I'll do my best, but a car or a regular-sized truck would have made this easier."

"I think I can manage."

"Then move, Daddy, before you collapse."

"I will, darlin', but ole Geoff and you are both in my way. I don't think I can lift you, and I for damn sure can't drag him."

"Oh, sorry. I got this."

But she spoke without the experience of dragging the dead weight of a grown man before. It wasn't easy, but she managed to pull him by the feet far enough away for Sam to have a clear path. He lurched forward and pretty much fell across the seat. Krista stood by helplessly while he moaned, and grunted, cursed a lot about his aching head, then finally got his long legs inside.

When she moved closer to buckle him in, she tripped on the forgotten shotgun. She put that in next to him—sure as certain not wanting to leave it for the bad guy to find—and closed the door.

She was around to the driver's side and hefting her own butt into the high cab in a flash. The push-button ignition started right up, then she made a wide turn, hoping she would wouldn't run over Geoffrey Kleinman's unconscious body—but only kind of.

As she steered the big truck back toward the main road, it bounced and jarred them both. Sam's groaning reminded her of another bumpy ride with their roles reversed.

"You took my job, little bit."

"Which one is that, Daddy? Driving? If you're seeing double, I don't think it's smart. Do you?"

"No, of being the protector. You came to my rescue like a white knight in a Disney tale."

"Wouldn't that make you the damsel in distress?" She glanced at him sideways and giggled again. "You're beautiful, Daddy, but I don't see it. Besides, I was seconds away from being kidnapped when you saved me. So, we'll have to call it even, for this round, at least. I think I owe you a lot more before I tie the score."

When he didn't answer, she glanced over and saw his eyes were closed in sleep or he'd passed out. Krista decided either it was a blessing because at the speed she took the trail—far too fast for the narrow, sandy path—the truck bounced hard enough to snap her teeth together. She eased off the gas for the dip at the shoulder then heaved a relieved sigh as she came to a stop on the hard-packed-dirt-and-gravel access road.

Shifting into park, she turned to check on her passenger again. He was still out. She reached over and gently brushed his hair out of his eyes then lightly rested her hand against his cheek.

"I'm so glad I found you." She didn't mean only tonight. Leaning over the center console, she pressed her lips to his jaw and whispered softly, "Because I've fallen in love with my tough-lovin' Daddy."

She found his hand and brought it to her thigh, where she held it as she started toward town. In the distance, she saw blue lights flashing.

"There they are," she grumbled. "The fucking cavalry, but, unlike in the movies, they're too little, too late."

"Don't say fuck, Krista."

She jumped and shrieked and swerved all at the same time. "I thought you were asleep."

"I'm in and out, darlin', but was in enough to hear you drop the f-bomb."

"I don't usually. Sorry, Daddy."

"You're forgiven because I also heard what else you said. "

Pretending like she didn't have a clue what he was talking about, she asked, "I'm so glad I found you?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Don't spoil it by denying you do."

With a sidelong glance, she took in his affronted expression and decided to own her words. "Okay, I won't. I've fallen in love with you."

But his eyes had drifted closed. She didn't know if he'd heard but had to believe he had since he maintained a firm grip on her hand the whole way. The only thing that troubled her was, he had enough strength to challenge her but hadn't said it back.

She wouldn't cry, couldn't afford to because the storm had arrived and the rain was beating hard on the windshield. When she blew by two Wanaker Landing sheriff's cars with her flashers on, she didn't slow, and ignored her phone when it rang. She didn't want to let Sam go, and was unwilling to risk releasing the wheel even for a second while going 70 mph on a wet, winding, unlit road. She'd probably hear about it from Jerry and her daddy, along with a host of other rules she'd broken tonight, but for now, she didn't care; she was calling the shots.

In minutes, flashing blue lights in her rearview mirror told her at least one deputy head fallen in line behind her. Krista was happy for the escort to the free-standing ER and medical clinic that served the island. If Sam needed it, they'd med-flight him out to Georgetown General. Though he was woozy and in obvious pain, she prayed he only needed stitches, a CT scan to rule out anything more than a concussion, and observation, which they should be able to do here—she hoped.