down and she was sticking her head out.
“I need help,” Hartley squeaked.
“Hey, I know you. You’re Blake Owens,” the woman said.
At that, Blake released Hartley’s arm. He wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“Loathsome coward,” Hartley spat as she rubbed her arm.
Blake straightened to his full height. “This isn’t over!” He laughed as his lips curled into a snarl. “Me and you, babe. We’re just beginning.” He thrust out his chest and blew her a kiss. The smug promise in his voice snaked a shiver down Hartley’s spine. She hated Blake Owens.
“Would you like a ride?”
It took Hartley a second to realize that the woman was talking to her. The woman had platinum blonde hair that rounded on her shoulders. She looked classy. Hartley guessed the woman to be in her late fifties. Her brain ran through the alternatives. Hartley could go back in the bar, but there was a large chance that Blake would follow her inside. “Sure,” Hartley heard herself say as she hurried around to the passenger door and got in.
“Thank you,” she breathed as she closed the door.
“Sure thing,” the woman said as she pulled away from the bar. Out of the corner of her eye, Hartley saw Blake shoot her a bird. “Scum bucket,” she muttered.
As the woman drove out of the parking lot, she chuckled. “It looked like you were giving Blake Owens a run for his money.”
“He’s a despicable swine,” Hartley seethed.
The woman started laughing. It was a harsh, grating sound. A smoker’s laugh that seemed incongruent with the classy snapshot image that Hartley’s brain had initially concocted. Come to think of it, the air in the car reeked of cigarette smoke. Hartley shifted to get a better look at the woman. She wore a tailored business suit and a pink silk blouse. A strand of pearls encircled her neck. Her hair was perfectly styled. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman. It tickled at Hartley’s brain. She exerted all of her concentration, trying to unearth it, but it was no use. She moistened her lips as she clasped her purse tighter in her hands. “Thanks again for the ride.” Hartley’s words dribbled away to a stilted silence. It occurred to her that the woman would need her address. “I live at 4452 Ravenwood Lane.”
No response.
Unease crawled down Hartley’s neck. There was something odd about this situation. Why did the woman look familiar? She reached into her purse. “I just need to make a quick phone call,” she explained, intent on calling Ramsey. Regardless of how devastated she was over Knox’s behavior, she needed to let Ramsey know what was happening. Alarm bells were going off in her head, causing her throat to thicken like cold syrup.
She heard movement from behind. She whipped around, gasping in surprise as a man arose from the backseat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said pleasantly as he pointed a gun straight at her.
13
“Where in the devil are you?” Ramsey muttered as he paced back and forth across Hartley’s kitchen floor. Beneath his frustration was a raging river of fear. Had Daddy not detained him at the gallery, Ramsey would have been able to catch up with Hartley before she left. Now, Ramsey had no idea where she was. Not a good situation considering the death threats against Hartley. It had been irresponsible of Hartley to up and leave by herself, but he understood why she had. He kept seeing the wounded look on Hartley’s face right after Cash’s proposal and could tell that she was giving up on them. Ramsey couldn’t let that happen!
What Hartley failed to understand was that Daddy was a hothead. He’d said some cutting things, but he’d come around … eventually. Everyone else—even Mama—seemed to be coming around.
He’d come to Hartley’s house rather than going home because he assumed that she would eventually return home tonight. His gut tightened. She hadn’t come home. He hoped she was okay. He tried to think where else she could be. Her mom’s house, maybe. No, that seemed highly unlikely considering her mom lived two hours away.
His phone buzzed. In a quick motion, he pulled it from his pocket, hoping it was from Hartley. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was. She’d sent him a text.
We need to talk. Meet me at your house.
He texted back.
On my way.
Yesterday, Ramsey had given Hartley a key to his house and told her his security alarm code. It was his way of letting her know that he was