Montana Heat: Escape to You Read online

  With the walls closing in and a storm about to dump a shitload of snow on his place, he headed out the door to settle the horses and secure the barn.

  He’d asked his brother and sister to give him some space. It didn’t stop them from dropping by—often. The storm and snow would give him the space he needed and the solitude he craved—most of the time.

  Seeing his brother Caden with his girlfriend, Mia, happy and so damn in love, made Trigger think about the things missing in his life. A woman unlike the ones he usually met undercover: cynical, looking for an angle, out for themselves, and desperate for the drugs and money that ruled that scene. It had been a long time since he had a kind, sweet woman in his life. Someone with a genuine smile and a warm, open heart.

  Trigger grabbed his jacket off the peg by the front door, pulled it on, and walked out into the frigid breeze, cursing himself for fantasizing about a woman he’d never find out here. He pulled the door closed against the biting wind and headed down the porch steps and across the yard to the barn. The open door stopped him in his tracks. He must not have closed it hard enough to catch. The wind blew the door open six inches, then pushed it back, bouncing the door in and out of its frame.

  Caution and suspicion were his go-to modes, so he scanned the yard, every shadow and crevice around the barn, the surrounding pastures and trees. Nothing but the wind made a sound. He dialed down the shot of adrenaline, drew his gun from behind his back, and approached the barn with extreme caution, all his senses on alert for any threat.

  No telling if one of the drug dealers he’d taken down had come for their revenge.

  He threw open the barn door, stepped in, gun held out in front of him, and gave his eyes a second to adjust to the darker interior. Nothing but the horses stirred. His truck and Camaro sat to his left. The vehicles were exactly as he left them. He needed to finish taping and papering off the Camaro and finish getting it ready to paint. He loved the black, but the car was too recognizable. A few minor changes and maybe he could keep it and not alert every drug dealer in the state that he was the same guy taking everyone down.

  He scrubbed his free hand over his full beard and shook his shoulder-length hair back and thought maybe he needed a shave and haircut before anyone believed he wasn’t a drug dealer himself.

  The horses swished their tails and nickered at him, giving him the sense that if they were okay and not nervous or spooked, then he should relax and stop looking for trouble where there was none.

  He lowered the gun and slid the wide door separating the garage area from the stables all the way open. He walked down the aisle giving the three horses a pat and checked to be sure they had enough water. He’d clean their stalls, feed them, and make sure everything was shut up tight before the storm hit and they got too cold. Heading back to the tack room to grab the horse blankets, he stopped in his tracks, staring down at the two apple cores, the empty bottle of water, and the box of crackers he’d left behind the other day, now spilled across the floor. One of the horse blankets was missing, too.

  The outer door slammed and this time it wasn’t the wind. Trigger pulled his gun again and ran after whoever made it onto his property, past his security system, and sneaked into his barn. He bolted out the door, searching the yard for any sign of the intruder. Another half-eaten apple in the dirt gave him a direction. He ran toward the trees, ignoring the pain in his calf and ankle from the burns, slowing to a halt when he spotted the horse blanket draped on the ground as a small child tried to hide behind a tree with his entire backside sticking out. If the dark blue blanket hadn’t given him away, the red coat made him a perfect target.

  How the hell did such a small child get here?

  Trigger tucked the gun away at his back. He didn’t want to scare the kid.

  He scanned the sparse forest, checking for anyone else trying to hide among the thin trees. He didn’t see anything. Nothing moved, including the child.

  “Come out,” he ordered.

  The child jolted, then took off at a dead run, halting only momentarily when the blanket caught on an exposed root, held, and the boy lost his grip. He turned momentarily, with a look of regret and desperation that surprised Trigger and told him how much the child needed that blanket. The boy must be freezing out here.

  And where the hell were his parents?

  “Hey, come back,” Trigger called when the boy ran off again.

  Unable to let the kid go without making sure he was okay and found his parents again, though how they got way the hell out here boggled the mind, he ran after the kid again. His burned leg protested the exertion, but Trigger ignored it and tried to keep track of the boy as he dodged trees, winding his way down a path only the kid knew. Trigger couldn’t think of a single place out here that the boy and his family could squat and endure the cold.

  Trigger rounded yet another pine and skidded to a stop, struck by the oddest scene he’d ever encountered. As an undercover DEA agent, he’d seen some weird shit and bizarre situations.

  The woman lay facedown, sprawled in the dirt and weeds wearing an ice-blue evening gown and one sparkling crystal high heel. The other lay stuck between the ground and a thick root four feet behind her. Judging by the disturbances in the dirt and brush, either she skidded on her belly, or the boy had tried to drag her. He sat on the dress between her wide legs with a thick stick in his hands to protect her, the layers of fabric from her skirt bunched around him in a puffy cloud.

  Trigger might have smiled at the heroic attempt to defend the defenseless woman, but the kid couldn’t be more than three or four and about as tall as his thigh. Not much thicker than it, even in his heavy coat. No wonder the kid scarfed down the apples and crackers. He must be starving. Judging by how skinny his mother looked, he’d think they’d been living on the streets if not for her gown and the boy’s clean clothes.

  Something didn’t add up. Lots of things—like the way she was dressed—set off all the alarms in Trigger’s mind, but none sounded louder than her pale, gray skin. He couldn’t see her face beneath the fall of thick, dark, greasy hair. Judging by her coloring, she was either freezing or dead. The tight top of the dress made it impossible for him to tell if she was still breathing. Hell, he didn’t know how she breathed in that thing at all.

  “Hey now, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Is she okay? Is this why you needed the blanket?”

  The boy’s bottom lip trembled, but he held it together and raised the stick higher to ward off Trigger.

  “Let me check her out, see if she needs help.” Or a coroner.

  The wind kicked up and the dark clouds overhead dumped the first flutters of snow. By tonight, they’d be wrapped in a whiteout and enough snow to reach his knees, or worse. He needed to get these two squared away and out of the weather.

  Trigger stepped forward, not stopping even when the boy shot out in front of the woman to keep him away. He swung the branch, but Trigger simply grabbed it and pulled it out of the kid’s grasp. The kid wasn’t done yet; he kicked Trigger right in the shin. Trigger bit back the pain flaring in his injured leg. He took the kid by the shoulders and held him up in front of him. A little intimidation to get the kid under control.

  “I won’t hurt you or her. She needs help. You wanted to get her warm.”

  Tears shined in the boy’s eyes. He nodded.

  “Okay, then let me see if I can move her and get her up to the house.”

  The boy eyed him, the woman, then him again. So much showed in the depths of his eyes, but one thing stood out—he didn’t want anyone to hurt his mother.

  Trigger set the boy back on his feet and held out his hand. “I swear to you, I will not hurt her.”

  The boy hesitated but took his hand and shook.

  Trigger knelt beside the woman’s head and gently touched her cheek, pulling her long hair back from her face. “Holy shit!” This scene took on a whole new level of strange. Not only should these two not be out here in the middle of nowhere, but the woman lying on the ground
hadn’t been seen by anyone in a year. Ashley Swan’s face was all over the news and tabloids, and her name was mentioned on the radio every five seconds as the anniversary of her disappearance approached.

  And he’d found her. On his property. Lying at his feet.

  “Shit.” His quiet solitude was about to blow up with cops, press, and way too much attention for an undercover agent.

  The boy stepped close and stared down at Ashley, reminding him he shouldn’t swear in front of the kid. It hit him all at once. From everything he’d heard about Ashley over the last week and from past publicity of her movies, she didn’t have a child. The silent boy was yet another mystery.

  “Where did you come from?”

  The boy pointed past Ashley at the trees and open land. Nothing out there but wide-open spaces.

  Trigger bit the bullet and slid his hand over her freezing skin to her neck. The flutter of her pulse against his fingertips barely registered. If she stayed out here any longer, she’d be dead in hours. If she even had that much time.

  “Did she hurt herself? Break a bone?”

  The boy shook his head, held up his hand, his fingers pointed up, then let his hand fall forward flat.

  “She fell.”

  He nodded, rolled his eyes back in his head, and pretended to faint, falling to his knees.

  “She passed out?”

  He held out his hand to her and frowned.

  “Okay. How long ago?”

  He held his hands out wide.

  “A long time ago?”

  The boy nodded, making Trigger’s stomach tighten with dread.

  “An hour?” Trigger kept going, watching the boy for any sign he hit the mark. “Two hours? Lunchtime? Morning? Was it still dark?”

  Finally the boy nodded.

  Shit. A hell of a long time to pass out and lay unconscious.

  “You know this would go a lot faster and help me out if you talked to me.”

  He rushed over to Ashley and hid in her skirt again at Trigger’s sharp tone. Those things not adding up started turning into dark thoughts and places in his mind Trigger didn’t want to go.

  “I’m going to make you a deal, little man. We made a deal that I wouldn’t hurt her, right?” He got another of those repetitive nods. “I’ll make you another deal. I will never hurt you. Ever.” Trigger held out his hand.

  The boy took it and shook again.

  “Now, you have my promise. Want to tell me your name?”

  “Adam,” he whispered.

  “Nice to meet you, Adam. I’m Trigger.”

  The narrowed, confused gaze wasn’t hard to read.

  “Strange name, I know. Let’s take care of Ashley, okay?”

  Another confused look.

  “She’s famous. I saw her picture on TV.”

  That seemed to frighten Adam even more.

  “Don’t worry. No one knows she’s here.”

  Who the hell could find them out here anyway? Where the hell did they come from? The closest property to his had to be about ten miles away as the crow flies.

  He needed to get her out of here. Fast. The snow fell in a light flutter, but in another hour he’d have a hard time finding his way back home.

  “Move out of the way, little man. Let me roll her over.” Trigger gave Adam a second to move to his side, then he took Ashley gently by the shoulders and slowly rolled her over. She didn’t so much as blink, let alone make a sound. The dress constricted her chest so tightly her breasts nearly spilled right out of the top. Any other time he’d have appreciated such lovely things, right now he worried about her shallow breath. He hated to keep moving her without knowing exactly what ailed her, aside from the fact she was absurdly thin, but he had no choice. The woman could use another fifteen pounds to fill out her bird-like frame.

  He rolled her to her side and tried to unzip the dress a couple inches to give her some room to breathe, but the dress was too tight to move the zipper. He grabbed hold of the edge with one hand and muscled the zipper down with the other. The small gap revealed deep purple bruises. He swore and slid the zipper all the way down revealing a disturbing array of purple splotches across her entire back. The second he freed her torso of the constricting garment, she moaned and sucked in a ragged and shallow breath. The stupid dress had made it impossible for her to breathe. If her back looked this bad, he didn’t want to see the rest of her. Someone had taken out their rage on her in a calculated way that hid their dirty work on parts of her you couldn’t see when she was dressed. It turned his stomach.

  The sick bastard deserved the worst pit in hell and an eternity of pain.

  Adam went to Ashley’s legs and pulled up the thick skirt revealing the bruises he hadn’t seen on her thighs.

  How the hell did she make it this far in her condition?

  Determination.

  She wanted to get away.

  Trigger practically tore off his jacket. He draped it over her, gently putting her arm down one sleeve, then maneuvering her so he could do the same with the other. He found the strength to go slow, but every one of her pain-filled moans made his chest constrict. He settled her on her back and zipped up the jacket, dreading the moment he got her home and had to undo this process. She needed a hospital. Now. But the falling snow thickened. The temperature had dropped another few degrees. And Trigger felt like hell when he picked her up and she yelped, holding her elbow to her side. He guessed cracked or broken ribs. He’d like to take the time to check all of her out, but he needed to get her out of the elements.

  “S-stop. P-please stop.”

  Trigger didn’t know what came over him, but he held her close to his chest, leaned down, and pressed his forehead to the side of her face and whispered into her ear, “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. No one will ever hurt you again.” He meant that promise with every fiber of his being. He’d taken the leave of absence from the DEA because he couldn’t watch one more person get hurt or die. It was his job to protect the innocent, but so many times they got caught in the cross fire. Literally in Paula’s case when he accidentally shot her during a raid. Accident or not, he killed her and that was another black mark on his soul.

  The biting cold and snow pushed against his back as he walked to his house. Adam easily kept up with Trigger’s uneven gate. Carrying Ashley put a strain on his healing leg and shoulder where he’d been shot, but he bit back the pain that didn’t compare to what Ashley went through as he held her close, trying not to jostle her too much over the uneven terrain. He cursed every root and rut in his path. If he could fly her home, he would, but he had no choice but to prolong the agony by taking the least treacherous route.

  He loved his place, but he’d never been this happy to see it any other time. The roof already had a thick coat of snow. His shoulders and head felt like he’d collected a couple inches himself. Freezing without his jacket or a hat, he needed to get inside, start a fire, get something hot to drink and eat, but he still had a hell of a lot to do before he took care of himself.

  Adam huffed up the stairs to the covered porch. It took Trigger concerted effort to get up the stairs. His arms ached from carrying Ashley, mostly due to the bullet wounds to his chest and side. He needed to step up his exercises. His thighs ached when he reached the porch. They’d walked a hell of a long way.

  “Open the door, little man.”

  Adam bit his lip, stared past Trigger and up at Ashley, uncertain what to do. Go inside with a stranger, make a run for it, or get Ashley the help she needed.

  “Remember my promise. I have something to show you inside. Trust me, you’re safe here.”

  Adam opened the door and stepped into the house, holding the door wide so Trigger could carry Ashley in. He had to go sideways. Even then, he barely fit through the door with Ashley in his arms and the damn ridiculous dress with its thick skirt taking up the entire doorway.

  He carried her through the wide-open living room to his bedroom. Adam trailed behind him, not letting Ashley out of his sight
.

  “Pull the bedcovers down. Let’s get her warm.”

  Adam pulled back the rumpled blanket and sheet. Trigger laid Ashley down gently on her back, her head on the pillow, her arms falling to her sides like lead weights. He needed to get some water and food into her, but she was barely conscious.

  First, he needed to get Adam settled in the other room so Trigger could get that damn dress off her and see just how badly she’d been beaten.

  Frustrated and furious with no outlet for his anger, he scooped up Adam and carried him out of the room. The boy stiffened, then jerked back, ready to fight his way free. He took Adam’s hand and held it against his own chest. “You’re okay.” He hated that such a small child didn’t want to be carried and touched. Maybe he should take the kid’s jacket and shirt off to see if he needed attention, too.

  That sick feeling in his gut flared.

  Trigger set Adam on the kitchen island counter and reached behind him. He handed the boy the leather case. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Adam opened it and stared at his badge and DEA credentials. His eyes glassed over and his gaze shot up to Trigger’s.

  “That’s right, little man, I’m a cop. You are safe here.” He should have told the kid when he caught up to him in the trees.

  “Good guy,” he whispered.

  Trigger may not look like it—maybe he really wasn’t—but if it made the kid feel better, yeah, he’d do his damndest to be the good guy for him. And Ashley.

  “Yes. I put bad guys in jail. Can you tell me about the bad guy who hurt Ashley?”

  Adam pulled his feet up on the counter, wrapped his arms around his legs, and hid his face in his knees. His whole body trembled with fear.

  “Okay, little man. You don’t have to say anything.” Trigger brushed his hand over the boy’s head, pulling his icy blue cap off and ruffling his bright blond hair. “Let’s take these soaking wet shoes off.” The snow had saturated the thin material. He pulled off one shoe and the other before taking off Adam’s soaking wet socks. He took the boy’s feet in his warm hands and tried to rub some warmth and blood back into his pink feet. “Better?”