Lock, Stock and McCullen. Rita Herron

      Thad’s voice echoed from where he stood by the window, and she realized he was on the phone.

      “Yes, she’s the one. I’m positive.”

      Her heart swelled with gratitude to have found Thad. For so long she’d built walls and kept herself from loving anyone, too afraid to get hurt. But then Thad had walked into her antiques store, Vintage Treasures, and stolen her heart.

      Just last week he’d shown her a photograph of the estate he owned in Cheyenne. They were headed there the day after their wedding. Apparently he had inherited family money, which he’d invested, and he’d accumulated his own fortune.

      Not that she cared about the money. She wanted companionship, love, a real family...

      She started to slip into the room, to inch up behind him and surprise him with a kiss, but he lifted a flyer of a picture of a little girl on a milk carton, a child of about five years old.

      “Yes, I’m certain it’s her,” Thad said. “The woman I’m with is the little girl on the milk carton.”

      Rose frowned. What was he talking about? How could she be the child? Those ads were placed for missing children...

      Thad walked over to the side table, opened his briefcase and removed a pistol. Rose tensed, her heart tripping into double time. Why did he have a gun?

      “Don’t worry,” Thad said, his voice low, as he loaded the weapon. “Your problems will soon be over. She’ll be dead by morning.”

      * * *

      MADDOX MUTTERED A CURSE as his brother’s voice mail clicked on. The first time he’d called, he’d gotten Brett’s publicist, but he refused to go through a third party with such a personal matter, so he’d dialed the number again.

      Did Brett even answer his own calls?

      “Brett, it’s me, Maddox. I know we haven’t talked in a while—” two years to be exact, but he bit back a snide comment “—but it’s important. Dad is sick, really sick... He’s dying, Brett, and he needs to see you. Call me.”

      Maddox paced to the fireplace, his gaze drawn to the photograph of him and his brothers when they were young. He was about ten, Brett eight, Ray six. Close in age, they’d wrestled and fought and raced on horseback as kids.

      But they’d grown apart after their mother’s death and were as different as night and day.

      What the hell would he say to them if they did return?

      Upstairs, the house seemed quiet and he hoped his father was resting. But his request nagged at Maddox. He didn’t especially want his brothers here. He and his father got along great.

      He had no idea how he’d live without him.

      But...he had to honor his dying request, so he searched for Ray’s number. It took him a half dozen calls through various sources he’d had over the past years to track down his youngest brother’s current location.

      While he punched in Ray’s number, he strode to the bar in the den and poured himself a whiskey. Brett had been irresponsible and wild, but he hadn’t possessed Ray’s anger and temper.

      The phone rang and rang. No answer. Dammit.

      He left Ray a voice mail, then carried his drink outside to the front porch. The night air filled his lungs, the heat nearly oppressive as he sank onto the porch swing and looked out at the McCullen land. Acres and acres of farm and ranch land that bordered on the mountains and held elk, deer, antelope and other wildlife.

      He loved Horseshoe Creek and would keep it up when his father was gone.

      But what would he do if Brett or Ray actually wanted to stay and help run it?

      * * *

      COLD FEAR WASHED over Rose. Had she misunderstood Thad?

      Had he really said she’d be dead by morning?

      “Trust me, no one will find her body.”

      Rose struggled against the urge to scream. Why would Thad or the person on the other end of the line want her dead?

      Was that the reason he’d insisted on them eloping? So he could dump her body in the miles and miles of wilderness around Pistol Whip?

      Terror seized her, and she stumbled backward. She caught herself by grabbing the counter, but her hand hit the hair dryer and knocked it to the floor. Suddenly footsteps clattered, and Thad stood in the doorway with the gun in his hand.

      The cold look of a seasoned killer greeted her. “Eavesdropping, Rose?”

      She shook her head in denial, then glanced around for a weapon, but the bathroom held nothing. Except for her hairspray.

      Desperate, she reached for it, but Thad pounced toward her. She jerked up the can and sprayed it at his face. Thad cursed and rubbed at his eyes, then tried to grab her. “You won’t get away, Rose.”

      Taking advantage of the moment, she shoved him and ran. He bellowed and chased after her, waving the gun at her.

      A bullet pinged off the wall beside her. Hands shaking, she grabbed her purse and fumbled for Thad’s keys on the table.

      Suddenly Thad yanked her by the hair and dragged her toward him. She screamed again, fighting him as he threw her to the floor. Her head hit the tile and pain ricocheted through her temple.

      He straddled her, then lifted the gun and pointed it at her head.

      Rose’s vision blurred, death whispering her name. Another image came out of nowhere—another gun. Another man. The sound of a gunshot firing.

      Blood spraying everywhere. The floor, the walls...

       What was happening...?

      Thad’s fingers closed around her wrists, tightening so painfully that a sob escaped her.

      But reality surfaced and the blurred image of the other shooting faded. The will to live kicked in, giving her a surge of adrenaline, and she used one hand to knock the gun upward. He cursed, and she slammed her fist into his crotch, causing him to double over and roll off her.

      She lunged to get away, crawling on her hands and knees into the bedroom, but another gunshot pinged off the floor beside her. Her foot hit the lamp as she tried to get up, sending it crashing to the floor.

      Terrified, she reached for the gun and managed to snag it. They struggled with it, both trying to gain control, but the gun went off. Thad grunted, then his eyes widened in shock and he looked down at his chest.

      Blood oozed from his torso and soaked his shirt. Frantic, she pushed herself up, grabbed her purse and ran outside. The night sky was dark, void of stars, the endless sea of wilderness swallowing her as she raced to his sedan.

      “You can’t get away,” Thad shouted as he staggered onto the porch after her.

      She jumped in the car, keeping her eyes on Thad, her hand trembling as she fumbled with the keys. Three tries and finally the engine fired up.

      Thad staggered down the steps, one hand to his bloody chest as he collapsed. She pressed the gas pedal, shifted into Reverse and sped backward, slinging dust in her wake. Thad managed to lift his head and raised the gun and fired again, but he was too far away and the bullet hit the dirt.

      She swung the sedan around, stomped on the accelerator and roared down the graveled road to the highway. Nausea clogged her throat as she dug in her purse for her cell phone. Dammit, she had no service!

      Tears streamed down her face as she drove back toward Pistol Whip. She repeatedly checked over her shoulder in case Thad found a way to follow her. But she didn’t stop until she drove into the small town and parked at her rental house.

      Fighting a sob, she careened into the drive, threw the car into park and dove out. She ran up the steps to the porch, the keys jangling as she let herself