Beth Cornelison - Rancher's Hostage Rescue

“Well, well,” the gunman said, curling his lip. “If it ain’t Mr. Hero from the bank.”

Remembering the blood he’d seen in the kitchen, Dave dropped his gaze briefly to the dark stain on the man’s side, just under his arm. Pain, then. That’d explain the guy’s pale appearance and rapid breathing. Dave had a brief moment of self-satisfaction, knowing one of his shots at the bank had hit the robber.

When the thief’s glare narrowed on him, any smugness vanished. The robber had the upper hand now, and Dave could only pray he wouldn’t be vengeful. And what were the odds of that mercy?

“Get in here!” The thug jerked his head toward the bathroom door. “Get the belt from that robe and bring it here. Hurry up!”

Dave glanced at the bathrobe in question, a light blue silky number. Lilly’s he’d wager, since he was certain he’d never seen it on Helen. Again he hesitated, hating to comply but seeing no option while the guy had a gun on Lilly.

Maybe before he’d hurt his leg he’d have felt more confident in his ability to overtake the robber, but his bum leg slowed him considerably. When he didn’t move for a couple seconds, the robber swung the gun toward him and fired into the wall just inches from his head.

Lilly screamed, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Do what he says, Dave. Please.”

“Yeah, Dave ,” the guy mocked. “Do what I say. I can’t promise no one will get hurt, but it’s still the wiser choice.”

Expelling a harsh breath and trying to keep his back and any evidence of the knife facing away from the robber, Dave moved slowly to the robe. He removed the belt and carried it to the robber.

In a move Dave had been unprepared for, the robber dropped his grip on Lilly and shoved the gun under Dave’s chin instead. “Now hand her the belt.”

He did.

Lilly took the silky strip of fabric and swallowed audibly.

Keeping the weapon trained on Dave’s head, the robber eased behind him, yanked up Dave’s shirt and pulled the knife from Dave’s jeans. He scoffed, “Nice try, Hero, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He tossed aside the knife, and it clattered as it fell onto the linoleum floor of the bathroom.

“Now, you,—” he looked to Lilly “—tie his hands behind him.”

Lilly met Dave’s eyes, as if asking what she should do. The robber noticed her hesitation, her subtle eye consultation, and shouted, “I’m not playing around here, lady! If either of you tries something, I will shoot you both in a heartbeat and lose no sleep over it. Now, move!”

She edged past Dave and gave his hand a squeeze before pulling his wrists together. He kept his arms slightly apart, allowing for some slack in the belt as she wrapped it loosely.

Dave heard the robber huff a frustrated breath. “What did I just say?”

When neither of them answered him, he yelled, “What did I just say?”

Lilly gasped and whispered, “I... I’m not—”

“No tricks! Tie him tighter .”

“It’s okay, Lilly,” Dave said, hoping to ease her guilt.

She drew the belt tighter, still allowing for a degree of comfort and a slim chance of freeing his hands later.

“Tighter!” their captor growled.

She cinched the belt marginally tighter, then inhaled sharply when the thug grabbed the belt and jerked it, hard.

“Now tie it off and find something to bind his feet.”

* * *

Lilly’s stomach churned sourly as she knotted the ends of her belt around Dave’s wrists. Without Dave’s assistance, how was she supposed to escape the robber? Maybe the bastard had no intention of leaving them alive to bear witness to his crimes. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he killed them yet?

He swung the gun toward her again, and her pulse leaped.

“You got some rope somewhere? Or tape?” He shifted his gaze to the boxes she’d been packing. “Where’s the tape you’ve used on these?”

“I, uh, don’t remember.”

The gunman stepped toward her, making a low growl in his throat. “Find it.”

As they started out of the bedroom, the gunman smacked the butt of the gun against Dave’s head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious. Lilly gave a cry of distress. Anger, fear and concern for Dave tangled in the plaintive sound.

“Let’s go. I’ve got plans for you.” He jerked his head toward the door to the hall, and steered her toward the front of the house. “First, find that tape, then you’re gonna take care of this.” Lifting his shirt, he dipped his chin and his gaze to the wound in his side.

“Me?”

“You’re a nurse, ain’t cha?” he asked, lifting a thick eyebrow.

She blinked, and an itchy feeling crawled down her spine. “How d-did you know?”

His dismissive expression was the equivalent of a shrug. “Went through your purse to find anything that I thought would help me. Very informative, your purse. Found your name badge from the hospital in Denver. What’s the name again? Lorna? Lisa?”

She held her breath, disgust writhing in her gut.

“Lilly?” he asked, and she couldn’t stop the cringe. He laughed. “Lilly. We have a winner.”

Violated was too mild of a word for what she was feeling. Her skin crawled as if he was pawing her, stripping her naked and—

Bile surged up in her throat. I’ve got plans for you...

He could still do much worse to violate her than going through her purse, learning details of her life against her will. They entered the living room, and she spotted the large roll of packing tape, one of many she’d bought, on the coffee table.

He jabbed the gun in her back. “Get that tape.”

She retrieved the roll and carried it back to the bedroom, the muzzle of his weapon poking her between the shoulder blades. Following his orders, she removed Dave’s boots and socks, then lashed Dave’s feet together.

“Keep going,” her captor said when she would have stopped at a few layers. “More around his ankles, then tape his legs to the bed, so he can’t go anywhere.”

Her heart in her throat, she bound Dave’s feet to the leg post of Helen’s bed. When she finished securing Dave, she crawled to his head and examined the red knot on his forehead. The goose egg was swelling outward. A good sign. Maybe he’d escaped damage to his skull, his brain. Then she lifted his eyelids to check his pupils. They were responsive to light, which was also good, and he groaned as she probed him, which was even more encouraging.

“What are you doing?” the gunman snarled. “Get away from him.”

“You hurt him. He needs medical attention.”

The man sneered. “Screw him. It’s his fault I’m not headed to Mexico right now. I need medical attention.”

Her gaze darted to the bloodstain on his shirt. “How bad is it?”

He raised his shirt again to show her the bullet wound. “Hurts like fire, but you’re better able to say how bad it is.”

Inhaling deeply for composure, Lilly tried to push aside her fear and focus on the robber not as her captor and a murderer, but as her patient. She examined the gash on his side but didn’t touch it. Her hands hadn’t been sanitized. “It’s deep, but it looks like a flesh wound. I need more light and a chance to wash my hands before I can examine it any closer. It needs to be irrigated and disinfected for starters, probably a butterfly bandage or stitches.”

Inspiration struck.

“Yes, definitely stitches.” She pinned the man with the steadiest look she could, praying for the authority in her voice that would cover her duplicity. “You need to go to the local ER. Stat. Without cleansing and stitches, the wound can fester, lead to sepsis—”

His eyes narrowed. “Sepsis?”