Chaning Cheyenne Page 8

  "Cheyenne, don't be a little fool,” he called out.

  Insulting her was probably not a good idea. It would only make her run further and faster.

  "Cheyenne, you'll only hurt yourself."

  She was already out of sight.

  Damn, this was not good. There were bears out there. And snakes.

  He would point this out, shouting the bad news, but that would make her panic. The only thing worse than a furious, desperate naked woman was a panicked, furious, desperate naked woman.

  Reed considered following in the vehicle but decided against it. He would track her quicker on foot.

  If she thought she could really get away she was crazy.

  He was a trained survivalist and tracker and she ... she was a gorgeous, raven haired beauty who was driving him out of his mind.

  She left a track obvious enough for a child to follow. The bad news was with all those branches she was cracking, she was going to end up pretty banged up.

  Why did she have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't she have sat tight and let him take care of her?

  A distant owl hooted a warning.

  Reed tensed. The owl was not reacting to Cheyenne.

  Shit. Why hadn't he brought a gun? He wasn't thinking, that's why. He was too busy playing house.

  There were killers out here.

  And he was naked.

  So was Cheyenne.

  Instinct kicked into overdrive, training too deep to be recited aloud.

  He was going to have to get to Cheyenne first. Save her life.

  He would never forgive himself if something happened.

  Scratch that. He would be unable to go on living himself.

  Strong words for a man who was determined not to be in a relationship again. Leave it Cheyenne to be the exception to his every rule.

  Another sound came from the forest.

  A woman's voice, crying out.

  After that came silence, the most terrifying of Reed's life.

  Reed ran, full tilt, praying it was not too late already.

  * * * *

  The figures emerged from the darkness, blacker than shadows. They wore masks and tight fitting clothing. Cheyenne screamed instinctively and dove to the right. Instead of hitting the ground she fell into a pair of arms, black gloved, black sleeved. One of the hands went over her mouth. She resisted. There was something foul, a rag with some kind of chemical. The fight was bleeding out of her. Kicking and thrashing, the time was running out. She called for Reed, but she had no voice left.

  "You escaped once, bitch,” hissed a voice in her ear. “You'll pay for that. Then you will die."

  She shook her head or tried to. It probably didn't matter but she tried to imprint the voice in her mind. It was accented, Oriental, maybe Japanese.

  So these were the ones who had killed Frankie by mistake. It was a stroke of luck she had survived. Daddy always had told her she led a charmed life. He also told her it would prove to be a curse because she would never have to struggle or learn a damned thing.

  Reed had taught her things. About her body, about her hopes and dreams. She liked it when a man took control. She liked it when a man could make her feel weak one minute in bed, but turn around and let her feel strong enough to argue with him. Strong enough to try and escape.

  Another little irony there.

  Cuffs were slapped on her wrists from behind. Reed had left some give in the bracelets, but this man wanted them tight enough to cause pain. When she struggled he slapped her hard.

  "Why won't she pass out?” a new voice complained.

  "Probably wants us to fuck her,” said the first.

  "Just get her in the truck,” said a third voice, commanding.

  Cheyenne felt herself lifted, bodily over her captor's shoulder.

  "Ishi and I will find the mercenary,” said the third man. “And kill him."

  The mercenary. That would be Reed.

  Something in her screamed out. She couldn't let him die, not for her. He didn't deserve it. He had put up with enough already.

  There was nothing she could do, though, nothing but surrender to the inner darkness.

  The last thing she heard was the metal door of the van. Unceremoniously she was thrown in the back. The door slammed behind her and she was out like a light.

  * * * *

  There were three of them. Yakuza, martial arts trained. Lightly armed with knives and sniper rifles. One had gone to the van with Cheyenne. She was still alive but knocked out with chloroform.

  Collecting all this intelligence from his place in the underbrush had taken every ounce of discipline that Reed had. He wanted desperately to rush in and rescue Cheyenne, but unarmed as he was he would have been captured or slaughtered himself.

  And then where would Cheyenne be.

  He had to bide his time, pick them off one by one.

  Two of them, including the leader were on the move towards the cabin. They would pick up on his initial trail, but not his secondary one. He intended for them to follow the path back, while he stayed behind, stalking them.

  Reed waited for the crucial moment when the leader motioned for the other to split off from him. The move was designed to allow them to cover more territory but it would prove to be their undoing instead.

  Reed opted to take out the leader first. He was obviously skilled, watching like a hawk for any movement along the ground. Reed intended to take him out from above. Climbing a tree nude was not the easiest prospect though it had to be done.

  The jaguar was Reed's favorite animal for its ability to strike with silence equally well from air or land. Its very name meant creature who kills in one leap. The key was stealth and of course overwhelming kill power. While not the largest of the big cats, the jaguar had pound for pound supremacy as well as a pair of diabolically strong jaws.

  Powerful enough to crack skulls.

  Reed dropped on the yakuza, slow motion death. The man's neck broke his fall. Reed snapped it like a twig. He was dead before they both hit the ground. Just like that there were two.

  Just like that Reed had a knife, too, and a gun.

  He fired off a shot for the benefit of his companion, somewhere off to the right. Reed didn't expect him to come running pell mell and he was right. No trained hunter would be that stupid. On the other hand it would take a good deal of ingenuity to guess that a killer might be hiding under a dead body.

  The man had already bent over the corpse of his leader when Reed struck. A single slash of the knife, economical and final across the jugular. The man's eyes betrayed shock behind the mask. Death was less disturbing to him than the knowledge that he had been tricked.

  Pride was everything in the assassin's business.

  One man was left now and he held the key to everything. Should Reed manage to spook him he would take off with Cheyenne and everything would be lost.

  There was no counting on him coming after the others. They were expendable. Only the mission mattered.

  There was also the possibility of him killing Cheyenne outright.

  Frankly, Reed was a little surprised they didn't do that outright.

  Maybe they wanted her for a hostage, some leverage against her father?

  More likely they were sadists looking to punish her for their botched kill the first time around.

  Reed cleaned off the knife on the man's back. He was feeling nothing now. Adrenalin was pumping. He had an objective and nothing else mattered. There were technical terms for everything happening, and for all the people involved, too. De-personalizing Cheyenne was difficult and he prayed that would not pose a problem.

  It was common knowledge that an emotionally involved operative was a functionally useless one. In true battlefield conditions, in certain situations, a man might need to be terminated by his own comrades for such weakness. Such were the rigors of the secret forces he had worked with. No one from the outside could ever hope to understand.

  The only one who he thought might come close to that ki
nd of discipline was Cheyenne. Her persistence in escaping had shocked even him. And now he had to make up for his mistake.

  Reed found the van and scouted it out. The remaining Yakuza was inside, predictably, in the driver's seat.

  The killer's van was a late model, all wheel drive, not at all ordinary for its standard look. Most certainly it was bulletproof. It probably fired rockets, too. All in all it would be a fortress on wheels just like Reed's own SUV.

  This was not good and if the driver got wind of any trouble outside, he would not hesitate to finish things in a most ugly manner.

  There was only chance and it was not a strong one.

  For starters, the back door would need to be unlocked.

  Reed crept up silently, managing to avoid detection. The back door not only unlocked, it was open.

  He had caught a break, finally. The driver had been careless, or overconfident or both.

  There were two ways to proceed. The fast way and the slow. Reed never did anything slow, except make love.

  Except with Cheyenne, whose incredible body had compelled him to a quick, bestial taking, at least the first time around.

  The second was much more mellow, though the passion was no less intense.

  He wondered what the third would be like and the fourth.

  That he would have such an opportunity was non-negotiable.

  The driver exclaimed in Japanese as the back door was yanked wide open. The knife flew through the air headed for his heart from Reed's hand.

  He ducked just in time.

  Shit. He was good.

  Reed leaped into the back of the van, ready to go on the defensive.

  The driver would be after Cheyenne now and he would take her out with any means possible.

  Reed knocked the gun from his hand, shoving him back as he sought to climb between the seats. He had a knife of his own and he was fast. Very fast.

  Reed had no chance to knock it away. He was going to have to take a flesh wound, to the shoulder preferably.

  The man managed to get him in the ribs instead. Reed punched him hard, breaking his nose. Blood flowed, his and the killer's both. They grappled briefly, the killer trying to pull out the knife to use again or alternatively to thrust it upward and over into Reed's heart.

  Reed slammed his head into the windshield, once, twice. The bullet proof factor definitely worked against the killer. On the third blow he slumped, dead.

  Reed was three for three. Cheyenne was happily asleep in the back. All was well, except for all the blood out of that gaping wound.

  It would be touch and go driving out of here. He might make it back to the main road or he might pass out.

  In which case Cheyenne would wake up and find him immobilized or dead. She would then have to find her way out of the woods the rest of the way, naked.

  That was the trouble with playing the odds. One bet entailed another and eventually even the best of gamblers had to cash in their chips.

  * * * *

  Cheyenne awoke with her head slamming into metal. Raw pain ripped through her skull and she was immediately rolled right, over hard ribbed steel toward another wall. She managed to brace herself with her hands. Another roll followed, a lesser one. Blinking, she sat up.

  She was in a van, moving.

  Memories flooded. She remembered the men in the woods, the one who had grabbed her and thrown her in the back.

  Was she still kidnapped?

  She looked up front. A man was slumped over the wheel, his foot on the accelerator.

  "Reed!"

  He didn't respond. Blood covered the front of him, all the way down to his bare feet.

  Oh, god, was he dead?

  She felt the pulse in his neck. It was there, just barely.

  How had he managed to keep them moving?

  They were driving over a field. She could see a road in the distance.

  Cheyenne climbed between the seats. She dislodged Reed's foot so the van would stop. Moving him over took all her strength. She was terrified because he was still bleeding.

  "Don't die, you son of a bitch!"

  Somehow he had managed to kill those men in the woods and save her, without benefit of clothing. If only she had not run away, none of this would have happened.

  Cheyenne stretched him out in the back of the van.

  There was a body, a man dressed in black. She rolled it on top of Reed's wound, hoping that would slow the blood loss.

  Did she dare drive fast in an effort to save time or would that cause him to bleed more quickly?

  She decided on a middle speed, being careful not to get stuck in a ditch.

  The road was a two lane. If only she had a cell phone she could get help.

  "Where the hell are the other cars?” she cried. “Sorry,” she corrected herself for Reed's benefit. “Where the heck are they?"

  Tears dotted her eyes. She wanted another chance to be with him, fight with him. She had only just begun to tell him how pissed off she was at his arrogance.

  "If you die, I will bring you back and kick your ass,” she threatened.

  A convertible was coming this way, top down. It had just crested a hill.

  Cheyenne honked the horn, waving frantically.

  The car showed no signs of slowing down or stopping.

  "Mother fucker,” she growled, deciding the no swear rule was more than worth breaking under the circumstances.

  Turning the wheel hard right she pulled in front of the vehicle, making its young, driver slam on his brakes.

  "Are you crazy?” the young man shouted.

  She got out of the van, in no mood for games.

  He took one look at her half covered in blood, able to do little more than gape as she walked straight up to him.

  "Just give me your cell phone,” she said holding out her hand. “And whatever you do, don't say a fucking word."

  He turned it over, no argument.

  She dialed 911 feeling calmer than she ever had in her life.

  There was no way Reed could die now, not after all this.

  Chapter Seven

  Cheyenne was at Reed's bedside, the chair as close as she could get it to the rail when her father came into the room. She had taken up residence here the moment they released her from observation downstairs in the general ward. The doctors had given a clean bill of health, but she didn't care. Not even the report from the police that the man who hired the three assassins had been placed under arrest had cheered her. All that mattered was Reed ... and the unfinished business between them.

  "They say he's going to make it,” said Rutherford Miles Stanley, ceremoniously announcing his entrance into the room.

  Cheyenne kept her eyes on the handsome face in the bed, so unnaturally still, the lips unmoving beneath the ventilator mask. Who was he, really?

  "Yes, Daddy, I'm sure you gave the doctors their marching orders,” she replied sardonically.

  For once the billionaire had no quick answer. For a time he stood at the foot of the bed, mildly scowling. For him it was practically a smile.

  "I understand you're quite a heroine,” Rutherford said at last.

  Cheyenne waited for the other shoe to drop. Whatever he said she was determined not to make eye contact.

  "Reed deserves the credit,” she said. “He saved my life."

  "Look at me,” her father said.

  "No,” said Cheyenne.

  "Look at me, Cheyenne Marie,” he repeated in that voice of authority that still haunted her nightmares.

  Rutherford Miles Stanley never raised his voice or swore. He didn't need to.

  "You've been crying,” he said.

  Cheyenne snapped at him. “Just like mom, right? I'm just another weak woman?"

  "You are nothing like your mother,” he said, managing to make it sound like a short coming on her part.

  Which was odd considering how much he had despised the woman, practically driving her to an alcoholic death at a young age.

  That was the
thing with the man. You could never tell exactly how he was insulting you, only that he was.

  "Why are you even here, Daddy? I most certainly didn't ask for you and I'm sure you can put Reed's check in the mail for him. An extra ten percent if he dies, right?"

  "Dead men don't cash checks,” he pointed out.

  "You've been dead for years,” she countered. “At least by most definitions of life."

  He smiled, though it wasn't really a smile. “And to think people tell me I should be kinder to my daughter. She can fight back just fine, can't she?"

  Cheyenne folded her arms. She had a lot of feelings about Reed she was trying to sort out and she really did not need the interruption. “The question stands. Why are you here?"

  "Maybe I have had a change of heart."

  "You would have to have a heart first."

  Rutherford did not blink. “You have asked my motives in being here, Cheyenne. Suppose you tell me why you are here. This man should hardly be of interest to you."

  "You should know, right?” she retorted. “You're the one who sent him to kidnap me. Then again I have a soft spot for criminals."

  "Just because you are an immature, spoiled little hussy does not mean I have no interest in your future,” he said.

  Cheyenne arched a brow. “That was direct for you. You must have a plane to catch to be mincing your words so little."

  "It wasn't my fault, you know, about your mother,” he said.

  She shook her head, amazed as always at his ability to think at every level at once, past, present, future. “It's not my place to say why she drank herself to death, Daddy. You'll have to answer for your life, me for mine."

  He laughed without humor. “I suppose that's as close as I'll get to a thank you for rescuing you from those degenerate bikers?"

  Cheyenne's trigger was tripped, the way it always was with him, sooner or later. “Those bikers have more morals than you and your business friends could ever dream of. As for saving my worthless hussy ass, he did that."

  She pointed straight at Reed.

  "He made love to you, didn't he?"

  "Yes, it was fantastic,” she said, throwing it in his face.

  "You'll never learn,” he said.

  "I've learned plenty,” she defied. “Enough to be free of you forever."

  Rutherford pursed his lips, driven again to silence. “I will of course pay for everything,” he said at last, sounding older, tired for the first time in Cheyenne's memory. “Reed's complete rehabilitation. He will have the best care in the world."