“The story must have really impressed the editor for him to redo the whole front page at the last minute. So, what’re you going to do now?”

  “Phone the sheriff’s office, for starters. Then keep my head down when Travis sees the paper. I sure hope nobody mentions it while he’s in town. I’d rather have a chance to explain myself before he blows his top.”

  Cleo nodded toward the cell phone lying on the kitchen counter. “Might as well use my phone. I’ve got more minutes on it than I’ll ever use.”

  “Thanks.”

  Emma’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely dial. Instead of calling 911 when there was no real emergency, she looked up the number of the sheriff’s business line and punched it in.

  “Sheriff’s office. Elaine speaking. How may I direct your call?”

  “I need to speak to Harlan. Right now.”

  “Sorry. He’s out. Can I take a message?”

  “Then let me talk to Adelaide. This is very important.”

  “Sorry. She’s not here, either. If you’ll leave your name and the nature of your business, I’ll have one of them get back to you.”

  “How soon?”

  “I have no idea. Sorry.”

  Frustrated and beginning to fear she was already running out of time, Emma blurted out her dire need to speak to the sheriff or his deputy, left a contact number, then ended the call.

  “Nobody home?” Cleo asked.

  “No.” Emma was staring at the phone in her hand. Desperate to let someone know how much danger she’d be in as soon as Blake and his partner read the newspaper story, she jabbed the emergency numbers.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  It was the same woman’s voice! “Elaine?”

  “That’s me. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “It’s Emma Landers again. Isn’t there somebody there who can talk to me?”

  “Well, normally there would be, but the sheriff and Serenity police were called out to assist the fire department with a wreck on Highway Nine. Besides, you shouldn’t call this number if you don’t have an emergency. I told you I’d notify them and I will.”

  “Call them on the radio, then,” Emma said. “Please. And tell Harlan to check the front page of today’s News. I thought I’d have a week to plan everything with him but the reporter gave me bad information. They printed my story too soon. When the man who’s been threatening me reads it, he’ll come for me. I know he will. Only Harlan won’t be there to arrest him if you don’t hurry.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell him. In the meantime, if you’ll stay on the line I’ll be able to relay his reply.”

  Breathing hard, Emma nodded. She held the phone away and covered the receiver end so she could tell Cleo. “She’s going to radio him for me. I’m supposed to hold.”

  In the yard, the pack of dogs began to bark. Emma could tell from the changes in the direction of the sound that they were running to the front of the house.

  As she thrust the cell phone at Cleo, the hackles on Bo’s back stood up. “Here,” Emma told her. “You listen for me. I’m going to go see who’s here. Maybe Harlan was closer than the dispatcher thought.”

  Although she strongly doubted that assumption, Emma didn’t want Cleo exposed to further danger if she could help it. She also didn’t want the older woman to be unarmed, so she left the shotgun untouched. Better to face Blake herself, if that’s who was here, and try to stall him long enough for official help to arrive.

  “Some wonderful plan this is,” Emma mumbled. She put out a hand and grasped Bo’s collar so he wouldn’t dash through the door when she opened it slightly to peek out.

  The vehicle in the driveway wasn’t a silver sedan. It was a black, dual-tired pickup truck. Jet was behind the wheel and Blake Browning was climbing out the passenger side.

  The taste of bile filled her throat. She swallowed hard. Her whole body began to shudder as if the temperature had dropped forty degrees in mere moments.

  Bo began a low, menacing growl. The poor old thing was ready to try to defend her, even with half his teeth missing and arthritic joints that made simple walking look as if it caused him discomfort.

  “No,” Emma told the dog firmly, wedging a knee between him and the barely open door. “You have to stay in the house this time.”

  The rest of the dogs had taken up strategic positions around the strange truck, barking and circling as if treeing a possum instead of engaging a human target. Only Bo had seemed to understand the degree of danger and Emma refused to allow him to enter the fray.

  Staying between the old dog and the opening, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. Clouds darkened the sky all the way to the horizon, increasing the sensation of dread. Of impending doom. Making her shiver as the temperature plummeted ahead of the storm.

  Emma squared her shoulders and demanded, “Where’s Sissy?”

  “Safe enough. Which is more than I can say for you,” Blake replied with a scowl. “You lied to me.”

  “About what?” Keep him talking. Stall, she reminded herself. Yeah, as if I’d forget to do that.

  “You claimed you had amnesia.” He waved a copy of the newspaper. “It says here you remember everything now.”

  “That may be a slight exaggeration.” Emma managed to sound bold in spite of the roiling of her stomach and the sudden weakness in her legs.

  “We’ll see about that. Get in the truck.”

  “I think not.”

  He drew a gun from his jacket pocket and pointed it at her, gesturing with the end of the muzzle. “Think again.”

  Instinct made her back up until she was pressed against the center of the wooden door. Through it, she thought she heard voices, as if Cleo may have followed with the cell phone.

  Please, God, not that, Emma prayed. Don’t let anybody else get hurt because of me.

  She started to edge to one side. Blake motioned to Jet to cut off her avenue of escape while he closed in from the front.

  The larger man climbed out of the truck. He, too, brandished a pistol, only his looked like a revolver while Blake’s was a small automatic that fit so snugly in his hand it was barely noticeable.

  Emma snapped her head from side to side, trying to keep an eye on both men. It was no use. They were getting too far apart.

  She saw Jet place his hand on the outside railing at one end of the porch, apparently preparing to leap over it and grab her. In the meantime, Blake was mounting the steps.

  Trapped! Now what? If she ran from these men they’d either wound her or fell her some other way until they could wring the supposed secret out of her. After that, realistically, they’d probably kill her.

  Jet shouted a curse. Emma turned his way just in time to see him whirl and divert his attention. He raised and cocked his gun, preparing to fire at an unseen target.

  A boom echoed. Rattled the windows.

  Jet hurtled back at the same instant and hit the ground, yowling, rolling and holding his leg.

  That was a shotgun blast—at close quarters! Emma realized in a split second. Cleo must have seen what was happening on the porch and circled around to get the drop on their adversaries.

  Momentarily stunned, Emma was about to call to Cleo, to warn her about Blake, when he grabbed her from behind with one arm around her neck and jammed his pistol against her temple.

  “Stay where you are,” Blake shouted, capping the command with colorful curses. “I’ve got the woman.”

  He half carried, half dragged Emma to the truck and forced her in the driver’s side door, pushing her over to make room for himself and kicking at her tennis shoes with hard, sturdy boots.

  In the background, Jet was still howling like a hound dog that had tangled with an angry porcupine.

  At least she wouldn’t have both men to worry about. Then again, one man with a gun was plenty.

  Surely, Cleo would have enough information to report a true emergency to the sheriff, now, Emma reasoned. Unfortunately, there would be no easy ambush and capture if the cops had no idea where Blake was taking her. The plan that had sounded so plausible before was beginning to fall apart at the seams.

  And, Emma realized as her spirits plummeted, so was she. Fear was beginning to gain the upper hand over her sense of reason again, and with it came the brain fog that had hampered her so badly before.

  No. Not this time, she vowed, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. She was not going to give in to Blake. Or to her own demons. She’d come this far. This was not the time to meekly surrender or to fold under pressure.

  It was the time to stand and fight.

  * * *

  Travis had come upon the accident on Highway Nine after leaving Pearson Products, so he had stopped to offer assistance. Someone had handed him a road flare and set him to helping direct traffic around the wrecked cars while the paramedics worked to extricate the victims.

  Firemen were sweeping broken glass off the road when he got a signal from Harlan.

  “You done with me?” Travis asked, jogging up to the sheriff. “I’d like to get home with my load before the rain hits.”

  “That’s why I motioned to you,” the portly sheriff said with a grimace. “We’ve just had a report of a shooting at your place.”

  Travis’s jaw clenched. “When? Who?”

  “Simmer down. Your aunt is fine,” Harlan assured him. “She put a load of shot into a guy’s knee. Says it’s the same one we’ve been looking for. Big and ugly. Name’s Jet.”

  “He’s the one who tried to grab Emma when we were in Ash Flat. What was he doing at the house?”

  “I take it you haven’t seen the News today.”

  “No. Why?”

  “There was a tell-all article in it about your Emma. I figured you didn’t know about it when I spotted you way out here. I knew you wouldn’t have left those women alone if you’d seen the paper.”

  “What did it say?”

  “The important part was that Emma’s regained her full memory. The rest was fluff.”

  “But, she hasn’t. She still can’t remember some things.”

  “You sure about that?” Harlan drawled.

  “Of course I am. I...” The recent difference in Emma! Was that why she’d been acting so strangely?

  Travis spun and raced for his truck. Its bed was piled high with sacks of feed but that wouldn’t slow him down.

  He pushed the accelerator to the floor and spun his tires on the shoulder of the road. When the truck hit pavement, Travis laid rubber for at least fifteen yards.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have left,” he muttered. His hands were gripping the wheel so tightly they ached. At least Harlan had assured him that Cleo was okay. That was something.

  A white-hot knot in Travis’s stomach began to burn. Cleo was okay. Fine. So why had nobody mentioned Emma other than to cite the newspaper report? What might that mean? Had the sheriff merely forgotten. Or had he, himself, been so overwrought he’d missed hearing everything that was said?

  There was one sure way to find out. Travis fumbled his cell phone, knowing he should pull over to make the call yet unwilling to slow down for any reason until he made certain Emma was uninjured.

  Cleo answered immediately. “Hello?”

  He could tell by the quaver in her usually strong voice that she was terribly upset.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, Travis! It was awful. There were two of them. I managed to get one but the other got away.”

  “It’s okay, Aunt Cleo. You did your best.”

  “No! You don’t understand,” she shrieked. “Blake was here, too. He—he took Emma!”

  If Travis had not been at the wheel of a speeding truck he didn’t know what he’d have done. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. To fight an unseen enemy. To shut his eyes and deny reality.

  He did none of those things. Instead, he demanded, “What was he driving? The same sedan as before?”

  “No,” Cleo shouted. “He was in a big, black dually.”

  “Which way was he headed?”

  “I don’t know I... Out of town. West or south, it looked like. He’ll know all the back roads because he grew up here.”

  “Yeah, well, so do I. Keep your ears open and your phone handy so you can call me if you hear anything else. Harlan’s on his way to you. Will you be okay until he gets there?”

  She sounded as if she was pulling herself together pretty well. “You betcha. I’ve still got the drop on this guy, not that he’s about to run off. I nailed him good.”

  “Keep your distance, anyway, just in case,” Travis warned, torn between driving wildly up and down myriad unnamed dirt roads or going back home to wait for word and keep Cleo company.

  Sitting back and doing nothing was unthinkable. Even if all he did was burn rubber and waste gas, he had to keep looking. And keep praying he’d locate Emma before it was too late.

  Might she actually have remembered more than she’d admitted? If that was the case, perhaps she’d be able to bargain for her life and save herself by giving Browning the clues he sought.

  However, Travis reasoned, if Emma had merely been pretending, the time would soon come when she’d be unable to deliver the missing cash and her captor would run out of patience. Blake Browning had never been the sharpest pencil in the box and thanks to the influences of alcohol and drugs, he was probably even less likely to act rationally now.

  “I can’t lose her. I can’t. Even if she turns me down again and goes back to the music business, I have to know she’s alive and well.”

  That was the key, wasn’t it? He wished only the best for Emma. Happiness. Fulfillment. The joy of sharing her special gift with the world. Anything beyond that was selfishness on his part.

  Silent prayers and fond hopes were all he could manage at this point. He had to find her in time. He simply had to. Failure was unthinkable.

  A world without Emma in it was a world where the sun would never again shine.

  NINETEEN

  The ride in the truck was rough, especially since Blake stuck mostly to dirt roads and the vehicle’s suspension was meant for work, not passenger comfort.

  Emma had to brace herself to keep from being tossed around in spite of having managed to fasten her seat belt.

  Outside, the force of the wind was building, heralding one of the severe storms so typical this time of year. She leaned forward to peer out the windshield. It wouldn’t be long before rain started. Rumbles of distant thunder were already loud and the clouds were being lit with lightning from behind, giving them an eerie glow that danced across the sky like strobes manned by erratic giants.

  “Where are we going?” Emma dared ask.

  Blake sneered. “How about we head for the money you hid and you give it to me.” His chuckle sounded raspy, sinister. “Or else.”

  “It’s not in Serenity. You don’t think I’d be dumb enough to bring it with me do you?”

  “You might be.”

  Emma was shaking her head forcefully. “No way. Besides, you know what kind of state I was in when I was running from you. I wouldn’t have stopped for anything. I was too confused.”

  “You do have a point,” he admitted. “In that case, suppose you tell me where Robbie stashed it?”

  “So you won’t need me anymore and can kill me?”

  “Maybe I’m feeling generous. You wanted the kid. Tell me where the cash is and I’ll let you have her.”

  “No strings attached?”

  He snorted derisively. “There are always strings, Emma darlin’. You know that.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  He laughed again, reminding her of the rowdy way he and the others had behaved when she and Robbie had left them onstage during that frenetic performance.

  “You shouldn’t,” Blake told her. “But it looks to me like you’re out of choices.”

  Although he kept both hands on the steering wheel, he managed to draw her attention to his gun with a brief glance. Emma shivered. The weather wasn’t the only thing unsettled and posing a threat, was it? The man beside her was losing what little self-control he had left. Unless the cavalry arrived soon to rescue her, she was probably going to die today.

  That thought settled in her heart, astonishingly calming and reassuring. She was a strong enough believer to know where she was going after she drew that final breath. It was the idea of leaving Travis and Sissy behind that devastated her.

  Especially Travis, she added, not bothering to argue with herself over that telling conclusion. She loved him more now than ever before and it was her most fervent prayer that he would not blame himself for any of this.

  I’m responsible, Emma concluded. Just me. Nobody else. By releasing her story to the reporter she had set all this in motion. It hardly mattered that her supposedly perfect plan had backfired. When she’d left Serenity with Blake and his Browning Brothers band six years ago, she’d started the series of errors that had brought her to this end.

  “Everything started to go wrong after I left Travis,” she muttered, assuming the noise of the motor and the storm outside the cab of the truck would mask her words.

  They did not. Blake’s head snapped around. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

  “I don’t think so,” he countered. A leer showed his ruined teeth. There was perspiration dotting his flushed face and trickling down his forehead.

  Emma had seen that reaction before. If he didn’t get a fresh fix soon he’d be physically ill. Her spirits rose. Maybe that was going to be her deliverance.

  Before she had time to plan further, he was easing the truck off the road and onto an even more narrow dirt track. Raindrops the size of quarters were dotting the dusty windshield and running like tears down a dirty face. Like Sissy’s face.