Page 40 of Safeguarding the Witness

More rudely, Mollie pushed. “Let me go.”

“Hush now.” The lady pressed a hankie to Mollie’s nose and made consoling noises, designed to make others think that Mollie had been overwhelmed by grief and needed comforting.

A sickly sweet smell penetrated her nostrils. Mollie gasped, tried to struggle and signal to the members of Spence’s security team mingling in the crowd. When people responded, the lady in the hat made an excuse as she supposedly guided Mollie toward the barn. Another person stepped up to help. Together they made excuses and moved her away from the crowd.

Though she resisted, Mollie felt her consciousness fading. Her knees buckled, and her two helpers pretended to help keep her standing upright as she stumbled in the general direction of the barn.

Her brain couldn’t function. Not unconscious but numb, she realized she was being abducted in broad daylight. How could this be happening? She’d been grabbed by Julio’s thugs. Just as Spence had predicted. A mistake, she’d made a mistake.

Seeing Madison had knocked her for a loop. Practicality and common sense were gone. She never should have left the safe room on the third floor, never should have locked Thornton in the room. Her fault, this was all her fault. She had to make it right. Fumbling around, she stuck her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the small canister of pepper spray. It fit neatly in her palm. She tried to raise her arm and protect herself, but her muscles wouldn’t respond. Her hand dangled uselessly, unable to help her.

Though she didn’t know how quickly they crossed the yard outside the barn, it must have been done with a minimum of effort. Not attracting much attention. From her third-floor window, she’d seen Rossi and others from Spence’s team. Why weren’t they helping her? Why couldn’t she call out to them?

She opened her mouth to scream. But the hankie smothered her.

In the cool darkness of the horse barn, the two men—one disguised as a lady in a hat—half dragged her to a far corner behind the horse’s stalls where they propped her in a sitting position on a hay bale. She leaned her back against a wall and struggled to stay awake. The horses nickered. The earthy scent of hay comforted her.

Through her blurred vision, she saw a tall cowboy walking toward her with a bowlegged gait. His belt buckle gleamed. The brim of his hat tilted back, and she stared up into his face. It couldn’t be him. But she knew it was. Marshal Tim Youngblood.

And he wasn’t here to help her.

Chapter Fourteen

When Spence organized the counterattack to the expected ambush at the Clover Clubhouse, he wanted to be first in line to confront Julio. To deliver the first blow. To knock that smug bastard off his feet. Not the best attitude but Spence wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t bound by legalities and restrictions. As a lawyer, he was technically an officer of the court and expected to follow rules. But Julio deserved punishment. Swift and hard. For the way he’d terrorized Mollie.

She was a lot stronger than people thought. Braver, too. Her pretty blue eyes shone with the kind of determination he’d seen as a Ranger when working with displaced victims in war-torn countries. Those who fought back were those who survived. That was Mollie.

Working with Jamison and Rossi, he had deployed his security team throughout the house and grounds of the mansion that had once belonged to Irma Winchell. The greatest complication came from the crowd of people who had left the church and rushed right over for the reception. They ranged in age from toddlers whose parents used the free childcare facility funded by Irma’s foundation to ladies in their eighties who had grown up with Irma.

Mingling among them, his security staff watched for signs of threat and danger. Spence had communication links with Jamison, Rossi and Quintana, who was inside the house. Thus far, there hadn’t been much to report. Rossi mentioned seeing a tall guy with a cowboy hat, which made Spence think of Marshal Youngblood in Denver. He couldn’t be here, could he? According to what Marshal Easton told them, Youngblood was supposed to be protecting Mollie, not working for Julio.

Spence had stationed himself in the position closest to the shed Mollie called the Clover Clubhouse. Still wearing his navy blue suit to cover the shoulder holster, he’d hidden in the leafy branches of one of the nearby cottonwood trees, watching and waiting and telling himself that bringing Mollie to Bethany’s house wasn’t a huge mistake. She’d be safe…as long as she didn’t venture out of the storage room on the third floor.

And then he saw her, striding down the hill toward the so-called clubhouse. She came directly toward him, showing no shame at all for breaking her promise to stay in the safe location. She’d conned him.

Somehow, she’d found time to change clothes into an amazingly short skirt that showed off her legs. Stopping at the base of the tree, she tilted her head up and said, “We need to talk, Spence.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to quit acting like Tarzan and climb down from that tree.”

His perch in the cottonwood felt damn silly. While Julio was using snipers with high-tech rifles, Spence crouched in a cottonwood. He swung down from the branch and landed on the ground beside her. “Okay, Mollie. Why did you leave the third-floor storage room?”

“Because it was stupid.” She stepped closer to him. Her slender hands grasped his lapels and pulled him closer to her. “Let’s talk about us. You and me, Spence.”

Her voice swirled around him, demanding and inviting at the same time. He’d been imagining this moment with her since they met. Their prior hugs and kisses had fueled his desire, and he was ready for more. “Now?”

“Why not?” she purred. “I can’t think of a better time.”

On tiptoe, she pressed her mouth against his and lashed her tongue across his lips. An expert move that he thoroughly enjoyed. He hadn’t thought Mollie was so experienced. After another, harder, more aggressive kiss, he wondered why the contact didn’t feel the same as before. Their kiss lacked electricity. Did she feel it, too?

He had to ask, “What changed your mind?”

“Being close to you. I told you how much you excite me. I can’t hold myself back.”

Her words struck a jarring note. Sure, they were drawn to each other, but they didn’t talk about it. Mollie wasn’t this forward. She was practical. This felt…wrong.

When she reached up and caressed the line of his jaw, he caught her hand. Her nails gleamed with a recent manicure. Her skin felt velvety and smooth. Not like a woman who worked with her hands in a garden shop. Where were the scratches from thorns? The calluses?