Jordyn Redwood - Taken Hostage

And then this man—someone who knew her—had saved her life.

Regan wanted to sit up but thought it best to defer to his judgment for the moment. She clenched her lips against the nausea. Concussion for sure—no need for radiation to determine that. All her limbs worked, though slowly, like her electrical impulses were swimming through molasses.

After blinking several times, her fuzzy vision began to clear and the first thing she zeroed in on was an intense set of sapphire-blue eyes. Impossibly dark and captivating. As her view of his face broadened, she took in his well-trimmed beard and brown hair cut short but not messy. More like expertly tousled. How could he look so composed after this encounter when her heart raced like a rabbit that had overdosed on caffeine? He took her hand in both of his to stop her shaking. His broad smile was disarming.

“What happened?” Regan asked. To her, her voice had never sounded so fearful.

Another series of whooping sirens signaled an ambulance struggling to break through the jam of halted vehicles and scared drivers.

“An SUV came up and ran you off the road but...”

Colby’s voice trailed. Something definitely troubled him. Regan’s chest caved. What could be worse than what had already happened?

“They used a certain maneuver to get your car to spin around like that. You have to be trained in how to do it. Those men who tried to hurt you aren’t amateurs.”

What did that mean? Regan shook her head. She hadn’t had an incident with another driver. Could this just be a case of mistaken identity?

As if reading her mind, Colby said, “This wasn’t road rage. I think they wanted to take you.”

Kidnap? Regan’s body poured more adrenaline into her blood. Could he be right?

“Why do you say that?”

“Because when I picked you up they stopped shooting except for one well-placed round in the hood of my truck. I’m guessing to try and disable it. It seemed like they didn’t want to risk hurting you. Did you know those men?”

“I...” Regan tried to process his theory through the cobwebs that spun in her mind. None of this made sense. She was a doctor. A healer. Who could possibly want to hurt her? “I didn’t even see them.”

Colby raked his hands through his wet hair. “And I didn’t have time to get a good look at their license plate.”

“How do you know me?” Regan asked.

“My sister is Samantha Waterson.” Colby tapped his hefty, black watch. “My family was going to meet with you right about now to discuss whether or not you’d picked her for your research protocol—to save her life.”

Regan bit her lip. After all that he had done for her, how could she say no?

“Why do you think they were experts?” Regan asked.

“Because I learned that exact maneuver when I served in the military. What they did wasn’t by accident.” He nodded behind her, and she eased up and looked behind.

A duo of police officers was walking toward them. He grabbed her hand again, his eyes imploring hers to understand his message. “The police aren’t going to find those men and they’re going to come back for you. Mark my words.”

Regan couldn’t connect a logical thought in her mind. Whoever this man was—this stranger, who had saved her life at great risk to his own, seemed to have intuitiveness in understanding the criminal element.

“How do you know they’re coming back?”

“I hunt criminals for a living. I know how they act...how they think.”

A patrol officer kneeled next to her. “I’m Officer Johnson. I need to ask you a few questions. Your name?”

Regan was still shaky and now the cold was settling into her bones. The rain lightened to a fine mist.

“Regan Lockhart,” she answered.

The officer glanced at Colby. “And you are?”

“Colby Waterson.”

And in that instant Regan knew she didn’t want to be separated from the one man who’d already proved he’d risk his life to protect hers.

TWO

Colby cinched the gray wool blanket the police officer had brought around Regan and then placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her tremors. “You’re okay. They’re gone. I’m not leaving you.”

She looked at him with grateful eyes, and he paused a moment to try to ascertain their exact color. Gray? Green? Right now as dark and brooding as the clouds that had released their payload of rain.

One of the responding officers handed Colby a basic first-aid kit. He popped open the tab and grabbed a package with a large square of gauze, removed it and pressed it gently to her cut. The rain mixed with blood and trickled down her face, making her injury appear more severe than it was. She winced at the pressure and covered his hand with hers in response.

“Sorry,” Colby said.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems hardly adequate.” Her teeth chattered, and Colby sent a dismayed look to the police officer.

“Any chance we could get her out of the rain?” he asked, his tone edgier than he wanted it to be.

Not only was she trembling from fear but the withdrawal of adrenaline from her system exacerbated her unsteadiness. Add that to the cacophony of voices around her and he was surprised she hadn’t shut down completely.

The black GMC had vacated the scene, and Colby gathered from police communications that no one had spotted it. Two paramedics carrying orange trauma packs weaved their way at a jog toward their position.

“Ma’am, can you describe to me what happened?” Officer Johnson asked.

A paramedic kneeled next to her. “Hi, I’m Leonard. What hurts?”

Johnson’s partner asked, “Did you get a look at the driver of the other vehicle?”

Colby’s chest ached and he could feel his blood just about to boil. He stood and motioned everyone back. “Give her some space,” he ordered. “This is what we’re going to do.” He turned to Johnson. Thunder boomed, and Regan huddled farther into the blanket. “First, out of this rain before it starts to pick back up again. Then, medical gets to take a look at her.” He pointed his finger at the officer. “Then a witness statement. Are we clear?”

All nodded, though Johnson narrowed his gaze in a who-does-he-think-he-is glare, but they looked in agreement enough to comply with his demands.

Colby held his hand out to Regan, and she took it willingly but stood too fast. Colby stabilized her with a quick arm around her waist before she fell back down. Regan gripped his arm tightly until her trembling eased. She stood straighter and gave him a gentle smile. Threads of her red hair stuck to the wound on her forehead, and he took his finger and gently eased them away.

He kept his arm around her waist until she was safely sitting in the back of an ambulance, on a gurney. Leonard took the blanket off her shoulders, pushing up Regan’s sleeve to take her blood pressure.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Shaky,” Regan responded, her voice clearer, in control.

Johnson stepped into the back of the ambulance and Colby traded places with him so he could get close. The officer would be able to get some of the information he needed just from listening to the paramedic’s interview.

“Is it all right with you if the officer is here?” Leonard asked.

Regan glanced at her watch. “Whatever speeds this up. I do have patients to see at the hospital. I’m late.”

Colby checked the time, as well. Had it been twenty minutes since this thing unfolded? It seemed like just a few had passed. “I’ll call the hospital and tell them you’re going to be delayed. Be right back.”

He stepped down from the rear of the ambulance and walked back to the scene of the crash. Something was going on here—something bad that involved this doctor. His gut was tossing up so many red flags that all he could see was red. The maneuver to push her off the road, in the middle of rush-hour traffic no less, cried of either desperation or determination. Both of which could have proved deadly. He found his cell phone among the shattered glass of his windshield on the floor of his passenger seat and dialed his mother.