The Marshal's Hostage. Delores Fossen

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      Chapter Three

      There was a split second of time where Dallas thought about what he was doing. And what he was doing was a crime.

      A felony, no less.

      He didn’t consider himself a lawbreaker, but he had stretched and bent it a few times to get justice. And for that split second he wondered if there was a different way to go about this. He didn’t want to call his foster brothers and involve them, but he did consider calling the locals. He knew the sheriff was a fair man.

      But this wasn’t exactly a fair situation.

      No. He couldn’t involve the locals because there wasn’t enough time to get them out to the church to stop this. Plus, Dallas had to stay with Joelle, to convince her not to release that report. If given the chance, Owen would just whisk her away, and Dallas figured Owen—and apparently Joelle, too—would do anything and everything to prevent him from seeing her in the near future. The report would be released, and Kirby would be arrested.

      That was a solid enough reason to get her away from Owen, but then he heard Owen’s footsteps in the church entry and listened to Joelle’s slurred, drugged protests to let her go.

      And Dallas had no choice.

      It wasn’t safe for her to be here. It wasn’t safe for him to involve law enforcement. And that meant he had to get out of there fast.

      Dallas didn’t know what was going on, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the answers from Owen. He had a long, bad history with the man he’d once shared a room with at the orphanage, and that history wouldn’t get better. In fact, it was about to come to a hot boil if he learned that Owen was the one who’d drugged Joelle.

      Yeah.

      He would bend the law to get back at Owen for doing that.

      Dallas passed by the room where the two wedding attendants were hovering. They were no doubt aware that something bad was in the air, but they didn’t run out to try to rescue Joelle.

      Later, he’d want to know why.

      For now, he had enough questions and very little time to get Joelle out of there so he could get some answers. Answers that didn’t involve lies about loving Owen and a feigned pregnancy.

      “Where you takin’ me?” Joelle asked. The slurring was getting worse, and when she hit her fists against his back, they landed like limp thuds.

      Dallas made his way through the back corridors that had been built as additions to the old Victorian church. He knew the way because he’d used the halls to find his foster brother, Declan, when he’d sneak out for a smoke when he was supposed to be attending Sunday school.

      “Owen,” Joelle mumbled.

      And for a moment Dallas thought she’d seen her groom. A glance over his shoulder verified they had the hall to themselves. But he did hear Owen calling out for her. It wouldn’t be long before Owen made his way to them.

      Dallas bolted out the back door and past the catering truck that was carting stuff into the fellowship hall. No doubt where the reception was supposed to be held. It was a cheap and plain venue for a man as stinkin’ rich as Owen.

      But there were a lot of fishy things about this wedding.

      Two guys carrying a wedding cake looked over at Dallas, but he only pointed to his badge. He didn’t speak to them, didn’t slow down. Dallas ran across the groomed back lawn where, over the years, he’d attended church picnics and chatted up a few girls.

      There was a heavily treed area just ahead, and Dallas raced into it. Not in a straight line. That’s because he figured Owen or one of his armed goons had already made it to the back of the church, and Dallas didn’t want them to be able to pinpoint his position.

      Or guess where he was going.

      After all, Owen knew these woods, too, since he’d lived in Maverick Springs for more than a dozen years.

      “Dallas, this is wrong,” Joelle mumbled.

      Yeah, it was, but it would be equally wrong to leave her there without the answers to his questions. Maybe when he had those answers, he could figure out a way to stop her from pressing charges against him.

      Dream on.

      Once the effects of the drug wore off, she’d be one riled woman.

      Even over Joelle’s mumbles, Dallas heard Owen’s shouts and the rushing water of Butcher Creek just ahead. He didn’t go in that direction. Owen would expect it. Instead, Dallas headed west where the woods were thick, and the fallen leaves and lack of sun would make it harder for them to be tracked.

      Joelle quit squirming, quit mumbling, and this time Dallas did stop so he could make sure she was still breathing. She was, thank goodness. But she was pale and practically СКАЧАТЬ