Chapter Ten
"How can you listen to that noise?" Shelly asked teasingly, but she was also being perfectly honest. They'd been driving for a couple hours now, and the heavy metal station Stan chose was giving her a headache. "I mean, it's not even real music, just a bunch of noise and screaming."
"At least I won't fall asleep at the wheel," he teased back. "I could turn on classical music, at the risk of driving into the ditch."
She rolled her eyes. "How about we compromise and turn on some good old-fashioned rock n' roll?" The tingle in her belly flared hot at the desire in his eyes when he glanced her way.
"Sure, that'll work."
His boyish charm caused a swell of love to rise in her chest.
He changed the station. "Better?"
"Yes, thank you," she said as one of her favorite rock songs blasted from the speakers.
Stan glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Carol said Maggie's having a wonderful time."
"I know." Shelly relaxed, thinking of her daughter. "She wants to have the girls over tonight, if that's okay?"
He nodded, his gaze moving to the rear-view mirror again. A frown tipped down the corners of his mouth. "Sounds like fun," he said, though she didn't think she had his full attention any longer.
"Everything okay?" She didn't like the look of worry on his face.
"Don't get in a panic, baby.” He reached over and gave her knee a quick squeeze. “I think we're being followed."
"What?" She jerked her head around to study the road behind them. "Are you sure?" Her pulse raced when she spotted a black SUV quickly closing the distance between them. The tinted windows hid the identity of the driver.
They'd been traveling for about an hour, and were in the middle of nowhere, on a winding country road. There were no other vehicles in sight.
"Hang on," Stan warned as he sped up. His gaze remained glued to the rear-view mirror, cursing when the SUV also sped up.
"Is that him?" She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice. What did this man want with her?
Stan didn't answer, all his attention on the fast approaching car. Shelly scanned the area. They were traveling down a two-lane road, with a deep embankment on their side of the road, and a rock bluff on the other. They had no place to go.
"Brace for impact," Stan bit out, right before the vehicle slammed into the back of the car on the driver's side, sending the car into a fishtail.
She gripped the front of her seat as the SUV rammed into them again. Stan cursed, struggling to bring his much smaller sedan under control. It all happened so fast, as the SUV rammed them again and shoved them off the embankment.
Shelly screamed as the car went airborne. With a jarring crash, the vehicle landed on all four wheels, slid for a good twenty feet, then rolled at least twice before finally coming to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
Dazed, she realized the airbag, now deflated, had saved her from smashing into the dashboard. A groan escaped, every muscle in her body complaining. As the shock of the accident wore off, her thoughts flew to the SUV who'd caused the accident. Terror tightened her stomach. She turned her head to Stan, and her heart lurched with dread to find him lying draped over the steering wheel. A stream of blood dripped down the side of his face.
They'd come to rest against a copse of trees, and a large branch protruded through the shattered driver's window. Fortunately, it hadn't pierced his body, but it swept across his back and embedded into the dashboard.
He was trapped.
"Stan." Fumbling for her seatbelt, she managed to unlatch it, leaning over to squeeze his shoulder. "Can you hear me?" She gave him a gentle shake.
No response.
She pressed two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. Finding a strong one, she burst into tears. "Thank God.”
Her gaze flew to the road. When she spotted the man from the photo standing at the top of the hill, panic raced through her veins. The embankment was too steep to travel down, though it wouldn't stop him for long. He was already checking the hillside for an easier path.
Stan was defenseless. She had to lead this psycho away from him.
Shelly turned back and reached for the passenger door with a hand that trembled. Throwing it open, she climbed out, dropping to the ground when her legs gave out. Gritting her teeth, she stumbled to her feet and forced her shaky legs to move.
She disappeared into the thicket of trees, and hoping he’d chase after her and leave Stan alone she made a lot of noise. As she ran, she kept an eye on the road so she didn’t get lost. Maybe she could flag down a passing car if she got the chance.
"Shelly," her stalker called out in an angry voice, "there's no place to go."
"Go to hell," she shouted back, wanting to draw him further away from the car where Stan lay unconscious. It sounded like he'd made it to the bottom of the hill, and was not too far behind her.
She frantically glanced around as she pushed aside hanging tree limbs and overgrown bushes, searching for a weapon. A stick or rock, anything to protect herself.
I can't let him go back for Stan.
She couldn't take that chance. It was up to her to stop him.
He called out again, sounding closer. "Stop now, and I promise not to hurt you."
Yeah, like she believed that. He just ran them off the damn road! She didn't bother answering as she bolted to the right. Stumbling over a thick patch of brush she flew forward, landing hard on her hands and knees.
Feeling a large stick under one palm, she curled her fingers around it as she heard him right behind her. His arrogant laugh sent shivers up her spine as she twisted around, bringing the stick up like a club and swinging it at him. To her surprise, and great satisfaction, she made contact with his upper torso and knocked him to the side.
She managed to gain her feet before he recovered his balance. When he charged her, she swung the club at his head, hoping to hit him hard enough to incapacitate him so she could get back to the car and find her cell phone to call for help.
He was quicker. Ducking, he tackled her to the ground. The force of the impact knocked the breath out of her and pain radiated from her ribs.
Still she fought. Shelly raked her fingers down both sides of his face.
"I said stop. Don’t make me hurt you."
Using every ounce of strength in her, Shelly flung back her head then brought it forward, headbutting him hard enough that she saw stars.
“Goddammit,” he snarled. “I didn’t want to do this.”
Slamming a hand against her chest he held her down, and there wasn't a thing she could do but brace herself when he pulled back a fist and swung at her face.
Something held him down.
A cool breeze touched his face, as he opened his eyes and stared at the shattered window of his car. Everything came back to him in a rush, and fear for Shelly's safety tore through him. Managing to lift his head off the steering wheel, he turned it toward the passenger’s side of the car.
Dread coiled like a ball of lead in his gut. She wasn't there, the door hanging open.
Where is she?
Stan strained to hear any sounds that could help him locate her. All he heard was a bird singing nearby and the rustle of the trees.
He again tried to straighten, before realizing he was pinned to the steering wheel by a huge-ass branch.
Think, damn it. Fury raced through him at the thought of Shelly in the hands of the bastard who'd abused her. His blood pressure shot through the roof, and his chest tightened to heart-attack level.
He spotted Shelly's cell phone on the floor near his feet, and relief crashed into him so hard it made him dizzy. Stretching out his fingers, he reached for it as sore muscles screamed. Come on, come on! He could feel the hard plastic case against the tip of his fingers. Frustration crawled through him when he couldn't get ahold of it.
He carefully slid his right foot toward the cell phone, managing to tap it enough so he could get one finger on it and slide it into the palm of his hand. Lifting the phone up, he quickly punched in Duke's number and waited impatiently for him to pick up.
After four rings and no answer, he was preparing to end the call when his buddy finally answered. "Hey—"
Cutting him off, Stan bit out, "Shelly's been taken. I'm in a ditch, pinned inside my car. Get your ass here ASAP, so we can go get her back."
As Duke quietly cursed, Stan gave him a description of the area where he'd crashed.
It'll take me an hour or so to get there," Duke said. "I'll contact the local authorities, so they can get you out of the fucking car. You sure you’re okay?"
"I’m fine. Hurry," Stan replied, agonizing over the time wasted getting him free while his woman was in such grave danger. There was no way he was getting out of this car on his own. It wasn't only the tree branch holding him down, there was also the tree the driver's side of the car rested against. He wasn't going anywhere for now.
It was the longest twenty minutes of his life before he heard sirens approaching. Twenty minutes of going crazy as scene after scene of Shelly being harmed in the most vicious ways ran through his mind, over and over, in a continuous loop.
The fire truck was first on the scene, and he was able to lift his head enough to watch three large men and one woman make their way down the embankment with bags of equipment.
"How you doing, buddy?" one of the men asked, squatting down to talk to him through the broken window.
"Get me the hell out of here," he gritted out. As hard as he tried to keep a level head, Stan was close to losing it. "This wasn't an accident, my girl's stalker forced us off the road. He fucking took her."
Another of the men leaned down to ask, "What's her name?"
"Shelly Nichols."
"Got a photo?"
Stan carefully reached into his back pocket and tugged out his wallet, handing it to the man. "Yeah. She’s the pretty dark-haired woman wearing a sexy red dress. Can't miss her."
The photo had been taken as they were leaving Club Vortex, heading out to dinner. She'd looked so gorgeous, Stan snapped the photo with his phone. Shelly was smiling at him, with an adorable blush on her cheeks at being photographed.
The man nodded, flipping through the leather billfold and tugging out the photo, while the other firefighters prepared the equipment to extract him from the car.
He tossed the wallet back on the dash. "I'll see the police get this right away. What's your name?"
The loud roar of the Jaws of Life exploded into the air as they started cutting the roof off the car. "Stanley Cooper," he yelled over the noise.
With another nod, the firefighter turned and headed back up the hill where more flashing lights were pulling in.
By the time they were able to cut him out of the vehicle Stan was in a white-hot rage. Ignoring that his body felt like one massive bruise, and the headache threatening to crack open his skull, he refused medical treatment as he gave his statement to the cops. They'd searched the entire area and didn't find Shelly, and everyone seemed to be in agreement that she'd been taken from the scene.
Duke had arrived forty-five minutes into the extraction and was currently bouncing on the balls of his feet as he impatiently waited for Stan to finish up with the cops.
It was another hour before they finally let him leave the scene, and now they were in Duke's car on their way back to Estes Park.
Stan reached into his shirt pocket for his cell phone he’d retrieved from the glove compartment of his wrecked car. He cranked his head to one side, then the other, letting out a groan at the pop of his joints as he keyed in Bob's number. They needed Dave to figure out who this guy was.
"You sure you're okay?" Duke asked, eying him with concern. "Maybe we should stop at the hospital and get you checked out on the way."
Stan didn't bother to respond as Bob picked up, and he filled the man in. They'd already lost enough time, and he wasn't wasting one more minute.
Shelly had been missing for over three hours now, and every second that passed increased the chances of her being hurt, or worse.