Cassidy Read online

  “That old biddy must have surprised her,” Hank said. “This chick had a Bluetooth earpiece on her. A cell phone. She’s got company somewhere, and they’re missing her by now. We need to make her disappear and plead ignorance when they come looking for her. No one knows she’s here yet. We got a little time.”

  “Who are you?” Cassidy didn’t understand which one of his goons Cain was talking to until his next question. He tapped at something and asked, “Can you hear me?”

  Ha! He had to be talking into her earpiece. Cain was an idiot to taunt Rourke like he was, and she’d give ten-to-one odds that Rourke was on his way. As much as she probably needed Rourke to save her, she wanted to be the one who brought this phony prophet to his knees. She didn’t want to be known as the feminine shadow to Rourke’s very masculine hero. This was her chance to prove she was as good as every military-trained sniper on The TEAM, and she’d blown it.

  “Now that I have your attention...” Cain’s tone changed from inquisitive to hard, “hear this. Whoever you are, the second you breach my walls I will kill your little, blonde girlfriend. Yes. I have her, and I intend to keep her.”

  Great. Now you’ve really pissed him off. He’s coming for you. Do it again.

  “And I will do it,” Cain hissed, “right out in the open where you can watch.”

  Cassidy had to hold her breath to keep from reacting. Her helpless situation fueled her rage. She might be a little tied up at the moment, but she was willing to join her senior agent in whatever payback he was planning.

  Hank lowered the board to the floor and let it drop that last few inches with a thud. Judging by the diminishing sound of his voice and footsteps, Cain was leaving. But one of his goons had walked to the other side of the barn. Metal clanged against metal. Some kind of a door screeched open. “Which brand you want me to use?” Hank asked from the shadows, his voice filled with a creepy delight.

  A full-blown shiver skated up Cassidy’s bare neck. B-b-brand? Oh, damn. He did enjoy hurting others.

  Cain hadn’t left like she’d thought, either. He’d only walked to the rear of the barn with Hank.

  Greg still stood at her side, and then she felt it. He pressed something small and circular into the palm of her hand. A ring? “It’s okay,” he whispered, still clutching her hand. “I know you’re not unconscious. Trust me. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  She faltered, not sure how to respond. Cain and Hank still conversed in low tones at the other side of the barn. They couldn’t hear what Greg was telling her, but trust one of Cain’s henchmen? Do I dare?

  “Don’t lose it,” he whispered. Without another word, he removed the ring from her limp hand and tucked it into her front pants pocket. “This will be our little secret. It’s a gift of my true feelings. Keep it safe for me, will you please?”

  Another loud clang broke through the confusion in her head. She smelled heat again. Cain and Hank were suddenly too close, and the thing they had brought with them was searing, damned hot.

  She forced her mind to a calm place, the way she’d been taught when she joined The TEAM and learned to be a real sniper. What was it Rourke had always told her? Find your happy place. Plant your mind. Block the world. Focus.

  His words bounced off the rising panic skittering up her spine. Growing up in Utah, her happy place had always been Tony Grove up Logan Canyon—one of the prettiest places in her world. She summoned the essence of that singular place, focused on it like she’d never focused before. Pristine mountain lake. Moose browsing in the willows. Mule deer sauntering through fragrant pines. Beavers slapping their tails on the water. Albino trout. Clear blue sky. The scent of sage. Take me away, she prayed. Please. Take me away.

  Someone lifted the brand to her face. Had to be Hank. She doubted the fake prophet would do his own dirty work, and Greg seemed—safe. Maybe.

  Hank didn’t have to touch her. The heat roiling off the metal was enough to singe her chin and make her want to scream. Her skin felt as if it were melting, dripping like tears down her neck.

  Her panic tripped over itself. Tony Grove. Hawks on the wind. Sheep on the hillside. Sage. I’d rather smell sage. Give me sage. Now, damn it! The chant cranked up faster in her head. Bluebirds. Midnight canoe rides. Bat cave. Skinny-dipping. Albino trout. Sage. Sage. Sage!

  The smell of scorching flesh tickled up her nostrils. God, help me, damn it! I’m being barbequed!

  Hank’s hard hand gripped her wrist. “You want me to burn the palm of her hand or her ass?”

  Neither! God! Don’t let them do this!

  “Hmm-m-m.” Cain sounded as close as Hank, but thoughtful. Watchful. Like a son-of-a-bitchin’ snake stalking its warm-blooded prey. Waiting for the right opening to strike. “The crescent moon on her hand would show her sins to the world, but...” He paused.

  Thank God! Her heart launched into the end of the 1812th Overture, beating so strong and so hard they had to be fools not to detect the drumming pulse at her neck.

  “But a brand on her ass would be so much more fun,” he purred.

  The roar of the cannons’ volley blocked any happy thoughts. No. No! Don’t! Do not violate me, or I’ll... I’ll...

  Hank grabbed her belt buckle, and Cassidy’s heart stopped. Or I’ll cry.

  Tony Grove slipped away. Panic ruled. She was alone in the middle of a barn where no one would hear her scream, held captive by psychotic men who had no trouble torturing women. Suppressing the cry at the back of her throat took all the willpower she had left, and there wasn’t much.

  Unbuckling her belt, Hank grunted in her face. “You ain’t kidding no one. You’re faking. I can tell.”

  She caught herself just before she would’ve rammed her head into his nose and given him some of his own medicine. But who held the brand if Hank had hold of her belt? Cain? Greg? Her spirit cringed, even as she steeled her body not to react.

  The awful thing these men meant to do to her was going to happen.

  Hank slid his hand inside her waistband. With his fingers against her bare skin, he gripped her pants like he intended to pull them off without bothering with the zipper. She prepared mentally to be stripped bare, trying desperately to control her breathing. This pig was going to lay his hands on her, and she would take it. She needed to keep her cover and not destroy the mission that she’d jeopardized. This was all her fault. She knew it. She deserved this, and she was going to take one for The TEAM, and for Melissa McCormack, and—

  Damn you, Alex Stewart. Damn you, Rourke. The things I do for The TEAM.

  The blistering brand came too near her face again. Why? Had she missed something? Had Cain changed his mind? Was she to be branded on the face instead of her backside? God, please, don’t let them blind me.

  “She really is unconscious,” Greg offered quietly from the sidelines. “She would’ve screamed by now. No woman is that tough. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  Yes! Give me the benefit of the doubt.

  “No.” Hank jerked at the waist of her pants. “She ain’t. I can tell.” He stuck his nose in the side of her face. “I can smell her fear. She reeks of it.”

  “She reeks of cow shit,” Greg muttered disgustedly. “You had to go and drop her in that crap.”

  “You got a problem with how I do my—”

  Cain finally spoke. “That’s enough, Hank.”

  Hank snorted, but he let go of Cassidy’s pants and stepped back. It took more strength to not blow out a huge sigh of relief. Cassidy congratulated herself mentally even as she tried to calm the adrenaline rush hammering through her system like an out of control bull elk during fall rut.

  See, Rourke? I really am tougher than you. Maybe. Sheesh.

  “But she needs to be cleansed and taught the gospel if she’s going to stay.” Cain had turned away again. Once more he was headed away from her and hopefully toward the door.

  “Let her go?” Hank didn’t seem too happy. “Just like that, you want me to let her go? Without any punishment? At le
ast, let me mark her. She’s got that much coming. For God’s sake, she’s a trespasser, and one of her Special Forces buddies is probably on his way in to get her right now. They don’t leave any of their guys behind, or have you two forgotten that?”

  “I said no,” Cain growled. “Greg will keep an eye on her. He’ll make her his.”

  “Will do,” Greg answered quickly, sounding more like a butt-kisser instead of a trusted savior.

  “And then what?” Hank was definitely perturbed, his voice low and sharp.

  “Penance for now,” Cain replied.

  “The garden?” Hank growled. “That’s all? You’re only gonna make her work in the garden and pull weeds after what she’s done?”

  “Punishment will come later, when and if I’m sure she deserves it.”

  “But she’s a spy.”

  “She could be useful to us alive.” Light flooded the barn as Cain opened the door. “Very useful.”

  Hank continued grumbling, but suck-up Greg spoke right up. “Very wise, Prophet Cain. Converting this woman will prove the power of your ways. Turning a professional soldier into a believer will fortify your teachings. More and more followers will come.”

  The creep just wouldn’t quit.

  Cassidy knew what Cain meant by her being useful, and it had nothing to do with religious conversion. S he’d be reduced to slave labor or a whore, or worse, a poster girl for the infamous Palma Christi Cult. One of those pioneer-dress-wearing women who looked like they needed a shot of B-12 and a night out on the town. Maybe a good stiff drink, too.

  “Exactly.” Cain was back to purring again, his self-satisfaction evident.

  The heavy metal brand clanged, once more stored in its place and far from her. She hoped.

  “Greg,” Cain said. “Strip her down and put her in a dress. Secure her pistol and ammo in my home. Burn everything else. We don’t want any sign of her previous life to interfere with our indoctrination. Be thorough.”

  “Will do, Prophet.”

  So, Greg is the yes man. Hank is the enforcer. Cain is still the ass. Good to know.

  “Begin prayers immediately. The sooner she hears the words, the quicker she’ll accept them and belong.”

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  Belong? That word caught her attention. Belong to who? Or What? This insane cult? To Greg? That wasn’t going to happen. Cassidy allowed herself to relax when Hank left with Cain, still grumbling. She almost sighed out loud, but Greg was still there. At least he hadn’t assisted with the branding. Maybe she could trust him. Prayers were just words, and words she could handle.

  Being scarred for life? Not so much.

  Chapter Three

  Not good. Only Cain and Hank left the barn. Definitely, not good.

  Greg was still in there. Jude brushed a quick hand over his head, knowing what he should do but scared to do it. He’d already acquired a sharp knife, but he cussed his weakness. If only Cassidy hadn’t looked at him. If only he hadn’t seen the fear in those damned brown eyes. But he had.

  What have I gotten myself into? I’m already on a mission. This is about Judith. I can’t waste time on anyone else. I can’t. But... I could create a diversion.

  He ducked inside the milk house, looking for anything to fit the bill. A fairly sanitary little building once used to cool and store milk, it stood whitewashed and empty at the moment. It held no secrets and less help. The dusty green pop bottle on the windowsill caught his eye. A plan evolved. I know how to start fires. I was a Boy Scout.

  Grabbing the bottle, he stepped outside. The cows might not be there anymore, but their memory lingered. The huge mound of manure they’d left behind had been concealed with straw months ago, but what lay beneath still contained great potential. Jude broke the bottle against the stone foundation, finally ready and able.

  Angling the thick glass to narrow the beam of sunlight, he tucked it in nice and tight, then retreated to watch. This little distraction might give him enough time. Time for what? The row of empty wheelbarrows lined against the back of the barn gave him another idea.

  A wisp of smoke drifted up from the pile, then flash—an orange flame whooshed to life. Perfect. His heart pounded. He needed to hurry, but this next part of his impromptu plan had to be timed just right. Greg hadn’t come out of the barn yet.

  Whistling an approved hymn, Jude grabbed a wheelbarrow and pushed it alongside the barn and away from the fire, biding his time. There were two exits on the south-facing wall of the barn, one toward the west corner, the other at the east. As quickly as Greg came out to help fight the fire, Jude intended to go in. He’d have to be fast, but for now, he moved methodically slow, waiting for someone to raise the alarm.

  For once, he approved of Cain’s archaic commandment against modern conveniences, including rubber hoses. This fire should burn hot and quick. It should put the adjoining bean fields at risk. He hoped. Everyone needed to be too busy hauling water to notice him.

  At last some guy bellowed, “Fire!”

  Right on cue, Greg slammed open the west door. Jude kept his head down. Sure enough, every man and woman within distance of the dinner bell ran east. Greg too.

  Jude ducked inside the barn and ran that wheelbarrow straight to Cassidy, his heart beating out of control. She lay still tied to the board. A large tub of water nearby. He screeched to a halt alongside the board. “What’d he do to you?”

  She didn’t answer. Unconscious and wet from her waist up, her hair laid sodden in a puddle beneath her. He dropped to his knees and cut the belts. Too late, he had her off the board and in his arms, but what had Greg done?

  Jude pushed the wet hair off her face, the poor thing. Round blisters pocked the right of her chin, a very delicate chin. Frantically, he cupped her throat until he located a steady pulse. Thank God. Tucking her under his chin, he pushed off the floor. She whimpered, sounding more like a hurt little girl than a tough private eye. Dipping his chin to the top of her head, he said the only thing he could while he transferred her to his getaway vehicle. “You’re safe now.”

  Grabbing a dusty pair of coveralls from a hook near the door, he draped them over the wheelbarrow to keep her hidden, needing to run before they were both caught. This next part to his hasty plan could end everything.

  He swallowed hard and braced a palm to crack the door just enough to see what was going on. The east side of the yard came into view. Sure enough, a bright orange band of flames spread into the field. An enormous black cloud of smoke billowed overhead. People ran in all directions. Some barked orders while most followed.

  Anxiety hurried him out the door and into sight. He had his few precious minutes. He hustled, damn it. Around the front of the barn. Past the silo. Through the deserted garden. Straight for the root cellar at the nearest end of the granary. He nearly stumbled over his own clumsy feet in his haste, damn it.

  Cassidy hadn’t made a sound, but this was the stupidest, bravest thing he’d ever done. Would she survive? He honestly didn’t know, but dead or alive, she was out of the barn, and that was good enough.

  He banked too sharply at the cellar, nearly losing his cargo. With a groan and a grunt, he righted the wheelbarrow and pulled up just short of the slanted, ground level door.

  “We’re here,” he muttered more to himself than to her. Casting the coveralls aside, two brown eyes stared back at him, and his heart fell. A trembling girl with tears in her eyes had replaced the gutsy woman.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he offered immediately, needing her not to scream and draw attention to him. Keeping his eye on the still empty yard, he asked, “Can you walk?”

  She nodded, but when he lifted her to her feet, her knees buckled. He caught her easily. She was all of one hundred pounds of bone china delicate. His stupid heart stuttered, like he had time to think how delightful this woman’s body felt. But he did. Jude noticed every last thing. The lift of her breasts when she sighed. The brush of her wet hair on his cheek. The fact that her soft, compact build fit snuggly
into his taller, wider frame.

  A quiet murmur breathed out between her lips and seeped straight into his soul like sugar water on a dying plant. Five warm, slender fingers splayed over his chest, as if she needed help balancing.

  He ducked to peer into the sweet, pale face tucked against him. “I won’t let them get you.” He’d no sooner made another promise he might not be able to keep, when sheer panic threw his heart into cardiac arrest. What am I thinking? The penalty for betrayal of the cult and its prophet might be death. Where would Judith be then?

  With Cassidy barely on her feet, he pulled the cellar door open and right away lost hold of the handle. The damned wooden door fell with a loud thud. So did his heart. He shot a worried look at the yard, but it was empty. So far so good, but hurry, damn it!

  Well on his way to coming unraveled, he half-dragged, half-carried Cassidy down the stairs and into the depths of the dark, cool cellar, positive everyone had heard the racket.

  “I have a fire to put out,” he told her brusquely. And I can’t be seen with you. I didn’t suffer what I’ve suffered to save you. Only Judith.

  Cassidy staggered and clutched his shirtsleeve, which was really not much help since it threw him off balance. The last thing he needed. He tripped off the last step with her still in his arms, crashing into several empty crates at the bottom of the steps. Way to go, genius.

  In the tumble, Cassidy landed on top of him. She flattened her body to his chest and stomach, her cheek over his heart. Jude froze. She made that little sound again. This woman was scared.

  He pressed a palm between her shoulder blades and gave her a moment to collect herself. She hadn’t made any attempt to move once she’d landed, and honestly, what’s a man to do? Push her away? Not him. He comforted her as best he knew how. “You’ll be safe down here for a while, honest. They’ll be too busy with the fire to come look for you.”

  She didn’t speak, just kept her cheek to his chest, panting in what he hoped was relief. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, needing her to feel safe before he left her alone. It was the least he could do. This was his fault. She’d needed a hero before, but all she’d gotten was him. A worthless bean counter.