The Minister's Maid (11 page)

A taller, thinner figure stepped into the room, and even as he started to swing, he realized it wasn't - couldn't be - Derek standing just two feet away. There was definitely something familiar about the person though, and he dropped the dowel mid-swing as he recognized her scent.

"Betsy?"

She turned just as he stepped forward, and a sharp zing of pain sliced through his stomach like a giant paper cut.

"Oh my god - Ian!" She pulled her arm back, tossing the knife she'd been holding on the bed as he fell against the wall and slid down. His stomach felt like it was on fire as she turned on a light, then knelt beside him on the floor.

"I was expecting one of Derek's men, or more," she explained pulling at the bandages already wrapped around his middle. "I had no idea - why didn't you say something when I came in?"

Ian looked down as she finally tore the cotton strips, wincing as the pressure on his ribs released.

"I was expecting Derek," he said, watching her probe at the wound. "Is it deep? It doesn't feel deep..." He closed his eyes, focusing on his stomach, but the pain seemed localized in his skin. When he opened his eyes, he found Betsy looking at him with a strange clarity in her eyes. It was beautiful and mesmerizing all at once, with a hint of sadness as well.

"It's not deep, thank goodness," she said finally, breaking eye contact to glance around the room. "I can sew it up if we have any supplies.

Ian pointed toward the bed. "All the stuff they used on me is in that table. Maybe there's something there." He watched her rifle through a plain cardboard box before she came back with a small white first aid kit.

"I don't think they intended for you to survive," she said, opening the kit and dumping the contents on the floor. "There's nothing here except band aids and a lot of gauze and wipes. I guess I could pull it together with band aids for now.

Ian chuckled. "Don't sound so excited." He watched as she worked, doing his best to stay still, though his ribs were throbbing. When she finished, she leaned back, but he caught her wrist and pulled her off balance so she had no choice but to sit next to him, under the curve of his arm.

She looked up at him, that mesmerizing look back, and he couldn't help himself.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling his arm tighter and her head closer at the same time. Her eyes drifted shut, and he pressed his lips to hers, reveling in the tiny sigh she gave before opening to him completely.

* * *

In the back of her mind, Betsy knew she should pull away. Ian was hurt, and she didn't want to make anything worse - especially since she was responsible for one of his injuries. But when he pulled her close and his lips touched hers, she was powerless to resist the indulgence.

He nibbled gently at her lips, teasing with a flick of the tongue as she opened for him, her body molding to his side as his grip tightened. She marveled at how perfectly they fit, how wonderful it felt to be snuggled up close to this man. She'd die a happy woman if she never moved again.

A loud, harsh noise filled the room, and Ian groaned even as he pulled away. Betsy blinked her eyes, confused and annoyed by the interruption as she watched Ian pull a cell phone out of his pocket.

"I took this off the guy guarding me," he said, holding up the phone before he checked the small screen. "It's the one you sent that text to."

Betsy nodded, leaning in to look at the screen as well. "Another text?"

Ian nodded. "Derek wants to know if I'm still alive."

"That's not possible," she said, pulling back and shaking her head. "When I left him, Derek was hanging upside down bloody and unconscious at the bottom of a ravine. There's no way he could have survived it. No way."

"Did you check his pulse?"

Betsy tried to remember. Had she? She'd been so worried about getting out of there before the emergency crews arrived...and he'd looked pretty bad. She'd grabbed his phone and ran.

"I don't think so, now that you ask. I just had to get out of there. Away from him. And I knew that if the emergency crews caught me there, I'd be hauled off to the hospital or jail and I wouldn't be able to find you or check on...what is it?"

Ian's jaw tightened, and something in her gut told her this wasn't over yet. He turned the phone so she could easily read the entire screen.

"Kill the preacher. Meet at cabin 1 hour. D."

She sat up, regretting the loss of his warmth. "If he's still alive, Ainsley is still in danger. We need to find that cabin."

Ian frowned. "Who's Ainsley? And why is she in danger?"

Betsy froze. She'd forgotten he didn't know. Looking down at her hands, she tried to ignore the panic that made her hands shake. Would he think less of her for giving up her own daughter? Would he understand why she'd had no choice? The clock on the wall ticked away precious seconds she knew they couldn't afford.

"Ainsley is my daughter," she said, rising to pace in front of him. "It's a long story, but the short version is, I gave her up for adoption so Derek couldn't get to her. He found out, and now he wants her back. The adoption details were--"

"With the treasure." Ian nodded. "You should have told me. I thought we were better friends than that."

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to trusting people. But none of that matters now. Can't we talk about this later? What if he already has her?" She reached down to help Ian off the floor. "I called her adoptive parents, but I couldn't say much. We have to go now. What if we're too late? I should have destroyed those papers." She turned toward the door, her flight stopped only by Ian's firm grip on her arm.

"Hang on," he said, his hold unrelenting. "Running off in a panic isn't going to help. Call your daughter's family - there's a phone on the nightstand there - and tell them to get to safety. I'll see if maybe this goon was stupid enough to put the cabin's location in the GPS of this cell. Then we can decide where to go first."

Adrenaline flooding her system, Betsy balked at the wait, but she knew he was right. Calm and logical, as always. Reluctantly she nodded and then went to the phone, dialing the number as she watched Ian start searching through the cell phone programs.

After six unanswered rings, she hung up. "No one's answering, Ian. I don't know..."

He held up the cell phone for her to see. "The last destination this guy went to before the ranch seems to be out in the middle of nowhere. I bet that's where the cabin is. Lucky for us, he left the coordinates in his address book." He turned off the phone and shoved it in his pocket, then gave her a sympathetic look. "I know you want to go check on Ainsley, but I really think we should meet Derek at the cabin first. If he's got her, going to the house won't make any difference, and he'll probably bring her with him to meet us. If he doesn't have her, they're not home which will make them harder to find. Win-win."

She nodded, knowing it made the most sense. "You're right. Let's go. He took me in his car, so mine should still be in the lot. We can take that." Leading the way to the hall, she stopped abruptly, frowning.

"You really should stay here. You're hurt. Let me call Harley or someone else to go. Heck, we should call the police so they can meet us there."

"I'm going with you," Ian said, his tone firm. "And I don't think we should call just yet. If I'm wrong, and we have the wrong place, it will just go badly for us. We can call when we're sure he's there." He brushed past her, leading the way to the stairs with one arm wrapped around his middle. "Any idea where Harley might have a spare weapon stashed?"

She nodded, hurrying to follow him. "Dad's collection is in the parlor. We can get whatever we need there." She led the way to the back of the mansion, peeking through the old lace curtains before opening the French doors. Punching in the combination, she opened the glass case and let Ian choose a handgun, then got a smaller model for herself. Locking the cabinet, she found ammunition, and then followed Ian out the back.

They kept to the trees, and Betsy was impressed at the speed Ian was able to maintain. Ten minutes later, they were headed down the highway. She desperately hoped Derek had gone directly to the cabin, instead of chasing Ainsley.

* * *

The cabin was larger than Betsy had envisioned, more like a ranch home built out of logs. Looking for other vehicles, she turned onto the gravel road and found a place to park behind some tall bushes near the end of the drive.

"I don't see any other cars near the house," she said as she turned off the engine. Glancing over at Ian, she noted how stiffly he held himself in the seat. "You must be in a lot of pain. We should have found some painkillers before we left the ranch."

He shook his head, checking his gun before he pushed the car door open. "Thanks, but I don't need a foggy brain for this. A little pain sharpens the senses, right?" He grinned, that know-it-all smirk he'd developed as a kid. It showed his bad-boy side, and Betsy had always been a sucker for that.

"Fine," she said, getting out of the car and checking her own weapon. "How do you want to do this, Rambo?"

He peered around the bushes, his expression serious. "He's expecting his guard, if he's in there, but I'm pretty certain he won't shoot you. Are you up for the straightforward approach? You can knock on the front door, and I'll head around the back. If you can keep him busy, I can flank him."

Betsy nodded. "What if he has my daughter?"

Ian turned, running his fingers down one side of her face. "Do what you have to do to keep her safe. I'll jump in as soon as I can."

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "Okay. And Ian?"

"Yeah."

"Be careful." She reached for him, pressing her lips to his in a quick kiss. Then she looked into his eyes for a long moment, and started walking toward the house.

When she reached the porch, she knocked on the front door. Gun aimed at the solid wood, she waited, her pulse racing when the knob finally turned.

The door swung open slowly, and she frowned when no one appeared behind it. Then finally, a small face peered out around the edge, much lower than she'd expected to see a face.

"Who are you?" she asked, frantically trying to come up with a way of getting the child out before Derek knew she was gone. Did he really think he could just kidnap any kid and pass her off as theirs? Or had he really grabbed the wrong one? Either way, she'd make sure he went back to prison - this time for good.

The little girl didn't answer. She just stared at the gun in Betsy's hands, frozen in place.

"Are you alone? You can just nod your head, sweetheart - yes or no." She waited for what felt like hours before the child finally nodded yes. Then the small eyes both glanced behind the door, and Betsy tightened her grip. She held one finger to her lips and started moving toward the door, slowly, staying low.

"Betsy? I saw you walking across the yard. You've kept us waiting long enough, don't you think?"

Derek sounded jovial, like he had early in their relationship when he'd downed a bottle of Jack. She hadn't planned on him being drunk. That made him far less predictable, and far more dangerous.

"How about a trade, Derek?" She stood up, letting the gun hang limp from her right hand as she stretched her arms wide in surrender. "You let her go, you get me. Simple and easy."

He laughed, the sound chilling her to her core. "You wish, sweetheart. I saw your preacher-man go around back. Think I heard one of my boys take care of him a few seconds ago, so you're on your own. If you don't want to see these little brains splattered across the floor, you'd better drop that gun on the porch and get your sweet ass in here - now."

Chapter 12

Unable to see anything but the girl, Betsy knew she had no choice but to give in to Derek's demand. Slowly she lowered the gun to the porch and kicked it toward the steps. His voice had come from behind the door, and she deliberately stepped over the threshold in a way that put her between him and the girl. As expected, he stood waiting, a look of triumph in his eyes as he pushed the door shut and reached around her to flip the deadbolt into place.

"Now," he said, motioning for her to move farther into the room. "Why don't we sit down and have a chat. I wasn't expecting you so soon, but I presume the guard I left with the preacher is dead."

Holding a hand out to the little girl, Betsy clasped the small fingers and led her to the couch, sitting down and patting the space between her and the plush sofa arm.

"He's dead," Betsy confirmed as Derek took the chair opposite them. "Where's my daughter?" She knew she needed to stay calm, and tried to focus on her breathing. She couldn't do anything to put the girl in danger. There was a kitchen behind them, and a hallway just beside that she assumed led to the back of the house. A small spiral staircase rose up in the corner behind Derek - access to a loft, perhaps?

"
Our
daughter is...unable to join us at the moment," Derek said. "She'll be along shortly though, don't you worry. In the meantime, we have some business to discuss."

"You've got a captive audience now. What do you want from me, Derek?" She wished he'd just come out and tell her, once and for all, so they could all get on with their lives. "If it's money you want, you could have taken the gold at the ranch. And you'll never have me or Ainsley - not while there's a breath left in my body."

He smiled. "Ah, but you're here now, so I do have you now don't I?"

Betsy shook her head. "You don't even know what you want, do you? Do you even have an end game here? What's it all for, Derek? What the hell do you want?"

Restless movement at her side caught Betsy's attention, and she glanced at the girl, lowering her voice.

"And who's this? Why is she here?"

Derek crooked a finger at the girl, and before Betsy could stop her, she vaulted off the couch and ran to him. He hoisted her on his lap where she laid her head on his shoulder.