Mountain Midwife. Cassie Miles
the windshield and repacked her equipment in the back of the panel van with the Rocky Mountain Women’s Clinic logo on the side. Ready to roll, Rachel got behind the steering wheel and turned on the windshield wipers.
Heavy snow clouds had begun to blot out the sun. The weatherman was predicting a blizzard starting tonight or tomorrow morning. She wanted to hurry home to her condo in Granby, about forty-five minutes away. Skirting around Katherine’s SUV, she drove carefully down the steep driveway to a two-lane road that hadn’t been plowed since early this morning. There were other tire tracks in the snow, but not many.
After a sharp left, she drove a couple hundred yards to a stop sign and feathered the brakes until she came to a complete stop.
From the back of the van, she heard a noise. Something loose rattling around? She turned to look. A man in a black leather jacket and a ski mask moved forward. He pressed the nose of his gun against her neck.
“Do as I say,” he growled, “and you won’t be hurt.”
“What do you want?”
“You. We need a baby doctor.”
A second man, also masked, lurked behind him in her van.
The cold muzzle of the gun pushed against her bare skin. The metallic stink of cordite rose to her nostrils. This weapon had been recently fired.
“Get out of your seat,” he ordered. “I’m driving.”
Fighting panic, she gripped the steering wheel. “It’s my van. I’ll drive. Just tell me where we’re going.”
From the back, she heard a grumble. “We don’t have time for this.”
The man with the gun reached forward and engaged the emergency brake. “There’s a woman in labor who needs you. Are you going to turn your back on her?”
“No,” she said hesitantly.
“I don’t want you to know where we’re going. Understand? That’s why you can’t drive.”
“All right. I’ll sit in the back.” Her van was stocked with a number of medical supplies that could be used as weapons—scalpels, scissors, a heavy oxygen tank. “I’ll do what you say. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Get in the passenger seat.”
Still thinking about escape, she unfastened her seat belt and changed seats. Her purse was on the floor. If she could get her hands on her cell phone, she could call for help.
The man with the gun climbed into the driver’s seat. She noticed that his jeans were stained with blood.
His partner took his place between the seats. Roughly, he grabbed her hands and clicked on a set of handcuffs. Using a bandage from her own supplies, he blindfolded her.
The van lurched forward. Only a moment later, they stopped. The rear door opened and slammed shut. She assumed that the second man had left. Now might be her best chance to escape; she was still close enough to the cabin to run back there. Jim was a deputy and would know how to help her.
She twisted in the passenger seat. Before her fingers touched the door handle, the man in the driver’s seat pulled her shoulders back and wrapped the seat belt across her chest, neatly and effectively securing her into place.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He said nothing. The van was in motion again.
She warned, “You won’t get away with this. There are people who will come after me.”
He remained silent, and her tension grew. She’d been lying about people looking for her. Tomorrow was the first day of a week vacation and she’d already called in with the information about Jim and Sarah’s baby. Rachel lived alone; nobody would miss her for a while.
The blindfold made her claustrophobic, but if she looked down her nose, she could see her hands, cuffed in her lap. Helpless. Her only weapon was her voice.
She knew that it was important to humanize herself to her captor. If he saw her as a person, he’d be less likely to hurt her. At least, that was what the police advised for victims of kidnap. Am I a victim? Damn, she hoped not.
An adrenaline rush hyped her heart rate, but she kept her voice calm. “Please tell me your name.”
“It’s Cole,” he said.
“Cole,” she repeated. “And your friend?”
“Frank.”
Monosyllables didn’t exactly count as a conversation, but it was something. “Listen, Cole. These cuffs are hurting my wrists. I’d really appreciate if you could take them off. I promise I won’t cause trouble.”
“The cuffs stay. And the blindfold.”
“Please, Cole. You said you didn’t want to hurt me.”
Though she couldn’t see him, she felt him staring at her.
“There’s only one thing you need to know,” he said. “There’s a pregnant woman who needs you. Without your help, she and her baby will die.”
As soon as he spoke, she realized that escape wasn’t an option. No matter how much she wanted to run, she couldn’t refuse to help. The fight went out of her. Her eyes squeezed shut behind the blindfold. More than being afraid for her own safety, she feared for the unknown woman and her unborn child.
COLE MCCLURE concentrated on the taillights of Frank Loeb’s car. The route to their hideout was unfamiliar to him and complicated by a couple of switchbacks; he didn’t want to waste time getting lost.
The decision to track down the midwife had been his. It was obvious that Penny wasn’t going to make it without a hell of a lot more medical expertise than he or any of the other three men could provide.
Cole glanced at the blindfolded woman in the passenger seat. Her posture erect, she sat as still as a statue. Her fortitude impressed him. When he held the gun on her, she hadn’t burst into tears or pleaded. A sensible woman, he thought. Too bad he couldn’t explain to her that he was one of the good guys.
She cleared her throat. “Has the mother been having contractions?”
“Yes.”
“How far apart?”
“It’s hard to tell. She was shot in the left thigh and has been in pain.”
She couldn’t see through the blindfold, but her head turned toward him. “Shot?”
“A flesh wound. The bullet went straight through, but she lost blood.”
“She needs a hospital, access to a surgeon, transfusions. My God, her body is probably in shock.”
Cole couldn’t have agreed more. “She won’t let us take her to a doctor.”
“You could make her go. You said she was weak.”
“If she turns herself in at the hospital, she won’t be released. Penny doesn’t want to raise her baby in jail. Can you understand that, Rachel?”
“How do you know my name?”
In spite of her self-possessed attitude, he heard a note of alarm in her voice. He didn’t want to reveal more information than necessary, but she deserved an explanation.
“When I realized that we needed a midwife, I called the women’s clinic and pretended to want a consultation with a midwife. They gave me your name and told me that you were with a woman in labor.”
“But they wouldn’t tell you the patient’s name,” Rachel said. “That’s a breach of confidentiality.”
“Frank hacked their computer.” The big thug had a sophisticated skill set that almost made up for his tendency toward sadism. “After that, finding the address was easy.”
When they discovered