Page 2 of Marked by the Mountain Man

The last thread of patience breaks, and I grab him by the scruff of his collar, shoving him backwards against the front of the tattoo parlor’s brick facade. “Who the fuck are they?” I scream.

Drew shakes his head. I slam him against the front of the building again. “Who?” My heart races, mind spinning. I need to follow them. But I have to question Drew. Figure out how big a gun to bring to whatever fucking fight this is.

“People I owe money to,” he screams, sniveling as snot runs down his nose.

“For drugs?”

He nods.

“Dammit!” I scream, sprinting for my bike. “Pick up my phone if I call you. Or you’re worse than dead, motherfucker!” I grab my helmet, shoving it on and ripping out of the parking lot on my Harley in hot pursuit of Hadleigh and the men in the black SUV.

“Call sheriff’s department,” I order into my headset as I drive.

After a few rings, a watery voice answers. “Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?”

“Steph, Hudson Adair. In pursuit of two men in a black Lincoln Corsair who just abducted a woman from the parking lot of my tattoo shop.”

I start to give her the address, but Steph cuts me off. “Already have it.”

I search for signs of the car or Hadleigh. It’s as though they disappeared in the moments it took me to question Drew and get on my ride. “California license plate starting with an eight and ending in an S, though I didn’t get the rest.”

“Did you say in pursuit?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if the men are armed?”

Drew needed to fess this shit up when I banged him into the wall, not answer me with obtuse fucking statements. I assume the worst, since they’re already abductors. “Yes.”

“Do not engage.”

“Roger that.” In truth, I’ll do whatever the fuck it takes to save Hadleigh, already internally kicking myself for precious minutes wasted on questioning her brother. The fucker doesn’t care about anybody but himself.

“Andrew Bardot, who works at my tattoo parlor, just stood in the parking lot admitting to me that they deal him drugs. And he’s behind on cash. Send a deputy to the shop for questioning to get it straight from the horse’s mouth. My guess is that’s why they’ve abducted her, but I don’t know for sure. I’ll keep eyes on the vehicle, if I can, stay in touch with the department until help arrives.”

“And the description of the men and the woman?”

“Six foot two, six foot three for each man. Mid to late thirties. The driver wore black with a buzz cut, clean-shaven, and tattoos on his face. The passenger, who shoved the girl in the back of the SUV, has short, curly black hair, dark eyes, an olive complexion, and neck tattoos. Not sure about the face. Dark clothes, too. Slim builds and poor posture, definitely not military men. As for the woman …”

God, how do I describe that stunning angel?

“Name’s Hadleigh Bardot, Drew’s little sister. Five foot five or six with a curvy body, long platinum blonde hair, and a heart-shaped face and cleft chin. Early to mid-twenties, wearing a little black dress with long sleeves, black heels, and a matching black bag.”

Ahead of me, about a hundred yards, the car comes into sight. Thank God! Weaving through traffic and giving it more throttle, I push through the intersection, nearly colliding head-on with a semi-truck to catch up with the vehicle. My death won’t do Hadleigh any good, I remind myself, dialing it back slightly as I continue slithering through noon traffic.

“I have eyes on the vehicle again,” I say, narrowing my gaze. “License plate eight seven five POS.” POS is right. The irony ofthe plate would make me laugh under any other circumstances. Instead, my heart races, my breath quickening as I strategize next moves.

“We’re tracking your cell signal, but there could be a slight lag time, especially with the storm front moving in?—”

“I’m northbound on I-8, heading towards the preserve.” The preserve’s a local hangout for birdwatchers and nature lovers, twenty miles out of town. It connects with a series of trailheads that disappear into the deep woods. Although two gangsters in a Lincoln don’t strike me as the type to vanish into the wilderness, I put nothing past anyone up here.

“We have officers en route. Please update us if anything changes. Stay frosty, soldier, and keep your head on a swivel.”

“Will do.” I know Steph, the dispatcher, because shit tends to happen in front of tattoo parlors. Especially with employees like douchebag attracting trouble like flies. So she knows I’m a former Marine and loves saying shit like this.

Closing the distance, I whiz through traffic like my ass is on fire. Construction in the area means delays and a line of bumper-to-bumper cars. It’s not usual in Alpha Ridge Creek, and the timing couldn’t be worse. Accelerating, I catch sight of Hadleigh’s face through the back window, round eyes panic-stricken.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

---