Sovereign Sheriff. Cassie Miles

threat of being kidnapped for a royal ransom and had been trained in marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat and evasive driving techniques.

      The headlights were on her tail. She was going fifty-eight miles per hour—an unsafe speed for making a ninety-degree turn on a narrow road.

      “Turn left in one hundred feet,” the GPS said.

      Saida saw the stop sign and the intersection. She tapped the brake, hoping the truck behind her would slow down. No such luck. Its front bumper kissed the back of her car hard enough to give her a jolt. The driver wasn’t following her by coincidence. He was pursuing her.

      “Turn left now,” said the GPS.

      She cranked the steering wheel and swerved. Her lightweight rental car fishtailed wildly. Centrifugal force threatened to flip her car into a death roll. She maintained balance, controlled the turn and leveled out on a straightaway.

      “In one-point-three miles, turn right.”

      The truck was still behind her. Even worse, another set of headlights appeared in the lane beside it and quickly pulled forward. If the second car got ahead of her, she’d be trapped between them.

      She tromped on the accelerator. Seventy miles per hour. Seventy-five. Eighty. Going over a ridge, her vehicle was airborne. The car landed with a crash that stressed the shock absorbers.

      “Turn right,” the GPS said.

      But she couldn’t. It would be suicide to take the turn at this speed. The second vehicle—a dark sedan—remained in the lane for oncoming traffic. He pulled even with her rear fender.

      The GPS system scolded, “You missed the turn.”

      “Shut up!”

      Her training told her to hit the gas and zip into the other lane to block the second car, but she didn’t have the horsepower to pull ahead. Panic flashed inside her head. Think, Saida.

      In the backseat were two of the six suitcases she’d packed for this trip. Even if she could dig into the suitcase and reach her handguns, it wouldn’t do much good. Her weapons weren’t loaded.

      The sedan passed her. Once it was in front of her, the driver slowed his speed. She was hemmed in with no room to maneuver, nowhere else to go. Beyond the shoulder of this road was a strip of land and a barbed-wire fence.

      The truck pulled into the lane beside her. She lifted her foot from the accelerator and slowed. The truck matched her speed.

      Before she felt the impact, she heard the grinding of metal against metal. He was forcing her off the road. Her tires crashed raggedly on the gravel shoulder.

      Her foot jammed down hard on the brake.

      The truck shot past her.

      Her brake rotors screeched. She went into a skid.

      The air bag exploded, blinding her and forcing her hands off the steering wheel. Her tires bounced off the road and over a ditch, throwing her car off balance. Before she tipped over, the car came to a full stop.

      It was a miracle that she hadn’t flipped over, that she didn’t seem to be injured. Frantically, she batted at the air bag. Her fingers struggled to unfasten the seat belt. She had to run, had to get out of this car before her pursuers grabbed her.

      The wail of a police siren cut through the air.

      The bag deflated enough that she could see through the window. The taillights of the truck were zooming away from her. The other car had disappeared. They’d given up.

      Adrenaline surged through her veins. She could have been killed, could have been kidnapped. Why was this happening? The inside of her head whirled in a dizzying tornado, and she gripped the wheel to stabilize herself.

      The siren came closer, and she saw the flashing red and blue lights of a police vehicle.

      Jake appeared outside her car window. He yanked on her door handle until it opened. “Saida, are you all right?”

      Unable to speak, she could only nod.

      When he touched her shoulder, she flinched. Every muscle in her body screamed with tension.

      “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Let go of the wheel.”

      She pried her fingers loose. Darkness pressed against her peripheral vision. She shook herself, fighting for control. I won’t pass out. The idea of fainting into Jake’s strong arms held a certain appeal, but she didn’t want to show weakness. She wanted him to think of her as an equal.

      Clearly, she said, “You got here just in time.”

      “Let’s get you out of here.” He took her hand to help her from the car. “We need to hurry. In case they come back.”

      That possibility was enough to get her moving. She lurched from her car and stood on shaky legs.

      The lights from his vehicle showed the damage to her rental car. The trunk and rear bumper were caved in. A scrape gashed into the back door. It was sobering to see how close she’d come to disaster, but she couldn’t allow herself to sink into helpless terror.

      “Wait.” She balked. “My luggage.”

      “I’ll have someone come back for it.”

      “At least, I need my purse.” She leaned into her wrecked car and reached across the driver’s seat to grab her purse. Her gaze slid toward the matched burgundy leather suitcases behind the front seat; she wanted her guns. “Can I get my luggage?”

      “Forget it.”

      “We can leave the other bags in the trunk.” With the rear end crushed in, it would take the Jaws of Life to retrieve those suitcases. “But I need that one.”

      “Why?”

      It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell him that she’d brought a couple of Berettas. Facing him, she drew up her shoulders and said, “I’ve got to have my makeup.”

      Without another word, he scooped her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes.

      Upside down, she was shocked by his manhandling. Saida was a princess, after all. His arm pinned her legs so she couldn’t kick. Her arms flailed wildly. With her purse, she whacked his butt. “Put me down.”

      “This is for your own good.”

      She’d heard those words before—many, many times before, and the statement never failed to infuriate her. For my own good? Really?

      At his SUV, Jake dropped her to the ground, opened the passenger-side door and shoved her inside. While he circled around to the driver’s side, she debated whether she should fling open the door, run to her car and grab her guns. Why had she thought Jake would be different? He was just like every other man in her life who wanted her to be a good girl and do as she was told.

      The fear that threatened to swamp her consciousness was replaced by anger. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been attacked. Given the circumstances, she’d handled herself well.

      Jake slid behind the steering wheel. “Seat belt,” he said.

      Though outraged, she snapped the belt. “Apologize.”

      For an instant, his gaze locked with hers. “I won’t say I’m sorry for saving your life.”

      He swung the SUV in a U-turn. Instead of using the police dispatch radio on the console, he took out his hands-free cell phone and made a call.

      “Where are we going?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

      Ignoring her questions, he continued with his call. It seemed that he was giving someone directions to find her car.

      “My luggage,” she said. “Have them bring my luggage.”

      Jake lobbed a hostile glance in her direction and said to the person on the phone.