Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

“I’m filling in for a bit. Can I help you?”

“Possibly. I have a question for one of the staff—I’m in Cabin Five. Is anyone around?” He had a slight Spanish accent.

“Becca will return from town soon. Logan’s cleaning cabins.”

“Guess it’s just you and me?”

She stiffened at the assessing look. “Logan should be back any minute.”

“I only need a minute…Lindsey.” With an ugly sneer, he moved closer. “Chief Parnell has Mrs. Hunt and her baby. You come with me quietly, or he slits the brat’s throat.”

Becca and Ansel? Lindsey’s lungs felt as if he’d stomped on her ribs; she struggled to inhale. “No. Y’all wouldn’t dare.”

The indifference in his expression showed he could care less if a baby died.

She shoved her chair away from the desk. Could she reach her knife before he grabbed her? “I don’t believe you.”

He took a satellite phone from under his coat and punched in a number. “Need proof of life. Let’s hear it.” A second later he held the phone toward her.

Becca was yelling, “Don’t—don’t touch him. Don’t you—”

The sound of a baby crying drowned out everything.

“No! Stop!” Lindsey jumped to her feet. “Don’t hurt them. I’ll go with you. Stop it!”

“Now wasn’t that easy?” As he tucked the phone inside his coat, she saw he had a pistol as well. “Move fast, puta . If Hunt stops us, I’ll put a bullet in his head, and we’ll have a mess.”

***

Jake Hunt made a piss-poor patient, deVries thought, but at least the man’s ankle wasn’t busted. After helping Hunt into the lodge truck, which Simon was driving, deVries continued down the slick boardwalk and into the Bear Flat police station.

Small place. Desks around the walls. A table in the center served as an intake area. Damn quiet for a cop station. Seated at one of the desks was a uniformed officer who looked barely old enough to shave. “Can I help you?”

“Masterson here?”

The boy stiffened. “Lieutenant Masterson is in his office. Give me your name, and I’ll—”

“I see him.” Spotting the glass-fronted room with a LIEUTENANT placard, deVries headed in, leaving the pup gaping behind him.

In the office, Masterson was seated behind an oversize desk while Stanfeld and another man sat at a table off to one side. Masterson looked up from the paper he was studying. “DeVries. Didn’t think I’d see you in town today.”

“Unscheduled trip—we took Jake to the clinic for a sprained ankle.” He ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the snow. “Kallie wants him at your place for a couple of nights. Guess she figures having Summer on hand might help.” Masterson’s wife was a registered nurse.

“Sprained, huh? Bet he’s in a shit mood.” Masterson snorted. “You need assistance transporting him?”

“Nah. Simon is delivering him. I stayed to talk with you and Stanfeld.” DeVries gave the Homeland Security agent a cold stare and colder warning. “You make any plans about Lindsey, you make me part of them.”

Stanfeld frowned. “I can see how—”

Much like a wolf when faced with another male, the other man in the room rose to his feet. Six-one, muscular build, white shirt, badge on his belt, shoulder harness for his pistol. Dark brown hair reached his collar. Trim goatee. Hard blue eyes in a tanned face. “I don’t recall being introduced.”

Interfering bastard. “DeVries. Lindsey’s mine.” He didn’t bother holding out his hand to shake.

The cop snorted. “You’re clear enough.” He did hold out his hand. “Atticus Ware. Detective.”

Ware’s handshake was strong, and he didn’t resort to using it for a pissing contest. The cop might be likeable if he refrained from being an obstacle. “I prefer being clear.”

“I haven’t met your lady,” Ware said. “A Texan?”

DeVries nodded.

“Bet she’s enjoying the snow.”

Masterson grinned. “Coming from Idaho, Ware doesn’t panic at a few snowflakes—unlike the new grad we had from San Diego.”

San Diego. Palm trees. DeVries snorted at the vision of a southern California cop in a blizzard.

“After the fourth time we towed his patrol car out of a ditch, we sent him home,” said Ware.

Stanfeld shook his head. “If you ladies are finished chatting, we might move on?”

Ware resumed his seat.

Now what would have dragged an Idaho cop to California? Odd.

As deVries leaned against the wall, Stanfeld told him, “I came in to talk with the local law enforcement about luring Parnell and Ricks here, where there are limited ways in.”

“And fewer people to fuck things up,” deVries said.

“Exactly.” Stanfeld nodded. “I know you don’t want Lindsey as bait, but—”

The phone on the desk rang.

“Lieutenant Masterson.” Virgil listened and glanced at deVries. “You seen Lindsey here?”

DeVries straightened. “No. Why?”

Masterson’s jaw hardened. “We’ll check around town. What’s she driving?”

He hung up and looked at the others. “She’d told Logan she’d answer the desk phone while he cleaned cabins. He came back, and she wasn’t there. Her car’s gone.”

“Maybe she went to join Rona and Dixon,” Stanfeld said.

DeVries’s gut clenched. “If she said she’d watch something, she wouldn’t leave until relieved. She’s solid like that.”

Masterson was on the phone to his wife. Seconds later, he hung up. “No Lindsey. And Summer says it’s getting to be a whiteout up there.”

“That’s bad,” Ware said to deVries. “What are the chances your coyotes have already grabbed the bait?”

He answered Ware through a dry throat. “Too fucking good.”

***

The snow was falling so thickly the forest looked as if it were draped in gauze. The car fishtailed with every corner, almost sending them over the side of the mountain. By the time Parnell’s hireling turned off onto a barely visible road, Lindsey’s jaw was clenched to an aching tightness.

And she was freezing. The man had shoved her out the door, not letting her get her jacket. Shivers racked her body as her old car finally started to put out some heat.

The car hit a patch of ice and slid toward a tree as the man frantically fought to regain control.

“You’ve never driven in snow, have you?” she said, forcing the words out.

“Shut up.”

Biting her lip, she worked her fingers. Even though she’d accompanied him without fighting, the man had tied her wrists together in front of her so tightly her fingers were half numb. Still, she needed to be able to move when—if—rescue came. It must come.

Logan would finish his chores eventually and notice she was missing or realize Becca was late. But how soon would they begin to search? And could rescuers even find them in the storm? When the man had seen her cell phone attached to the car charger, he’d thrown it out the window to remove any chance of tracking the GPS.

No one would arrive in time—if anyone arrived at all.

As her breathing sped up, she bit down on her tongue sharply. No panicking. She had to believe Zander and the men had a chance of finding her and Becca and the baby.

Oh God, I’m scared.

Her fingernails dug into her thighs. Parnell would hurt her. Kill her. Hurt Ansel.

Ansel. Cold determination smothered the roaring fear. She had to save the baby.

Branches scraped and squealed along the sides of the car as the tiny dirt road narrowed. She stared out at the snow, thinking she could have walked faster than the car was moving. “Can I ask how you found me? I mean, how you found me in Yosemite?”

“Traced you to Demakis Security. Staked out the building. I followed you.” He glanced at her. “Parnell broke into your duplex before he drove here.”