Rescuer (Doms of Mountain Bend Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2021

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editors: Kate Richards & Nanette Sipes

  Cover Design & Formatting: Joe Dugdale (sylv.net)

  Published by Blue Dahlia 2021

  Disclaimer

  This contemporary romantic suspense contains adult themes such as power exchange and sexual scenes.

  Please do not read if these offend you.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my awesome editors, Kate Richardson and Nanette Sipes, and my wonderful beta readers, Sandie Buckley, Gaynor Jones, and Kathy Heare Watts. Thank you so much, ladies – I couldn’t do it without you!

  Doms of Mountain Bend:

  ReSCUER

  Book 4

  BY

  BJ WANE

  Prologue

  Eighteen-year-old Amie Buchanon pulled up the hood on her poncho, shielding her tear-ravaged face as much as she could from the light, dreary drizzle falling on the group of mourners gathered around the flower-draped coffin. Flanked by her parents, she stood to the side of the family seated under the tent. Amie grieved along with her best friend, Myla, over the suicidal death of Myla’s brother, Mike. Although, according to Myla, he had some help going over the rail of the balcony of his twentieth-floor apartment.

  And Myla vowed when she had the means, skills, and proof to confront then kill Cal Miller, she wouldn’t hesitate. That scared Amie. She couldn’t bear to lose Myla, too. The two of them were closer than sisters, Mike the older brother she never knew she wanted, their parents the best of friends. Amie couldn’t imagine her life without Myla, even more so now that Mike was gone.

  Amie’s dad took her elbow, and she gave him a smile of gratitude, her heart turning over at his drawn face and red-rimmed eyes. Both her parents had considered Myla and Mike family ever since Amie and Myla had bonded and become inseparable at the age of two, when they’d moved in next door to the Nortons. As an only child, Amie loved Myla and Mike as both friends and the siblings she’d never had, even though there were times growing up Mike was more the irritating, too-protective, older brother, putting a crimp in their fun.

  The mournful echo of bagpipes filled the air as the service ended, and she released a relieved sigh. She’d never met Mike’s lover, Cal, but prayed Myla would come to her senses once her initial shock and grief became easier to live with. The police and coroner ruled his death a suicide, and their parents were also convinced their son had been despondent enough over the breakup of his first serious relationship with the older man to take such a drastic step.

  They walked toward the Nortons as the family rose and thanked the minister. “Be right back,” she told her dad.

  “Take your time, hon.” He nodded, squeezing her shoulder.

  Amie smiled, grateful for their understanding, then turned to go to Myla who met her halfway between the plot and the waiting funeral cars. Throwing her arms around her, she felt her shudder. Pulling away, she asked, “How are you holding up, Myla?”

  Her friend’s gray eyes were as stormy as the overcast laden skies. “I’ll be fine once he’s as dead as my brother,” she hissed.

  Her heart breaking, Amie’s eyes grew teary again. She was always the peacemaker between her and Myla, calmly settling their disputes with practical suggestions that Myla usually rolled her eyes at before reluctantly conceding to go along. If only she would react like that now and agree with her it was best to stifle such thoughts.

  “You can’t let anyone hear you talk like that, especially your parents. Haven’t they gone through enough?” Okay, she wasn’t above piling on the guilt when desperate.

  “And that’s the only reason I haven’t gone after the bastard. I told you about the bruises he left on Mike and his lame excuses. How can you not want to seek justice for him?”

  Hurt swirled in her gaze and tore at Amie’s conscience. “If there was proof, or if the police were looking at his death differently, I’d help any way I could, but, Myla, you’re the only person who thinks Mike’s ex is guilty. You have to let that go. You just don’t want to blame Mike, and neither do I, but facts are facts.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Myla’s eyes turned cold. “I’ll never let it go.”

  She walked away without looking back, and Amie wondered if she’d already lost her best friend.

  Twelve years later

  “I can’t believe you’re going to go through with this.” Amie paced Myla’s bedroom floor, wringing her hands, casting disbelieving glances toward the array of skimpy outfits strewn across her bed. “Are you really going to that place wearing one of those?” She couldn’t imagine parading around in front of other people dressed in nothing but a butt-baring thong and push-up bra that didn’t even fully cover the nipples.

  “Yep.” Myla picked up a teal satin teddy Amie had to admit was a tempting number to wear under something. “This would look great on you and would go well with your eyes. It’s always good to emphasize your best feature.”

  Plopping onto the overstuffed chair in the corner, she glared at her friend. “Quit changing the subject, Myla.” Her voice caught. “I’m scared for you.”

  She let out an unconcerned sigh. It was just like her to make light of Amie’s concern. “I’ll be fine. These private clubs are known for good security and strict rules. He wouldn’t dare try anything there.”

  “But you would, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m saying,” she admitted without a trace of guilt for deceiving Amie all this time. That hurt more than her keeping her research into private clubs a secret from Amie after learning Cal Miller was a member of the two clubs in the Omaha area.

  Myla hadn’t given up on her quest to see Cal pay for Mike’s death, one way or another. For a few years, as a favor to Myla, Amie had agreed to help her look for evidence of his guilt. All through college, they’d spoken to Mike’s friends, neighbors in his apartment building, and his co-workers. They’d gone through his things, leaving nothing untouched before the Nortons gave everything away. Amie was majoring in medical billing technology and Myla in website design and graphics, and they used their increasing computer skills to research Miller.

  All to no avail in finding anything that connected him to Mike’s death.

  They’d graduated without anything to go on and that’s when Amie had said enough. She was out. Myla had agreed, which made her suspicious, but it wasn’t until these last few months she learned her sneaky friend had researched the BDSM lifestyle, intending to corner Cal at the local clubs.

  Amie gave Myla a sardonic look. “What exactly are you going to do if you see Cal there? Accuse him of helping your brother commit suicide?”

  Shrugging, Myla stepped into the miniscule thong Amie wouldn’t be caught dead in, not with the extra weight she carried. “That, and let him know I’m not going anywhere or giving up until he pays,” she said.

  “That’ll scare him,” she returned dryly until Myla pulled a small pistol out of her bedside drawer, sending her worry for her friend through the roof. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  “In a heartbeat. Don’t fret. I’ve been taking lessons at the firing range. Cute instructor, another reason to keep going back,” she teased.

  Amie wasn’t in the mood to smile. “You’re willing to commit murder and spend the rest of your life in prison?” She stood on shaky legs, her entire body vibrating with disbelief.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can goad him into going for me first. Then I can claim self- d
efense.” Her smug look said she’d thought of everything.

  “You think you have an answer for everything, but since when do things always go according to plan? I want no part of this. Don’t tell me anything else.” She pivoted to leave but paused at the doorway to turn her head for one last parting shot, one last attempt to get through to her. “If you do this, it’ll destroy your parents.”

  Her face went white. “That was low, Amie,” she snapped.

  “That was the truth, and you know it.” Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed, giving up. Their bond went too deep for her to leave on such a sour note. “Call me, no matter how late. With luck, you’ll meet a hot Dom who will change your focus.”

  She snorted, smirking. “I’m as much a geek as you and doubt anyone will notice me. Later.”

  Amie drove back to her apartment wondering how Myla planned to confront Cal Miller if she found him at that club. It wasn’t like she could goad him into going for her there in front of a room full of naked people. The image that popped into her head almost made her smile. With luck, she’d realize the stupidity of her idea once she got there, or, better yet, Miller wouldn’t show up, thwarting her plans altogether.

  Even though the odds of Myla succeeding in her ridiculous, risky quest tonight were low, Amie couldn’t relax once she got home. Keeping her phone close, she stuck to her regular Friday night routine of popcorn and a movie. Her two obsessions were old thrillers and butterflies, as her extensive movie collection, six butterfly tattoos, and thirty-one cut-glass figurines could prove. More often than not, Myla joined her for a movie, and she’d been the one to talk her into getting her first tattoo. The finished ink of the rainbow butterfly on her ankle had hooked her on adding the skin art to her collection of the colorful winged species.

  Settling on the sofa with a bowl of buttered popcorn, she used the remote to turn on House of Wax, a Vincent Price favorite of hers, wishing Myla were with her. She stuffed her face, trying not to fret, but that didn’t stop her from nearly jumping out of her skin two hours later when her phone pealed at the same moment Vincent got in one last scare.

  “Crap.” Muting the television, she grabbed her cell, a sense of foreboding tightening her muscles when she saw Myla’s parents’ home phone on the caller ID. “Hello.”

  Steve Norton’s broken voice describing Myla’s near-fatal injuries in a car accident turned Amie’s blood to ice. After assuring him she was on her way, she hung up and dashed out the door, her throat clogged with a ball of nausea. Why didn’t I try harder to stop her? That was the only thought running through her head as she drove to Omaha’s trauma center, praying Myla wasn’t as bad as her father described.

  Her first glimpse of her best friend through the glass partition in ICU told her those pleas had gone unanswered. The Norton’s tearful hugs and despairing faces hinted her prognosis was as dire as they’d said. Tears rolled down Amie’s cheeks as she gazed at Myla’s battered face and bandage-wrapped head.

  Head injury. Internal bleeding. Broken leg. The list seemed endless, leaving her to wonder if there was any hope. Why, Myla? Why wouldn’t you listen to me and let it go?

  “What did the doctors say?” she asked as they moved to wait in a private waiting room.

  Myla’s mother, Laura, shook her head. “They won’t come out and say anything definitive yet. All we’ve gotten is they don’t know, or they’re waiting on more tests, or time will tell. Oh God, I just can’t lose another child.” She turned to sob in her husband’s arms, her devastation breaking Amie’s heart.

  If she weren’t so worried about Myla, she would be furious with her for putting them all through this. With no other option, she called her parents, who promised to come right up, then settled in for a long vigil of wait and see.

  One month later

  Amie looked down the gun’s barrel, squinted, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the cardboard cutout of a person in the arm, her best shot yet. She sent Matt a beaming smile, pulling off the protective head set covering her ears.

  “Admit it. I’m good enough to hold my own.”

  His brown eyes clouded with worry. “You have developed a steady hand and managed to hit your targets under these calm conditions.” He further emphasized his point by circling his arm around the secure, well-monitored firing range. “Our targets aren’t attacking you, threatening you, or even talking. If you insist on going through with your plan, you’ll end up like Myla, or worse.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she handed him the pistol, handle first. “I have to try. You of all people should understand.”

  Matt White cared almost as much for Myla as Amie and was as devastated over her condition and struggles as she and the Nortons were. Defying the odds, Myla had survived, and, last week, had recovered enough to get moved into a rehabilitation facility. She would need extensive therapy, and her negative attitude wouldn’t make it any easier. Neither Matt nor Amie would give up on her, though, especially not after the police investigation turned up evidence she was run off the road by another car, a fact Myla confirmed.

  That changed everything for Amie, and made her more susceptible when Myla had pleaded with her for justice five days ago when she’d visited her in the rehab for the first time.

  Amie knocked then entered Myla’s room, the bright sunshine pouring in from the large window overlooking the sprawling green lawn of the rehab facility as welcome as seeing her friend dressed and sitting in a chair. After over three weeks in the hospital, two surgeries, and numerous tests, she looked pale, thin, and bruised, but still much better than those first days.

  “This place is much cheerier than the hospital. How are you doing, Myla?” she asked, crossing the room to take the chair next to her.

  “He did…this…to me,” Myla stuttered, her struggle to talk just one of the things the rehab would address while she was here. With a shaky hand, she reached over and gripped Amie’s arm, her eyes fierce with an avenging need Amie now felt more deeply than before, when it had been just Mike hurt by this man. “Please, Amie. You’re…you…are all…I’ve got…my only…h…hope.”

  It broke her heart listening to her difficult speech, seeing the tears coursing down her sunken cheeks and the desperation etched on her face. She would do anything to help Myla now, or almost anything.

  “I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll try. Maybe I can track his whereabouts and befriend him then get him to slip and admit something, but I won’t agree to anything with the intention of killing the man, Myla. I promise, I’ll do what I have to for him to say something incriminating.”

  Her gaze turned sad, remorseful, and again tore at Amie’s heart and conscience. “He’s dan…gerous. First Mike,…now me.” She shook her head, her eyes clouding. “Never…mind, Amie. Th…anks, but it’s too…risky.”

  She didn’t think her anger toward Cal Miller could get any stronger, but hearing the defeat in Myla’s voice, seeing her put her concern for Amie ahead of her twelve-year quest to get justice for her brother, hardened Amie’s resolve to do what she could for both of them. Now the tables were reversed, and it was her turn to convince Myla to support her.

  “I’ll be careful, and I’ve been taking firing lessons in case I need to protect myself. You know I’m not a risk taker.” She didn’t tell her she planned to push herself in that regard. Between turning thirty and the deliberate attempt on Myla’s life, she was ready for some changes in her life. “Besides,” she teased, “I’ll get bored hanging around waiting for you to get out of here.”

  Myla’s jaw went rigid, and her lips tightened, her stubborn look that Amie knew well. “You…you don’t have the…hate…the anger…to succeed…and…I’m s….sorry. I realize I…can’t ask…this of you….not right…not safe.”

  “And now you know how I felt. Okay, if you promise to try hard to cooperate here, then I’ll wait. Deal?”

  Myla had promised but never followed through, growing more depressed and resentful with each day. Upset and frustrated, Amie now real
ized the full depth of what had driven her for twelve years to seek justice for her brother. She hadn’t a clue what she could do, but desperation nonetheless shored up her resolve to see that this man paid for the sinful crimes that had hurt the ones she loved most.

  It was her turn to seek justice for her friend.

  Matt’s voice dragged her attention back to him. “I do understand you wanting answers and to see him pay if you’re sure he’s the one. But it’s wiser and safer to let the police handle it. Look where Myla’s obsession with this guy has landed her, and how many have suffered because of it.” He shook his head, his face reflecting sadness. “I wanted to marry her, still do. But she won’t even discuss it now. She thinks she’ll be a burden to me, but all I’ve ever wanted was to take care of her.”

  His tone conveyed a wealth of love, devotion, and so much pain, Amie hurt for him. Myla’s stubbornness had contributed to her current ordeal, and accounted for Matt’s broken heart, but she understood better than him what had driven her friend. Amie still missed Mike and mourned his death, so she could imagine the depth of Myla’s loss. A cool breeze kicked up, reminding her fall was fast approaching, and her time frame to find and befriend Cal Miller where she’d tracked him down in Idaho was dwindling.

  She’d never met the man and only had an old photo and his name to go on, but it’d been enough when combined with her computer skills to learn a lot about him and his habits. A man in his late forties of substantial financial means, the only thing she could discover that would interrupt his favorite sport of big game hunting was an occasional visit to the closest private club in the area. He rarely joined hunting groups, his accommodations were always for a single occupancy, yet his numerous guest memberships around the country indicated he enjoyed the company of others.

  Or so she assumed since sex was an easy entertainment for such a man. Then again, what did she understand about the alternative practices except what she’d learned through research and reading? She could never stomach allowing him to touch her, but, given his relationship with Mike, that necessity wouldn’t come into play anyway. Knowing Cal’s preference for young men gave her the extra courage to take a stab at getting justice for Myla and Mike. The most she could hope for was to engage him in conversations that might lead to a slip of the tongue since he didn’t know her.