Lone Rider by Lauren Bach Page B

decomposing bodies with fish-eaten eyes. Her lungs ached as she held that final breath, refusing to relinquish her life.
    Seven, eight, nine... She struggled to sit up.
    How would she get out of this mess -- alive and unharmed?
                  Dallas ’ harrowing description of her potential fate had left her numb. White slavery . Could she survive being sold, being raped, or being made a drug addict?
                  A sob broke free. How many women had met fates like this, were victims of such a grossly offensive crime? Did anyone suspect that such a thing had occurred, or were the women assumed to be victims of some other atrocity? What must their families be going through?
                  For the millionth time she thought about her own family. In her case, it could be another four weeks before her family even missed her or suspected something was wrong. Her shop was closed for the summer, which gave the two college kids that worked for her a chance to go home until the fall semester. Her mother was husband hunting on the French Riviera. That left her father and brother, who had an empire to run. If Tess remained incommunicado all summer , they’d hardly notice.
                  The only other person who might notice her absence was her ex-fiancé, Geoffrey. She knew from her mother’s letters that Madeline was encouraging Geoffrey to “try again.”  But Tess had her doubts. Geoffrey had wasted little time finding a suitable replacement.
                  The sad truth was no one would miss her on a day-to-day basis. Tess had planned on following the summer craft show circuit across the Midwest , interviewing potential jewelry designers for her shop. Because she had wanted to leave room in her schedule for spontaneous forays, she hadn’t left an itinerary with anyone. And she had used cash the last two times she purchased gas and food, leaving no credit- card trail. Once they discovered her missing, how would they find her?
                  Unless someone fortuitously pulled her car up from the lake, it could be a long while before anyone suspected foul play.
    She closed her eyes , thinking about the man Snake had killed , and once again saw the knife plunge, blood spill across the floor. The man hadn’t even cried out. Didn’t beg for mercy. And she’d never felt so helpless and frightened in her life. Matt Michaels. Who would miss him? Family? Friends?
    Bogen seemed to think Michaels was working with someone else. If that someone connected Snake to Michaels, would they come around asking questions? That had seemed to be Bogen’s primary concern. He wasn’t concerned over the fact Snake had murdered a man. He’d been worried it would draw attention to their operation.
    What had she gotten into? Snake was a murderer, but clearly Bogen authorized it. How many cars and bodies lined the bottom of Lake Summer ?
                  Would Dallas learn about Michaels’ death at this meeting? How would he react? She felt certain Dallas wouldn’t sanction murder. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d turn against Bogen and Snake though. Or did it ?
    She recalled Dallas ’ warning against letting anyone know her secrets. The more she thought about it , the more it seemed that Dallas , for whatever reason, was indeed trying to protect her. But just how far would he go for her? And how far was she willing to go to test it?
                  She shifted positions, recoiling when one of the cuffs chafed against a sore spot on her wrist. She grimaced , seeing the raw skin. After Dallas left, she’d tried in earnest to break free. She had pulled and tugged, determined to squeeze one of her hands through the opening. It had proved futile. Her flesh gave way more readily th a n stainless steel.
                  She tensed when she heard a noise at the front door. Someone was entering the cabin. Please, if it wasn’t the sheriff,