Читать книгу The Marshal's Hostage - Delores Fossen - Страница 11

Chapter Three

There was a split second of time where Dallas thought about what he was doing. And what he was doing was a crime.

A felony, no less.

He didn’t consider himself a lawbreaker, but he had stretched and bent it a few times to get justice. And for that split second he wondered if there was a different way to go about this. He didn’t want to call his foster brothers and involve them, but he did consider calling the locals. He knew the sheriff was a fair man.

But this wasn’t exactly a fair situation.

No. He couldn’t involve the locals because there wasn’t enough time to get them out to the church to stop this. Plus, Dallas had to stay with Joelle, to convince her not to release that report. If given the chance, Owen would just whisk her away, and Dallas figured Owen—and apparently Joelle, too—would do anything and everything to prevent him from seeing her in the near future. The report would be released, and Kirby would be arrested.

That was a solid enough reason to get her away from Owen, but then he heard Owen’s footsteps in the church entry and listened to Joelle’s slurred, drugged protests to let her go.

And Dallas had no choice.

It wasn’t safe for her to be here. It wasn’t safe for him to involve law enforcement. And that meant he had to get out of there fast.

Dallas didn’t know what was going on, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the answers from Owen. He had a long, bad history with the man he’d once shared a room with at the orphanage, and that history wouldn’t get better. In fact, it was about to come to a hot boil if he learned that Owen was the one who’d drugged Joelle.

Yeah.

He would bend the law to get back at Owen for doing that.

Dallas passed by the room where the two wedding attendants were hovering. They were no doubt aware that something bad was in the air, but they didn’t run out to try to rescue Joelle.

Later, he’d want to know why.

For now, he had enough questions and very little time to get Joelle out of there so he could get some answers. Answers that didn’t involve lies about loving Owen and a feigned pregnancy.

“Where you takin’ me?” Joelle asked. The slurring was getting worse, and when she hit her fists against his back, they landed like limp thuds.

Dallas made his way through the back corridors that had been built as additions to the old Victorian church. He knew the way because he’d used the halls to find his foster brother, Declan, when he’d sneak out for a smoke when he was supposed to be attending Sunday school.

“Owen,” Joelle mumbled.

And for a moment Dallas thought she’d seen her groom. A glance over his shoulder verified they had the hall to themselves. But he did hear Owen calling out for her. It wouldn’t be long before Owen made his way to them.

Dallas bolted out the back door and past the catering truck that was carting stuff into the fellowship hall. No doubt where the reception was supposed to be held. It was a cheap and plain venue for a man as stinkin’ rich as Owen.

But there were a lot of fishy things about this wedding.

Two guys carrying a wedding cake looked over at Dallas, but he only pointed to his badge. He didn’t speak to them, didn’t slow down. Dallas ran across the groomed back lawn where, over the years, he’d attended church picnics and chatted up a few girls.

There was a heavily treed area just ahead, and Dallas raced into it. Not in a straight line. That’s because he figured Owen or one of his armed goons had already made it to the back of the church, and Dallas didn’t want them to be able to pinpoint his position.

Or guess where he was going.

After all, Owen knew these woods, too, since he’d lived in Maverick Springs for more than a dozen years.

“Dallas, this is wrong,” Joelle mumbled.

Yeah, it was, but it would be equally wrong to leave her there without the answers to his questions. Maybe when he had those answers, he could figure out a way to stop her from pressing charges against him.

Dream on.

Once the effects of the drug wore off, she’d be one riled woman.

Even over Joelle’s mumbles, Dallas heard Owen’s shouts and the rushing water of Butcher Creek just ahead. He didn’t go in that direction. Owen would expect it. Instead, Dallas headed west where the woods were thick, and the fallen leaves and lack of sun would make it harder for them to be tracked.

Joelle quit squirming, quit mumbling, and this time Dallas did stop so he could make sure she was still breathing. She was, thank goodness. But she was pale and practically unconscious.

Hell.

He needed to get her to the doctor.

But it wouldn’t be easy. He had to cut through the woods and head to the old cabin that Declan kept when he needed to get away. There was a four-wheeler parked there. It wouldn’t be ideal transportation for an unconscious woman in a bathrobe, but it would have to do. Plus, it would probably turn out to be faster than going back to Owen for help.

Dallas didn’t think Owen would be in a helping mood.

The temperature dropped when they reached the thick part of the woods where there was no sunlight at all. So he wrapped his arms around Joelle’s legs. Maybe that and his body heat would keep her warm.

“Are you taking me to bed?” she mumbled.

Even groggy, she’d asked a question that brought back those blasted bad memories. Or good ones, depending on his mood. Right now, his mood sucked, and he didn’t want to think of the times he had indeed hauled her off to bed.

But he did.

He thought about it.

And cursed himself.

“Dallas?” he heard Owen call out.

Owen yelled something else that Dallas couldn’t make out. Something bad, no doubt. Joelle had been right about her fiancé having a vile temper. When they’d lived at the orphanage, Dallas had not only witnessed it, he’d been on the receiving end of it—often while trying to run interference for the younger boys who would later become his foster brothers.

He thought of his brothers as he ran. Also thought of his father. Kirby wasn’t going to approve of this, but his brothers would stand with him. They would understand, and if they’d had the chance to save Kirby, any one of them would do the exact same thing.

Dallas kept running, the minutes ticking off in his head, still not taking a direct route to the cabin. He meandered through the woods, trying to leave as few signs as possible so that Owen and his henchmen couldn’t easily track them.

He finally spotted the cabin just ahead. Good thing, too, because his legs were about to give out. He checked the shed first and saw the four-wheeler parked inside before he carried Joelle onto the porch. He located the key that Declan kept in a goofy frog planter, and he let himself in.

“Where are we?” Joelle mumbled.

“The place belongs to Declan.”

The cabin wasn’t much, just one room and a bath with sparse furnishings. He eased Joelle onto the sofa sleeper and went in search of a jacket for her and the keys to the four-wheeler.

When Dallas turned around, Joelle was sitting up. Or, rather, she was trying to. She was wobbly, but she finally got herself upright.

She stared at him, dragged her tongue over her bottom lip and added a groan. “You really screwed up this time.”

Dallas grabbed a ratty-looking jacket from a hook on the wall. “Well, I’m not alone. Your fiancé just had you drugged, and you’re scared to death of him.”

She didn’t deny either of those things.

And that meant he had more questions for the nonanswers she’d just given.

Joelle shivered, pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself.

Oh, man.

There it was. That punch of sympathy. As long as Joelle was defiant and lying through her teeth, he could hold on to the anger over that blasted report of her inquiry. But seeing her weak and trembling wasn’t good for his resolve of wanting to wring her neck.

Dallas huffed, took the jacket to her and draped it over her shoulders. Even though they needed to get out of there, he sat down beside her. “Why did Owen drug you?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, shook her head. “Long story.”

“We have time,” he lied.

Her gaze came to his, and he saw the tears. Yep, tears. He would have had to be a heartless SOB to be immune to those. Dallas cursed, slipped his arm around her, and Joelle went to him as if she belonged there.

She didn’t, he reminded himself. The ring on her finger and the report she’d written were proof of that.

“I need to marry Owen,” Joelle whispered. She moved away from him. “I don’t have a choice. And neither do you.”

Dallas frowned. “What the heck does that mean?”

“It means you have to take me back to the church, and then you have to leave.”

Well, there went that shot of empathy he’d had just seconds earlier. “Have you lost your mind? The man drugged you,” he reminded her in case she’d missed it the first time he’d said it. “There’s no good reason for you to become his wife.”

Her gaze came to his again. “Yes, there is. And don’t ask the reason because you don’t want to know.”

That caused him to shake his head. “You’re wrong about that. In fact, we’re not leaving this place until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.” She didn’t even hesitate.

Dallas stood and went to look for the key to the four-wheeler. It was a better use of his time than sitting there glaring at her stubborn face and listening to her ramblings that didn’t make sense. But getting up didn’t stop the thought from coming at him.

No pregnancy, so why would a woman marry a man she didn’t love? A jerk who would drug her? There was only one reason that popped into his head.

Because that man had forced her into it.

But why would Owen have done that? Again, he could only think of one reason: Owen wanted something from her.

Joelle wasn’t rich, but she had a job with power and access to the governor. Owen was wealthy, always wheeling and dealing, so perhaps he needed Joelle to cut some corners for him. Maybe along the lines of tax exemptions or reclassification of land that he planned to buy for commercial purposes.

So, yeah, there were reasons why Owen would want Joelle in his bed and under his influence.

But why would Joelle have agreed?

The answer came quickly, too.

Because Owen was blackmailing her or using some other form of coercion.

Dallas rifled through the kitchen cabinets and located the key for the four-wheeler inside the sole coffee cup. They could go now. He could take Joelle to the hospital and face whatever consequences would come from the fallout. On the way there, he could talk her out of submitting a report that would lead to his father’s arrest.

That was a must.

He couldn’t let her go until he was positive that Kirby wouldn’t be hauled off to jail.

“The report,” Dallas repeated under his breath. And he turned back around to face her. “Are you marrying Owen because of that report?”

She dodged his gaze, and he knew he’d hit pay dirt.

Dallas walked closer. “You dug into the old orphanage records when you were researching that report. You no doubt found out that right before Webb disappeared, Kirby was about to launch an investigation into the abuse going on there.”

And there was one other thing she would have done.

“You also dug through the documents connected to Kirby’s filing for guardianship of me and my foster brothers,” Dallas added.

He stooped down again, cupped her chin and forced her to make eye contact. Her pupils were still dilated, but he had no doubt that she had understood every single word he’d said.

“Kirby probably cut some corners when he did that guardianship paperwork,” Dallas admitted. “He did that to save us. Heck, he saved you, too, and got you into a good foster home.” He paused. “Are you marrying Owen because of something you found during your inquiry?”

Joelle didn’t answer. She tried to look away, but Dallas held her chin so she couldn’t move. Still, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Dallas had to press harder. “Are you marrying Owen to save Kirby?”

Joelle opened her eyes, her gaze nailed to his. “No.” A shivery sound left her mouth. “I’m marrying Owen to save you.”