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If they couldn’t sell the houses in the subdivision, they were sunk.
Carter pushed his breakfast around his plate until it went cold, then stood up, no longer hungry. He needed to go somewhere he could think. How on earth could he pressure Rod Stevenson to take their side?
“Meet you at the mill,” he told the others. “I’m going to take a walk to clear my head.”
“I’ll meet you there later, too,” Gage said. “Need to do something first.”
“I thought you were going to help me with that edger,” Lincoln protested.
“I will. Won’t be long.”
“Guess I’ll clean up,” Hudson said. He went into the kitchen.
“Don’t you think you should stay so we can figure this out?” Lincoln asked Carter. “Sounds like we don’t have much time.”
“I think better on my feet. I’ll find you at the mill in a half hour.”
“All right.” Lincoln grabbed his dishes and Carter’s, too, to bring into the kitchen.
Carter went outside, his feet automatically taking him down the road past the lake to where it curved up the ridge. Three-quarters of the way up, he struck off on the path that went even higher to his favorite lookout. Last time he was here, Amanda was with him. He wished she was here now.
He took a seat on the edge of a ledge that overlooked the town. His dad used to find him here when he was young. They’d sit together companionably, surveying their kingdom, as his father had called it.
“Someday this will all be yours,” his dad would say with a flourish. The thought of it had filled Carter with pride.
Now his chances to revitalize it and bring his parents home were slipping away. Selling houses in Lucy’s Corner would have given them a quick way to raise the cash they’d need to make the balloon payment at the end of their loan. It might be possible to earn enough from collecting rent and fulfilling lumber contracts, but it wasn’t a slam dunk. They might struggle to attract anyone to settle here if all they had were rental homes to offer. People would come and go rather than forming a stable community. Renting had worked when the mill employed everyone, but he wanted a more diverse economic base for the town now.
Should they offer Rod a piece of the Ridge? Was that how deals got done these days?
“Don’t fall off.”
“Hell!” Carter nearly did before he caught himself, lurched to his feet and moved away from the edge. “Dennis, what are you doing here?”
“Need to show you something.”
“Show me what?” His close call made him angry, and it bugged him that anyone could sneak up on him without him knowing. When he was serving in the military, that could have gotten him killed.
Dennis led the way down a path Carter quickly recognized. He hadn’t been to the old tree fort since he came home. Curiosity won out as his anger ebbed away. He should have shown it to Amanda when they’d taken their tour of the Ridge. He bet she’d like it.
“Is the fort still here?” he asked. The elements might have destroyed it over the years.
Dennis merely grunted. He kept going, Carter following him.
“Look.”
Carter’s anticipation at seeing one of his childhood haunts fell away as he took in the sight ahead of him. The fort was still there, but that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks.
“Someone’s been sleeping here.”
“That’s right.” Dennis nodded.
“Who?”
The older man shrugged. “Thought you should know.”
“Definitely. I’m glad you told me about it.” Carter moved forward to take a closer look. The old tree fort consisted of several levels, the lowest boxed in to form a little covered room. The other levels were open-air lookouts. To a child, the closed-in room had seemed high up in the air, but as a grown man, he could see right through the open doorway to where a sleeping bag was bunched in one corner along with a couple of water bottles and empty food wrappers. “Could that have been here before we came home?”
Dennis shook his head. “Wasn’t here last week. It’s recent. I’d bet someone slept here last night.”
Prickles of awareness danced across Carter’s neck and shoulders. “Where is he now?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Dennis said.
Carter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered it.
“Why’s your truck parked here on the highway?” Gage asked.
“What?”
“Your truck. It’s on the side of the road about a quarter mile from Elliott Way.”
“Where’s Amanda?”
“Not in it.”
Fear shot through him. “Someone’s been sleeping at the ridge. In the old fort.” He filled in Gage on what Dennis had found.
“You think they’re connected?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Amanda is supposed to be in Billings.” He’d told his brothers that at breakfast time.
“She didn’t get far. Question is, did she plan to go at all?”
A new fear twisted Carter’s gut. Could Amanda have lied about why she was here all along? Had she been playing him for some reason?
No. He couldn’t believe that of her, and besides, it didn’t make sense. What could she possibly gain by sneaking around at the Ridge? She couldn’t run off with an empty house. Couldn’t steal lumber when the mill was full of workers. There wasn’t any silver left in the mine.
“Maybe she needed a pit stop and just ducked into the woods,” he said, but that didn’t ring true. Amanda was a city girl. She’d have turned around and driven back if she needed a bathroom.
“Maybe whoever was camped in the fort flagged her down and lured her out of the truck,” Gage said.
Carter swallowed. He didn’t like that idea.
“I’ll start walking up the ridge from here,” Gage said.
“I’ll cut over and come down,” Carter said. “Call the others. Tell them to come and look, too.”
“You carrying?”
Carter knew Gage was asking if he was armed. “No,” he said, cursing himself. “Didn’t think I needed to.”
“I’m not, either,” Gage said.
“Tell the others,” Carter said again. “I’m going to look for her.” Nate, Lincoln and Hudson could stop at their parents’ house to fetch weapons from the gun safe. There’d never been a reason to be armed growing up at the Ridge. Not unless they were heading out for a hunting trip.
“Amanda was going to Billings, but she stopped a quarter mile down the road,” he relayed to Dennis. “We’re going to look for her.”
Dennis lifted the edge of the dusty shirt he wore and drew a Glock out of his shoulder holster. “Take this.”
Carter tried to hide his shock.
“Been out here alone for over a decade.” Dennis’s voice grew rough. “I’ve seen things on the Ridge. I ain’t stupid.”
“Guess not.” Carter took the pistol gratefully and set out at a loping run.
“Check the mine,” Dennis called after him.
Carter slowed again. “The mine?”
“Only reason to climb the Ridge.”
He was right, Carter supposed, but why the hell would Amanda want to go there? There was nothing of value left in it or in the nearby outbuildings, if that was where she was going.
His mind went to Blake Warrington. Could she be working for him in some capacity? Could she be headed straight up and over the ridge to his property?
That didn’t make sense, either. If she wanted to report to him, she could simply call him—or drive around to his side. There was no reason to hike over rough terrain.
He continued to scan the woods around him as he raced onward. He’d nearly reached the edge of the clearing where the mine was located when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket again. He pulled it out, slowing his pace as the trees thinned. It was Nate this time—he’d sent a message to all of them.
Went by the lake. Didn’t see anything. Heading for the mine.
Carter stopped at the edge of the trees and sussed out the situation. Nothing was moving that he could see.
His phone vibrated again.
Walking straight up from town hall, Lincoln texted. Nearly to the mine.
No one’s seen Amanda at the mill. I’m halfway up the ridge now, Hudson texted.
Near the top, Gage told them. No sign of her here.
She had to be up here somewhere, Carter thought. Where else could she have gone? He could see the mine, but there was no sign of Amanda.
He eased to his left, staying within the treeline, edging toward the entrance to the mine and the nearby outbuildings. Was Amanda exploring them? Making use of them in some way?
He’d told her how dangerous those buildings were.
A screeching wail sounded from one of the buildings stopped Carter in his tracks, giving him shivers up and down his spine. It wasn’t a human sound. At first he thought it might be a wounded animal, but as his brain tried to make sense of it, he realized he’d heard it before. Humidity could swell doors and windows in old houses. When you tried to open them, they made the most unearthly noises.
A rustle in the bushes nearby announced someone approaching.
“What the hell was that?” Lincoln hissed, picking his way quickly toward him through the scrub.
“Not sure,” he whispered back. “Something in one of the outbuildings, I think.” Maybe Amanda was in there after all.
They both thought a moment, Carter trying to remember what was in those places. He hadn’t been in any of the outbuildings since he was a teenager.
“That desk,” Lincoln said. “In the overseer’s building. Nate wanted to bring it down to the house and fix it, remember?”
Carter did vaguely remember that. They’d been adolescents, Nate proud of his growing abilities in their grandfather’s woodworking shop. He’d been crestfallen when their father pointed out the desk was built right into the wall. There was no way to rescue it without destroying it.
“Maybe someone’s trying to open a drawer,” Lincoln said.
Carter craned his neck but couldn’t see anything inside the building. “I’m going to get closer. Tell the others what we heard and where we are.”
Lincoln got busy with his phone. “What if Amanda is just exploring?” he asked. “We’re all going to feel like assholes if we scare her to death.”
“Then we’ll apologize and have a good laugh about it. Don’t forget, there’s someone else up here. Whoever slept in the tree fort last night.” They were talking too much. “We’d better stick to hand signals from now on. Text the others and let them know.”
Lincoln nodded. Carter passed him and kept going as quietly as possible, which meant his trek through the edge of the forest took longer than he wanted it to.
A second groan came from the outbuilding, an almost comically loud sound. Now that he had remembered the desk, he could almost picture Amanda struggling to open its drawer. What did she hope to find in there?
A treasure map? Sprinkles of silver?
Carter struggled not to laugh, the whole situation suddenly striking him as absurd. There were five highly trained military men ranged around this clearing, ready to charge in and tackle an enemy. Lincoln was right; they were going to look pretty dumb when it turned out Amanda was just satisfying her curiosity about the place.
Of course, that didn’t account for the stranger who’d slept in their tree fort last night.
Carter hesitated. Should he cut straight across the clearing and confront Amanda? Or would he scare her to death?
He decided to stick with his first plan. He kept moving quietly, picking his way around until he made it to the far side of the outbuilding. From this angle, nothing blocked his view of the front door. As soon as Amanda emerged, he could step forward, and she’d see him, too.
“Finally,” he heard someone say distinctly. That was definitely Amanda in the building. The squealing sound came again. Was she closing the drawer?
Carter tensed. Time to show himself—
Hell.
Who was that?
Carter stilled again just in time to avoid revealing his presence.
A man stepped out of the shadowy interior of the next building. Amanda emerged blinking into the sunlight.
Right into his arms.
“Where’s my painting?”
“Dad?” Amanda struggled to understand how her father had tracked her to an abandoned silver mine on Elliott Ridge.
“Is that it?” He grabbed for the plastic shopping bag that held Afternoon in Sunshine and Shadow, but she snatched it back.
“What are you doing here?”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing here?” There was no trace of the amiable man who’d sponged off her for three months in Los Angeles. Her father was furious.
“I thought you were on the run! I was worried about you!”
Her father’s face twisted into a scornful sneer. “Not worried enough to call me.” He took a step toward her.
“I thought Buck might be able to trace a call.” Amanda stepped back. “You told me to get out of there! You said he was after me.”
“I didn’t tell you to take the painting!”
Amanda stared at him. Had Melissa ratted her out? “The painting? Is that all you care about? Buck nearly got me, Dad! He was breaking in. I had to climb out a window to escape.” When her father rolled his eyes, she lost control. “He could have killed me!”
“Buck Bronson is in jail, Amanda. Where he’s been for the last eleven years. You know that.”
“But…” She gaped at him. “You said he was free!” She couldn’t take in what she was hearing. He’d lied to her?
“Do you always believe everything you hear? You’re a grown woman, Amanda. You should know better.”
“You’re my father!”
“And I told you what you needed to hear to get you out of that apartment. You shouldn’t have come home early. Another ten minutes and I’d have been gone. Everything would have worked just fine if you weren’t such an interfering brat. Give me the painting.”
“No.” She didn’t understand what was going on, but she knew better than to do that. Her father couldn’t be trusted with it.
“Amanda,” he warned.
“No!”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a pistol. Pointed it at her. “I don’t have time for games. Hand it over. Now.”
Carter was surprised to hear Amanda call the stranger “Dad.” But when the man pulled a Springfield XD out of the waistband of his pants, you could have knocked him over with a feather. Amanda had confessed her father was an art forger, but from her story, it was her dad’s partner who was the violent one. She’d made her father sound like a victim, not the kind of stone-cold criminal who could point a weapon at his own daughter.
He heard a soft footstep beside him. “It’s me,” Lincoln murmured. “That’s her dad? Now what do we do?”
Carter wasn’t sure. Normally he’d say take the shot when it came, but even if one of them could target the stranger without hurting Amanda, he couldn’t fathom doing so in front of her like that.
“Whatever it takes to get Amanda out of this,” he whispered back. She came first in all his calculations. Her shock and fear were apparent, and it took all his strength to stay where he was. He couldn’t move without giving himself away, but Dennis’s Glock was in his hand, and he was ready to do what it took to save her.
A glance over his shoulder told him Lincoln had edged away. He knew without being told that his other brothers were fanning out around them, hidden for now among the trees and buildings. They were trained for this, he told himself. It was five against one. Nate or Hudson would have handed Gage a weapon by now. Amanda’s father had the upper hand at present—he was standing too close to her for any of them to get a clear shot—but he’d make a mistake sooner or later. That’s when they would get him.
Please, he found himself praying, to what or whom, he didn’t know. Please keep her safe.
If anything happened to the woman he loved, he didn’t know what he’d do.
This time when her father grabbed for the painting, Amanda let him take it. What else could she do with a gun pointed at her forehead?
She was shaking, choking down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her father—
He had a gun—
He was pointing it at her.
When he grabbed her arm, she shrieked. He spun her around, tugged her wrists together and bound them with something she couldn’t see. Something plastic and sharp-edged.
A zip tie?
Had he come prepared for this?
He gripped her bicep. Amanda dug in her heels as he tried to drag her into the forest.
“Take the damn painting. You don’t need me.” He’d never needed her. He’d made that crystal clear. He’d come to LA in the first place only because she was useful to him. She’d saved him three months’ rent, and in exchange he’d tangled her up in a crime. She could have been home right now, living her life, safe and happy—
No, not happy.
She hadn’t been happy until she came here.
Amanda struggled again. Tried to break free.
“Quit it. You’re my insurance policy to get out of here.” Her father pressed the gun to her temple with his free hand and reached to fish in her pants pockets, the plastic bag dangling from his wrist. He found her phone and tossed it away. Found Carter’s keys.
“Handy you brought me a getaway vehicle.”
Amanda wondered how he’d gotten here. Had he hitched a ride? Walked all the way from town?
She tried again. “If you leave me here, you’ll be able to move faster.”
“Shut up. We’re going to move fast.” As if to prove his point, he shoved her forward, past the other outbuildings and straight into the forest. Amanda stumbled along, trying to keep on her feet, not wanting to cooperate but afraid of what would happen if she didn’t. Dying was bad enough. Being shot by her own father—
The edge of the pistol’s barrel grazed her temple every few steps as they covered the rough ground together. As they began their descent, she tried to come up with a plan to get away. She imagined tripping her dad and running away through the woods, but with her hands tied behind her back, she knew she’d fall flat on her face.
Would he kill her?
Amanda didn’t know, and that was worse than anything else.
This snarling stranger wasn’t someone she recognized. He seemed pressed to his limit, almost feverish in his talk and actions. She’d never dreamed she’d fear violence from her father, but there was something off about the way he was behaving. A brittleness to him she hadn’t seen before.
She had to keep her wits about her and wait for the right opportunity, she told herself, but the farther they went down the hillside, the more her terror grew. Her dad was moving quickly, slipping and sliding down the steep slope, dragging her along with him. The minute he had her in Carter’s truck, she’d be lost.
Amanda tried to slow their pace, but her father yanked her inexorably forward. She stumbled and went down hard on her knees, nearly pulling him down with her. He let go to keep his balance, and for one brief moment, she thought she had a chance. She surged to her feet again, darted forward two steps, tripped and went head over heels. Her father was on her in a moment, pulling her upright again, swearing up a storm.
His hand gripped her bicep hard as he marched her downhill, striding so fast Amanda ran to keep up. She tripped again, and her father swore.
“Get moving, Amanda.”
“I’m trying!”
The next time she stumbled, her father struck his pistol against her head. The blow sent her staggering, woozy with pain and fear. Something warm and wet trickled down her forehead, puddling into her left eye. Blood, Amanda realized, trying unsuccessfully to blink it away.
“Dad!”
“Stop whining, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
“Why are you doing this?” Worse than the pain was her shock at the casual way he’d hit her.
“Because I had one chance to get the life I deserve and you screwed it up, like you always do.”
Like she always did? “What do you mean?”
“Why the hell do you think I got married in the first place? Because I loved your mother? Jesus, Amanda. Did you ever get a look at the two of us? You think we were meant to last anything more than a couple of weeks?”
They kept going, deep in the brambles now. As her father dragged her, thorns tore at her clothes and skin, her vision was clouded and she could barely keep her feet. They were moving so fast she could hardly think, let alone understand what he was saying. Her father was destroying her sense of herself as thoroughly as the briars were shredding her clothes.
“Your mom and I met on spring break. We had a good time. That was all it was supposed to be. We’d already gone our separate ways when she called me. Pregnant. I thought it was a joke.”
“Dad!”
“Oh, I gave it my best shot. Marriage. Fatherhood.” He made it sound like a joke. “The three of you always wanting more, more, more. What chance did I have to become the artist I knew I could be when I had to work all the damn time?”
“But—”
“Then Buck came along with his idea. I would have been rich if he wasn’t so damn trigger happy. At least I had an excuse to disappear.”
“He tried to kill us!”
“You survived.” He brushed that off. “And I got a second chance. Or so I thought. Still had to pay the damn bills, even without you three. Still had to work. Got a job painting houses. Can you imagine that? Me, painting houses?”
“Work is work,” she said. His grip was hard on her arm. She didn’t know how she could stop their headlong flight down the Ridge.
“Work is work until you fall off a ladder and break your back.”
Suddenly several things fell into place she hadn’t allowed herself to see before. Her father’s gauntness. The way he could paint for only a short period at a time.
All those vitamins.
Had they been vitamins at all?
They broke free of the brush. She knew they had to be getting close to the highway.
Had those pills been something else? Something stronger?
Something that might explain what was happening right now?
“Amanda Elizabeth Stakewell, move your ass!” her father bellowed, giving her a shove that nearly knocked her over. When she stumbled, he bashed the gun against her temple again, and she cried out. Tears blinded her along with the blood, but she could make out the highway now.
And there was Carter’s truck. Her father would toss her inside and drive her away.
Who knew what would happen then? He was out of his mind. High on something. Would they crash?
Would he dump her somewhere to die?
If she got into that vehicle, she’d never make it back to Elliott Ridge alive. She’d never see Carter again. Never know what might have happened—
In desperation, Amanda dug in her heels and ducked to avoid another blow. She twisted straight out of her father’s grip. Raced away from him blindly toward a stand of trees. She needed a barrier between her back and his gun.
When the ground dropped beneath her, she stumbled straight into another thicket and cried out as thorny branches clutched at her clothes.
“Get back here!” Her father came after her.
Amanda fought her way through the brambles, heedless of the thorns ripping her skin. She had to get away. She needed to—
Amanda screamed when a huge black shape reared up onto its hind legs in front of her. She screamed again when an ear-splitting sound roared behind her and hot pain creased her scalp. The ground raced up to meet her, knocking the air right out of her lungs. She thrashed in the bushes. Where was the bear?
Where was her dad?
Which of them would kill her first?
Sounds crashed overhead, and Amanda fought to decipher them. Men shouting. Gunfire ringing out.
She huddled in the dirt, thorns scraping her scalp and shoulders. Her hands were still tied behind her. Blood streamed into her eyes. Nausea filled her throat.
Her dad was going to get her.
Or the bear—
Amanda fought to keep conscious. Fought to push herself away from the commotion raging overhead.
As the world began to spin, she thought of Carter.
She would have liked to have more time with him.
Would have liked—
Everything went dark.