CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SAHARA SHIVERED IN her wet clothes and bare feet. Why hadn’t she dressed reasonably in jeans and boots instead of hoping to look her best when she reunited with her brother? It wasn’t like he expected her to wear her classiest business outfit to a clandestine meeting at the riverbank. No, the choice of outfit was all her doing. She’d wanted Scott to have a good impression of her after all this time.
Her only concession to the weather and location had been a longer skirt, snug-fitting sweater and booties instead of stiletto heels.
The booties should have stayed in place, damn it, but somewhere along the way she’d lost one of them, maybe while getting dragged into the small boat. She had a vague recollection of a long scratch along the back of one calf and a solid crack to her elbow.
In the process of her second kidnapping, she’d also lost her umbrella and, unfortunately, her phone.
Worse, they’d taken her gun from her.
She blamed her stupid panic for that. If she hadn’t seen Scott shot, hadn’t seen him fall, she might have kept a cool head. Instead, blind rage had driven her and she’d jerked out the gun without thinking through the fact that three men surrounded her at close range.
The redheaded goon had backhanded her so hard she’d nearly toppled out of the rickety boat. The blow was strong enough that darkness had temporarily closed in. It had been an easy thing for him to wrest the gun from her slack fingers.
Her face still stung. She was so damned cold that she appreciated the throbbing pain; at least it was something she could feel besides worry and stark, gnawing despair.
One guy looked back from the front seat. “Have you called Ross yet?”
The redhead who’d struck her in the boat and then tied her hands too tightly in the car muttered, “He’s meeting us there.”
Sahara cocked a supercilious brow. “Does he know why he’s meeting you?”
For an answer, Olsen’s frown deepened.
The driver leered at her in the rearview mirror, licked his lips and murmured huskily, “Ross won’t object, not anymore.”
“You’d be wise to leave her alone,” Olsen said.
“Right before he left, he agreed it was a good plan to get her.”
“With him, Andy. Not without him.” Olsen slumped lower in his seat. “Don’t fool yourself. When he finds out, he’s going to be pissed.”
Sahara memorized the names as they said them, and the faces now that she could see them. Eventually they would pay.
If she lived long enough.
She eyed Olsen. “So Ross is going to join us?” The more she heard, the more she thought Ross might be her best bet for surviving mostly unscathed.
Olsen spared her a glance. “You’d do best to keep quiet.”
A tall order. She couldn’t be quiet on her best days, so how could he expect it of her now, when she was so miserable that she really wanted them to be miserable, too?
If it was just physical discomfort, she could be all stoic and brave, no problem, but her heart ached, both for her brother and for the anguish she’d heard in Brand’s voice as he’d shouted her name.
The two men she loved more than life...would she ever see either of them again?
Her gaze encompassed all the men. “I’ve heard of stupid, but this is off the charts. I almost feel sorry for you, knowing how it’s going to end.”
His tone taunting, the driver said, “Ross didn’t want you hurt because he considered you more valuable if you weren’t. But the rules have changed, sugar, and you’re now free game.”
Did he have to sound so anticipatory?
“You’re a dumbass, Andy,” Olsen snapped. “In case any of you failed to notice, Ross is sweet on her. If she hadn’t tried to blow my brains out, I wouldn’t have struck her. Ross is going to be furious and that doesn’t bode well for any of us.”
“I tried to kill you,” Sahara said numbly, “because you shot my brother.”
Terrance snarled over the seat, “You lied to us! You knew he was alive and that he owed us. But you—”
Olsen kicked the seat. “Shut up!”
They all seemed out of control, not at all like Ross, who had dictated with calm decisiveness. Sahara swallowed heavily, her fear very real. Ross had told her he wouldn’t let her be hurt—but he wasn’t here and these men seemed more than capable of hurting her in many, many ways.
She needed the upper hand, and she couldn’t get it by cowering.
Turning her head, she glared at Olsen. He sat in sullen silence beside her. “Is it your plan to freeze me to death?”
“You’ll be able to get warm and dry in a few more minutes.”
Great. That meant the guys could catch up to her that much quicker. She worked up a believable tremor in her lips. “My arms are aching. Those wet ropes are tightening and I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Once you’re inside, I’ll retie you to the bed.”
Uh-oh. Trying for mere curiosity rather than dread, she asked, “There’s a bed?”
Andy again looked at her in the rearview mirror. “I’ll help you take off those wet clothes. We’ll have you cozy in no time.”
She snapped, “Will you watch the road before you kill us all?”
He grinned suggestively and went back to driving.
Terrance, the passenger in front, scowled. “Who says you get to play with her?”
“I’m the one who took the worst beating from that gorilla who came after her. She owes me.”
Sahara felt her nerves fraying. She drew up her legs and kicked Andy’s seat. Hard. “He’s not a gorilla!”
The car swerved dangerously, sliding on the wet road and damn near spinning. Olsen thrust out an arm to pin her in place until Andy got control of the car again.
Everyone was silent in shock.
Sahara, who’d half slid down the seat, struggled back up.
Olsen gripped her face in a hard hand. “Do anything like that again and you won’t like the consequences.”
“What will you do,” she sneered as best she could, given how he squeezed her cheeks. “Kidnap me? Tie me up? Freeze me to death?”
Terrance laughed. “By God, she’s got balls.”
Olsen thrust her away. “She won’t be so ballsy when I stick her in the trunk.”
Sahara snorted.
He turned to her. “Naked. I’ll stuff you in there naked—and I’ll let Andy be the one to strip you.”
Okay, maybe that quelled a little of her rebelliousness. But not all. “Ross is going to be furious. Did you know he visited me?” She lifted her chin. “We had a nice, friendly chat. He asked me out to dinner.”
Another silent shock ballooned, then burst with a million outraged questions from all directions. She sat in smug silence until they wound down, then said with derision, “Oh, so you didn’t know? Hmm. Interesting.”
Olsen, being the closest, opted for the most intimidation—by pointing the gun directly at her. “Where did he visit you?”
“A party at Douglas Grant’s house.” She took pleasure in saying, “Do you know the DA? He’s a pig, so I assume you’re good friends.”
Olsen looked blank.
Terrance jerked around over the seat to glare at her. “Why the fuck would he be visiting the DA?”
Sahara smiled. “Why, to see me, of course. He likes me.” Her gaze coasted over all of them. “He’s going to be so enraged when he sees how you’ve treated me.”
“Fuck him,” Andy said with venom, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “We need to get paid!”
“We’re here,” Olsen said calmly. “Pull around back.”
Sahara bent to see out the windshield, but until the headlights hit a stained glass window, she didn’t realize they were at a church. At least there shouldn’t be a bed, meaning that had only been an idle threat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s abandoned,” Olsen said, already clenching one freckled hand around her arm. “Don’t get any ideas about salvation.”
She managed a credible laugh. “I bet you all incinerate the second you set foot on holy ground.”
Olsen started to open the door, but it was suddenly jerked out of his hand, spilling him halfway out. Since he had a grip on Sahara, she got jerked across the seat.
The pressure on her tightly tied arms made her groan.
Ross Moran stood there, big, blue-eyed, heaving with fury. He seemed impervious to the rain drenching him, plastering his hair to his head, gluing his shirt to his broad shoulders. His fisted hands hung tense at his sides, and his scorching gaze went over her as she struggled upright.
Their eyes met, then his attention shot to Olsen. “Start explaining.”
Sensing a change in her situation, Sahara asked, “Could I please get inside first? I’m soaked, freezing and I’d dearly love to have the feeling restored in my arms.” After all, she couldn’t run off into the night, during a storm, with her arms so tightly tied. She knew she wouldn’t make it far.
If they’d remove the ropes and she could get her bearings, well then...
The blaze of anger on Ross’s face settled into an inferno of quiet rage. He withdrew a large knife from a sheath on his belt and said, “Turn around.”
Terrance protested, saying, “Ross—”
The knife pointed in Terrance’s direction. “Shut the fuck up. I’ll deal with you next.”
Alarmed, he squeaked, “Me?”
Ross looked at Olsen and Andy. “All of you.”
Trying to look brave, Andy stepped out into the rain, too—and promptly pulled up the collar to his jacket, already shivering. “We need our money, damn it.”
“I got your fucking money, moron.” Gently, Ross pressed her forward to better expose her hands. “Don’t move.” He sliced cleanly through the ropes.
“What do you mean, you have the money?” Olsen asked.
“Her brother paid it.”
More questions exploded.
“Gentlemen, please.” Sahara bit back tears as feeling rushed into her aching arms, up to her shoulders and into her neck. “Let’s get out of this miserable rain.”
Ross said, “The three of you go on in.”
Olsen heaved a sigh. “Sorry, no can do, boss. She’s got you bewitched, but what’s done is done. We can’t just turn her loose now.”
“No,” Ross agreed, “we can’t.” He scooped Sahara up into his arms, ignoring the groan she couldn’t stifle.
Her entire body ached, and now more rain drenched her. “Please tell me this relic is heated.”
“No,” Olsen said, walking alongside them. “But we installed a heater. If you don’t dismantle it, you should be warm enough soon.”
Soon she’d be free, but she kept that to herself. She couldn’t quite tell if Ross was with his comrades, or against them. His trite “no, we can’t” bothered her a lot.
Then again, he wasn’t a stupid man so he had to realize that taking a stand at this particular moment could get them both killed.
“I’m capable of walking.”
“Barefoot?” He carried her easily, leaning over her to help shield her from the rain. “I can barely see where I’m going, but I’ve already discovered roots grown through concrete, broken glass and rocks.”
Sahara peered down and saw that he was right. The puddles forming everywhere couldn’t hide the treacherous path. Not that she’d thank him. He was the one who’d started this absurd campaign against her.
They went up rickety wooden steps that creaked under Ross’s weight, then he dipped down to fit under a nailed board across a collapsing door frame and stepped into a dark vestibule. Dead vines had overtaken the crumbling plaster walls. Spiderwebs hung thick from the high ceiling.
When Ross stepped into the desolate little church, she found that very little outside light penetrated. Boards covered most of the windows, and grime coated those still unbroken. In one corner of the rectangular room, next to a toppled pulpit, a kerosene heater gave off welcoming warmth.
“Someone get a light. This place is crumbling.”
“Got it.” Terrance dug out a flashlight and turned it on. It flashed over every inch of the room in a disorienting light show. “Sorry, it’s still on strobe. Let me... There.” He adjusted it to a single beam that, when set atop a shelf, didn’t quite reach all corners of the room.
Ross carried her past several pews, most of them rotting, broken or overturned.
Someone had stacked blankets on a still intact pew near the heater. Sahara saw the coil of rope and wanted to scream. Her wrists were raw, her arms and shoulders still protesting every movement.
Ross set her on her feet, murmuring, “Careful,” when she wavered.
She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, determined to hide her weakness. “I’m fine.” She couldn’t do anything about her shivers.
He tipped up her chin. “Before you come up with some harebrained idea of making a run for it, you should know that many of the floorboards are rotted. There are exposed nails everywhere, and several holes with jagged edges. Fall through and you drop all the way to a very dank, spooky basement. If you’re not shredded on the way down, you’re bound to break a leg when you land.”
Lovely. Either put up with their mistreatment or risk mangling herself.
Then again, perhaps she had a third option. She looked Ross right in the eye and said, “I won’t be tied again. It’s horribly uncomfortable and as you just pointed out, it’s not like I can run away.”
Andy crowded close, sneering, “You’re not calling the shots, lady, so stop your bellyaching and—”
Carelessly, without even looking at Andy, Ross straightened an arm and landed a fist to his face. Andy reeled back, landed against a kneeler, tripped and slammed awkwardly into a wall. Dust and cobwebs fell from the impact.
Ross stared at him, his expression demonic in the low, indirect light. “You’re on thin ice already. Shooting off your mouth won’t help.”
Tension swelled within the church, so thick Sahara wondered that no one choked on it. Olsen and Terrance shared a look. Andy wisely clamped his lips together.
To Sahara, Ross said, “Andy’s right. You’re not calling the shots, but I see no reason to tie you. I also see no reason to keep you wet and shivering.” He turned to Olsen. “You and Terrance stand by the front door. Andy, you stand by the hall exit.”
With only a few grumbles, the men moved to do as ordered.
“Strip out of your wet things,” Ross ordered, “and wrap up in a blanket.”
Her stomach bottomed out at the suggestion. “No, thank you.” Where were her men? Now would be a good time for them to catch up.
“You’ll do it,” Ross said, “or I’ll do it for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andy grin, placated by Ross’s implied brutality.
Suddenly Ross leaned close and grabbed the lapels of her coat, hauling her up to her tiptoes. Putting his face close to hers, he growled, “Do. You. Understand?” Then, more softly, he breathed, “Trust me or neither of us will make it out of here.”
Her eyes widened. So this was part of an act, a way to dupe his men so he could help her? He’d moved his goons a fair distance away to ensure a modicum of privacy.
Taking advantage of that, Sahara murmured, “Allow me to play my part.” She swung her hand up and around, determined to slap him hard.
Unfortunately, Ross caught her wrist, his expression incredulous. “You little hellcat,” he breathed...almost with admiration.
Incensed that she hadn’t gotten in one good crack, Sahara tried to jerk free.
Ross easily subdued her, flipping her around so her back was to his chest, then locking her close with his bulky arms. She tried stomping his toes, but he wore boots and she was barefoot. Head-butting him was out since she only reached his chest.
Andy hooted. Terrance snickered.
Quietly, Olsen said, “You already know you can’t trust her, so stop dicking around.”
Over her head, Ross asked, “Is he right, Sahara? Should I go ahead and strip you now? Or do you think you can behave?”
“That depends.” Steamy heat rose from his body, alleviating some of her chill. “Will I get to undress in private?”
“In this room,” he told her, “with everyone’s gaze averted. That’s as private as it’s going to get.”
“Then I’d just as soon keep my wet clothes.”
He sighed. “Difficult to the bitter end.” In the next instant, he stripped off her coat despite her squawking struggles, then his big paw settled on her shoulder, gently groping. His gaze landed on her breasts. “I suppose your sweater is dry enough. The skirt has to go, though.” He reached for the side zipper.
Sahara slapped his hand, saying, “I’ll do it!”
For a heartbeat or two, they stared at each other, her defiant, him amused.
“Spoilsport.” He shook out a blanket, then held it up in front of her, stretched wide between the breadth of his long arms. “Good enough?”
Fuming, she gritted out, “Look away.”
He laughed softly...and turned his head.
Unwilling to push her luck any further, Sahara unzipped and shimmied out of the sodden skirt. After being dragged through the river to the boat, everything from her waist down was drenched, including her panties, but no way would she remove them.
She dropped the skirt over the back of the pew, then took the blanket from Ross and wrapped it around herself toga-style, pulling one end to drape over her shoulder. Sitting in the corner of the pew closest to the kerosene heater, she tucked her feet up under the blanket.
That little skirmish had helped her to forget, for just a few minutes, the sight of her brother falling into the mud after the gunshot. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her head in her hands.
“Sahara.”
She jerked her head up to glare at Ross.
He gave her a stern look that gradually turned into rage.
She didn’t know what to think when he clasped her chin and lifted her face, turning it toward the dim light, his gaze searching. “How did you bruise your face?”
“I got in the way of your friend’s fist.”
He straightened with a slow menace that had Olsen saying, “She tried to shoot me! It was the easiest way to disarm her.”
Sahara snapped, “You’d just shot my brother! Of course I wanted to shoot you. In fact, I still do.”
Olsen huffed. “You see? She’s nuts.”
Fury got her off the bench. Her bare feet on the dirty floor sent a chill climbing straight through to her heart. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Olsen. You’re the sexist pig who feels superior to women.”
Olsen reared back. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When you helped kidnap me the first time, I remember everything you said. I knew right then you were an insecure, ignorant—”
“That’s enough.” Ross forcibly pressed her back in her seat with a withering look that clearly said cease and desist.
“He started it.”
“For the love of... Stay put.” Assuming she’d obey, he turned away and said to the men, “Anyone else touch her, for any reason, and he’ll be dealing with me. Are we clear?”
After a collective bobbing of heads in the affirmative, Ross wanted explanations of what had gone down.
Sahara could hear them explaining the chaos of the evening, how they’d intended to take Scott.
Ross clearly wasn’t happy, especially since, according to what he said, her brother really had paid the money owed. Somehow, he’d gotten into Ross’s apartment and left it there for him to find.
“Why didn’t you tell us you got the money?” Andy asked.
“I wasn’t sure if it was a trap. I didn’t want to drag you all into it until I was sure no one had followed me.”
Olsen nodded. “I remember you told us to watch our backs.”
“I’d just gotten the text telling me the money was at my place. Even after I got home and found it, I kept wondering if Scott had men ready to close in on me—or on all of you, if I gave you away.”
“You wouldn’t,” Terrance said with conviction.
“Of course not, but a lot of good it did me trying to look out for you. Seems we might all be sunk anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“We found one guy hiding in the bushes, watching. I clubbed him in the back of the head.”
Brand! For an instant, pure terror gripped her. Then she remembered Brand calling her name, racing toward the boat.
Her pulse calmed as she realized he was okay. Injured, probably, but like her, he would recover.
Andy said, “It should have been easy, but instead of raising his hands, Scott lunged toward me. I wasn’t expecting that. I just...reacted.”
“He’s dead?”
With a shrug in his voice, Andy said, “Turned out she had a small army with her. We heard them charging in, so I didn’t stick around to take his pulse. He sure dropped like a dead man.”
In an effort to keep her heart from shattering, Sahara concentrated on listening. Once her men rescued her, she wanted to be able to give a detailed accounting to the police. Assuming any of goons survived, the very least they deserved was a long time in prison.
“How did you know he’d be there?”
Sahara was curious about that, too. She hoped they’d keep talking, the longer the better, so her backup could arrive.
Olsen said, “I was staking out the agency, seeing if we’d have a chance to grab her since they missed her on the road.”
Ross straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Terrance and Andy. They tried to take her during a trip south. She had that same bodyguard with her and he decided to shoot it out with them instead.”
Ross glanced toward Sahara. “I didn’t know anything about that.”
She stared back without reacting. Far as she was concerned, he’d started the scheme to get her, and that made him guiltiest of all.
As if unaware of the undercurrent, Olsen continued. “I didn’t see her coming or going again. I guess they were being extra cautious after that. But I noticed a dude hanging around—”
“And it turned out to be Scott?” Ross guessed.
Olsen nodded. “He tried to conceal himself, wore a hat and sunglasses and loose jacket...but that’s what drew my attention to him, you know? And then there was no mistaking him once I did look closer.”
Sahara remembered Brand making note of a man outside the agency. She supposed Scott had been trying to look out for her, or maybe he just wanted to make sure she was getting along okay after his “death.” If only he had trusted her...
“When I followed him to the river, I figured he was meeting someone, I just didn’t expect it to be her.”
Ross stared heavenward.
She seriously doubted any divine spirits were still hanging around.
“He’d been a sneaky bastard, hard as hell to find, so once I spotted him I wasn’t about to let him get away again. He was extra cautious, but I remembered everything you taught us about tailing him, staying back and not doing anything to give myself away.”
“And it obviously worked,” Ross said.
Olsen nodded. “Scott got to the river and spent an hour scoping out the place. I was up on a rise, far enough away that he couldn’t see me while Terrance and Andy got the boat. The plan was to grab him and force him to pay up.”
“It was a good plan,” Andy said, moving closer to her, propping a hip against one of the broken pews. “Until she showed up.”
“She came alone,” Terrance said. “Or so we thought.”
“She’s not stupid,” Ross stated flatly, then his eyes flared and he turned to stare at her. Quietly, he said, “You’re not stupid.”
She released an evil smile. “No, I’m not. Far from it, actually.” Scott, please don’t be dead. She wondered at the time. Brand and the others should be arriving any minute now. She needed to warn them about the rotting floorboards so that no one fell through to the basement.
Not for a second did she doubt that they’d be coming for her. Thank God the tracking device wasn’t in her phone or umbrella, since she’d lost those.
“Son of a bitch.” Ross half laughed, then stood and glanced toward the door in expectation.
“What is it?” Andy asked. Alarmed, he grabbed Sahara’s arm and jerked her toward him so roughly she stumbled off her feet and almost lost her blanket. “Did you hear something?”
Ross blew out a slow breath. “No.” He glanced at the way Andy held her and how she scrambled to keep the blanket around her. “There’s nothing there. Let her go, Andy.”
“Bullshit.” Gaze frantic, Andy jerked her to stand in front of him. “You’re in on it, aren’t you, Ross?”
Terrance frowned. “You’re losing it, Andy. Don’t say shit you’ll regret.”
Olsen now stared at the front door, too.
Wrapping an arm tight around her waist and poking a gun into her ribs, Andy snarled, “This is a fucking setup.”
Ross seemed to swell in front of her. “You little prick.” He started forward with a determined stride. “You dare accuse me?”
“I’ll shoot her!”
Ross froze.
From somewhere behind Sahara, Brand said, “Finger off the trigger or I’ll gladly kill you.”
She jumped, turned her head, and saw that Brand and Leese both stood there, grim-faced, their guns drawn and aimed.
Andy jerked around to face this new threat. He swung his gun wildly back and forth between the two men.
Taking advantage of his panic, Ross threw a meaty fist. Sahara ducked and the punch hit Andy right in the nose.
She heard the crunch.
Brand hauled her up and tucked her behind him.
Ross continued to pound on Andy, who put up a mild show of defense.
Amid the commotion, Terrance bolted out the front door, but he didn’t get far. They all heard the scuffle in the vestibule, then Terrance got tossed back inside, his lifeless body breaking another hole in the floorboards so one arm and shoulder fell through.
Justice stepped in, a taunting smile in place.
“Wait,” Sahara shouted, poking her head up from where Brand tried to shield her. “The floors are rotted! You have to be careful.”
Justice backed up—and his foot went through the floor. He caught himself from falling completely, his arms splayed wide as he grabbed for the wall with one hand, and a table with the other. “Damn.”
All hell broke loose—again.
Olsen withdrew a gun but Ross launched away from Andy and tackled him.
Leese muttered, “He’s doing all our work for us.”
After tucking Sahara down again, Brand said, “Your brother is okay.”
It felt like the weight of the world lifted off her. Leave it to Brand to know exactly what to say. “Thank you.”
Miles stepped through the door. “I suppose since no one else has tried to run out, all the action is in here?”
Leese looked to Sahara. “This is all of them?”
“Yes.” Now that each of her men had joined her, she asked, “Where’s my brother?”
“Out front,” Miles said dismissively. “He was keeping watch with me—”
Which she took to mean that they didn’t trust him, and Miles had ensured he didn’t disappear again.
“—but now he’s calling the police.”
Was he too injured to join them? “He really is okay?”
Brand closely watched the fight between Ross and Olsen. “The bullet only grazed his arm. He hit his head when he fell, but he’s fine.” With that said, he stepped around the pew. “Stay down.”
She nodded. “Okay.” Looking over the edge of the pew, she watched Brand approach the brawl. He appeared far too serious and somewhat...wounded. There was a pinched look to his eyes and a tightness around his mouth.
She glanced at Leese.
He took his eyes off the melee long enough to wink at her.
They both turned back to see the action.
Wrestling Olsen flat to his back, Ross shouted, “Stop fighting, damn it.” He pressed a forearm across Olsen’s throat. “It’s over. Let it go.”
Olsen obligingly went limp, allowing Ross to wrest the gun from his hand.
“Andy was right,” he said with bitter resentment around his great gulps of air. “You fucked us, didn’t you?”
“Actually, he’s in it as deep as you are.” Brand snatched the gun out of Ross’s hand and tossed it to Miles, who’d been about to help Justice get his foot out of the floor. “Maybe deeper.”
Ross groaned. As he turned, he said, “I don’t suppose you’d—”
Brand hit him hard enough to send him sprawling over Olsen again. Both men grunted.
Legs braced apart, shoulders bunched and fists clenched, Brand said, “Get up.”
Ross looked past him to Sahara.
She laughed. “Don’t look at me, you cretin. You brought this on yourself.”
“I tried to help you!”
“After you made me take off my skirt.”
Groaning, he shifted his wary gaze to Brand. “It wasn’t like that, man. I wanted them to believe I was still on board with their idiot plans so I could—”
Brand hauled him up, which given Ross’s size was no easy feat, and threw another punch.
Ross blocked it and took a swing of his own.
Big miscalculation, Sahara thought, when Brand took the blow, grinned and then landed several of his own against Ross, first hitting his face, then his gut, then his face again, ending with a kick to the sternum that sent him sprawling once more, this time to the hard, dirty floor.
With a sigh, she stood upright. “That’s enough.”
“I’m just getting started,” Brand said.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.” Holding tight to the blanket, she stepped around the pew and headed for Brand. “Not only will you destroy the rickety floor, but what Ross said is true. He protected me tonight.”
“Tonight, but that doesn’t explain—”
“He didn’t know anything about them ramming us on the road, or this cockeyed kidnapping plan tonight,” she explained. “If Olsen hadn’t called him, he wouldn’t even be here.”
Sluggishly, Ross sat up. “A little late, honey.”
Going tense all over again, Brand took a step forward.
Sahara grabbed his arm. “Brand, no.” Then to Ross, she blasted, “Imbecile! Don’t you know when to keep quiet?”
He touched his swollen mouth. “I’ll start now.”
Scott came through the door, one arm bandaged, a hand on the back of his head. “Too late. The cops are here and they’re going to be real interested in everything you have to say.”
Ross looked at him. “You and I have some private talking to do?”
Scott gave a mean smile. “I’m counting on it, you bastard.”
“Me?” Ross pointed at Brand. “He’s the one who was cozying up with Chelsea Tuttle.”
Brand locked his jaw. “I wasn’t, but what does that twit have to do with anything?”
Bemused, Scott said, “She’s the one who hired out my murder.”