The Marshal's Hostage - By Delores Fossen Page 0,15

away.

“We’re heading there.” Dallas tipped his head to the clump of oaks and hackberries.

Joelle nodded, but it was a wobbly one, and she was still shaking. Even though her eyes were no longer as glazed as they had been, he still wanted to get her to the hospital. Then he could make sure she was okay and have a blood test done to determine exactly what Owen had used to drug her.

Dallas didn’t wait for another hail of bullets. He got Joelle moving toward the trees. No shots, but he did hear at least one of the gunmen cursing.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Marshal,” the man shouted.

Dallas wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the one playing here, but he didn’t want to waste his breath. Plus, the gunmen could use the sound of his voice to pinpoint their exact location in the bushes. Unlike the rocks, the underbrush wouldn’t give them much protection, and it was best not to do anything to get those bullets flying again.

He pointed to the next clump of trees and tipped his head to let Joelle know they were heading there next. Heck, if he had to, they’d just keep running and ducking behind the trees until they were all the way to the road.

“Joelle?” the man called out.

Great. Now the bozo was trying to bargain with a drugged woman. “Ignore him,” Dallas told her.

She did. Joelle moved when he moved, and they darted behind the next set of trees.

“Joelle?” the guy repeated. “I know you can hear me. So can the marshal. And I don’t think you’re going to want him to hear what I’m about to say.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dallas grumbled under his breath, and he got ready for their next round of evade and escape.

“I’m supposed to give you a message, Joelle,” the man continued, his voice practically echoing through the woods. “Come back to the church with us now, or I’m to tell the marshal your dirty little secret.”

Damn, the guy wasn’t giving up.

Dallas immediately dismissed what the man said. But Joelle didn’t. She sucked in her breath hard, and her eyes widened. She shook her head.

And Dallas’s stomach knotted.

Obviously, there was something to the dirty little secret threat. Part of him really wanted to know what had caused the color to drain from Joelle’s already too-pale face. But the other part of him didn’t want the guy to be able to use whatever he was trying to use to get her to cooperate.

“Let’s go,” Dallas insisted.

Joelle didn’t argue. She practically leaped up from the ground, and even though she was still shaky, she ran as if her life depended on it. She didn’t stop at the tree cluster, either. She kept moving and used the trees to help her stay on her feet.

“Running won’t help,” the man yelled. “One way or another, the marshal will find out what you did.”

Joelle looked over at him, the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Don’t ask, please,” she said when Dallas opened his mouth.

Oh, hell.

This couldn’t be good, but it was the worst possible time to push for information.

“The marshal will find out your secret,” the man shouted. It was harder to hear his voice now, but Dallas seemed to have no trouble making out every word. “And if you think he’ll protect you after he finds out what you did, you’re wrong, Joelle. Dead wrong.”

Chapter Six

Everything inside Joelle was swirling, and she couldn’t blame it entirely on the drugged drink. Those three words, dirty little secret, were repeating in her head just like the spray of bullets that the gunmen had fired into the rocks.

Mercy.

How had Owen learned that?

And better yet, how could she keep Dallas from asking her about it?

If he figured out the truth, it certainly wouldn’t help matters. No way. Joelle needed to hurry to town so she could talk to Owen and try to defuse this situation before it blew up in all their faces.

“Keep moving,” Dallas reminded her, and he shoved aside some low hanging tree limbs while he made another check over his shoulder.

Joelle checked, too, but she couldn’t see the gunmen. That was something at least, but she knew that any second the bullets could start flying again.

They ran for what seemed like an eternity, and the woods and underbrush got even thicker. The bushes scraped at her robe and skin, reminders that she wasn’t dressed for a trek through the wild. Of course, she hadn’t planned on spending her day like this since