Running Blind Read online

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know Kat’s all right. Put her on the phone. Now.”

  Instead of handing the phone to Kat, there was a pause, then a muted thump followed by a scream. His smug, vicious voice came back on the phone. “Do you really think I’m going to let the two of you cook something up on the phone? You heard her. She’s alive, for now. Now get your ass over here and maybe she’ll stay that way.”

  It was Brad who ended the call, leaving Carlin sitting on the floor with the phone in her hand.

  She wasn’t going to be responsible for another friend’s death. No matter what, she had to save Kat.

  Carlin went to her room. Zeke had given her a pistol for Christmas and she kept it there, close by her pillow when she wasn’t with him. There were several things she had to do, other than get the pistol. She would have to leave by way of a window, and the window in her room would allow her to slip away without Patrick seeing her. She’d check to make sure he was at the back door, before slipping out, and not walking around the house—and maybe right past her window at the same time she was crawling out. There was nothing to be done about whoever was watching the road, but she’d be on her way by then, and with luck they’d think one of the other hands was headed to town.

  She bundled up, dressing warmly and thanking her lucky stars that there was no ice on the road today.

  Yeah, lucky stars. She was real lucky.

  She unlocked and opened her window, letting in a rush of cold air. The window was close enough to the ground and she slipped out—one leg, then the other. A quick glance to either side assured her she was alone. She tried to close the window, but now that she was on the ground it was too high for her to reach. She didn’t waste time with the window, just headed for the garage with her head down against the wind. A part of her wanted to run toward Zeke, not away. A part of her wanted to believe that she was no longer alone in this. But she couldn’t take a chance with Kat’s life, not even for Zeke—not even for the chance to say goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ZEKE WAS ALREADY distracted when the radio clipped to his belt crackled with a puzzled sounding, “Who’s headed to town?”

  Zeke snatched up the radio and spoke. “No one.”

  Micah responded. “Sorry, boss, but someone’s headed toward the main road like a bat out of hell.”

  “Which vehicle?” He had a bad feeling about this. He was already wheeling his truck around, back toward the house.

  “The old blue pickup.”

  That was the one Carlin occasionally drove to town.

  He was there in minutes. He pushed past Patrick, who was still posted at the back door. The time it took to take out the key and slide it into the lock seemed to be minutes wasted, when in fact it was only seconds—but seconds that might count.

  “What’s wrong?” Patrick asked.

  “Tell me you didn’t let Carlin get away.”

  “I thought I was here to keep some man out, not keep Miss Carly in?” Patrick’s voice was touched with horror.

  Zeke called her name. Once, twice. Nothing. He headed down the hallway into her bedroom, and stopped dead one step into the room.

  The window was open, and Carlin was gone.

  His first thought was that she’d bolted. She would change her name, get another job that paid cash, and he’d never find her.

  Then common sense kicked in. He knew her; she wasn’t a coward. If she made up her mind to leave, she’d do it straight up, so he wouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t run away, not without talking to him first. And she would have taken her Subaru, not one of his ranch trucks.

  By the time he returned to the kitchen, Patrick and Spencer were there, waiting. They looked as scared as he felt.

  He couldn’t just take off, not knowing where she was headed, or why. He couldn’t just stand there, either.

  And then he spotted the cordless phone, not sitting in the cradle charging, as it should’ve been, but lying on the floor beneath the table. He grabbed it and immediately checked the last calls recorded on the CID.

  Two calls from Kat’s cell. One missed, one a couple of minutes long. He checked the time—there were less than five minutes from the time the call had ended until Micah had seen Carlin headed for town like a bat out of hell.

  Sunday. Kat would be at home.

  He started to hit redial, then stopped, thought. He said to Patrick, “Let me see your cellphone.”

  Patrick handed it over. Sometimes service was spotty, but the phone showed two bars. Not great, but good enough. He called Kat’s cellphone. After a couple of seconds he heard the call go through; it rang and rang, then went to Kat’s voice mail.

  CARLIN GRIPPED THE steering wheel and pushed the pedal to the floorboard, testing the limits of the old truck. She hadn’t had a chance to save Jina. She’d never really had a confrontation with Brad at all. He’d scared her; she’d run. If she’d stayed, if she’d fought him instead of going to Dallas, Jina would still be alive. She’d likely be dead herself; she’d known all along that Brad was dangerous, but this time—

  This time she would not let that happen. She’d save Kat, somehow. Even if it meant she died, even if it meant her life was over, she would not lose another friend to the man who’d stolen her life from her.

  Carlin kept her eyes on the road, willing the miles to pass more quickly, wondering if Brad had hurt Kat again after their call had ended.

  It was true that Brad had stolen her life from her, but that was her old life; she’d found a new one here, with Zeke and Kat and Spencer and all the guys—it was new, and damn it, it was good. It was a better life than the one she’d left behind. Not that she’d ever thank Brad for putting her on the run, but he’d been a big part of giving her something worth fighting for.

  Her pistol lay on the passenger seat, fully loaded, one in the chamber. Thanks to Zeke, she knew how to use it. And she would, by God, fight for her life and the lives of everyone she loved. Brad knew her as a woman who would run rather than fight. He knew her as an easily frightened, manipulatable, scared mouse.

  That wasn’t who she was anymore. She’d changed—and she was more than willing to fight for what was hers.

  THE PSYCHO WASN’T taking any chances. Kat could barely move, but he’d insisted on moving her into a kitchen chair and tying her to it, using a length of rope out of her own kitchen and her own damned duct tape. He placed that chair in the middle of the living room where she’d have a front-row seat for what was to come.

  Brad was almost giddy. He acted like a child on Christmas Eve, too excited to settle down. He’d checked his weapon, an automatic pistol, three times already, though she didn’t think he planned to shoot Carlin the moment she walked through the door. That would be too neat for him, too quick.

  Good. If he delayed, there was a chance she and Carlin might come out of this alive.

  She knew Zeke had taught Carlin how to shoot a gun and how to fight dirty. The question was: would she panic and come here unprepared? Would she forget everything she’d learned and put herself at Brad’s nonexistent mercy, or would she have a plan?

  Brad was getting antsy. She’d told him it was a long drive from the ranch, but apparently he wasn’t good at waiting. The antsier he was, the more likely he was to make a rash move when Carlin arrived. As much as Kat wanted to fade into the background and hope the fuck-wad would forget about her, she didn’t want his impatience to make him act too soon.

  She lifted her chin, took a deep breath that hurt, and asked, “Why her?”

  Brad spun around, looked down at Kat, and cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Why Carlin?” She would have shrugged, even tied up the way she was, but with her ribs injured shrugging wasn’t something she wanted to tackle. “You know the saying, fish in the sea and all that. I mean, she’s cute and all, but there are lots of prettier women in the world. Isn’t there a Miss Texas out there somewhere who would incite this kind of devotion?” She chose the word “devotion”