straight through Jay and hit Carlos. Panic constricted Trace’s chest, and he fought to drag in breath. His ears rang, and it seemed like he was moving in slow motion as Ray Brown rushed him.
Trace was so numb inside he couldn’t lift the gun to fire. He threw the revolver across the room, as Ray tackled him to the ground. They rolled a few times, before Trace managed to straddle him. Trace pounded his fist into Ray’s face blindly until he quit moving, then staggered to his feet and over to Ronnie.
If he didn’t get the hell out of here now, he knew the other thugs that worked at the ranch would come through that door in a matter of minutes guns blazing . If that happened, he and Ronnie would both be dead. Trace hefted her limp body and she moaned. He put her arm around the back of his neck, then bent to lift her over his shoulder.
He had to worry about the other agents on the ranch now too. Not only had he beaten the hell out of one to get a gun, he’d just shot another. Trace glanced over at Carlos, and he was unconscious. A bright red spot stained the front of his jean shirt, and there was a bullet hole in the center of the stain. Trace had given up on religion a long time ago, but he prayed right then that the agent wouldn’t die.
Nobody would believe he hadn’t intended to kill Carlos any more than they believed he hadn’t intended to kill his partner Sean Collins three years ago. Even Sean’s wife hadn't believed it. Carrie knew Sean was his best friend, but she believed all the so-called evidence they’d planted on him. When Trace got out, he intended to go see her to set the record straight. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to face her yet. And he’d been too busy helping the feds work on this case to take down Leland.
He glanced back at Carlos and wondered if he had a family, kids, like his partner did. Guilt shot through him, but he held onto Ronnie’s legs so her limp body didn’t slide off of his shoulder, and walked through the door into the bright sunlight. After his eyes adjusted, he looked around to make sure nobody was coming, then walked toward the shed where his bike was stashed. He couldn’t let himself think about that right now. He needed to get to his bike and get them the hell away from this ranch.
Miraculously, he made it to the shed without coming across anyone else . He saw several of the ranch hands standing by the big barn up near the house discussing something. Balancing Ronnie’s weight, he opened the shed door and stepped inside the darkness.
He patted her rear end . “Ronnie, wake up.”
She didn’t move , so Trace eased her to the ground and took a deep breath. How the hell was she going to ride a motorcycle if she was unconscious? In the darkness, he searched through the piles of various supplies stacked against the wall. A rope caught his attention, and he walked over to pull it out of the pile. It was long enough to do the job, but he couldn’t take her on the bike naked.
Trace pulled his work shirt off, then lifted her shoulders and draped it around her . He put her bloody hands through the sleeves. Those damned cuffs had cut her badly. He wanted to go back to that holding pen and beat the shit out of Ray Brown again. Abusing women was not something he could tolerate. They’d kept him out of the holding pen when they had the illegal girls in there. Thank god, or he probably would have found a way to let them all get away. That wouldn’t have done the feds any good with their case. And it probably would have gotten him killed.
Patting her cheeks again, Trace said a little louder . “Wake up, Red. C’mon, I need you to help me, help you.” He hoped parroting her words back to her would make her mad enough to wake up. Penetrate the drugs he knew were in her system. He felt her forehead and it was clammy. Worry shot through him. He couldn’t take her to the
Trace was so numb inside he couldn’t lift the gun to fire. He threw the revolver across the room, as Ray tackled him to the ground. They rolled a few times, before Trace managed to straddle him. Trace pounded his fist into Ray’s face blindly until he quit moving, then staggered to his feet and over to Ronnie.
If he didn’t get the hell out of here now, he knew the other thugs that worked at the ranch would come through that door in a matter of minutes guns blazing . If that happened, he and Ronnie would both be dead. Trace hefted her limp body and she moaned. He put her arm around the back of his neck, then bent to lift her over his shoulder.
He had to worry about the other agents on the ranch now too. Not only had he beaten the hell out of one to get a gun, he’d just shot another. Trace glanced over at Carlos, and he was unconscious. A bright red spot stained the front of his jean shirt, and there was a bullet hole in the center of the stain. Trace had given up on religion a long time ago, but he prayed right then that the agent wouldn’t die.
Nobody would believe he hadn’t intended to kill Carlos any more than they believed he hadn’t intended to kill his partner Sean Collins three years ago. Even Sean’s wife hadn't believed it. Carrie knew Sean was his best friend, but she believed all the so-called evidence they’d planted on him. When Trace got out, he intended to go see her to set the record straight. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to face her yet. And he’d been too busy helping the feds work on this case to take down Leland.
He glanced back at Carlos and wondered if he had a family, kids, like his partner did. Guilt shot through him, but he held onto Ronnie’s legs so her limp body didn’t slide off of his shoulder, and walked through the door into the bright sunlight. After his eyes adjusted, he looked around to make sure nobody was coming, then walked toward the shed where his bike was stashed. He couldn’t let himself think about that right now. He needed to get to his bike and get them the hell away from this ranch.
Miraculously, he made it to the shed without coming across anyone else . He saw several of the ranch hands standing by the big barn up near the house discussing something. Balancing Ronnie’s weight, he opened the shed door and stepped inside the darkness.
He patted her rear end . “Ronnie, wake up.”
She didn’t move , so Trace eased her to the ground and took a deep breath. How the hell was she going to ride a motorcycle if she was unconscious? In the darkness, he searched through the piles of various supplies stacked against the wall. A rope caught his attention, and he walked over to pull it out of the pile. It was long enough to do the job, but he couldn’t take her on the bike naked.
Trace pulled his work shirt off, then lifted her shoulders and draped it around her . He put her bloody hands through the sleeves. Those damned cuffs had cut her badly. He wanted to go back to that holding pen and beat the shit out of Ray Brown again. Abusing women was not something he could tolerate. They’d kept him out of the holding pen when they had the illegal girls in there. Thank god, or he probably would have found a way to let them all get away. That wouldn’t have done the feds any good with their case. And it probably would have gotten him killed.
Patting her cheeks again, Trace said a little louder . “Wake up, Red. C’mon, I need you to help me, help you.” He hoped parroting her words back to her would make her mad enough to wake up. Penetrate the drugs he knew were in her system. He felt her forehead and it was clammy. Worry shot through him. He couldn’t take her to the
Similar Books
