Torpedoing through trees at breakneck speed, Kelly Morgan drew a frustrating blank as she glanced down at the intricately detailed bodice of the white dress she wore. Branches slapped at her face and torso, catching the puffy layers of the full-length dress. She pushed ahead, anyway, because a voice in the back of her mind rang out, loud and clear.
It shouted, Run!
Trying to recall any details from the past few hours, let alone days, cramped her brain. All she remembered clearly was that there’d been a man in a tuxedo trying to force some kind of clear liquid down her throat.
Other than that, Kelly was clueless as to what she was doing in a white dress and her dress cowgirl boots barreling through the woods on a random ranch.
A cold front had moved in and she was shivering in her formal attire. Instinct told her to follow the creek.
As she fought her way through the underbrush, a vine caught the toe of her right boot. Her ankle twisted, shooting pain up her leg and causing her to stumble forward a few steps as she tried to regain balance.
Those couple of steps couldn’t stabilize her.
Momentum shot her forward onto all fours.
Thankfully, she missed banging her head on a mesquite tree by scarcely two inches. Her knees weren’t so lucky. They scraped against thorny branches. Rocks dug into her palms as she landed on the hard, unforgiving earth.
It was probably adrenaline that stopped her from feeling the pain of her knees being jabbed by rough edges and her hands being cut by sharp rocks.
Or whatever was in that glass of water the tall, bulky tuxedo-wearing male figure had forced down her throat.
“Tux” seemed familiar but she couldn’t pull out why. And the drink he’d tried to shove down her throat? Kelly had instantly figured out that it was laced with something. The second that tangy liquid had touched her tongue, she realized how much trouble she was in. The tacky metallic taste must be what it would have been like to lick a glue stick that had been dipped in vinegar.
Of course, she’d spewed out as much of the liquid as she could, but then the dark male figure—why couldn’t she remember who he was or the details of his face?—had pushed her a few steps backward until her back was flat against the wall. He’d pressed his body against hers, pinning her. He’d been so close, mere inches from her face, and yet she couldn’t recollect the details of his face. She’d struggled for control of the glass before he forced the liquid into her mouth.
All she recalled next was the gross metallic taste and the overwhelming feeling she wanted—no, needed!—to vomit. The cool liquid had made gurgling noises in her throat as he forced back her head. The room had spun as a dark cloud wrapped around her, squeezing, suffocating her.
Instinct told her to fight back and get out of the bride’s room of the small wedding chapel. But why she’d been there in the first place was still fuzzy.
The memory caused a rocket of panic to shoot through her and her brain to hurt. She pushed up to a standing position and grabbed a tree trunk to steady herself.
Kelly blinked her eyes, forcing them to stay open by sheer force of will. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she needed to find shelter while she was still conscious. Temperatures were dropping every minute. There had to be a place she could hide and lie low until the effects of the contents of that glass wore off.
The minute she gave in to darkness and blacked out, any wild animal—coyote, bear or hog—could come along and use her as an easy meal.
Keeping a clear head was getting more difficult. Darkness nipped at her even though the sun shone brightly through the trees. She had no idea what had really been in that drink or how much longer she could fight it off.
At least she’d stopped the man in the tuxedo, aka Tux, from giving her the entire glass like he’d threatened to do, like he’d tried. Her quick thinking and action—a sharp knee to the groin—was the only reason she could still function. Otherwise, she’d be splayed across the velvet sofa, pliant. Dead?
That swift knee to Tux’s groin had put a halt to those plans.
Was he trying to subdue her or kill her? To what end? What could Tux possibly have gained from either?
Her first thought was sexual motivation, but for reasons she couldn’t explain she knew that wasn’t right.
Figuring out exactly who Tux was and what he wanted would have to wait until her mind was clear again. There was another threat closing in. It felt like it wasn’t more than a few feet behind her, gaining ground.
Trees were thickening and the underbrush felt like hands gripping her legs, stopping her from forward progress.
Was there anything or anyone around? Could she shout for help? Or would that draw the wrong kind of attention?
Fear that Tux would be the only one to respond kept her quiet as she dredged through the thicket. Her body was getting weaker, she was moving slower.
What was in that drink?
Rohypnol? She’d read about the date-rape drug being used rampantly on college campuses.
Kelly leaned on a tree’s sturdy trunk to stay upright as her body trembled and she tried to shake the overwhelming feeling of doom as it enveloped her.
THE WORDS HIGH ALERT didn’t begin to describe the mood at the Kent family ranch as Will Kent walked his horse, Domino, along the fence on the north-eastern border of the property. A few days ago, one of the heifers was found near the base of Rushing Creek. Her front left hoof had been cut off, mangled. As disgusting as that act was, it didn’t end her life immediately. From the looks of her when she’d been found, she’d been left to bleed to death.
Will couldn’t allow himself to believe the killer had stuck around and watched, although speculation about what had happened was running wild. Jacobstown was a small, tight-knit community that had seen little crime.
Thinking about the incident caused Will’s trapezoids to tense. His shoulder muscles were strung tight to the point of pain. It didn’t help matters that his older brother, Mitch, and his wife had been targeted by criminals and had narrowly escaped, as well. Thankfully, Mitch, Kimberly and their twins were safe. The jerks who’d been tormenting Kimberly were securely locked behind bars.
A year had passed since that incident, and there was no sign that the person or group who’d brutally killed one of his heifers