Taming Alaska (So Not Prince Charming Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

between the seats, my hands trembling. After digging them out, I rev the engine and gun it. The truck rumbles right behind me, tapping my bumper. I press the pedal to the floor, chucking rocks that ping off the truck’s front bumper. I can barely breathe from the panic twisting my heart and lungs.
    Maybe Mom got away while they’re chasing me.
    When I reach the paved road, I drive up onto it, bottoming out the Mercedes and scraping the pavement, but now they’ll never catch me. I use the hands-free to call the police, but there’s no signal. Behind me, the truck stops, turns around, and races back down the dirt road.
    Please don’t hurt her. Please let her escape. Using the back of my bare arm, I wipe the tears tumbling onto the steering wheel.
    If they want money, Padre will gladly give it to them.
    The Mercedes pushes over a hundred while I continue dialing 911. Before I drive even ten miles, red and blue lights flash behind me. I pull off the road, jump out of the car, sobs clogging my throat, and run to the cruiser.
    “Mi madre,” I cry. “They kidnapped her.”
    “Did you steal that car, girl?” he says. “Did you and your mamá just hop across the border?”
    I stop crying. “What the hell?”
    That’s when he slaps the cuffs on my wrists and turns me over to INS, or maybe it’s border patrol.

Chapter Three
    Shane
    After knocking on my door, my admin assistant pokes her head into my office in downtown Austin and interrupts me. “You have a collect call from the Alamogordo county jail in New Mexico.”
    “Who is it?” Who would call me from jail? That’s a stupid question. My half brother. Most of my friends. “I’ll take it in here.”
    I hit the line that’s blinking. “Shane O’Flannery, I’ll accept the charges.”
    “Oh Shane,” Cyn sobs into the phone.
    “Cyn, why are you calling me from jail? Where’s your mom?” Whatever it is cannot be good, so my heart constricts in my chest in preparation. Mrs. Diaz told me she was taking Cyn on a road trip. Where is her mom?
    “They’re holding me for border patrol,” she says, rushing through her words. “The stupid idiots think I hopped the border, and my mom…”
    “Cyn, Cyn, slow down.”
    “They kidnapped my mom, and nobody’s at home. I couldn’t get a hold of my dad. And…and…and.” She’s bawling, which is understandable. “I got your number from Mom’s phone. Please don’t be mad.”
    “I’m not.” I lean forward in my chair, rubbing my forehead.
    “Shit,” I mutter while the floor opens up and swallows me. Not Mrs. Diaz. She’s such a wonderful lady. She found me and helped my company get recognition from its inception. “It’ll take me two to three hours to get there.”
    “How can you get here so quickly?” The question strains in her voice.
    “I’ll rent a chopper. While you’re waiting for me, write down or record on your phone every detail, no matter how small, what your assailant was wearing, shoes, hats, what vehicle, where you were held. Anything you can remember.”
    “All right,” she says between hiccups.
    “Let me talk to the sheriff or whoever is holding you.”
    “Shane, can you track her?” The hint of hope in between sobs pains me to hear. I’ve recovered more dead bodies than live ones during search and rescue.
    I know now why she called me. “Yes, though the police will soon.”
    “I’ll get the lady watching me. Thank you, Shane. I owe you.” The breaking in her voice tears open my heart. I have to find her mother alive.
    Some woman picks up on the other end of the line, so I contain my anger. “You are detaining Cynthia Diaz, when you should be searching for her mother Grace Diaz, formerly Grace Hunt, Texas oil.”
    “Oh my God,” she says, gasping. “We had no idea.”
    “I’ll be there in a few hours to pick up Miss Diaz.”
    “We’ll get right on it, Sir.” I can’t leave her in New Mexico by herself, especially when I can get there sooner than anyone else.
    I hang