Rancher's Hostage Rescue. Beth Cornelison

horridness of their situation, Dave had been working through strategies, possibilities. Plans that involved him sacrificing himself to protect her. “Dave, you can’t—”

      “Just do it! Roll under the bed if at all possible. I’ll—”

      “Hey!” The robber appeared again at the door of the bedroom, an orange prescription bottle in his hand, and he sent them a warning look. “What are you two talking about?”

      Dave sat taller, and against her back, she felt the tension enter his body. “Nothing.”

      The robber stepped into the room, his expression darkening. “Don’t lie. I heard you talking.”

      “He was asking me if I was all right. If you’d hurt me,” Lilly said, hoping her apparent cooperation would win points, maybe a degree of trust. “I told him you hadn’t. That I’d helped you with your wound and that was it.”

      The robber lifted an eyebrow and nodded slowly. As if remembering the pills in his hand, he twisted off the childproof lid, shook out a capsule and swallowed it without water. When he pressed the cap back on, he fumbled the bottle. It fell to the floor and rolled toward Lilly. The robber grumbled and trudged over to pick it up.

      Lilly cut a quick glance to the prescription bottle, reading the label to see what he was taking, an address, anything she could glean about the man before he recovered the pills.

      The chain-drugstore logo jumped out at her and below that tramadol and Wayne Mo—

      Their captor snatched up the bottle and shoved it in his pocket.

      “Wayne,” she said quietly, and he jerked is head around to glare at her.

      “What?”

      “That’s your name. Isn’t it? Wayne.”

      He frowned as he blinked at her. “How’d you guess?”

      “It was on the pills.”

      He twisted his mouth in frustration and defeat but didn’t confirm her assertion.

      “Tramadol,” she continued. “That’s heavy-duty stuff.”

      His pale-eyed stare met hers. “Cancer causes heavy-duty pain.”

      Dave raised his chin, his attention clearly snagged by this information.

      The robber—Wayne—angled his head as he growled, “That’s right, Hero. I got cancer. So what? It doesn’t change a thing about this situation.” He motioned with the gun, indicating all three of them. “Now, you two behave yourselves while I go find something to eat and get some rest. I need to be sharp to figure out what’s gotta happen next, and right now, I feel like crap.”

      He stopped at the door and pulled something from his back pocket. “Oh, and in case you were hoping to get your hands on this—”

      He held up her cell phone, and Lilly’s gut swooped. Obviously he’d ransacked her stolen purse.

      “—thinking you’d call the cops or someone would track you by it...think again.”

      He stashed the gun in his waistband to free that hand and pried the protective, butterfly-decorated case off her phone. Wayne flipped over her phone, and thumb-scrolled one-handed through her screens of personal information.

      “By the way,” he said with a smirk, “Gloria sends her best. Says she knows how hard this is for you and proposes you two go out for drinks when you get back.” He thumb-scrolled again, still reading her texts.

      Lilly clenched her back teeth, fighting tears of outrage for his violation of her privacy. She hated being at this man’s mercy, feeling so helpless.

      “Jillian is canceling for the thirtieth.” Wayne flicked a casual glance at her. “Forgot her kid had an orthodontist appointment. Wants to reschedule when you get back.” With a gloating grin twisting his mouth, he gazed at her from under hooded eyes. “Maybe she should say if you get back. Alan says the alimony check will be late next month. Still waiting for a client to pay their bill before he can pay you.” Wayne cast her a curious look. “Alimony, huh? Good news, Alan. You may soon be off the hook for that.”

      “You ass,” Dave grumbled, his tone venomous.

      Wayne ignored him and continued, “Gail P. sent a picture of a kid with ice cream on his face with an L-O-L. And someone named Isaac wants to trade work days on the weekend of the fourth. And, finally, your phone bill is ready for viewing and will auto-draft on the fifteenth.” He met her eyes and cocked his head. “There. All caught up. Now...”

      Digging his fingernails into the side of the phone, he pried off the back, tapped out her battery, pinched the SD card from the slot and dropped the rest of the phone on the floor.

      “Don’t!” she cried desperately, knowing what he had in mind a fraction of a second before he stomped the screen and shattered the device to sad pieces. Carrying the SD card in his fingers, he disappeared into the bathroom, and she heard him flush the commode.

      She drew a deep breath, searching for the stoicism she wished she could present Wayne. Despite her best efforts, her sigh still shuddered with emotion. As Wayne emerged from the bathroom, she firmed her jaw and forced steel in her spine. She met his gloating grin with disdain in her glare.

      “Problem solved. Now, keep it quiet in here.” Wayne strode to the door and shot them a minatory look. “Nothing has gone right today, and I’ve got to make a new plan.”