Deadly Ranch Hideout
Author
Jenna Night
Reads
16.4K
Chapters
15
Some secrets aren't just forgotten… they're lethal. To expose her imprisoned father's mob associates, Monica Larson races to find the evidence he's hidden — until a car accident leaves her without her memories. Now she must locate the information with the help of Officer Kris Volker. Determined to keep her safe from relentless attacks, Kris takes Monica to his family's Montana ranch. But someone is dead set on keeping their secrets buried…and they won't stop till Monica and Kris are six feet under.
ONE
Monica Larson stared in horror as the black SUV holding her father burst into flames with a bone-rattling bang!
The windows blew out, and chunks of safety glass rained down onto the asphalt of the Reno street like a shower of frosty hail. Car alarms blared in both directions along the road.
She stood on the sidewalk across the street with every muscle in her torso knotted up in terror, while at the same time the bones and joints of her legs seemed to melt and her stance became unsteady.
Following the rush of incoming air from the vehicle’s broken windows, the flames whooshed and flared outside of the SUV, reaching even farther and higher into the sky.
A chunk of metal slammed to the ground by Monica’s feet, sending up a spray of debris and snapping her out of her shocked stupor.
“Dad!”
She pulled herself together and was finally able to move. As she sprinted across the street toward the smoke and heat, her attention remained laser-focused on rescuing her father. He could still be alive, she told herself repeatedly, forcing her legs to pump as fast as possible. There’s still a chance.
Grief and fear squeezed her throat, making it a fight to breathe. She stumbled over her clumsy feet and fell, barely feeling the pain as she scraped a layer of skin from her chin and the palms of her hands. Crumpled on the ground, she heard a second explosion, and looked up in time to see the SUV lift slightly off the ground before it dropped back to the street as another fireball shot from the vehicle and up into the sky.
“No!”
She tried to shove herself back onto her feet, but was derailed by a fit of coughing and gasping as she was nearly overcome by the black, oily smoke roiling toward her.
And then she jerked awake.
After several disoriented seconds ticked by, the impression so strong in her mind that it seemed as if she still smelled the smoke, she began to focus on unfamiliar objects in the darkness of the room where she lay in a sleeping bag atop the lumpy mattress of a bed.
“He’s still alive,” she whispered to herself, her chest knotted with grief from what she’d seen happen to her dad in the dream. “It wasn’t real.”
She focused on her breathing, trying to slow it down while sending up a short, brief prayer and reminding herself that right here, right now, she was okay. It was a well-established routine after she’d gotten so much experience grappling with the sudden wallop of panic that often woke her out of a sound sleep. Turned out that witnessing your accountant father being arrested and finding out that he’d been working for an organized crime group for years and later seeing him locked up in prison could do some emotional damage to a mobster bookkeeper’s daughter.
And then there was the fallout that came after her father’s imprisonment.
Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t remember some of the more recent events. She rubbed her fingers along the right side of her head, feeling the ridges hidden by her hair where her stitches would completely dissolve eventually. She tried to think back to that missing gap of time after she’d gone to visit her dad in prison and then woken up in the hospital. A car crash, she’d been told, had caused the cuts and bruises and a state of unconsciousness that had apparently lasted for several hours.
She’d been blessed not to suffer major physical injury or significant brain damage, except for the loss of the memory of that short gap of time between going to visit her dad and waking up in the hospital. That was still gone. She might regain it, she’d been told. Then again, she might not. Right now all she had was the impression that the memory was almost in her grasp, like the feeling she typically had just before she recalled a word or fact that was on the tip of her tongue. Her father had been involved in a physical altercation immediately after her visit, and for that reason she was not allowed to call or visit him for the next month.
What she did have was the voice memo she’d left for herself on her phone. She’d discovered it shortly after leaving the hospital, and apparently she’d recorded it during that mystery gap of time. It was the reason she’d left her home in Reno, Nevada, and come up here to Cedar Lodge, Montana, to this unfamiliar and rustic cabin outside of town.
Creak.
The sound came through the open bedroom door from the direction of the kitchen. She’d arrived around midnight after a long and tiresome drive. She’d unrolled her sleeping bag atop the bed, climbed in while still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and immediately fallen into a deep sleep until the nightmare had woken her up.
“Probably just a raccoon,” she told herself, wanting desperately to believe that.
But pretending something wasn’t happening didn’t make it go away. She knew that only too well.
And right now, the smarter part of herself, the part determined to survive, had already shot adrenaline through her system and sent her heart racing.
Should she switch on the bedside light? Would that scare away an intruder if there was one or make her an easier target?
Creak.
The sound was definitely coming from the kitchen. Maybe it was a normal noise, like the timber of the old building shifting or the refrigerator cycling on or off. Monica did not want to call the police if she could avoid it. Staying clear of them was included in her plan to keep a low profile while she was here.
She got out of the sleeping bag, dropped her feet to the cold wooden floor and slid them into her shoes.
She was reaching for her phone and key fob when she realized she smelled smoke. For real. It wasn’t just a lingering impression from her dream.
Her mind raced as she hurried out of the bedroom. She’d been exhausted when she’d arrived after the long drive from Reno. Had she put something on the stove or in the toaster oven and forgotten about it?
Smoke pushed through the gap under the swinging door between the living room and the kitchen. The cabin was old, and Monica could imagine it burning to the ground well before a fire engine could get here.
She grabbed her phone from her pocket, ready to call 9-1-1 if she needed to.
Shoving open the door, she spotted the fire in the dining nook between the refrigerator and the back door. Something was burning beneath the dining table; the table was already engulfed, and flames were crawling up the nearby wall and toward the door.
Pulling the front of her shirt up over her nose to filter some of the smoke, Monica hurried toward the cabinets, hoping to find a pitcher or large bowl that she could fill with water and then douse the flames. Through the fabric she caught a whiff of a familiar yet out-of-place smell.
Gasoline.
Her eyes darted toward the rapidly burning table and what must be gasoline-soaked wood or cloth burning beneath it.
Confirmation that this was not some accidental fire caused by forgetfulness on her part or old faulty wiring. This was intentionally set.
They’ve found me. The realization chilled her despite the heat.
In the next instant, someone grabbed her from behind and shoved her toward the fire.
They want to kill me and make it look like an accident!
Her father’s former criminal bosses must have sent one of their hit men to finish her off as some sort of punishment directed at her dad. Or else the attacker had been hired by Archer Nolan, also employed by the mob, though Monica hadn’t been able to prove that fact. Yet. Archer had Monica’s mom, Suzanne, convinced that he was a legitimate businessman, and two weeks ago, Suzanne had agreed to marry him in a month. That meant the wedding would happen in two weeks. Monica’s mother refused to believe that the man who’d offered her so much comfort after her ex-husband was arrested could also be a criminal when Monica had told her that was the case. Suzanne demanded proof.
Monica was determined to find it. She had to save her mom and protect her family. It was why she’d come to Cedar Lodge.
But right now she was fighting for her life. The heavyset thug who’d grabbed her knocked the phone out of her hand and held her arms pinned to her sides as he continued forcing her toward the flames.
Monica twisted her body as hard as she could, desperate to break free. But it did no good. The masked assailant gripped her tighter, his overwhelming strength enough to propel her forward. She pulled up her feet, hoping the sudden full weight of her body would throw the attacker off balance, but it made no difference.
Lord, help!
The flames were growing, and her face was getting hot.
She fought the thug with every bit of strength she had, but there wasn’t much she could do other than twist and stomp her feet back toward him. Unexpectedly, the attacker let go of her arms. But in the next instant he grabbed her neck and began squeezing.
Panic shot through her. She clawed at his hands, but her air supply was already being cut off, and the flaming kitchen began to spin around her. Once she lost consciousness, it would all be over, for good.
Gritting her teeth, she grunted and kicked her heel backward as hard as she could, connecting with his shin. Desperate for a weapon, she dug her hand into her front pocket for the key chain attached to her car fob. It had a couple of metal keys on it, and she slid them between her fingers so they were protruding like a knife point. She clenched to make a fist.
The attacker was so close behind her that she couldn’t get much momentum, but she swung back as hard as she could, feeling the tips of the keys jab into the man’s stomach. His grip on her neck loosened, and Monica twisted away from him while stomping back toward his ankle. He stumbled, and she took advantage of the moment to yank her neck free from his grip and lurch forward.
Her balance was off and she was dizzy, but she still managed to stagger away and dart through the swinging door to the living room. She grabbed a nearby chair and flung it to the ground behind her. Continuing on, she grabbed at a lamp and threw it down, and then a small end table, desperate to create obstacles for the creep pursuing her so she could get away.
She fumbled with the old-school latch on the front door before flinging it open and feeling a rush of cold, damp air that snapped her senses into focus.
She’d had no idea it was raining, but after the heat of the fire in the kitchen, she happily sprinted into the chilly, steadily falling drops. Her car wasn’t far away. It was parked inside the doorless shed. Her phone was back in the cabin, but she still had the fob for her sedan.
Afraid to look back in case the attacker was gaining on her, she focused on getting to the car. She’d start it up, back out as fast as she could, and head down the long driveway through the woods to the main road. She steeled herself to run over the attacker if he tried to stop her. He was determined to kill her. She had no choice.
She was nearly to the shed when a lanky figure appeared out of the shadows in front of her and then began to move toward her. This man didn’t have a mask. His knitted cap was pulled down low and his collar flipped up so that most of his face was hidden. But she was able to see the broad, mocking smile on his face.
Her steps staggered as she tried to think which way she should go. A dark feeling of fear and hopelessness edged into her consciousness. Her steps faltered. She was exhausted.
Maybe trying to escape was pointless. Maybe the fatal attack on her was inevitable.
No. It’s not. She’d made it through so much already. She would not give up now.
The slight nudge of encouragement wasn’t a lot, but maybe it was enough to keep her alive.
The only plan she could form was to run into the woods. Were there neighbors nearby who might help? She couldn’t remember.
But if she got into the surrounding forest, hunkered down, and stayed absolutely silent, maybe the thugs wouldn’t find her. Maybe they would eventually give up and leave.
Or maybe they were excellent trackers who would locate her immediately.
Either way, some part of her had apparently made the decision to give it a try, because she was already running past pine boughs heavy with raindrops at the edge of the long driveway, ignoring the sting as the needles slapped across her face. She tried not to think about the probability that the broken branches would lead the assailants directly to her.
Officer Kris Volker sped down the highway at shortly before four in the morning. While he was not officially on duty, his residence was close to the fire that had been called in by someone living higher up on the mountainside after they’d looked out their window and seen flames at the old Bennett cabin. Kris had gotten the call to respond.
After waking his parents to let them know he was leaving and asking them to make sure his son got to his kindergarten class on time, Kris had hustled out the door to his pickup truck and headed for the two-lane rural highway.
Rain fell at a steady pace, which would hopefully help to contain the flames. Fire and medical emergency crews had been dispatched, but Kris would likely arrive on scene first.
The Bennett cabin had been unoccupied for several months since Ernest, the eldest member of the clan, passed away. Kris wasn’t aware of anyone having taken up residence at the old family homestead since then, but maybe they had. Or perhaps a transient had moved in. In any event, if the cabin wasn’t fully engulfed in flames, Kris would do his best to search for anyone who might be inside until the firefighters arrived to take over. His thoughts raced as he pictured the layout of the cabin he’d visited countless times as a kid.
He slowed down for the sharp turn onto the winding drive up to the cabin. As he rounded the first curve, his headlights illuminated a flash of something in the woods that didn’t belong there. Jeans and a bright blue shirt. A person running. A woman.
Someone who’d set the fire, intentionally or accidentally, and was now running away?
He hit the brakes. His gut instinct was to go after her. Hold her accountable if she’d burned up the cabin.
But what if there was someone still in the old building? Asleep or unconscious. He had to check on that first. He began to move forward again.
At the end of the final straight section of the drive, he saw a faint orange glow shining on the trees at the back of the cabin. It looked like the rain was doing a decent job of controlling the fire. Also, while still some distance away, he spotted an SUV. The hatch was open, the interior was lit, and two men were grabbing long guns. One of the men also shoved a handgun into his waistband. A thick layer of mud had been smeared across the license plate, making it unreadable.
Something was very wrong here.
Kris stopped and killed his headlights.
After thinking for a moment, he decided to move forward and then switch on the high beams, temporarily blinding the men and taking advantage of their disorientation to assert control of the situation. But in the moment between making his decision and taking action, he heard one of the men call out to the other, “Go ahead and shoot her if you have to. We can’t let her get away.” And then they took off jogging into the woods.
Kris glanced at the burning cabin. He didn’t know if anyone was in there. He did know a woman was running in the forest while these two creeps intended to go after her and kill her.
He knew what he needed to do.
He backed up his rig until he was closer to the spot where he’d seen the woman. Then he grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, Patrol Eighteen. Advise responders to fire at the old Bennett place that at least two armed gunmen are on scene. I’m checking on female last seen running in the woods. Responders need to use extreme caution on arrival.”
“Patrol Eighteen, copy,” the dispatcher responded.
Kris turned off the volume on the radio so the bad guys wouldn’t hear it.
He got out of the truck, heading in the general direction that he’d seen the woman running, and making adjustments once he spotted snapped branches and twigs and knew he was on her trail.
It appeared she was headed at an angle that would take her to the highway. No doubt when the shadowy men with the rifles picked up her trail—and Kris had little doubt they would, it was that obvious—they would likewise figure out her goal. And they would make sure they were waiting when she got there.
Right now, the potential killers were still behind him and the woman. Kris just needed to find her and help her hide in the darkness without getting tracked and killed himself.
Due to the thick tree canopy overhead, the ground wasn’t particularly muddy despite the rain, which helped prevent him from getting bogged down. He spotted pine needles on the ground that formed a low ridge, as if the woman might have begun dragging her feet. Maybe she was injured. Or becoming exhausted.
He sped up and saw her.
For a split second it looked as if she’d seen him. He didn’t dare call out since he had no idea how close the gunmen were. He slowed for a second and glanced back but didn’t see anyone. When he looked forward again, the woman was gone.
Desperate to catch up with her before she got killed, he pumped his legs harder. As he rounded a thick tree trunk, he felt a branch jut out in his way, causing him to lose his footing. As he fought to right himself, a branch came down hard on the back of his head.
Or maybe it was the barrel of a rifle that had struck him. Somehow the gunmen must have gotten ahead of him.
He thrust his hands forward and managed to catch himself before landing face-first on the forest floor. Then he quickly spun and grabbed at the object that had struck him and yanked it to the side, intending to throw the attacker off balance. It worked.
Somebody stumbled forward and nearly fell on top of him. But it wasn’t one of the gunmen. It was the woman.
“It’s okay,” Kris called out, holding up his arms to fend off blows as she furiously swung the branch at him. “I’m a cop,” he called out, trying not to be too loud. The tussle was already making plenty of noise to let the bad guys know where they were, and he didn’t want to add to it.
She kept fighting him. He could see the panic in her eyes. He wasn’t in his police uniform, and she probably didn’t even understand what he was saying.
Obviously the last thing this woman needed at this moment was to be manhandled, but he had no choice. The skin on his back was already itchy as he anticipated a shot coming from one of the attackers any second.
He grabbed both of her hands, and winced when she kicked him in the knee.
“Enough,” he said, shaking her hands to try and snap her out of her panic. He knew the visceral feeling of just wanting to stay alive. He’d experienced it himself during a couple of tours overseas in the army. Climbing back down from that height of emotion wasn’t an easy thing.
Finally, her gaze focused in a way that told him he had her attention. That she might actually understand him when he spoke.
“I’m a cop with the Cedar Lodge Police Department,” he said. “My name’s Kris.” He quickly explained that he’d gotten the call to respond to the cabin fire and how he’d spotted her running into the woods and then heard the gunmen planning to kill her.
“Great,” she said when he finished, breathing heavily, her stance unsteady. She gestured in the direction of the cabin. “Go shoot them.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
For a lot of reasons. He shook his head. “I called for backup to deal with the thugs. Other cops will arrive any minute. I don’t want to accidentally shoot one of the responders.”
“Oh.” She looked around and then picked up the branch she’d used to attack him. “So what do we do now?”
“Wait here until the cavalry arrives.” Heading back to his vehicle was too much of a risk. Right now he needed to listen for sounds that the assailants had heard his run-in with the woman and located them. Maybe the patter of rainfall had helped muffle the noise they’d made. But it could also mask the footsteps of the assailants approaching them.
He knelt down to make himself less visible if the criminals were nearby and gestured at the woman to do the same.
“Who are those two men?” he asked in a barely audible whisper. “Why do they want to kill you?”
“I don’t know.”
Of course you’d say that. Kris didn’t want to be a cynic, but sometimes he was one. In his line of work, he’d come across plenty of “nice” people who weren’t so nice. People posing as hapless victims when they were anything but that.
There were many more times, though, when people were targeted and attacked who had done absolutely nothing wrong. Maybe he was being played for a fool, but right now he would give this woman the benefit of the doubt.
Bang!
The shot went wild and was followed by several more, some of them smacking the trees and sending splinters of bark and chunks of branch and needles and even pine cones flying.
“They’ve found us,” the woman said in a hoarse whisper. She got to her feet, poised to run. She was still holding the branch to use as a weapon.
Kris shook his head, reached for her free hand and tugged until she squatted back beside him. “If they’d spotted us, they would have snuck up and shot us point-blank. They’re trying to panic you and get you to run and show them where you are.” He reached for his service weapon, just in case the thugs did pinpoint them. His heart hammered in his chest as he listened for sirens or vehicle engines or any sign of the responders arriving. After a moment, he finally heard something. A high-pitched wail from an approaching patrol car.
With his attention focused in the direction of the siren, he wasn’t looking when one of the assailants nearly tripped over them. The thug grabbed the handgun from his own waistband and aimed it at the woman. But then the creep’s attention snagged on Kris, and for a moment the shooter hesitated, apparently surprised by seeing an unexpected person.
The woman swung her tree branch and smacked the gunman in the face.
Kris took advantage of the shooter’s unsteady steps to grab the woman’s arm, shove her behind him, and then back toward the driveway and the arriving cops while pointing his gun in the direction of the attacker.
The gunman and his partner obviously heard the sirens. “You can try to hide but we’ll find you!” one of them yelled before firing a couple more shots and then disappearing into the darkness of the forest.
Moments later Kris heard a vehicle start up, and the assailants’ SUV tore down the long driveway and turned onto the highway. He keyed his radio and gave the best description he could of the fleeing criminals, their vehicle, and the direction they had gone. “Couldn’t get a license plate number,” he added.
“Huh,” the woman said after his radio communication ended. The two of them continued walking toward the driveway and the flashing red and blue lights visible between the trees.
Not exactly a word, but Kris recognized the feeling of relief she’d expressed.
He thought about the threat voiced by the shooter. For the moment, it made sense for the woman to feel relief. But in the long run, it was apparent that she was still very much in danger. And Kris intended to find out exactly what was going on.