Bounty Hunter's Woman. Linda Turner

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      “No,” the man said in the clipped regal way that only the British could do. “I need your help now.”

      Donovan wasn’t a man who men often said no to. Straightening, he studied the hard look of determination in his visitor’s eyes and the set of his jaw and recognized desperation when he saw it. “What’s your story?” he demanded.

      “I’m Buck Wyatt,” he said. “I need you to find my sister.”

      Surprised, Donovan blinked. “I’m a bounty hunter, Mr. Wyatt. Is there a bounty out on your sister?”

      “No. She’s been kidnapped.”

      “How do you know that? Have you received a ransom demand?”

      His mouth compressed in a flat line. “No. There won’t be any ransom note. I already know what the kidnappers want.”

      Donovan knew he shouldn’t have asked. He hadn’t been lying about his meeting. He was going to be late, and it was important, dammit! But there was something in the fury in Buck Wyatt’s eyes, something in the cold, controlled outrage in his voice that Donovan knew he wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.

      Resigned—and more than a little annoyed with his own curiosity—he motioned for Wyatt to pull up a chair. “You’ve got ten minutes,” he said. “Make it good, because after that I am going to my meeting.”

      He didn’t have to tell him twice. Too restless to take a seat, Buck Wyatt stood, instead…and paced. “My three sisters and I inherited a ranch in Colorado eleven months ago from an American cousin we didn’t know we had,” he said stiffly. “One of the stipulations of her will was that one of us had to be at the ranch at all times for a period of one year. There was no restriction on how many single nights we could be absent from the ranch, but if no member of the family is present for two nights running, the ranch goes to an unnamed heir.”

      Donovan lifted a brow at that. “How many people know about that little stipulation?”

      “I would imagine just about everyone in the state of Colorado.”

      Donovan whistled softly. “And no one’s run you off yet? You and your sisters must be damn tough.”

      A muscle clenched in Buck’s jaw. “So far, we’ve managed to weather one attack after another…as long as they were against the ranch. Now they’ve gone after Priscilla a continent away.”

      “And you’re sure your sister’s kidnapping is related to the ranch? When’s the year up?”

      “Next month.”

      Donovan frowned. That changed things. “Are you even sure that she’s really been kidnapped? What’s her history? Is she the type to stage this kind of thing?”

      “God, no! She’s the baby of the family and damn stubborn sometimes about getting her way,” he admitted honestly, “which is why she’s in London to begin with. When she insisted on coming back to close up her apartment, we talked about her accident and how she could be walking right back into the same kind of danger as before, but she intended to be back in Colorado before anyone even knew she was gone. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

      “Whoa, back up,” Donovan said sharply. “What accident?”

      Buck quickly told him about the hit-and-run driver who’d nearly killed her. “She spent the last two months at the ranch, recuperating, and during that time, there wasn’t a single attack against any of us because we were all together. Then, less than six hours after she arrives in London, someone grabs her.”

      “But how do you know that for sure? Maybe she just decided to go visit some friends before she left.”

      “She knew how important it was to get in and out as quickly as possible,” Buck argued. “According to the London police, her landlord found the door to her flat standing wide-open and she was nowhere to be found. She appeared to be packing when someone apparently talked their way into her apartment. There were signs of a struggle and she left her purse behind.”

      Studying him through narrowed eyes, Donovan should have told him he couldn’t help him. It would have been the wise thing to do. He was up to his ears in cases and couldn’t even find the time to hire a decent secretary. He didn’t have room on his calendar for another case.

      And even if he had, he silently acknowledged, Priscilla Wyatt was not the kind of woman he wanted to go looking for. He’d read between the lines of what her brother had said about her, and she was obviously headstrong and spoiled and determined to have her way. Kidnapping her back from her kidnappers sounded like a headache waiting to happen.

      But she was a woman in trouble. And unless he totally missed the mark, Buck was right. Her kidnapper was, no doubt, planning to use her as the pawn that drew her family away from the ranch. He would hurt her if he had to. Time was running out on the Wyatts’s trial period, and whoever thought they were the unnamed heir had to be getting desperate. Priscilla Wyatt was in a hell of a mess…and in more danger than her family probably realized.

      Silently swearing, Donovan pulled out his cell phone. Surprised, Buck Wyatt frowned. “What are you doing?”

      “Canceling my appointment,” he retorted. “I’ll take the case.”

      Over the course of the next hour, Donovan asked Buck every question he could think of about Priscilla, her flat, where she might go if she was able to escape her kidnappers, how gutsy she was, her strengths and weaknesses. She’d been kidnapped. Would she fight or dissolve in tears? Panic or use her head? If he was going to save her, he had to know how she would react under duress.

      “She’ll use her head,” Buck assured him. “Initially, she’ll be scared out of her mind, but once she gets her fear under control, she’ll start looking for a way to escape. She’s smart,” he added, “and damn creative. She won’t take this lying down.”

      “That’ll work in her favor as long as she doesn’t let her kidnapper know what’s going on in her head,” Donovan replied. “The more helpless she acts, the better chance she’ll have of taking the bastard by surprise. Has she ever taken any karate or self-defense classes?”

      “No, not that I—”

      His cell phone rang then, surprising them both. Scowling at the number on the face of the phone, he looked up sharply at Donovan. “It’s a private number.”

      “It could be the kidnapper,” Donovan warned. “Don’t let him know you’re in London. And listen to background noises that might give you an indication of where he may be.”

      His expression grave, Buck nodded, then flipped open his phone. “Hello?”

      “You have forty-eight hours to leave the ranch for good…or your sister dies.”

      “Who is this—”

      Just that quickly, the line went dead. “He hung up,” Buck said in disgust, and repeated word for word what the caller had said. “There weren’t any background noises, and the bastard was definitely disguising his voice.”

      “Give me your cell phone number,” Donovan told him. “I’ve got a friend who might be able СКАЧАТЬ