Who knew that a grown man could be comforted just like a horse? She had a feeling that Colby wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
“Is he awake?”
She jerked her head up, her smile dying a quick death. Palmer stood just outside the opening at the back of the truck. She tightened her arms protectively around the wounded man in her care.
“No. He’s restless because he’s in pain. He needs a doctor. Head wounds are dangerous. You need to take us to—”
“No doctors. No hospitals. Now, get over here so I don’t have to shout.”
Bristling at the idea of leaving Colby alone, she hesitated.
“Do it now or I shoot your new friend.” His hand dropped to the pistol openly strapped on his hip.
She reluctantly lifted Colby’s head from her lap and scooted out from beneath him, gently lowering him to rest against the grooved metal floor.
He winced again, and she whispered an apology, even as she straightened and walked to the truck opening. Her hands, her hip, everything throbbed in rhythm with her pulse. But she did her best to push thoughts of her injuries out of her mind and to focus on the man standing in front of her, the height of the truck making them just about at eye level now.
Given the violence that Palmer had already dealt to both her and Colby, she knew they were lucky to still be alive. Prodding his temper didn’t seem like a good plan, so she did as she was told and tried not to let her hatred for him show in her posture or the way she looked at him.
“Has he said anything?” Palmer asked.
“No. He’s still unconscious.”
“You sure about that? My guy said he heard him say something.”
She flashed a look of irritation at the man standing a few yards behind him. “Detective Vale groaned. I wouldn’t call that saying something.”
He chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? Just like your horse.”
She glanced toward the graceful arch of Gladiator’s neck and clenched her fists against her thighs. “What’s so important to you and Wilkerson about my horse? He could have bought another Friesian somewhere else. Why steal mine?”
He shook his head as if he thought she was crazy. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, stupid girl?”
He suddenly grabbed her jaw in a crushing grip. His fingers bit into the bruised flesh, making tears of pain start at the backs of her eyes. She clawed at him, desperately trying to get him to let her go. He did. But then he grabbed her wrists and shook her so hard that her head started throbbing along with everything else in her pain-racked body.
Unbidden, tears tracked down her face. Her cheeks flushed hot with humiliation.
His eyes were as black as she imagined the devil’s would be as he pulled her close. A cruel smile twisted his lips. Then he suddenly gave her a brutal shove, sending her crashing to the floor of the truck.
Her right shoulder slammed against one of the ridges in the floor. The pain was intense, immediate, white-hot lava rippling across her nerve endings. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth as she clamped down on her lips, refusing to allow any noise to escape.
Even though she wanted to sit up in mute defiance, she couldn’t. The pain was overwhelming, raw, debilitating. If she moved, if she opened her mouth the tiniest bit, nothing would emerge but screams. And once she started, she might never stop.
His cruel laughter echoed through the hollow confines of the truck as he reached for the rolling door overhead.
“Caraway?”
She blinked, desperately trying to focus through the pain, to face whatever else he was going to dish out. She wanted to scramble to Colby, throw herself on top of him, to protect him. But it was beyond her abilities at the moment to even straighten her throbbing arm from the awkward angle in which it had landed.
His smile faded, and in its place was a look of such loathing that she couldn’t help but cringe against the back of the truck.
“Spoiled little rich girl, always too good for everyone else. You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” Spittle flew from his lips as he hurled the words at her like daggers. His knuckles whitened around the rolled-up door overhead.
Spoiled little rich girl? What was he talking about? She’d never been rich in her life. The land was heavily mortgaged because her father had used the equity like a bank, taking out loans against it whenever he needed an influx of cash. She was trying to be more fiscally responsible than her father had been. But it was slow going and at times she was barely able to keep the business afloat.
Wait. He’d asked if she had a clue who he was. She knew him? No. She’d never seen him before. Had she? Nothing about his profile was familiar. Nothing. Not his voice, not his huge, hulking build, not even his soulless eyes. Was this a case of mistaken identity? What did he think that she’d done to him?
He glared at her, his evil eyes making promises that had her wishing she could die right then rather than face whatever torture he had planned.
“Poor little Piper Ann. You still don’t get it. Listen up, daddy’s girl. It was never about the horse.”
The door slammed down, leaving her and Colby in utter darkness.
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