Colorado Abduction. Cassie Miles
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man. “I’ll take it from here, ma’am. I’m a medic.”
“He’s unconscious.”
“You did the right thing,” he said, “putting pressure on the wound. Don’t worry. We’ll get him to the hospital.”
She stood and stepped out of the way, relieved that the wounded bodyguard would be cared for by someone who knew what he was doing. Turning on the heel of her boot, she faced four other men on horseback. All of them had rifles. They looked like a posse from the Old West.
Lucas swung down from his horse and came toward her. “You’ve got blood all over. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where’s Nicole?”
Her lips pinched together. If she told them Nicole had been kidnapped, they’d take off to rescue her. They were cowboys, experienced hunters who were capable of following the track of a jackrabbit across miles of mountain terrain. If they located the kidnappers, there’d be a shoot-out.
The paramedic called out. “I need the first-aid kit in my saddlebag. Somebody call an ambulance.”
“You heard him,” Carolyn said. “The first thing is to get this man to a hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
While the other cowboys followed instructions from the paramedic, she saw her brother racing toward them, leaning low over the mane of his horse, riding like the demons of hell were on his tail. He pulled up and dismounted in a single move, hit the ground running and yanked her into a hug. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.” She could feel the tension in his body. Every muscle was clenched. Dylan wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but there was no way to get around it.
His eyes were wild. “Where’s Nicole?”
“Listen to me, Dylan.” She grabbed his arm and held on tight, hoping she could save him from his own temper. “Before the bodyguard was shot, he saw two men with Nicole. He heard them say that you’d pay a lot to get your wife back. They kidnapped her.”
He tore free from her grasp. “I’ll kill the bastards.”
Exactly what she was afraid of. “Think about what you’re saying. If there’s a gunfight, Nicole could be hurt.”
He strode a few paces away from her, yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs while some son of a bitch holds my wife hostage? Wait for the sheriff to figure this out?”
“Let me handle this. The bodyguard who tried to protect Nicole is already standing at death’s door. I don’t want anybody else to get shot.”
“She’s my wife. I’ve got to find her.”
Her brother was the most hardheaded man she’d ever known. There was no point in trying to talk sense into him. “I can see that I’m not going to change your mind.”
“Hell no.”
“Then give me your gun. I want all of your posse’s guns. It can’t hurt for you to track the kidnappers, but if you’re not armed, you can’t start a shoot-out.”
“This isn’t your call.”
“Before Dad died, he told me to take care of my little brother. And that’s what I intend to do.”
He threw up his hands. “It’s not fair to bring Dad’s ghost into this situation.”
She didn’t play fair, she played to win. “Dad wouldn’t want you to risk your life. Or anybody else’s.”
“Fine. We’ll leave the guns. What are you going to do?”
“Go back to the house and wait to hear from the kidnappers.” That wasn’t enough and she knew it. “And I’m calling in the FBI.”
TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, Carolyn stood on the veranda outside the house. The porch lights shone on a black van that had just parked next to the Delta County sheriff’s SUV. This had to be the FBI.
A tall man emerged from the passenger seat. Instead of the typical FBI black suit, he wore jeans and a worn leather jacket. As he strode toward her, he seemed to get even taller. He was probably six foot four. His sandy brown hair was less well-groomed than she’d expect from a federal agent, but he had an unmistakable air of authority—an attitude that immediately put her on edge.
“Special Agent J. D. Burke.” He identified himself as he held up his badge. “I need to talk to the sheriff.”
“Sheriff Trainer isn’t here.” At her urging, the sheriff had borrowed a horse and went to keep an eye on Dylan and his posse. She hoped the presence of a lawman might deter any attempt at vigilante justice.
“Who’s in charge?”
Carolyn had changed from her bloodstained business clothes into jeans, a pink T-shirt and zippered hoodie. With her black hair pulled up in a ponytail, she probably didn’t look like the top executive of a multimillion-dollar company. Still, she resented the way he looked right past her, trying to find a man in charge.
“I’m Carolyn Carlisle.” She held out her hand. “I’m the boss.”
When he shook her hand and made direct eye contact, she felt a jolt of electricity—a warning. His dark eyes were hard, implacable. She and this fed were going to butt heads.
“Have you heard from the kidnappers?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Three other men left the van and came toward the house. All were carrying equipment in black cases.
“We need to set up,” Agent Burke said.
She held open the front door as they trooped through. “You can use the office. It’s down the hall to the left.”
Ignoring her words, he went past the staircase to the dining room with the long oak table. “This will do.”
She hated the way he disregarded her suggestion, not even acknowledging her. Biting her lower lip, she held back her protest when his men pulled the chairs away from the table. Without a word to her, they opened their cases and began spreading out equipment—all kinds of electronics and computers.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “We could use some coffee.”
His arrogance astounded her. “I’ll bet you could.”
“I take mine black.”
The last straw. No way would she be relegated to the position of fetching coffee.
“Listen to me, Agent Burke.” She struggled to keep from snarling. “I called in the FBI. As far as I’m concerned, you owe me an explanation of what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You,” she snapped, “work for me.”
Chapter Two
The razor edge in her voice caused Burke to turn and face this slim-hipped woman in cowboy boots. Anger blew off her like a hurricane.
“This is my ranch. My house.” Her tone was sharp but controlled. “I insist upon being treated with respect. I’m not your errand girl. I don’t bring you coffee. I don’t tidy up after you. And I demand to know what’s going on.”
She looked like a teenager, but there was nothing girlish about her temper. Carolyn Carlisle was a mature and formidable woman.
He peered into her eyes. They were fascinating, with green irises so pale they were almost transparent. She stared back at him, hard and determined, as she waited for his answer.
“What do you want to know, Carolyn?” He purposefully used her