Cowboy's Texas Rescue. Beth Cornelison
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you without blinking if you give me trouble.”
He leaned over the front seat and snatched her mother’s GPS from its mount on the dashboard. After he’d pushed a few buttons, the disembodied voice of the GPS intoned. “Go home?”
He tapped the screen, and the GPS voice said, “Continue west on Highway 244 for one point six miles, then turn left.”
Chelsea’s stomach pitched. The last thing she wanted was for this cretin to know where her parents lived. She bit her lower lip and met the guy’s dark glare in the rearview mirror. Okay, maybe the last thing she wanted was to be raped and tortured to death. But having him know where she was staying ranked near the top.
“You live with anyone?” he asked.
“Wh-what?” Dividing her attention between the road and monitoring the man in her backseat, Chelsea fought the panic swelling in her chest. She needed to keep her head if she was going to survive, but the constant pressure of his gun against her skull made it difficult to think calmly.
“It’s an easy question. Do you live with anyone? Will there be anyone else at your house when we get there?”
“It’s my parents’ house.”
He jabbed her again with the gun. “And are Mommy and Daddy home?”
She considered lying for a moment, but the gun poking the base of her skull gave her pause. She wasn’t a good liar, and if he guessed she was bluffing…“N-no. I’m house-sitting while they’re out of town.”
A leering grin twisted his mouth. “Perfect.”
The lettering stenciled on the breast pocket of his jumpsuit caught her attention. Texas Department of Criminal Justice—Inmate. Her pulse spiked, and she sputtered, “Y-you’re a prison inmate?”
He leered at her via the rearview mirror. “Not anymore.”
Her mouth dried remembering his warning that he’d already killed two cops today. No doubt the gun he wielded had been stolen from one of the cops.
“Wh-who are you? What do you want from me?”
“For now, all I want is a ride out of town, maybe a place to hole up for a little while, until I can plan my next move.”
She noticed he didn’t give her his name. Not that she really expected him to.
“Then you don’t h-have any place in mind you’re heading? No one on the outside is helping you?”
“You’re helping me now, aren’t ya?” Another leer.
Chelsea swallowed hard. Dear God, she was aiding and abetting a criminal. But under duress. They wouldn’t convict her for helping a prisoner escape under duress, would they? Her heart stutter-stepped. Lord, she hoped not.
As she approached the turn for the highway to her parents’ house, she considered driving straight. The road to her parents’ ranch was long and nearly deserted. She had a much greater chance of finding help if she stayed on this road. She accelerated as they neared the turnoff, then cringed when her mother’s GPS reminded her to turn left.
“Turn, damn it!” he yelled as they reached the intersection.
Gulping oxygen, she cut the wheel hard, and Ethyl’s tires squealed as they whipped a sharp turn at the last second.
The man shot her a dark look and jabbed harder with the gun. “You weren’t gonna turn, were ya?” He smacked the back of her head with the butt of his gun, and pain ricocheted through her head.
Narrowing a lethal glare on her, he growled, “I warned you not to pull anything! Drive me to your house, or I will shoot you and drive myself! Got it, girlie?”
Chelsea drew a shuddering breath and nodded. Just do as he says, and you might stay alive, the voice of fear and caution whispered to her.
Tears filled her eyes as a sense of futility and helplessness rushed over her the farther she got from town. She didn’t want to die. But she didn’t want to go down without at least attempting to save herself either.
As her initial shock and panic settled into an even level of terror, Chelsea mentally raced through her options. Could she crash the car into something and make a run for it?
She glanced around the isolated stretch of ranchland and saw nothing but miles of flat, empty earth. No trees, no roadside buildings, not even a highway sign substantial enough to make Ethyl undrivable. And if she did crash her mother’s Caddy out here, where would she run? her captor would shoot her before she took three steps.
Despair wrenched her chest, and she blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. Could she somehow get the gun away from him? He didn’t look all that well muscled, but he was taller and was most likely stronger than she was.
She cut her eyes to her purse, where her cell phone was nestled in a front pocket. If she could distract him, could she dial 9-1-1 before he stopped her?
She met his gaze in the mirror again, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion before darting to her purse.
“Don’t even think about it, girlie.” He grabbed her purse and dragged it into the backseat with him. “You got a gun in here or something?”
“N-no.”
He started rifling through her purse, and Chelsea’s skin crawled, seeing him touch her personal things. She squeezed the steering wheel, searching for another plan of escape when Ethyl’s engine coughed.
The man’s head came up. “What was that?”
“I don’t—”
The motor sputtered again, and a sinking realization settled over her, as dark as the clouds rolling in from the west.
Ethyl choked again as the man leaned over the front seat to scan the dashboard lights and gauges. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing. But we—”
The engine sputtered loudly and cut off. Icy dread shimmied through Chelsea.
Her captor ground the muzzle into her nape and grated, “Don’t screw around with me, sister. I’ll blow your damn head off!”
Chelsea whimpered fearfully and cleared her throat as she coasted to the side of the road and stopped the car. “It’s not me! I swear. W-we’re out of gas!”
“A winter storm warning has been issued for the Texas panhandle and parts of New Mexico and Oklahoma, with accumulations of two feet or more of snow and ice possible tonight along with high winds and temperatures dropping into the mid-twenties,” the radio announcer droned from the speakers of Jake Connelly’s F-150.
“No kidding.” Jake leaned forward to peer through his windshield at the line of dark clouds gathered on the horizon. The readout on his truck’s thermometer said the temperature outside had dropped ten degrees just in the past thirty minutes. The cold front was closing in fast. He checked his truck’s clock and mentally calculated his arrival time at his dad’s house near Amarillo. He might just make it before the storm hit, if he hurried.
“In other news, an inmate escaped this afternoon from a Texas work detail, killing two police officers in the process.”
Jake turned the radio volume down and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he sent another considering glance to the clouds and hedged. Maybe he should go straight to the hospital and ride out the storm there. Michelle had said time was of the essence.
“Authorities are still searching for Edward Brady, convicted six years ago for armed robbery and two counts of second-degree murder. The public is warned that Brady is armed with a handgun belonging to one of the fallen officers and should be considered extremely dangerous. Brady is described as having—”
Jake snapped off the radio. Even the suggestion that he might not get home in time to see his dad made Jake’s chest tighten. Regret and concern