Page 52 of Lone Star Country Protector
It occurred to Dalton that he’d been talking to Grandpa for several minutes. Blakely should be back by now. He checked his cell. Nothing.
“Excuse me while I send a message to Jules, Grandpa,” Dalton said.
Grandpa Lor gave the okay via a quick nod before he took another sip of water.
Dalton sent the text. Checked the time stamp on the one Jules had sent. It came in twelve minutes ago.Fourteen minutes.
The parking lot was a two-minute walk from the ER. There wasn’t a lot of activity at the hospital today, so the elevators shouldn’t take long. A bad feeling settled in his chest.
Panic slammed into him with the force of a two-by-four.
Where were they? Where was Blakely?
Chapter Nineteen
An arm came around Blakely as she approached the second row in the parking lot.
“Got you, bitch.” It was the same voice from the other night. She was certain of it. She searched her memory bank for what Johnny Spear’s voice had sounded like and came up without a match. Nothing made sense as a band tightened around her body, pinning her arms to her side.
Blakely tried to throw an elbow into her attacker’s midsection. The band tightened.
The light closest to her was out. A glow in the distance was too far to make anything out by.
She wondered why Jules was still sitting in the driver’s seat, facing forward.Oh no.Please don’t let it be that something bad had happened to Jules. She wasn’t moving. It was like a mannequin sat in the driver’s seat instead of a real person. This situation was bad.
Blakely would never forgive herself if she got Dalton’s sister killed because of her actions. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not while this man’s grip was around her like a vise, making movement impossible.
Shehadto break free. Blakely attempted to jerk her arms free.
No use.
He was strong. Too strong.
She attempted to drop down, forcing her legs to become rubber.
No use.
The trick didn’t work. She needed to think.Think. Think.
Blakely couldn’t get a good look at the attacker since he’d come from behind. She tried to memorize details about him. He had no particular smell that she could identify like a cologne or the stench of cigarettes. There was no alcohol smell either.
What else?
The man was tall. Roughly six feet. That much she could tell. Otherwise, he had on something thick, a hoodie. She could see the thick cotton material on his arm even in the darkness.
Struggling against her arm restraints, she tried to squirm out of the man’s grip.
Once again, to no avail.
“Take this,” he said in a growl.
The next thing she knew, a hard object slammed into the crown of her head.
The urge to vomit caused bile to rise up the back of her throat. She swallowed and tried to focus blurry eyes as she was being ushered toward Jules’s vehicle.
Once again, she tried to fight.
“Hold still,” the man growled.
