Stolen (Wild Mountain Scots, #3)

Ahead, bright lights flashed blue and red, brilliant in the black night. Police cars and trucks stretching across all four lanes of the motorway.

Johnnie squinted, and his shoulders bunched. “What’s that?”

“Looks like a road block to me.”

He shot his head around, slowing the car. “Why would they block the road?”

My heart rate sped. “I don’t know. Maybe they heard master criminal Johnnie Godson was on the loose.”

“Bitch,” he muttered.

Around us, the light traffic condensed.

Johnnie made a sound of frustration. “What if they check the car? You need to pretend to be asleep.”

“While tied to the door? Are you nuts?”

Inside, a tiny kernel of hope bloomed. I couldn’t believe this was for me. At worst, my sister would be worried that I hadn’t come home yet, but she’d assume I was with Maddock. He in turn would assume I was with her.

No one was looking for me.

Not yet, anyway.

An opportunity had presented itself. If I could get close enough to yell at the police, I had a chance of being rescued. But that meant drawing their attention so they’d come to us.

Carefully, I slid a look over the controls of the old car. At the nobs and buttons in the sleek wood inlay.

Everything was on the wrong side of the vehicle, but it helped that I’d driven Maddock’s car last autumn.

Maddock…

Nope. Couldn’t think of him right now. If I did, I’d either want to curl up in this chair and just let fate take me, or fight to the bitter end just to see him again.

In the distance, a thudding broke the air, growing louder as we slowed.

“There’s probably been an accident,” Johnnie muttered. “That’s why all the cops and the air ambulance are here. They’ll make us queue then filter to one lane. Keep your fucking head down, and I’ll cover your hands in case some nosy bastard looks in.”

Taking his hands from the wheel, he struggled out of his jacket.

We were at least two hundred metres from the line of emergency vehicles, but no way could I let this chance at escape slip away.

Now.

Twisting my legs up from the footwell, I kicked out at the wheel. My intention was one of two things—hit the horn or the lever to flash the headlights.

My heel struck Johnnie’s arm and, half out of his coat, he jerked and yelled.

Everything that happened next passed in the space of a heartbeat.

Johnnie stomped on the accelerator, and the car shot forward. Ahead, two slowing cars in adjacent lanes left a narrow gap.

Our car wedged between them at speed.

And flipped.

Once, twice we rolled. Metal tore and shrieked. I was tossed like a rag doll but held by my seat belt and the zip ties. Down, and the ground appeared inches from my face, then over again and black night yawned.

The windshield cracked, and I closed my eyes and tucked my head down.

Finally, the movement stopped and the car shuddered, right way up again.

The stench of gasoline burned my nose.

A beat, and silence settled.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Johnnie howled.

I opened my eyes again, and he clutched his hand to his forehead. Blood crept from a wound.

The strangest sensation came over me of wanting to laugh. Except pain quickly eclipsed that.

Delayed shock caught up with me. A sharp zap of sickness-inducing hurt panged in my left arm.

Johnnie reached for the keys and tried the engine. Nothing happened. Not even a whir.

“You dumb cunt. You could’ve killed me. How the fuck are we going to get there with a wrecked car? I’m fucking dead.”

He struggled out of his seat belt, cursing the world. I sagged against the door, the gut-wrenching ache of my injury stealing all of my thoughts and my ability to speak.

Back when I’d had my little mountain rescue incident, when Maddock had come for me, I’d been scared that I’d hurt my left arm, but now I was certain of it.

Fear pierced me. Concentrating, I tried to move my fingers, but they were numb. A pins and needles sensation grew.

Johnnie leaned on me, his elbow in my side. I screamed, curling down.

Something snapped then my useless hand fell free of the ties, and I was released from the door.

Around us, the thudding noise I’d heard grew louder, eclipsing the pulse of blood in my head.

“The police are going to be here any second,” Johnnie hissed.

He yanked on my door handle. It didn’t budge. Dropping back into his seat, he tried his own. This one opened, but he didn’t leave me to make his escape.

In a move similar to the one that made me his captive, he grabbed me by the neck and dragged me across the car.

I cried out silently at the shock but staggered to my feet on the asphalt, Johnnie’s arm around my waist. A cold December wind swept down the open road, bringing the noise from the emergency crews ahead.

From other halted cars, people emerged, hands clasped to mouths. Alarm in their expressions.

Hauling me toward the central reservation, Johnnie made his move to get away.

“No,” I forced out, hoarse and terrified. “This is over. Let me go.”

“We’ll stop someone on the other side of the road and use their car. It’s not too late.” He yanked on me again.

Boots thumped as uniformed officers neared.

Johnnie turned me to face the incomers. “Don’t come any closer,” he bellowed. “We don’t need help. Leave us alone.”

“Help me!” I found my voice, but the thrumming of the helicopter drowned me out, the downdraft flying my hair around.

I struggled away from Johnnie, but in vain. He held tight, pulling me with him.

“Stay back or I’ll break her fucking neck,” he bellowed.

Something hit Johnnie, jolting us both. With his grip on me unceasing, he wrenched against an assailant. Clamped to him, I saw only swirls of lights and more people closing in.

“No!” Johnnie screamed.

“Let. Her. Go,” another voice growled, dark and fierce.

Impossibly familiar.

Then Johnnie’s grip on me twisted then disappeared.

I staggered around.

The incredible met my gaze.

On the dark road, Maddock loomed over Johnnie. In his red jumpsuit, he forced the Englishman to the ground then swung out, smacking his fist into his jaw.

I clutched my useless arm to me and stared.

How was he here? I had to be hallucinating.

Maddock’s lips moved as he said something to my kidnapper. Johnnie’s head lolled. Maddock fisted the front of his shirt then drew him up to stand on his feet, menace in his expression.

I dropped to my knees on the blacktop.

He’d come for me. He’d worked out what had happened, hunted me down, and found me.

People swarmed us.

Cops in black uniforms with yellow vests surrounded Johnnie, allowing Maddock to step back. Two men came to me, squatting beside me, one asking a question I couldn’t make out.

But then my redheaded Scot was bearing down on me. Before I’d even managed to attempt to rise, he dropped to his haunches inches from me. His gaze soaked me in, his attention fervent.

Yet he didn’t touch me.

My fault. All of that. But the tide had entirely turned.

The beginnings of a dangerous obsession switched in a flash to full-on, lifelong devotion.

Except the way he was looking at me matched how I felt.

Rapt, I reached out with my good hand and, so slowly, Maddock eased me into his arms.

The accident, the clamour of sirens, and the noise of the helicopter all faded.

“I’ve got ye,” he said softly in my ear.

That was the last thing I knew for certain for a good while. Dimly, I registered being loaded onto a stretcher, a medic checking me over, then being lifted into the waiting helicopter.

Inside, Maddock loomed over me.

Other faces appeared. Cameron, I thought. And the bearded rescue leader. But my vision went woozy, and fresh pain lanced me at a jolt from the helicopter.

“My arm,” I keened.

“Gabe, smooth it the fuck out,” Maddock barked. His focus landed back on me. “We’ll give ye something for the pain, brèagha. Ye might have a wee break, but we’ll fix ye up, okay? Keep your focus on me. It will all be okay. I swear it.”

It would. Except he didn’t know he’d have a pain-in-the-ass stalker for the rest of his life. That was my final sensible thought for a long while.