The Complete Outlaw Hartes Collection by RaeAnne Thayne

Author:RaeAnne Thayne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Jesse’s cellular phone bleated just as the Utah Jazz basketball team tied the score at the end of the fourth quarter, pushing the critical postseason game into overtime.

So much for enjoying the last few hours of his time off.

He groaned and glared at the phone. His efforts to convince some of his officers they could handle all but the most urgent crises without him didn’t seem to be working. They still called to check with him before making almost any kind of decision, from whether to give tickets or warnings to first-time traffic offenders to what kind of coffee filters worked best in the machine.

He’d have to work a little harder, apparently.

“This better be good,” he growled into the phone.

Silence met his snarl, then a small, ragged-sounding voice spoke. “Jesse? Is that you?”

He forgot the basketball game in an instant as cold fear clawed at him. “Sarah! What’s wrong?” He knew instinctively that she wouldn’t have used this number unless absolutely necessary, especially not after the awkwardness of the day before on the mountain.

“Can you… Do you think you could come over?”

He shoved into his boots, not taking the time to bother with socks. “I’m already heading for the door.”

“I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

She sounded strange, disoriented, almost as if she was high on something, but he knew that was impossible. She couldn’t be using. Not sweet, fragile Sarah McKenzie.

He remembered the day she had freaked out on her back porch when her knee gave out and he’d reached to keep her from falling. That’s the way she seemed now—like someone on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to tamp down on his own panic.

“I don’t know. There’s blood everywhere. Please hurry.”

Blood. Everywhere. Those were the only words that registered.

“Sarah?” he called into the phone, but the line went dead. In an instant, he yanked his sidearm from the closet and raced for his Bronco, calling for an ambulance and backup as he went.

He drove the six blocks to her house with all his lights flashing and siren blaring, and broke just about every traffic law on the Salt River books—and a few the city council hadn’t had a chance to come up with yet.

On Spruce Street he braked hard and the Bronco shuddered to a stop just a few feet from where she stood in the middle of the road, clutching a cell phone and rocking back and forth on her heels.

He jumped from the truck and rushed to her, pulling her into his arms. “Sarah! What happened? Sit down. Where are you hurt?”

“No. It’s not me.”

He was so completely focused on her—on trying to visually assess her injuries—that he wasn’t aware of anything else until she pointed toward her house. “There.”

Reluctant to take his eyes off her for even a moment, he turned with impatience in the direction she was pointing. At first he didn’t know what he was seeing. It just looked like dark shadows where there shouldn’t be any, smears of muddy black.

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