Free Summer's Night by Cheyenne Meadows Page B

eyebrow at him. "Huh?"
    Cale grinned. "You haven't met her. That is one warrior woman if I ever met one. Give her a bow and arrow, put her on a galloping horse, stick a few feathers in her hair, and I guarantee she'll do more than count coup."
    Night snorted, his tension lessening for the moment with the byplay. "Wrong tribe, Cale. You're thinking Plains Indians. She's Navajo. Not so much nomadic buffalo hunters as much as stay at home farmers."
    "Maybe she was born to the wrong tribe, then. She has more balls than most men." Cale shrugged.
    "What would you expect from the daughter of a Navajo Code Talker?" Spoon tossed out.
    The brothers blinked, while Night grumbled. "I swear. None of you can keep a secret."
    "Not one as good as that."
    "Well that explains everything." Loco agreed.
    "It does?"
    "Yep. With that genetic makeup, Night had no choice but to inherit stalking skills, a straight aim, and a temper to rival an Irish man."
    "What about his love of frog legs?" Spoon asked.
    "There's no accounting for taste." Loco answered.
    "He's stopped." Spoon announced, his eyes fixated on the computer screen.
    "Destination?"
    With great speed and precision, Spoon pounded on the keys, bringing up the information in quick fashion. "Motel. Just on this side of Clairmont."
    "ETA?" Night spit out the words, the bantering forgotten.
    "Twenty-five minutes."
    "Shit." He ran his fingers through his unbound hair. As long as the perpetrator drove, Night felt he couldn't do much harm to Summer. Once he found a place to hole up and dragged her inside, all bets were off.
    "Is Summer the kind of woman to run any chance she gets? Fight? Or simply follow orders?" Loco asked.
    "She took my mother's place, snapped back at the man, and talked him into changing his plans. I think she will have the brains and courage to flee at the first opportunity or fight to defend herself." From everything he'd seen and heard about Summer, the analysis rang true. "Smart, too. Made sure she kept her phone on her and wrote down her phone number to make it easier for us to track."
    "It's broad daylight. Set up surveillance, move in at dark?" Spoon looked up from his computer.
    "No. We're moving in immediately. I'm not giving that bastard a chance to rape Summer, or worse, while we're biding our time." The very thought of that scenario sent cold chills surging down his spine. "One of us can flash a government ID at the desk clerk, find out which room he's in. We'll scope it out, fine tune the plan, then let the gates of Hell admit another soul."

Chapter 13

    "What are you going to do?" Summer asked softly, instinctively backing up into the corner wall, her gaze locked on her captor.
    The tiny room consisted of a double bed with a thin, worn out, green bedspread. A small bedside table sat between the bed and the wall, holding a faux brass lamp, scuffed and scratched. The television sat high on a black metal wall mount, secured well enough to make stealing it a fairly difficult task. She could only presume a tiny bathroom existed on the other side of the thin wall. She didn't dare explore it, fearing being cornered by the violent criminal with rape on his agenda. At least she still carried her cell phone. Not that it would do much good in this impending doom. The small palm-sized device would make a poor weapon choice and the man more than likely wouldn't let her use it to call authorities.
    He double-checked the locks on the door before turning to look at her. "Now, that depends." A wicked smirk crossed his face, while those beady eyes flashed with cruelty. Slowly, he placed his gun on the beat up, wobbly dresser just under the suspended television, well out of her reach.
    Her heart raced as she began to pant. His gaze locked on her cleavage and dipped lower, before returning to her face. The corner of his mouth slowly crept up, revealing discolored and broken teeth as his eyes sparked with sexual longing. Terror coursed through her from the expression of evil lust on