Page 33 of Preying Heart
“As well as for the safety of the missing Native women and the hikers.”
“Of course. Of course. Now, let me show you the air conditioner.”
“I don’t need to see it.” I pull out my wallet and count out five hundred dollars. “Get a new one. Let me know if this isn’t enough.”
“Praise God,” he says. “I’ll send you a receipt. The women will be so grateful.”
We walk back through the community room, and he’s about to say something when I stop him.
“Matthew chapter six says something about doing alms in private.”
“Ah, yes, well, you’re a good man, and we’re lucky you chose our neck of the woods to do your survival thing. Thanks for your contribution.”
I act casual as I walk out to my truck, and I even manage not to exceed the speed limit on my way back to Dr. Cole’s clinic. I cross the river and take the upper trail which is less traveled. Once I’m outside the limits of the farms and orchards, I speed up, not caring about the bumpy ride or the shocks to my suspension.
Gritting my teeth through the bone-jarring potholes, I swerve wide, taking a turn too fast. I almost hit a rusty sedan.
Wait a minute. I slam on the brakes and glance over at the bouncing jalopy.
It’s Dr. Cole, and she’s on her way to town.
Did she leave Remi alone at the clinic? Or worse. She’s seen the news flash and is on her way to claim the reward.
I make a rough three-point turn, bashing over low shrubs and rumble toward the car. My four-wheel independent suspension system catches up to her, and I lay on the horn.
She doesn’t stop, and if I’m not imagining things, there seems to be another person lying low in the passenger seat.
What the holy crap!
I stick my nose right on her tail and blare my horn, but she steps on the gas and this time, Remi peeks over the seatback to look.
That’s the way things are out here. Everyone for themselves. Lucy Cole wants money the same way the church wants money. Every one of them for a good cause, but without thinking the end game. What does she think she’ll gain by returning Remi to her hypocritical foster parents—the ones aiding and abetting the perversions of their politician son?
As soon as the track widens enough, I cut across a rocky shoulder and cut her off, wedging my truck body in her path.
She honks and honks, but has to come to a stop.
I’m out of the cab like a lifeboat off theTitanicand have the passenger door open before anyone can scream. I grab Remi and wrestle her out of the car, while Lucy charges from the driver’s side to pull me away.
Neither woman is a match for me as I single-mindedly stuff Remi into the cab. With Lucy climbing on my back and punching and kicking, I whisper in Remi’s ear.
“Gavin’s parents went on television to report you missing and offer a reward. The entire world has your picture. Stay still while I deal with Lucy.”
She nods, her eyes wide and panic-stricken.
I flip Lucy off my back and grab her around the waist. Lifting her, I toss her into the truck bed and jump in after her.
“What are you doing?” She scratches my face and tries to poke my eyes. I grab the tie-down straps and wrap it around her wrists and knees.
“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose in my business, because now, you’re coming with me. I need a doctor in the house to take care of Blair, and you’re it.”
“This is wrong. Kidnapping and assault.”
I hook the tie-downs and tighten the ratchet until she’s unable to move.
“Blair. Help me!” Lucy cries. “Don’t just sit there. Drive the damn truck to the police.”
But Remi is paralyzed with that deer in the headlights stare, and for once I wonder if I’m wrong to take advantage of an emotionally scarred woman. The victim oftentimes identifies with her captor, and even in the face of rescue will quickly calculate the relative strengths between the two. Invariably, she’ll choose the stronger one, and right now, I’m stronger than Lucy Cole.
