Fearless Gunfighter. Joanna Wayne

stayed in Lubbock just long enough for Lauren’s parents to make the flight from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Lubbock to be with their devastated daughter.

      Lauren had taken the news of Rod’s death as badly or worse than Tucker had expected. At one point, Tucker had to literally hold her up to keep her from hitting the floor. Only thing that held her even halfway together until her parents arrived was that the kids needed her.

      She was a train wreck, shock and heartbreak reducing her to a state of helplessness that mimicked that of her toddler daughter.

      Tucker hadn’t been in a lot better shape himself, but watching Lauren face the tragedy rode his nerves even harder.

      Living, breathing, laughing one minute. Brain-dead six seconds later, though Rod’s body had managed to hold on to life for two more hours.

      All for what? That was the question that wouldn’t let go of Tucker.

      He should be in Oklahoma this coming weekend, competing in one of the best-paying rodeos in the September circuit. He’d started in that direction twice, had even made it to the outskirts of Tulsa once, only to turn around and head back to Texas.

      His life was bull riding. It was all he’d ever known. All he wanted to know. But that could have just as easily been his skull the bull was stamping instead of Rod’s.

      Had watching Rod struggle for that last breath turned Tucker into a coward? Or was he finally developing some brains to go with the testosterone that usually fueled him?

      He stopped in front of the gate to the Double K Ranch and left his engine running while he got out, pulled the latch and sent the gate swinging wide.

      A few minutes later, he stopped a few yards down from the front of Esther Kavanaugh’s sprawling ranch house. He felt years older than he had a couple of months ago when he was here for his brother Riley’s wedding.

      The house looked the same as it had the first time he’d wound up at Esther’s door almost as done in as he felt now. That time it had been his parents who had died unexpectedly.

      He started to get out of the truck but reconsidered when he realized there wasn’t a light on in the house. Ranchers rose at sunrise. No use to wake everyone in the house this late.

      They’d have questions. He was in no mood to answer them tonight. Morning would be soon enough to lay his problems on his two older brothers and Esther.

      If anyone could help him come to grips with his twisted emotions, it would be Pierce and Riley. If anyone could figuratively give him a kick in the rear that would get him going again, it would be Esther Kavanaugh.

      Come to think of it, the kick might be more than figurative if she felt like he needed it.

      He shoved his seat back as far as it would go, stretched his legs out beneath the dashboard and made himself as comfortable as he could.

      Fatigue set in. His eyes grew heavy. His mind took a crazy turn. He fell asleep wondering what the woman from Hank’s would have felt like in his arms if he’d asked her to dance.

      Tuesday, September 19:

      RACHEL SAT HUNCHED in the corner like a guilty child in time-out. The room was still dark but her eyes had adjusted enough to the scant strip of light pushing in from beneath the door that she could make her way around the shadowy environment. Additional light would have made the cramped space even more miserable.

      She’d lost count of the days she’d been here. They ran together like drops of spilled coffee. The strong, black brew was delivered every morning, usually accompanied with dry, cold and frequently burned toast.

      That was her only way of knowing that a new day had started. The coffee was the bright spot in the vacuous existence devoid of everything except dread and visions of escape.

      As much as she craved the coffee, she never finished the full cup. Show that she enjoyed something too much and the monster would stop bringing it.

      She never knew what to expect from his visits. Vile language. Threats. Painful slaps to her face or shoves that sent her crashing to the floor.

      Bizarrely, there were also times that he showed a hint of compassion. Like the second time he’d visited her in this hellhole.

      She’d been starving. He’d come with a bowl of what tasted like chicken stock. Her pain had been so intense, her joints and muscles so swollen and inflamed she couldn’t get the spoon to her mouth.

      He’d fed her, slowly, encouraging her to swallow. When she’d had her fill, he wiped her face with a wet cloth and pushed several pills into her mouth. For the pain, he’d said. She didn’t trust him, but she swallowed them anyway.

      She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. When she woke, the thin sheets on the pallet that were stained with her blood had been changed and her laundered clothes were thrown over the one uncomfortable straight-back chair in the room.

      There was also a small heavily stained sink and commode in the back corner, separated from the rest of the space by a dirty strip of printed cotton held by nails in the ceiling.

      Who’d have ever believed she’d be thrilled for filthy facilities like that? Hot tears pushed at the backs of her eyelids. Would she ever escape the monster?

      The sound of a slamming door cracked through the silence. Rachel’s pulse pounded. Her body trembled.

      He was coming.

      She hunched farther back in the corner, hugging her arms around her knees. The doorknob turned. The door squeaked open. The pungent odor of garlic and sweat swept into the room with the monster.

      She studied his face before the door closed behind him, shutting out the extra light. He smiled as he always did, a big grin that told her just how much he was enjoying this.

      He set a tray of food on the floor. “Did you miss me?” His tone was cocky and teasing, as if they were friends or lovers. Her skin crawled at the thought, though blessedly he hadn’t touched her sexually—yet.

      “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you keeping me here?”

      “I hate coming home to an empty house after a hard day at work.” He chuckled at his sick joke.

      “I have money,” Rachel said. “A lot of money. I can pay you whatever you want if you’ll just let me go free.”

      “If I gave you your freedom, I’d lose mine. Besides, I already have a woman who gives me all the money I ask for.”

      “I can give you more. I won’t go to the police. I promise. I’ll stay out of your life forever and never mention this to anyone.”

      He chuckled again. “Now, why would I let you go now? Your ugly bruises are almost gone. It no longer makes me sick to look at you.”

      “You’ll never get away with this.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong, sweet lady. People get away with far worse all the time. No one cares what you do as long as it doesn’t affect them. Even murder gets buried in the haystack.”

      Eventually he’d kill her, but he’d do it slow and torturously, get his rocks off on her fear, revel in her misery as if it were a sexual adventure.

      How sick would a man have to be to do that?

      If Sydney were here, she’d be able to figure him out. She’d get in his mind, discover the demons that drove him. She’d find his weaknesses and use them against him.

      Sydney wasn’t here, but she’d know by now that Rachel hadn’t come home from her vacation. She’d be certain something was terribly wrong.

      She’d found the Swamp Strangler when no one else could. She’d find Cowboy Monster, too.

      All Rachel had to do was stay alive and sane until she did.

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