Duty To Protect. Roxanne Rustand

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ with the same kind of coat and gray slacks as the man she’d seen in her kitchen. It had to be a coincidence. How was it even possible that he could find her this far from Chicago? Unless…

       The truth hit her like a punch to her stomach.

       Had Todd planted a tracking device on her? Who would have ordered it—the good guys or bad? Either way, she was in trouble.

       The man in the overcoat was already striding toward the bus, clearly planning to search inside.

       There was no time to hunt for her luggage stowed in the belly of the bus, and even grabbing her duffel could spell danger if it held the tracking device. Grabbing only her purse, she crouched low and hurried to the exit, shoved the door open and bolted for the nearby row of semis along the edge of the parking lot, thankful that the bus had been parked with its exit door facing away from the café.

       The semi tractors were idling to keep their diesel fuel warm and all were dark, so the drivers were either asleep inside with their doors locked or were over at the café. There was no time to search out someone in a sleeper cab and beg for shelter.

       The wind sent sleet and cold down the collar of her coat as she hurried behind the trucks for cover, then hesitated. The hotel parking lot ahead was packed with cars and pickups, but few people left their vehicles open these days and only a fool left keys in an ignition. There’d be a slim chance of finding refuge there. The hotel itself was too far away—with a swath of open lawn between its front doors and the parking area. She would be spotted in an instant. Please, God, help me find someone, someplace…

       Her frantic gaze landed on the rig at the farthest gas pump.

       The pickup lights were off, but inside the back of the trailer, a horse whinnied. That cowboy would surely be back soon. Would he help her? Would he give her a ride? Or would he first demand answers that would take far too long?

       Already, she could hear a male voice over by the bus. If the bus driver had told that guy about her being a passenger, she was in deep trouble.

       Bending low, she crept to the horse trailer and nearly cried out in relief when she read its Montana plates. “Please, please be heading back home,” she whispered to herself.

       But the cab of the truck was still empty, save for a big dog that surged toward the window from the shadows of the interior, its teeth bared.

       The voice approached the other side of the horse trailer, apparently talking into a cell phone. So close that she could hear him breathing.

       “I told you, I couldn’t—not when I took out her old man. Too many witnesses. But when I get my hands on her, she ain’t gonna die easy.”

       A wave of dizziness rushed through her and her heart threatened to batter its way out of her rib cage as she glanced wildly at her surroundings.

       There was no other place to hide but here—unless she dared step out into the lights illuminating the truck stop parking area.

       Her hands shaking, she tried the dressing room door at the front of the trailer. The handle turned easily and the door swung open, revealing a dark, cavernous space redolent of good leather and saddle soap and horse. Thank you, God.

       Footsteps crunched in the snow, rounding the back of the trailer. A man cursed.

       Her knees threatened to buckle as she slipped up into the dressing room compartment of the trailer and eased the door shut behind her. She took a quiet step back and tried to calm her rapid breathing. The jackhammer rate of her heartbeat echoed in her head—surely loud enough to be heard from outside.

       In the dim light coming through the window in the door, she could make out a three-tier saddle rack. Bridles and other leather equipment hanging from hooks. A gun rack cradling a rifle, bolted high on the wall. On the floor were a tire rim and jack, a bag of Purina dog food and several bags of horse feed rich with the warm, sweet smell of molasses.

       In the corner—thank you, Lord—was a big pile of winter horse blankets and a crumpled tarp.

       She crawled under the blankets, thankful for the wind outside and praying that it masked the sounds of her movements, and wiggled as far back into the corner as she could. The smell of the horse blankets enveloped her…strong and pungent, but somehow the heavy weight of them felt comforting, secure.

       A second later, the door hinges squealed as the compartment door was jerked open. The horse in the back whinnied, the noise reverberating through the trailer.

       “Hey, what are you doing?” The new voice was deeper. Angry. “Get away from my trailer.”

       So this was the cowboy, then—the one who had saved the little boy.

       “I already told you—I’m looking for a woman on the run. Cold-blooded killer.”

       “Well, as you can see, there’s no one here.” The dressing room door slammed. A key turned in the lock.

       “I need to check the back of your trailer.”

       “Looks to me like you’ve got a few hundred other vehicles to check,” the cowboy shot back, his voice laced with derision. “And you’d better get moving—I see at least three with headlights on that are gonna be leaving anytime.”

       “If she stowed away in your rig, you’d better be ready to watch your back, cowboy,” the man growled, his voice so close to the trailer that Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought I saw something moving over here. I’m only trying to save you trouble.”

       Emma heard a pause, then a series of four drop-down feed doors along the side of the trailer squealed open and slammed shut, one by one.

       “There. Are you satisfied?”

       “No. She’s got to be here somewhere.” A set of footsteps crunched in the snow as the voice moved away.

       Someone else—likely the cowboy—headed forward to the pickup. A truck door opened, then closed.

       Emma crawled forward into a dim pool of light coming through the foot-square window in the dressing room door and felt through her purse, then ran her fingertips along the seams. Underneath the zipper, she found it—a small, silver disk.

       All of her careful efforts had been for nothing, because she’d had a tracking device planted on her all along.

       Sickened, she waited until all was silent, and then she stood and surreptitiously slid the window open to throw the device over a bank of snow.

       It might not be the only device they’d planted, but finding it was a start.

       She would stay hidden in here, but she’d have the rifle in her hands and ready if the wrong person opened that door. And once she was far enough away from here, then she would slip away the first chance she had.

       From outside she heard the familiar whoosh of the Greyhound as it rolled back toward the highway, paused, and lumbered away. Now the pickup engine roared to life. An overhead light in the dressing room compartment came on, and through a sliver of space in the back wall, she could see the lights were on in the interior of the horse compartment, as well.

       A vibration shook through the trailer, and suddenly it was moving. Unfolding more of the blankets to create СКАЧАТЬ