Chapter 13.

Carey had known Mark would never let her get away from him and live. Her world collapsed around her as every nightmare came to life. Reilly was injured. The Trumans' house was destroyed. She'd brought hurt and anguish to the people who had tried to protect her.

Foremost, terror for Reilly's life swamped her. She had to help him. She couldn't leave him in the snow, in the dark, alone. How long before someone found him? What could she do to help him?

Mark's arm locked around her waist. He pressed a gun into her side, hard enough that pain shot up her still fragile ribs. "Hey there, doll. I've been looking for you. Don't scream or I'll open fire on your boyfriend. I don't care who dies as long as you're among them. Although it was amusing to watch you try to help him." Still clasping her to him, Mark reached to Reilly's limp hand and took his gun, throwing it away into the dark.

Fear sent her heart racing and alarm bells shrieking in her mind. She couldn't let Reilly die because of her. She clung to the hope that Reilly was unconscious, not dead, and help was on the way. He couldn't bleed to death. Reilly had to be okay.

If she let Mark take her, would he leave Reilly alone? Reilly's family would be there soon. They would find him and help him.

Mark dragged her away from Reilly, toward the bare fields behind the barn. Is this how it ended for her? Dying at Mark's hands on a cold, dark field? What would keep him from killing her and then going back for Reilly and the Trumans? She closed her eyes and determination filled her chest.

She was not going down without a fight. She was Haley Leone. She was a fighter. A survivor. She'd run away and forgotten who she was-but this is where it stopped. She'd protect the Trumans and herself-or die trying.

She had so much to live for, so much she needed to do. She had to tell Reilly she loved him. She was in love with Reilly Truman. Not having said the words to him and knowing she might never get to say them struck her as deeply unfair. Categorically wrong. A lot of bad things had happened to her in the last year, but this one seemed like the worst.

She stumbled, stalling for time. Mark jerked her upright. "Don't try it. I'll put a bullet in your head and then I'll kill your detective."

Her mind screamed in protest. She wouldn't let that happen. She would find a way out of this without getting Reilly killed.

"You've put me through a lot of trouble," Mark said, dragging her to an area hidden by the Trumans' barn. "I don't appreciate that."

She took several deep breaths. Trickery? Lies? How would she get away? "Mark, I'm so glad you found me. I've been hiding from the feds."

He threw back his head and let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Nice. You're still a liar. Doesn't matter what load of bull you try to feed me. I can't trust you."

Her mouth was dry, the cold making her eyes water. "Yes, you can. I was trying to protect us by hiding until you got my dad's businesses in the clear and the feds stopped poking around."

"Cut the bull. You know too much and you could put me in prison for a long time. Did you think I would let you live after you ran away?"

She tried again. "I was running for us."

Mark struck her across the face with the back of his hand and released her. The impact sent her reeling. She fell to the ground.

"Stop lying."

Carey tasted blood in her mouth. "You don't have to do this."

"I loved you, Haley. I would have given you a life fit for a queen."

He'd never loved her. He'd loved the things her father had given him, the lifestyle he'd been granted by being a.s.sociated with her family. Mark was right about the material things he would provide, things bought with money earned from her father's businesses, with dirty, blood money. It made her ill to think about it. She glared up at him. "Everything you do, you do for yourself. You never cared about my father or me. You cared about the money. I've had to give up everything to get away from you. My friends. My family. My home. You hurt me and you hurt the people around me. What about Tracy? Why did you kill her? She didn't have anything to do with why I ran."

Mark's eyes glinted. "She lied to me and she paid for those lies. And now so will you."

Carey had given up her dreams and hopes for the future. Mark didn't deserve to take those things away from her. No one did. She wanted a future with Reilly. She wanted her life back. "You're going to regret what you've done. You're going to regret hurting me."

Was it unreasonable hope or did she hear sirens in the distance? Someone had to find Reilly and help him. She pushed herself to her feet. She needed to protect herself and keep Mark from hurting Reilly further. Was there anything around she could use as a weapon? Why hadn't she thought to ask for a gun when they were in Doc's office?

Mark stepped closer to her. "Letting you live is the only regret I'd have. You brought this on yourself. Look at me, Haley."

He used the barrel of the gun to force her to look at him. She lifted her head slowly, half expecting him to strike her again.

"I'll remember you this way." His hand caressed her cheek and she jerked her head away.

He tsked. "Don't be like that. Not when I went through the trouble of arranging a surprise for you."

The way he said the word surprise, she knew he intended to end her life. Should she scream? Even if the police had arrived, would anyone hear her over the noise of the raging fire? Would she draw someone else here, someone Mark would kill? She set her jaw. She wouldn't scream, but given the chance, she'd defend herself. "Are your lackeys here to take care of me? You never could face anyone alone."

Mark smirked at her. "No, this time I have a partner. Didn't even have to hire him. He was more than happy to help me."

The Vagabond Killer stepped from the side of the barn to stand next to Mark. "h.e.l.lo, Haley. I have dreamt of this moment. I'm John, your savior."

A cold sweat broke out over her body. She recognized his face immediately and the name... John? John Sundry? The Denver police had had the right man in custody. The Vagabond Killer knew her name-her real name. He knew who she was. Fear shook her insides, made her entire body tremble.

"I said h.e.l.lo. The polite thing is for you to reply," John said, anger hot in his voice.

Her vocal chords tightened, yet she managed to force out a word. "Hi."

"Have you missed me?" John asked.

Mark stepped away and Carey had the insane impulse to grab on to him. She knew Mark. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt her or kill her, but he wasn't into torture. The Vagabond Killer had done some ugly, horrifying things to his victims.

Was she next?

"I m-missed you," she croaked out, taking a step away from him.

Mark took a ball of twine from his pocket. "Hands behind your back or I'll shoot you." Ice glinted in his voice. How had she ever thought she loved this man? A man who could kill without mercy?

"No!" John shouted.

Mark turned slowly, his eyebrows raised. "You said you wanted time alone with her."

The Vagabond Killer withdrew his knife. "Don't touch her. She belongs to me. She is the only woman worthy of me."

Carey's eyes darted left and right, looking for a place to run. She was stuck between them; they could catch her fleeing. She would bide her time, waiting for an opening to take off.

"Fine, John. Do whatever you want to her. I'm finished with her." Mark shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants.

"Finished with her?" The Vagabond Killer narrowed his eyes. "You said you didn't know her. Who is she to you?"

"No one," Mark said. "You're paranoid."

"You're lying. I can see it. I can see the devil light in your eyes." Without further provocation, the Vagabond Killer lunged at Mark, his knife extended. Mark caught the man's wrist and the two were locked together in a struggle.

Carey had a chance to escape. A split second later, she raced in the direction of the burning house, the smell of burnt wood and ashes carrying to her nose.

Her foot caught in a hole and she stumbled to the ground, the frozen earth biting into her hands. She heard her name shouted from behind. She looked over her shoulder at the shadow moving closer. The Vagabond Killer was coming for her.

Reilly's shoulder felt as if it had been half-cleaved off his body. The acrid smell of smoke hung thick in the air and despite his blurred vision and foggy mind, the situation came rushing back to him. The house was on fire. He'd been shot. Someone-Mark or the Vagabond Killer-had taken Carey. A man's voice threatening her was the last thing he remembered. How long had he been out? Was he too late? It was still dark. How much time had pa.s.sed?

He had to help her. Nauseated and exhausted, Reilly reached for the strength to spur his body. Save Carey. Protect her. He dragged himself to his feet. The gun he'd had in his hand was gone, but the other was tucked against his back, pressing into his spine. He drew it out and mentally thanked his father for teaching him to carry backup.

He refused to think he was too late. The path in the snow led behind the barn. Struggling to remain conscious and ignoring the black spots that dotted his vision, Reilly followed the tracks.

He'd asked Carey to trust him. He'd promised he would keep her safe. All he needed was one good shot and the man was dead. He had to protect the woman he loved.

Love. He loved Carey. Maybe he'd loved her all along, but now, the emotion was crystal clear to him. So obvious, he didn't know why he hadn't named it before. Reilly couldn't lose her. Not now. Not when he had plans for a future, plans to make her happy.

He focused on Carey, feeding off energy from the warmth and joy inside him at the thought of her. Letting it propel his legs and fuel his rage, he moved along the side of the barn, bracing himself against the wood.

The footprints in the snow continued around to the back of the barn. Reilly commanded his legs to keep moving as he grappled to remain conscious. A little farther to Carey. He wasn't too late. He would find her.

Checking the bullets in his weapon, Reilly put it in his good hand. If it was the last thing he did, he would keep Carey safe.

Carey fought to stand and run, but the Vagabond Killer was on her in moments, pulling her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to his chest. Struggling, she tried to break free.

Another shadow appeared on the field, a familiar figure. Relief flooded her. He wasn't dead. "Reilly," she screamed. "Run, Reilly." However he had managed to get to her, he couldn't risk his life now. He wouldn't have had time to get medical treatment and was losing too much blood.

Had he heard her warning over the sound of the fire? If he'd heard, he didn't heed it. He limped in her direction and she could read pain in every step. Her heart twisted in her chest. Reilly was prepared to die to protect her.

The Vagabond Killer's breath was rank as he clutched her against him. "Ah, beautiful Haley. My angel. I took care of him. He won't come near you again."

Carey swallowed, trying not to be sick. His knife moved close to her neck. Was that blood on it? Or a shadow? Her stomach wretched violently. Mark. He had attacked and killed Mark.

Reilly lifted his gun, pointing it at them. "Don't move. Put your weapon on the ground and get your hands up."

"You can't have her. She's mine. The only woman worthy. She is an angel. She cannot be sullied with your filth."

"Drop the weapon," Reilly repeated. "I'm not going to ask you again."

"You're not going to shoot her," the Vagabond Killer said.

"Last chance," Reilly warned.

She needed to free herself enough to move and give Reilly a clear shot. "Please, Reilly, just go. John and I were meant to be together."

Confusion flickered across Reilly's face. Then he lowered his gun, his shoulders slumping.

"John, let me look at you."

His grip loosened a fraction of an inch and she leaned back. She brought her knee up and slammed it between his legs, shoving him away. He stumbled, letting out a roar of rage. He righted himself and lunged at her, the blade of his b.l.o.o.d.y knife aimed at her heart. Fear-fueled adrenaline sent her twisting away from the knife's reach.

A gunshot echoed into the night, then another.

The Vagabond Killer crumpled into the snow.

Two more men appeared on the field, racing toward them. The moonlight cast its beam and she made out their faces. Harris and Brady had arrived. Relief swept over her. Finally.

A moment later she was at Reilly's side, helping his brothers carry him to safety.

"For the hundredth time, I'm fine. It's a small sprain," Carey said, coming to her feet. Reilly had insisted she be checked out at the hospital, but it was unnecessary. "You were shot. You're the one who needs medical care."

"The doctor said to take it easy on your ankle," Reilly said. His arm was in a sling, but he refused to admit to her it hurt. It had to hurt. "And I wasn't shot. I was grazed. Harris and Brady won't let me forget I pa.s.sed out from being grazed by a bullet."

Carey knew his brothers' teasing hid the fear they'd felt for Reilly. "You lost a lot of blood and I'm fine."

Reilly studied her face. "You always say you're fine. You didn't just fall. You were kidnapped and witnessed two murders."

Actually she hadn't seen either Mark or the Vagabond Killer die. "I didn't see anything. No lineups. No witness testimony needed."

"What are you going to do now? Do you need to return home to take care of your father's affairs?"

Carey shook her head. "No, I don't want any part of the family business. I spoke to Harris while you were with the doctor. The government has confiscated my father's a.s.sets as part of an ongoing investigation. I'll be able to get back photos and sentimental things from our house, just memories. It's all I want. I have a new life now."

"You're amazing," Reilly said. "And I should have done better. I'm sorry."

She looked from Reilly to the door, sadness tightening around her heart. "You were great. Why are you apologizing? For saving my life?"

He shook his head and stepped closer, setting his hand on her cheek. "For not protecting you better. If I had been a few seconds later-"

She set her finger over his lips. "You weren't. You were right on time." They'd had this same conversation three times. Reilly's guilt was unneeded. She was fine. Honestly and truly fine. Maybe for the first time in her life. It was finally over. She didn't have to run anymore.

She set her hands on Reilly's chest. "Thank you for giving me a future."

Reilly wrapped his uninjured arm around her, anchoring her to him. His eyes connected with hers. "Tell me then, what kind of future do you want?"

The answer came strong and sure. A life with Reilly. A home. Family. "You. I want a future with you."

"Should I call you Haley?"

She could use her real name now. It sounded amazing on his lips. "Yes. Please. Haley sounds wonderful."

A smile spread across his face and happiness shone in his eyes. "I love you, Haley. I have no reason to hold back. No reason not to tell you. I love you and I want to spend my days with you. All my days and all my nights. I want to come home to you."

Her heart filled to overflowing. She blinked back tears of overwhelming happiness. "I love you, too." The words surged in her chest, filling her with bliss. Happiness. Security.