Hitched and Hunted. Paula Graves
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to look as if you know what you’re doing. In his case, it was simple enough; Victor actually knew his way around the underbelly of a truck. He’d been a mechanic since the age of sixteen, working in garages and repair shops across three states. He’d been bitten with the wander bug at an early age. With his skills as a mechanic to sustain him, he began a twenty-year sojourn across three states to find where he belonged.
Twenty years to figure out he’d never belong in this world full of cretins and imbeciles who were more interested in expanding their wallets and waistlines than improving their minds. It had taken Alex to show him the truth: he was better than all those people he’d spent his life trying to impress.
After that, he’d lived his life as he wished, taking the jobs that would best accomplish his particular needs at the time. Alex had been generous, as well, sharing his wealth with Victor in exchange for Victor’s keen eye for opportunities.
Alex’s money had bought Victor the toolkit he was using right now under Jake Cooper’s Ford F-150.
Victor had followed Marisol and her husband from the disaster scene, seen him forced to park the truck many slots down from their motel room because of the bass boat hitched to the back. It had been easy enough for Victor to park nearby, bring out his tools and act as if he was there on business.
Victor was slender enough to slide easily under the truck and snip the serpentine belt without engaging the car alarm. He left just a thread of belt intact. It would snap within a few miles, and not long after that, the engine would start to fail.
He pushed out from under the truck and walked purposefully back to his van, securing his tools on the floorboard behind the front passenger’s seat. He stepped into the van through the side door and closed it behind him, quickly stripping out of his wet, soiled coveralls.
Then he left the parking lot and set up a couple of blocks down the service road. Cooper would have to drive past him to get to any of the three interstate access roads.
And Victor would be ready.
MARIAH WAS TOO QUIET. It reminded Jake, uncomfortably, of their first interactions three years ago. She’d showed up one day, looking for work, and his sister Hannah, always a sucker for a stray, had talked their parents into hiring the shy, pretty young single mother for the clerical job at the booking office of the marina and fishing camp the family ran.
Jake had found her stunningly beautiful from the start, but her quiet demeanor had almost nipped their relationship in the bud. He’d always preferred vibrant, fun-loving girls with lots of energy and lots of sass. Mariah’s subdued, self-contained calm seemed just the opposite.
But as she revealed her past in painful little snippets over the next week, he began to understand that what he’d seen as self-possession was really lingering sadness at the loss of her husband, Micah’s father. He’d apparently died young in a tragic car accident, leaving Mariah pregnant and alone. He’d had nothing to leave them, forcing Mariah to fend for herself and her child with her own resources.
Pity had turned to sympathy, and sympathy to infatuation. By the time she’d finally agreed to go out with him three weeks after they met, he was halfway in love. Their first kiss two dates later sealed the deal for him, and it hadn’t taken long to convince her they were meant to be a family.
They’d eloped to Gatlinburg within two months of their first meeting. He’d never doubted his snap decision to marry her, or be the father to her adorable son Micah, who’d just turned three in December.
But at times like this, when she went quiet and insular, he was reminded there were still things about her history he didn’t know. Things he hadn’t thought important.
But what if they were?
Mariah looked up, her forehead wrinkling a little as she caught him watching her. “What’s wrong?”
He tried to shake off his doubts. “Nothing. Just—you’re so quiet. You’re not feeling worse, are you?”
She flashed an unconvincing smile. “Still cold, I guess.”
He started to reach behind him to the bench seat when a sharp snapping sound caught him by surprise. Almost immediately, the steering wheel grew stiff under his hand, and the engine power dropped precipitously.
He fought the unresponsive steering wheel, bringing the truck to a shuddering stop at the side of the road. The engine idled unsteadily for a few seconds, then died. When he tried to crank the engine again, the starter struggled to engage.
“What happened?” Mariah’s eyes widened with concern.
He reached over to touch her hand. He felt her hands trembling. “I think a belt must have broken,” he reassured her, although he’d checked all the belts and hoses before they left home. “I’ll take a look.”
The rain had slacked off, thankfully, only a light mist falling now. Jake slipped the hood of his windbreaker over his head and hurried to the front of the car. He raised the truck’s hood and looked inside.
The serpentine belt was hanging loose, snapped in two.
He uttered a low curse, wishing he’d taken his brother J.D.’s advice and packed extra belts for the journey. But J.D. was a control freak—who ever listened to his advice about things? He was the kind of guy who’d pack a parka for a trip to Florida, just in case another ice age hit unexpectedly while he was there.
He closed the hood and pulled out his cell phone, but his phone couldn’t find a signal. They were in the middle of nowhere, thick, piney woods flanking them on both sides. He’d taken a side road rather than the main thoroughfare, which was still clogged with traffic in and out of Buckley. He wasn’t sure there were even any houses within a square mile.
“What is it?” Mariah joined him in front of the truck.
“Belt broke.”
“What do we do now?”
Jake was about to suggest walking back to Buckley, but the sound of an approaching vehicle distracted him. He saw a white van coming up the road toward them. “We flag down this van and see if he can take us into town.”
He started waving at the van, which slowed as it came nearer. A mild glare off the windshield obscured the driver until the van was nearly on them.
It was Victor, the man from the tornado zone.
Mariah’s fingers closed around Jake’s arm, digging in. “Let’s just walk—”
He looked away from Victor to Mariah, who was gazing up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
“You folks need a ride?” Victor called out. Jake saw Mariah’s gaze shift behind him. Her face blanched white.
He turned, following her gaze, and saw Victor Logan standing in the open side doorway of the van, arm outstretched. In his hand, Victor held a large black Smith & Wesson semiautomatic, its barrel leveled with the center of Jake’s forehead.
“Let me rephrase,” Victor said, his voice cold and steady. “Get in the van or I’ll kill you.”
Chapter Four
Jake wanted to make a move on him. Victor saw it in the younger man’s watchful eyes, the taut set of his muscles as he backed up against the interior wall of the van. Victor had spent the last three and a half years honing his ability to spot danger coming from miles away. A man his age and size didn’t survive prison without knowing how to avoid danger.
When it could be avoided. And sometimes, it couldn’t.
Victor shook off the grim memories before they could paralyze him. He had work to do, and he wasn’t about to drop his guard with Jake Cooper.
Marisol was Victor’s protection. Jake would weigh any move he might wish to make against the danger his action would pose for her. It had taken only seconds for Victor to read the situation and train his weapon on Marisol rather than Jake.