Cowboy In The Crossfire(49)

Amanda twisted and turned to buck him off. She tried to reach him to scratch his face, but she couldn't. He just smiled and unbuckled his belt.

Frantically, Amanda looked toward the closet. The gun. Could she somehow get to it?

"I saw the .45 up there. You won't get the chance." The big man slipped the leather strap from the loops. "Good thing hotel clerks watch a lot of TV."

Beefy hands grabbed her by her throat and squeezed. She couldn't breathe. Spots danced in front of her eyes. "We want Vince's evidence. Wait here for a call on the hotel phone. Deliver what we want, or you won't see your kid again."

He held her down with one hand and took out a knife, twisting it in her face, taunting her with the shiny blade.

This couldn't be happening. She couldn't die. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped the hold he had on her throat. She kicked out her legs, trying to break his hold.

He just laughed.

He lowered the blade.

She closed her eyes.

With a single slice, he cut her sweatshirt down the middle. "You won't ever forget what I did."

Oh, God. Please. No.

*

BLAKE HAD DITCHED his Stetson and lowered a baseball cap over his brow. He jostled the paper grocery sack in front of his face. He'd been thankful the superstore had been in walking distance. He hadn't wanted to chance exposing the SUV, and a small grocery would have attracted too much attention.

He rounded the corner to the motel. The door to room eight was open.

His stomach fell. He dropped the bag and ran.

Amanda lay in the center of the bed cuffed to the metal headboard with zip ties. Blake's stomach lurched. Her sweatshirt was torn away from her body; dried blood surrounded a cut above her breast. One eye was swollen shut. She didn't move. Leo lay in the corner, still.

Blake raced across the room and with a shaking hand touched her cheek, terrified she would be cool to the touch. She shrank back from him with a whimper. He stilled. Even as his heart cracked in pain, his knees shook in relief. She was alive.

"It's me, Amanda. Blake. I'm going to get these off you." He pulled a pocketknife from his jeans and cut through the plastic.

She whimpered when he eased her arms down to her side. A shuddering breath escaped her bleeding lips, and she pried her eyes open to look at him.

The pain in her gaze hurt his heart. He cupped her face. "Amanda? Can you hear me?"

"Ethan," she croaked, a tear squeezing from the corner of her eye and trailing down her cheek. "They took Ethan. Please find him."

Blake ran out the motel room door, but there was no sign of a car, a van or anything out of the ordinary. Not that he'd expected it. He would've noticed walking up. He grabbed the groceries then closed and locked them in.

"How many?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed, afraid to get too close, afraid he'd hurt or frighten her.

"Two. Ski masks. I tore one off. Scratched him. Then he did this."

She raised a trembling hand to the mark on her breast. He took her hand in his and covered her chest with the torn shirt. As gently as he could, he threaded his fingers through hers as she told him everything her attacker had said. Chills skittered down his spine with each word. Terror burned behind his eyes. They could have killed her.

"God, I'm sorry. I should never have left you." Sick to his stomach, he walked into the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He gripped the porcelain and wanted to snap it in two. He wished it was the bastard's neck. With a long exhale, he stared at his face in the mirror. He was no closer to discovering who was behind it, and now they'd taken Ethan. The only chance Amanda's son had was a ransom demand...or Logan. Blake took several thin washcloths, walked back into the bedroom and dumped a handful of ice in one of them.

He sat on the bed beside her and settled the ice pack on her swollen eye, then gently washed the blood from her skin. "Did he rape you?" He could barely form the words.

She choked back a sob. "I thought he was going to. Then he marked me with his knife." Amanda covered the curve of her breast where a B-shaped cut marred the pale perfection that he'd kissed and caressed last night. "He wanted me to know who was to blame."

Blake held the anger inside, simmering like dry kindle waiting to flare. The man was dead.

She struggled to sit up. "I'm not important. They want the evidence or they'll...kill...Ethan." She could barely form the words. Her nails bit into his arm, her expression panicked. "We don't have it. What are we going to do? How can we get him back?"

He couldn't comfort her, but as gently as he could, he pressed her back against the bed. Blake scanned her pale face, her bruised face, the cut peeking beneath her torn shirt. "Please, Amanda, take a deep breath. You could have a concussion. I promise I'll find Ethan, but I've got to get you to a doctor."

She met his gaze and shook her head. "We can't afford to get help. I'll live with the headache."

"Okay, okay. At least let me look," he said gently.

She lifted her gaze to him and nodded, the trust in her eyes more than he could stand. He hadn't been there for her. As gently as he could, he checked her scalp, grimacing at the bump, and all the while cursing himself inside. Guilt sliced at his heart. "We can doctor the cut with antibiotic ointment, but you've got a major knot." He pressed lightly at the side of her head. She flinched but didn't cry out as he finished examining her injuries.