Читать книгу Stranded With The Detective - Lena Diaz - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Pain. It was Colby’s whole world. Surrounding him. Curling and rocking through every joint. But mostly, it pounded through his head, as if someone was hitting his skull with a hammer. From the inside.

Nausea coiled in his stomach. Where was he? What was happening? The last thing he remembered was sitting on top of a bay ordering...someone... Piper? Yes, the woman with the beautiful green eyes and the adorably sassy mouth. That was her name. Piper. Piper Caraway. He’d ordered her to... What? She was on a black stallion. She was... Yes, that was it. She was stealing the Friesian stallion that may or may not have been hers. He’d ordered her to turn the horse around. Then what? Nothing. Nothing but darkness. And pain.

His eyelids were sandpapery, heavy. It took an extreme force of will to open them. He blinked, recoiling against the darkness surrounding him. He couldn’t see anything. Was he blind?

“Shh, it’s okay.”

He froze at the sound of the woman’s voice. Piper’s voice, above him. While the rest of his body was cold and uncomfortable, lying on hard, unforgiving ridges, his head was cradled in a soft, very warm lap. He tried to lift his head, then groaned at the renewed pounding in his skull.

“Easy now,” she whispered again. One of her hands feathered through his hair. She patted his head and idly ran her fingers down the side of his face, all while whispering “It’s okay” and “Settle down, boy, settle down.”

Settle down? Boy?

“You do know that I’m not a horse, right?”

Her hand stilled on his cheek. “You’re awake?”

He blinked again. No use. He couldn’t see anything. “I think so. Where are we? I can’t see a dang thing. Why is my head on your lap? And why are you...petting me?”

A strangled laugh sounded above him and she jerked her hands away. “Sorry. I thought you were still unconscious. I was trying to, um, soothe you. It’s dark in here, that’s why you can’t see.”

Her reassurances about the darkness staved off the growing panic about possibly being blind. But the loss of the warmth of her hands almost made him groan again. Perhaps there was something to that “soothing” after all. He lifted his head, gritting his teeth against the pain racking his entire body.

“Easy. I mean, be careful.” Her hands gently but firmly pushed against his shoulders, helping him to sit up. “Take it slow. I think you may have a concussion.”

No “may” about it. He could feel the world spinning around even though he couldn’t see it. Whatever had happened to them was bad. And it was still happening. He needed to figure this out, fast, and protect her. Lying around wasn’t going to help either of them.

He braced his hands flat against the floor on either side of him to keep from falling over. Only it wasn’t a floor. It was cold and hard, with metallic grooves. The muted sound of an engine carried to him, echoing around them. Everything seemed to be bouncing, moving.

“We’re in a truck?”

“A small moving truck, maybe a twelve-footer, like you’d rent to move into a dorm. We’re sitting near the cab. The door rolls up and it’s locked. Trust me. I tried to raise it.”

“Who—”

“Palmer, along with three thugs. Palmer’s carrying a pistol on his hip. I’ve seen the others with rifles but at least one of them has a pistol since he used it to knock you out. He’s the one who threw you in here. He and Palmer are driving this truck. The other two are driving my rig. Gladiator and the horse you stole are in the back.”

“I didn’t steal him. I borrowed him.”

“I’m sure that makes the owner feel reassured, especially right now, not knowing where his horse is or whether he’s okay.”

A twinge of guilt shot through him. But there was nothing he could do about the horse or its owner right now. “You’re right. But this...scenario, isn’t exactly something I anticipated. Any idea why they’re driving your trailer instead of his? Or where they’re taking us?”

“I’m thinking his was stolen and he ditched it for mine. As for the rest, some things he said make me think he believes I did something to him. He called me ‘spoiled little rich girl,’ which I assure you I’ve never been. The ranch has been handed down for generations. But it’s never come with money. It’s always been a struggle to hold on to it.”

“Then he’s mistaken you for someone else?”

“I don’t think so. I did at first, but now I’m not sure. He called me daddy’s girl and Piper Ann, both of which my daddy used to call me. How could he know that if he didn’t know me?”

Listening and thinking seemed to be making his nausea worse. But he had to muddle through, figure out what was happening and make a plan before their captors stopped the truck.

The truck hit a hard bump and Colby could hear her suck in a sharp breath.

“You okay? Are you hurt?”

She let out a strangled laugh. “It’s a little worse than that. We’ve been bumping around back here for a couple of hours. If we don’t stop soon, it’s going to get messy. My bladder is about to burst.”

He smiled in the darkness. His own situation wasn’t much better. He stretched his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. Now that he was sitting up, the pounding in his head had dulled to a low throb. He reached up to touch the left side, which was the source of most of the pain. As soon as he touched it, a lightning bolt seemed to shoot down the back of his neck. He stiffened, and suddenly two warm hands were pressing against his chest, then running across his shoulders to his hands, pulling them down.

“Don’t,” she urged. “You got hit pretty hard. I had the devil of a time stopping the bleeding.” A pause, then she asked, “It’s not bleeding again is it?”

Her hands slid up his arms as if to find his head, but this time he captured them in his to stop her. The warmth and softness of her touch had fired across his nerve endings, sending blood racing through his veins and igniting a whole new cacophony of pain as his whole body seemed to come alive, aware. Had he been unfocused around her before? Because now, he was completely focused. On her. All he could think about was her soft hands, and the pleasure-pain of having them slide over his body.

Piper Caraway was a very dangerous woman.

“Colby? Are you okay?”

No. He let out a shaky breath. “I’m...fine. My head isn’t bleeding.” At least he didn’t think so. At this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get his breathing back under control before she realized her effect on him. Normally he was more disciplined than this. It must be the concussion. He was thinking crazy thoughts. Thoughts that were incredibly inappropriate given their situation.

“Oh, well, good.” She tugged her hands from his.

He had to force himself not to reach for her again. How insane was that? Just how hard had Palmer’s thug hit him?

“You didn’t really answer my earlier question.” He was desperate to tilt his world back on an even keel, to assess their situation. “Are you okay? Did Palmer or his men...do anything...to you?”

When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer until he could feel the delicious warmth of her skin radiating out. He cleared his tight throat. “Are you all right, Piper?”

He must have startled her because she jumped, her thigh hitting his. “A little, um, chilly, but otherwise fine.”

There was a lightness to her voice that made it sound like she was amused about something. He had no clue what. But she’d said she was chilly, and he didn’t want her to be cold. So even though touching her with his thoughts so scattered was about as dangerous as touching a match to a powder keg, he reached out to pull her close and offer her his body heat. When his hands settled around her bare waist, he froze. His mouth went as dry as dust.

“Piper?” he croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Are you...naked?”

This time she did laugh, a joyful, robust sound that was so rich and honest and so unexpected that he couldn’t help smiling. Everything about her surprised him. Maybe that was the problem. No one surprised him anymore. The fact that she did had him unbalanced.

“No,” she said when she stopped laughing. “But I did sacrifice my shirt for the cause.”

“The cause?” He raised his hand and touched his scalp more carefully this time, feeling the sticky dried blood. “You mean me? You said you tried to stop the bleeding. You used your shirt?”

“Did I mention the back of this truck is empty except for the two of us? There aren’t any first-aid kits lying around. I used my hands at first. But I couldn’t get enough even pressure that way. My shirt was the only thing I could think of.”

“You could have used my shirt.”

“And leave an injured man both cold and bleeding? I’m not quite that selfish.”

The words sounded flippant, but he detected an underlying hurt in them.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asked. “You had one the last I saw.”

“Apparently I smart-mouthed Palmer one too many times. He pulled over to check on us and I might have called him a few names. He took my jacket in retaliation. Leaving me to shiver in my bra and jeans was my punishment.”

Colby immediately shrugged out of his jacket, then tried to settle it around her shoulders.

She jerked back. “What are you doing?”

“You gave up your shirt for me. The least I can do is give up my jacket. I’ve got a thick flannel shirt on. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re wounded. I’m not taking your jacket.”

The sound of the engine subtly changed. Brakes squealed. The truck slowed. Colby braced himself against the back wall as the truck came to a stop.

They were both silent. The sound of voices carried to them from the cab. The driver’s door popped open, then the passenger door. Shoes crunched on dried leaves, coming toward the back of the truck.

“We’re about to have company.” Colby found her in the dark and pressed his jacket around her shoulders. “You want to face Palmer and his men again with or without a shirt? Your choice.”

She grabbed the jacket and he could hear the waterproof fabric rustling as she shrugged her arms into the sleeves.

A quick check at his waist confirmed what he’d already assumed. His gun, holster, everything he could have used as weapons or to contact his team were gone.

As the lock rattled at the back, he checked one more hiding place, his right boot. He slid his fingers inside the top edge. The cold handle of his hunting knife was still nestled in the built-in sheath. He wasn’t completely defenseless after all.

But bringing a knife to a gunfight wasn’t the best plan. It was the last resort of a desperate man. And he wasn’t desperate. Not yet. He needed to assess their situation before he showed all his cards.

He jerked his hand back, leaving the knife in his boot as the door was shoved upward. It slammed into the slot in the roof, bouncing against the top before settling.

Colby moved in front of Piper, shielding her from view. But her sharp intake of breath told him she’d leaned around him and saw what he was seeing—three rifles pointed directly at them.