please a lover besides shove their dick inside her.
Shocked by the path her mind was wandering into, she returned to the chair. Tomorrow sheâd find out what had actually happened to her guest. Maybe she could even drive him out of the area. Then sheâd be finished with him, and she could comfort herself that sheâd done the best she could under difficult circumstances.
She picked up the book of poetry again, but instead of reading she leaned back in the chair again, thinking she needed to relax. Sheâd just close her eyes for a moment, she thought as she let her body sink into the cushiony chair. That was a mistake. As soon as she gave into fatigue, she was lost to the world.
Chapter 4
Jack Brandt snapped awake, every muscle tensing as he anticipated the pain of another blow or another burn at the hands of men who had been taught by an expert to inflict agony. But no fist smashed into his kidneys. No glowing cigarette pressed into his thigh.
Thank God. His mind had been fuzzy. Now it was clearer. Even if he probably had a concussion. The good news was that he wasnât dead, and when he moved his arms and legs, they seemed to be working.
The room where he lay was lit by a warm glow that he recognized as coming from an oil lamp. When he looked toward the light source, he saw the woman whoâd brought him into her house. She was sitting in a wingback chair, a book in her lap, the gun on the table beside her, and her head lolling to the side. It looked like sheâd tried to keep herself awake and failed.
Her name was⦠Morgan something. Sheâd told him, but he couldnât remember the rest.
Hoping not to wake her, he took an inventory of his injuries.
When he ran his tongue against his teeth, he was relieved to note they were all in place. And when he fingered his nose, he decided it wasnât actually brokenâjust battered.
Gingerly he touched the swollen tissue around his eye. The massive bruise was tender, but hopefully there wasnât any permanent damage to his vision.
Still, it wasnât all good news.
When he started to sit up, he felt a sharp stab in his ribs on the right side. Moving cautiously, he pushed himself to a sitting position and fought a wave of dizziness that had him cursing silently. He was relieved when it subsided after a moment. Scooting his body to the coffee table, he got enough leverage to pull himself to his feet. He waited to be sure of his balance, then inched to the nearest window where he saw the gray light that comes before dawn. Time to get out of here, if he could manage to stay mobile.
A while ago heâd been trying to remember a name that wouldnât come to him. Now it sprang to the front of his mind like a demon leaping out of the shadows.
Wade Trainer. The self-appointed head of his own tinhorn paramilitary organization. The Real Americans Militia. RAM for short.
It was a sure bet that Trainer and his men were beating the bushes for the fugitive right now.
Jack went still. Coming up with the militia leaderâs name had unleashed a flood of recent memories.
Hadnât it been storming last night? Jack remembered buckets of cold rain. Maybe the downpour had slowed them down or halted their search.
He looked back toward the woman to see if his moving around had awakened her, but she was still dead to the world. Good. Maybe he could find something to wearâand find a back way out of here before she realized he was missing.
As he took a step, pain laced through him. He gritted his teeth and drove past it. If he needed medical attention, heâd have to get it later. When he thought he had the pain under control, he looked toward the yawning darkness of the hall. There must be a bathroom down there somewhere.
He found the toilet and relieved his full bladder before peering at himself in the bathroom mirror.
The light coming through the window was low, but the battered visage that stared back made him wince as he saw
Shocked by the path her mind was wandering into, she returned to the chair. Tomorrow sheâd find out what had actually happened to her guest. Maybe she could even drive him out of the area. Then sheâd be finished with him, and she could comfort herself that sheâd done the best she could under difficult circumstances.
She picked up the book of poetry again, but instead of reading she leaned back in the chair again, thinking she needed to relax. Sheâd just close her eyes for a moment, she thought as she let her body sink into the cushiony chair. That was a mistake. As soon as she gave into fatigue, she was lost to the world.
Chapter 4
Jack Brandt snapped awake, every muscle tensing as he anticipated the pain of another blow or another burn at the hands of men who had been taught by an expert to inflict agony. But no fist smashed into his kidneys. No glowing cigarette pressed into his thigh.
Thank God. His mind had been fuzzy. Now it was clearer. Even if he probably had a concussion. The good news was that he wasnât dead, and when he moved his arms and legs, they seemed to be working.
The room where he lay was lit by a warm glow that he recognized as coming from an oil lamp. When he looked toward the light source, he saw the woman whoâd brought him into her house. She was sitting in a wingback chair, a book in her lap, the gun on the table beside her, and her head lolling to the side. It looked like sheâd tried to keep herself awake and failed.
Her name was⦠Morgan something. Sheâd told him, but he couldnât remember the rest.
Hoping not to wake her, he took an inventory of his injuries.
When he ran his tongue against his teeth, he was relieved to note they were all in place. And when he fingered his nose, he decided it wasnât actually brokenâjust battered.
Gingerly he touched the swollen tissue around his eye. The massive bruise was tender, but hopefully there wasnât any permanent damage to his vision.
Still, it wasnât all good news.
When he started to sit up, he felt a sharp stab in his ribs on the right side. Moving cautiously, he pushed himself to a sitting position and fought a wave of dizziness that had him cursing silently. He was relieved when it subsided after a moment. Scooting his body to the coffee table, he got enough leverage to pull himself to his feet. He waited to be sure of his balance, then inched to the nearest window where he saw the gray light that comes before dawn. Time to get out of here, if he could manage to stay mobile.
A while ago heâd been trying to remember a name that wouldnât come to him. Now it sprang to the front of his mind like a demon leaping out of the shadows.
Wade Trainer. The self-appointed head of his own tinhorn paramilitary organization. The Real Americans Militia. RAM for short.
It was a sure bet that Trainer and his men were beating the bushes for the fugitive right now.
Jack went still. Coming up with the militia leaderâs name had unleashed a flood of recent memories.
Hadnât it been storming last night? Jack remembered buckets of cold rain. Maybe the downpour had slowed them down or halted their search.
He looked back toward the woman to see if his moving around had awakened her, but she was still dead to the world. Good. Maybe he could find something to wearâand find a back way out of here before she realized he was missing.
As he took a step, pain laced through him. He gritted his teeth and drove past it. If he needed medical attention, heâd have to get it later. When he thought he had the pain under control, he looked toward the yawning darkness of the hall. There must be a bathroom down there somewhere.
He found the toilet and relieved his full bladder before peering at himself in the bathroom mirror.
The light coming through the window was low, but the battered visage that stared back made him wince as he saw
Similar Books
Tranquil Fury
P.G. Thomas
Clearly Now, the Rain
Eli Hastings
Tangled Rose
Abby Weeks
Buckeye Dreams
Jennifer A. Davids
Special Needs
K.A. Merikan
Raven's Gate
Anthony Horowitz
Swindlers
D.W. Buffa
Liar Liar: DI Helen Grace 4 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller)
M. J. Arlidge
The Private Patient
P. D. James
Jewelweed
David Rhodes