Chapter 121 A Desperate Flight
Without even thinking, Sierra’s finger pressed the speed‑dial button for Ryder. The soft “beep” of the connection was the only sound she heard over the low hum of the city outside her window.
“Ryder?” she said, her voice a thin thread of panic. “What happened?”
“Si,” he responded, his tone steady but edged with urgency. “I was riding the fenceline over next to Sage Ranch, and I saw Cody’s horse without a rider. I figured he was off fixin’ fence, so I rode over to say hello. He wasn’t anywhere around.”
Ryder paused for a moment, nearly driving Sierra out of her mind.
“I cut the fence and backtracked his horse and found him layin’ in a gully, unconscious but breathing. I tied him on the back of his horse and led him out to where the ambulance could get to him, and they rushed him to Kingman Regional.”
Sierra’s breath caught. The world seemed to tilt, the sleek, red dress she’d just admired in the mirror suddenly feeling absurdly light. “Is he… is he okay?”
“He’s stable for now,” Ryder said. “He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are good. I’m sitting with him in his room.”
Sierra’s mind raced, a frantic montage of hospital corridors, her brother’s childhood grin, the way he’d once tried to hide his bruised elbow behind a denim jacket. “I’m on the next flight out,” she blurted. “I’ll have to drive from Phoenix, because there won’t be any flights to Flagstaff at 2 a.m.”
“Don’t push it too much on that road between here and Phoenix, Si,” Ryder cut in, his voice softer. “I’m stayin’ here with him.”
“Thanks. If he wakes up before I get there, let him know I’m on my way.” She pressed the button to end the call. The silence that followed was deafening.
For a brief, foolish instant, the thought of Julian Rossi’s private jet flashed through her mind, a way to zip across the country without the inconvenience of commercial security and scheduling. The memory of his smirk and his voice teaching her about control was a sudden, bitter aftertaste. She forced it away. “No,” she whispered to herself, “not now.” The idea dissolved like a phantom.
She turned back to her smartphone. Within moments, she had a 10 p.m. flight booked for Phoenix, arriving at 2 a.m.
She quickly threw what she needed into a carry-on bag and started toward the door. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror, she suddenly remembered her date with Edwin.
She pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial for Edwin.
“You runnin’ a little late?” he chuckled when he answered the call.
“No. Not late,” she said, trying to keep her tone even. “I’m really sorry, but I have to fly to Arizona. Cody was thrown from a horse; he’s in the hospital, unconscious. I can’t be there tonight, and I don’t want you to think I skipped out on you.”
There was a pause, then a soft sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sierra. I hope he’s okay.” He sounded relieved, not angry, a relief that washed over her like cool rain. “We’ll do it another time. Take care of your brother.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, a genuine gratitude humming in her chest. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
She ended the call, feeling the night’s promise dissolve into a cold, urgent reality. The taxi driver pulled up outside the building, the city’s neon lights blurring into a watercolor of amber and violet as the car moved toward the airport. The ticking of the clock in the terminal seemed to sync with her pulse; each second was a reminder that time was slipping away and she wasn’t there with Cody.
On the plane, Sierra tucked herself into the thin airline seat, a travel pillow supporting her neck. The cabin lights dimmed, the soft hum of the engines rose, and she gazed out the window to watch the distant city below shrink into a patchwork of streets and rooftops. Her mind replayed Ryder’s words over and over, the image of Cody’s pale face and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. She tried to picture the horse’s panic, maybe because a diamondback coiled under a sage bush, the thud of his fall, the smell of dust. But something else slipped into her mind, a thin, creeping suspicion that perhaps the accident wasn’t an accident at all.
She remembered the anonymous texts that had begun appearing on her phone: cryptic warnings, veiled threats, a pattern that had made her double‑check the locks on every door. She had pushed them aside, not really believing that anyone was out to get her, but now, with Cody lying unconscious, a cold realization took shape. Had someone caused the fall?
The plane hit a patch of turbulence, and the cabin lights flickered. Sierra panicked for a moment, remembering how Julian’s private jet had bucked and pitched before it crashed. Her fingers dug into the armrest as she waited for the worst. The flight smoothed out again, and she tried to relax.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the ranch, its wide-open sky, the sound of cattle lowing in the distance, the scent of sage and pine after a summer rain. That memory steadied her breathing, and she focused on the flight’s destination and Cody lying quietly in a hospital room she could not yet see.
The plane descended into the early morning darkness. The lights of Phoenix were much less intense than those in New York, like people were actually sleeping, instead of running all over town all night. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a reminder that she was moving toward a moment she could not control.
She rushed to the rental car kiosk, hoping that Cody had remembered to return the SUV she’d rented in Flagstaff and left parked at the ranch yard for nearly a month. She was about to receive the keys to another luxury SUV when her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.
She pulled it out; a notification glowed: Video Message. She tapped it, and a video began to play.
The screen showed a hospital room, fluorescent lights humming above a narrow, white bed. Cody lay there, his face pale, a bandage wrapped around his head where the hair once fell in a mess of curls. An IV line dripped steadily, the soft “thump‑thump‑thump” of the heart monitor echoing in the background. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm. The camera panned slowly, lingering on the empty chair beside the bed.
“Where’s Ryder?” she breathed, panic running through her.
The scene broke from inside the room to outside it. A window in the hospital’s courtyard. A figure stood there, partially silhouetted against the light from the window. The man’s back was turned. He seemed to be watching the room, watching the patient.
The video stopped abruptly, the image freezing on the man at the window. Beneath the video was a text message:
Now, come to the ranch. Just like you were told.