Chapter 122 Kingman Regional Hospital
The desert stretched out like a stripped‑down canvas, a cracked expanse broken only by the thin ribbon of Highway 93 that cut its way toward Kingman. Sierra’s rented Cadillac XT6 hummed low as the engine strained against the night, the speedometer daring her to cross the line at ninety miles per hour. She could see the reflective “SPEED LIMIT 65” signs flickering past like distant constellations, each one a small warning she ignored. The black asphalt was smooth, almost too smooth, and the desert wind whispered promises of an easy ride.
“Don’t push it,” Ryder’s voice echoed in her memory, a warning she'd heard that evening when she’d called him from her Manhattan apartment.
The video of Cody lying still, bandaged, and a shadowed figure watching from a courtyard window, felt like a rope being pulled taut. She was running out of time. Was Cody running out of time, too?
She pressed the accelerator harder, the dial passing the 90 mph barrier. Her mind flipped through the snippets of text messages. The last one:
Now, come to the ranch. Just like you were told.
The words were like a knife blade being slipped between her ribs and straight into her heart.
Had the Scotsman sent her that video? He had been watching her and tracking her since they’d met in the dark corner of that pub in London. Had she double-crossed him and his employer? She’d carefully followed his instructions, staying with Julian up until the last and not confronting him about his land deals in and around Kingman in spite of the damage it was doing to the lifestyle and livelihood of the people who lived there? He had seemed to be more like a mysterious guide than a cruel antagonist. Had the fact that she returned to Manhattan after the jet crashed instead of to Sage Ranch caused him to threaten and hunt her family?
Ryder’s whereabouts tugged at the back of her mind like a loose thread. The video was of Cody alone in the hospital room. Why wasn’t Ryder there? No, the man in the video wore a broad‑brimmed hat, the kind Ryder never wore. Had he been called away for something, gone to get coffee, or to use the bathroom? Had someone taken him? The idea that someone might have slipped in on Ryder and incapacitated him was absurd. The thought made her pulse throb louder than the engine.
The highway seemed to stretch forever, and the desert’s emptiness was merciless. She was driving well over the speed limit, much faster than any sensible traveler would dare, but the gnawing fear that Cody could be slipping away, that Ryder might be a ghost, drove her. She swore under her breath, cursing the speed and the distance, and the clock that seemed to be spinning toward some finality beyond her imagination. The desert wind howled past the driver’s side window, a low moan that seemed to whisper, “You’re too late.”
The highway finally gave way to the outskirts of Kingman. She slowed enough to make the turn into the parking lot of Kingman Regional Hospital. The lot was empty, the orange glow of streetlights the only illumination. She pushed the car into a spot, the brakes squealing as she skidded to a halt.
She abandoned the SUV, the heels of her matte black stilettos clacking against the pavement as fast as she was able to make them move. The dress she’d worn to meet Edwin for dinner and dancing, the deep red, figure‑hugging, Marcella NYC cocktail dress, was the kind that turned heads in Manhattan’s Midtown, and it certainly caught the attention of the few people in the small regional hospital as she rushed through the doors.
The information desk was a simple glass counter, a tired receptionist behind it, half‑asleep, her coffee mug steaming in the chill of the pre-dawn morning. Sierra’s voice cracked as she spoke, the words tumbling out in a rushed whisper. “Cody Quinn.”
The nurse blinked, “Are you family?” she asked, glancing at her clipboard.
“Cody is my brother,” Sierra said, her throat tightening.
“Your brother, Ryder, is sitting with him right now. Been here all night,” the woman responded. “Room 146.”
She pointed to a hallway that stretched away into a dim corridor, the fluorescent lights flickering like a nervous heartbeat.
Sierra’s mind raced; the receptionist had called Ryder her brother. That meant Ryder had lied, perhaps to stay with Cody. It also meant he hadn’t been taken, disabled, or ... He was still there. She swallowed hard, forcing the panic back down.
She turned the corner, her stilettos hammering out a rhythm on the terrazzo floor, echoing down the hallway. The scent of antiseptic was sharp, cutting through the perfume that lingered on her skin.
Room 146 was near the end of a short corridor, the door slightly ajar. A soft, bluish light spilled onto the hallway floor. She paused, hand on the doorframe, feeling the adrenaline flicker through her veins. Inside, a figure sat in the institutional-style chair next to the bed, his head bent over, dozing. His silhouette was familiar, his rugged outline, his broad shoulders, the curve of his jaw. Ryder.
The moment he sensed her presence, his head snapped up with a speed that made Sierra’s heart skip. His eyes, steady as the desert sky, were neutral at first, and then something primal flickered beneath the surface as he took in her shapely form, enhanced by the curve-hugging red cocktail dress.
“Hey, Si,” he whispered, suddenly remembering that they weren’t together anymore. A grin formed on his lips. “Made it in one piece, I see.”
“Yeah,” she responded in the same low tone. “How’s he doing?”
He stood, the chair scraping against the terrazzo floor. “He’s stable. Not much else to say.” He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his boots thudding softly on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her. The scent of sage and leather washed over her, mixing with the sweet amber, vanilla, and cedar of her perfume, creating an intoxicating swirl.
“You smell as good as you look,” he murmured, his voice low, a grainy rasp that sent a thrill racing up her spine. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she felt a shiver that wasn’t from the cold hallway.
And you smell absolutely intoxicating, she didn’t say.
Cody lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The faint “thump‑thump‑thump” echoed like a distant drum. He was still, his face an empty canvas of pale skin, the bandage on his head a stark white contrast to the black hair. The IV line and the fluid ticking away slowly made her heart skip a beat.
Ryder’s hand lingered on the small of her back, his soft, lingering touch providing the reassurance she needed in that moment.
“Doctor said he could tell us more later in the morning,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Sierra looked at her brother, his face still, his breath steady. For a moment, all the panic, the speed, the road, the texts, and the looming threat melted into a single, sharp focus: she had to keep Cody alive. What was going on out there in the darkness? What hidden agenda? Who was waiting for her to make a single misstep?
She turned back to Ryder, “Thank you for being here,” she whispered. A grin flickered on her face. “Brother.”
“Oh. Yeah. That,” he chuckled. “You know how they are.”
“Yes,” she giggled. “I know how they are.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Neither knew how to respond to the electric charge that was surging back and forth between them.
“Hey,” she said finally. “You should probably go home and get some rest. I can take it from here.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she replied, though she hoped that he would linger.
He turned and left. She felt her heart sink, closed her eyes, and wondered why she had been so foolish to ever let him go.
In that moment, her cellphone buzzed.
Unknown caller: Be at the ranch by noon.