Hard to Hold - Karen Foley

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pickup there.” Colton indicated a black truck that dominated the lot. A canvas tarp was stretched across the bed, protecting and concealing the provisions and gear he was bringing with him to the cabin for a two-week fishing vacation.

      “Okay, you drive.” The woman stood aside as he unlocked the vehicle. “Wait!”

      Colton stopped just as he was preparing to climb behind the wheel, and turned to look at her expectantly. Her brow was furrowed.

      “This isn’t right,” she muttered.

      “Nope,” Colton agreed, “it ain’t. Whatever your problem is, it can’t be worth the pile of trouble you’re getting yourself into by taking me hostage.”

      The woman waved her hand dismissively. “No, no. I mean this isn’t right.” She pointed to the open door. “You’re supposed to get in on the passenger side and slide over to the driver’s seat. Then I slide in after you. That way I can make sure you don’t try anything.”

      “Ah,” Colton said. He stepped back and closed the driver’s door. “I see you’ve been watching plenty of crime-time television.” He walked around to the passenger side of the truck, aware of her following close behind him. Opening that door, he slid in. The interior was stifling hot, so he started the engine and flipped the air-conditioning to high as the woman climbed onto the bench seat beside him. He suppressed a smile as she pulled the toy gun from her waistband and tried awkwardly to keep it trained on him while negotiating the high seat.

      “Okay,” she said, closing the door and turning to look at him. “Let’s get out of here.”

      She wrestled her backpack off and let it fall to the floor. Without taking her eyes from him, she pressed herself against the door, keeping as far away from him as she could in the confines of the cab. She kept the gun low but leveled at him nonetheless.

      Colton quirked an eyebrow. “Care to tell me where we’re going? You might want to make it quick, since I expect we’ll have company before too long.”

      * * *

      MADDIE HOWE TORE her gaze from the big man sitting next to her and looked beyond the parking lot to where Interstate 80 stretched away into the distance, until it was finally swallowed up by the mountains beyond. Heat shimmered in waves over that narrow ribbon of tarmac, and the plains on either side were scorched brown from the unrelenting heat of the July sun.

      “Just head west toward Reno until I tell you different,” she replied, shifting her gaze back to him. To her dismay, the man made no move to put the truck into gear, although one hand rested on the stick shift. He was watching her, and she thought his dark eyes held compassion.

      “You sure you want to do this?” His voice was low, compelling.

      Maddie swallowed nervously What if he simply refused to drive? He couldn’t do that to her, she thought in near desperation. She had already come this far; had irrevocably altered her life, maybe even ruined it. For her, there was no turning back. She was committed to the course she had chosen, even if it meant ditching him and finding another driver. For her, there were no other options.

      “I’m sure,” she finally said, her mouth dry. Her hands tightened around the gun and she lifted it fractionally higher. “Please, just drive.”

      His expression told her clearly he was disappointed, but he shifted the big truck into gear and then they were pulling out onto the interstate and heading west toward the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Maddie spared one swift glance back at the diner, expecting what, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if anyone in the place was even aware that she’d just committed a crime. The whole thing had been too easy. There was no discernible activity in the parking lot, and the rest area grew smaller and smaller as they sped away. Finally, she allowed herself to relax back into the seat.

      The man beside her was silent. Maddie didn’t know whether to be thankful for that or not. She watched him covertly from beneath her baseball cap. He was a big man, tall and lean with broad shoulders. He’d startled her half to death when he’d confronted her in the diner. Her first impression had been of height and width and dark eyes that had focused on her with an intensity that missed nothing.

      Then he had spoken, and his voice was like a lifeline in a world that was suddenly tilting out of control. This was the kind of guy who could talk a suicide jumper down off a ledge, she decided. His voice had a quality to it that both calmed and inspired trust. It was low, and sort of rough around the edges, with a bare hint of a drawl that made you want him to keep on talking. Because when he did, you felt like he really cared. Only that was crazy, Maddie thought, because he didn’t even know her. Never mind that she had kidnapped him at gunpoint.

      She watched him now as he drove, his hands relaxed on the wheel. Maddie noticed he didn’t wear a wedding band. She hadn’t had a chance to really look at him in the diner, but now she let her eyes travel over him, lingering on his profile.

      He was dark, his skin burnished to a warm copper. His black hair was cropped short in a style that was almost military. He had slashing black brows and a hawklike nose above lips that were wide and generous. Despite his chiseled cheekbones and clean, square jaw, there was an aura of toughness about him that she recognized. She was willing to bet the ladies lined up for a chance to be with him. She guessed he was at least partially Native American. Altogether, he was overwhelmingly male. He wore a black T-shirt paired with blue jeans, and it seemed his entire body was layered with muscles. Even his thighs beneath the worn denim appeared muscular.

      As if sensing her scrutiny, he slanted a sideways glance at her, one black eyebrow arched in question. Maddie felt her face grow warm. What would she do if he tried to overpower her? There would be no contest. She’d be dough in his hands. She groaned inwardly. What had she been thinking to involve this man in her madness? Truth be told, she hadn’t been thinking. She hadn’t actually had a single coherent thought since she had received the threatening note early the previous morning, followed by the phone call. A call that had chilled her and then galvanized her into panic mode.

      Her younger brother, Jamie, was in trouble. Serious trouble. He’d lost a staggering amount of money at the poker tables in Reno. Money that hadn’t been his to lose. Money that the lenders now wanted back. More money than she had, despite the fact she’d emptied both her savings and checking accounts, sold her car for far less than its worth and cashed in the precious few bonds she owned.

      There hadn’t been nearly enough time to remortgage her little condo or apply for a bank loan. The men who were holding her brother said they would hurt him if they didn’t have the money within the next seventy-two hours. And they warned her that if she involved the police, they would just kill him outright and be done with it.

      Maddie believed them.

      Why wouldn’t she? After all, she’d seen what had happened to her father. She knew firsthand about the seamy, dark side of gambling, and what really went on in the back rooms of the casinos. But her brother was only twenty years old, just finishing up his last year of college. He’d been too young to remember what had happened to their dad, though Maddie did all too vividly.

      She wouldn’t let that happen to Jamie, although there was a part of her that wanted to kill him herself for having gotten into this mess. How many times had she preached to him about the dangers of gambling? She’d made him promise that he would never, under any circumstances, go to the casinos, and certainly not with money that wasn’t his. But she understood the lure of turning a quick buck; of beating the house and winning huge sums of cash. Now Jamie’s luck had run out, and unless she acted quickly, his life was in danger.

      Frantic, she had stashed what cash she had into her backpack and boarded the first bus for Reno. She’d left a voice mail at the town office where she worked as a senior accountant, telling her boss that she had a family emergency and needed to take several days off. She had a telephone number to call once she reached Reno.

      She had spent the first hundred fifty miles of the westbound bus ride tolerating the shoot-’em-up antics of the little boy in the seat in front of her. But after nearly three hours

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