Running Blind Read online

  Kat stopped in the middle of the road, looked his way, turned, and attempted to run toward him. Spencer was out of the truck in a heartbeat, running to meet Kat as he slipped off his heavy coat. He’d take care of her, do what he could. Knowing Kat was in good hands, Zeke headed for the house. He was so angry he was seeing red, could barely think. Damn it, he had to do something, now. A sense of urgency gnawed at him.

  “Zeke, stop,” Kat said weakly as she and Spencer met in the road. Spencer pulled a knife from his pocket and quickly cut the duct tape that bound her hands. Then he wrapped his coat around her and offered her a shoulder to lean on—literally. Zeke stopped, getting a good look at her. Oh, God, Kat’s face, and the way she held her body, as if standing was a real effort. That son of a bitch had done a real number on her. But she said, “If you go barging in and surprise him, he’ll just shoot her.”

  “He’s got a gun,” Zeke said, to clarify.

  “Yeah.” Kat winced as she put her weight on her right foot. “But so does Carlin.” She looked at him, square on. She was hurt badly, but she still had her wits about her and she was no wimp, not even now. “She traded herself for me, even though she knows damn good and well Brad doesn’t intend for either of them to leave that house alive.” She turned gingerly and glanced back. “If he did, he never would’ve let me go.”

  She was right. She’d seen something Zeke hadn’t seen. Brad wasn’t taking Carlin anywhere, he intended to die there with her.

  Time was short, too short.

  Storming the house would get Carlin killed. Standing here and doing nothing would get Carlin killed.

  “I think the back door is unlocked. The kitchen door,” Kat said.

  “You think?”

  “I’d just taken out a sack of garbage when he knocked at the door, and … I just don’t remember. Sometimes I lock the door immediately when I come back in, out of habit, but sometimes I forget.”

  Women and their locked doors.

  It was his best shot. Zeke turned to Spencer. “Get her in the truck and warmed up, and call the sheriff’s department. Tell them to head this way, no lights and no sirens. Talk to Billy, if you can. He knows what’s going on.”

  With that, Zeke slanted across a neighbor’s yard with the intention of cutting along the back side of the houses until he got to Kat’s kitchen door. He could only pray that she wasn’t as paranoid about locking her doors as Carlin was.

  CARLIN STEPPED INTO the house, her head high. She’d be a fool to pretend she wasn’t afraid, but in the months she’d been running from Brad she’d changed. She wasn’t going to run, wasn’t going to hide, not ever again. Zeke was worth fighting for. No, her life was worth fighting for.

  “You didn’t have to rough Kat up,” she said, allowing her anger to show.

  “If she’s hurting it’s her own fault,” Brad explained in a calm voice. “She wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

  “Well, here I am.” She held her arms out to the sides, all but offering herself up to him.

  “Take off the coat.” He gestured with his gun. “I want to see you.”

  “You can see me just fine with the coat on.” She wondered if the bulge of the pistol showed through her sweater; it would, almost certainly. If he made her turn around after she removed the parka, if he suspected she was armed … she would never get the chance to fight back.

  Brad took a step closer. “Take the coat off. Now.”

  Carlin didn’t move back. She actually wished he’d move even closer. Zeke had taught her to defend herself, and though she’d never actually put the proper force into those moves, she knew she could if it came to that. If she went for her gun now he’d get his shot off before she had a chance to even aim in his direction. The object wasn’t just to disarm, capture, or kill Brad; it was to survive.

  She wanted to survive to see another day; she wanted to wake up in Zeke’s bed, again and again. She wanted to see spring and summer in Wyoming.

  She slipped her parka off and tossed it onto the closest chair. “Fine. No more coat.”

  She couldn’t outdraw him, not on a good day and definitely not with his gun already out and aimed in her direction. She couldn’t beat him in a fair fight. What she could do, what she needed to do, was catch him off guard—and fight dirty.

  “Do you love me?” She tilted her head, took a step toward him.

  “What?” He seemed surprised. Whether it was the question or her willingly coming closer to him, she didn’t know.

  “I can’t think of any other reason you’d come after me this way. After all this time, all the miles I tried to put between us … here you are. It must be love.” She almost choked on the word. She knew what love was, now, and it wasn’t this. It wasn’t anything like this.

  “Of course I …” Brad choked himself, unable to say the word. His eyes darkened. “You’re mine.”

  “Do you think you own me, is that it?” She moved another step closer, her heart thudding, the blood rushing in her ears.

  “Yes.” She’d manage to confuse Brad, at least. He’d expected terror or hysterical confrontation or both. Instead she spoke to him of love and moved gradually and steadily closer.

  His gun shifted slightly, no longer pointed directly at her. If he were to fire now a bullet might get her in the side, or the shoulder. His head cocked to the side. Carlin prayed no sirens—police or ambulance—broke the spell. Not yet. She needed one more minute, maybe two.

  “I don’t like running,” she said. “I don’t want to run anymore. Please, Brad, let me stop.”

  “Why did you leave?” he asked, and the gun lowered a few more inches.

  She reached out, touched his chest. She saw the surprise in his eyes, the sudden leap of sick lust, the insane smugness, as if he’d known all along that she really wanted him. She moved closer, put her other hand on his chest, too. Then she gripped his shirt hard in both fists and pulled him toward her. If she hadn’t already been moving his way he might’ve been alarmed by the move, but instead he opened his freakin’ mouth as if he intended to kiss her.

  She held him close and rammed her knee into his groin. His nuts she didn’t care about at all, so she gave it everything she had. Once, twice, pumping her knee back and forth like a jackhammer. The first blow took him so by surprise he didn’t react, and the second blow made him howl in pain. The gun swung toward her again, but without releasing his shirt she threw up her elbow and blocked his arm. The third knee to the nuts sent him to the floor; he dropped to his knees, cussing a blue streak. She released his shirt and kicked at his arm, hitting it hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand, sending it clattering across the floor.

  Swiftly she backed up and pulled the pistol from her waistband, held it firmly in both hands, and aimed at Brad’s head.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pull the trigger. As she had suspected all along, she couldn’t shoot an unarmed man, not even Brad. She fought to keep him from reading it in her face. All she had to do was hold him here until Zeke and the guys and the sheriff arrived. A few minutes; surely no more than that. Kat had already had time to make phone calls. Was Zeke already on his way? Had whoever was watching the road away from the ranch realized she was the one headed to town?

  Gagging, cupping his balls, Brad struggled to his knees. Tears of pain filled his eyes, and his voice didn’t shake or quiver as he said, “Shoot me. Pull the trigger.”

  Carlin backed toward the front door. One step, then another. She didn’t want to be any closer to Brad than she had to be.

  “Maybe you think I won’t. Do you think I haven’t prepared for this? This is my pistol, and I’ve shot a hell of a lot of rounds through it, thinking about the day I’d be aiming it at you.” If he knew she didn’t intend to pull the trigger he might go for his own pistol again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to shoot, period, but she especially didn’t want to be forced into trying to shoot a moving target. She knew her limitations.

  Of course, if he went for his gu