She ran around the tree, opened the knife and went to work on the bonds. His hands were white. The circulation ran back into them when he was free and he groaned at the pain.

"Can you stand up?" she asked, concerned.

He tried and slumped back down. "Sorry," he murmured. "Legs gone to sleep, too."

He was obviously suffering from exposure and God knows what other sort of injuries that Joe had inflicted on him.

"I'll get help," she said at once, and pulled out her cell phone.

Lights flashed around her as men came forward. "Miss Brannt?" someone called.

She gasped. "Yes!"

A tall, dark-haired man came into view. He was wearing jeans and a buckskin jacket. He had long black hair in a ponytail and a grim expression. "I'm Ty Harding. I work for Dane Lassiter."

"Hiya, Harding," Mallory managed. "Good to see you on the job."

"I can outtrack any of these feds," he teased the other two men, "so I volunteered to help search for you. Hey, Jameson, can you bring a Jeep up here?"

"Sure. Be right back."

There were running footsteps.

Harding knelt beside him. "I don't think you're going to be able to ride a horse back," he guessed.

"Probably not," Mallory agreed hoarsely. "Have you got any water?"

"I have," one of the feds said, and tossed a bottle to Harding, who handed it, opened, to Mallory. It was painful to Morie to watch how thirstily he drank it, choked and drank again.

"God, that's so sweet!" Mallory exclaimed when he'd drained the bottle. "I've been tied here for almost two days. Thought I'd die, sure. Then an angel came walking up and saved me," he added, smiling at Morie. "My own personal guardian angel."

"I gave Joe Bascomb a pouch with cash," she told Harding. "I spoke to the sheriff about it before I came up here, so he knows. I can't tell you which direction Joe took. It was raining...."

Harding's expression in the light of his flashlight was grim. "There's no need to concern yourself with that now."

"Have you caught him?" she exclaimed. "Already?"

"No," he said quietly. "We found him. Sitting up against a tree about half a mile away. Stone dead."

She caught her breath. Cold chills ran up and down her arms. That odd, high-pitched crack of thunder she thought she'd heard. A gunshot? "Dead?" She faltered.

He nodded. "Self-inflicted gunshot wound. He left a note." He pulled it out of his pocket. "He addressed it to you, Miss Brannt."

With trembling hands, she opened the dirty piece of paper. It was stained with blood. Joe's blood. It was only a few lines of scribbled writing.

I killed a man and kidnapped another on account of a no-good woman who just wanted money. I'd never get out of jail. Thank you for being kind, when nobody else ever was. Your man is lucky. Be happy. Your friend,

Joe.

She burst into tears.

Mallory pulled her close and held her, despite the pain in his arms from being in such a restrained position. "It's all right. It's all over."

"Poor man," she choked out.

"He chose his life, Miss Brannt," Harding told her quietly.

"But he didn't," she said through tears. "He had a learning disability and all sorts of psychological problems. But he didn't get help because his mother thought they'd say there was something wrong with her, too."

"Good Lord," Mallory said heavily. "If only we'd known."

"We all have a purpose," Morie said again.

"Yes, we do," Harding said, surprisingly. "People weave themselves into the fabric of our lives for reasons we sometimes never understand. But there is a purpose to everything. Even Bascomb's suicide."

"At least his mother didn't live to see him come to this end," Mallory said. He tilted up Morie's wet face. "And speaking of family, we'd better start making telephone calls. My brothers must be out of their minds, to say nothing of your mother and brother and your vicious, rabid father...."

"He isn't vicious. You'll learn to love him," she assured him.

"Think so?" Harding mused, pursing his lips. "I've met your father. And I have serious doubts about that."

She chuckled. "You don't know him. I do."

"My loss, I'm sure," Harding conceded. He looked up as the Jeep arrived. "Let's get you to the hospital, Mr. Kirk. You'll need to be checked out."

"Hospital? I'm not going to any damned hospital!" he burst out as they helped him into the Jeep.

"Yes, you are," Morie told him firmly. "Now sit back and shut up. We're saving you."

He gave her a blank stare. And then he chuckled. "Okay, boss," he drawled. "Whatever you say."

"You just remember that, and we'll get along famously." She batted her long lashes at him and grinned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TANK AND CANE MET THEM at the emergency room. They hugged their pale, worn brother and choked up at the thought of how close he'd come to death.

"You let her come out after me alone," Mallory accused them.