Page 16 of The Cauldronball Run (Outlaw Country #2)

F arrah

Arizona

The Arizona desert at night was eerily beautiful, all stark shadows and silver moonlight. Farrah watched J.J. frowning at his phone while she pumped gas, his massive frame tense as he studied something on the screen.

"We'll need to detour around Flagstaff," he muttered, not looking up. "Highway patrol's set up checkpoints at every major exit."

They'd been in the lead for three hours now, ever since escaping LA. But being in first place meant they were also the primary target.

"I'll use the restroom while you figure out the route," Farrah said, heading toward the gas station.

The fluorescent lights inside were harsh after the darkness, making her squint. She was halfway to the restroom when she spotted the source of the danger—the deputy standing by the coffee machine, teddy bear tucked under one arm, his emotional signature radiating nervous determination.

Smokie. Sheriff Grizz's son, the one they'd helped in LA.

Through the window, she could see J.J. still absorbed in his phone, completely unaware.

Her magic sense painted the situation in stark clarity: Smokie was alone, conflicted, genuinely reluctant.

But there were more law enforcement signatures approaching from the north—his father's convoy, maybe ten minutes out.

She could bolt. Her protective wards could probably confuse Smokie long enough for her to reach J.J. They could escape in the ambulance, disappear into the desert roads she was learning to navigate by magical intuition.

But then what? A high-speed chase through the desert with an increasingly desperate sheriff, J.J. pushed to violence when his protective instincts kicked in, both of them facing federal charges instead of the local misdemeanor bullshit they were dealing with now.

"Ma'am?" His voice was uncertain, apologetic. "Farrah Moonbeam?"

She made her choice. Not as a victim, but as his partner. J.J. needed to stay free to win the race, get the money, build their future. And she could handle one conflicted deputy better than he could handle a dozen patrol cars.

"Deputy," she said carefully, letting her magic settle into calm acceptance rather than panic. "We're not who your father thinks we are."

"I know." Smokie clutched Mr. Snuggles tighter, genuine distress on his face.

"Please don't make this harder than it needs to be.

" Smokie's hand moved to his handcuffs, though he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Daddy's got the whole highway blocked up ahead.

If you come quietly, maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt. "

Farrah extended her magical senses, reading the situation with the clarity that came from years of emergency medicine.

Smokie meant what he said about sorting it out.

His emotional signature held no malice, just duty warring with conscience.

She could work with that. If she screamed for J.J.

, he'd come running. He'd tear through the gas station to get to her, probably assault a deputy in the process, and they'd both end up in federal prison.

But if she went quietly, bought time, let J.J.

discover her absence naturally, he'd have options.

Choices that didn't involve fighting a dozen cops in the desert.

"Mr. Snuggles thinks this is wrong," Smokie whispered, holding the bear to his ear. "He says people who help lost deputies shouldn't be arrested."

"Mr. Snuggles is very wise," Farrah said, trying to buy time. But Smokie was already pulling out his handcuffs.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But Daddy will never forgive me if I let you go. And I’m in enough trouble already."

The handcuffs clicked around her wrists, even as Smokie apologized continuously. He guided her toward a side exit, away from where J.J. would see them.

"Please," Farrah said as he opened his patrol car. "Are you sure you have to do this?”

"Daddy says the orc is dangerous. He’s going to pull him over. It's safer this way." Smokie helped her into the backseat, still clutching Mr. Snuggles. "I promise you’ll be treated well. We'll get this sorted out."

As they pulled away, Farrah saw J.J. through the gas station window. He was walking toward the restrooms, probably wondering what was taking her so long.

In sixty seconds, he'd realize she was gone. In ninety seconds, he'd be tearing the desert apart to find her.

***

J .J.

The gas station restroom was empty.

J.J. stared at the vacant space, his brain refusing to process what he was seeing. Farrah had gone in five minutes ago. The door had been locked. She had to be here.

"Farrah?" His voice echoed off the dirty tiles.

He checked the men's room. Empty. The stock room. Empty. Growing panic made his chest tight as he approached the attendant.

"The woman who came in. Dark hair, paramedic uniform. Where is she?"

The attendant barely looked up from his phone. "Left with that deputy a few minutes ago. The one with the teddy bear."

He went stock still. Deputy. Teddy bear. Smokie.

"Which way?" The question came out as a growl that made the windows rattle.

"Zeus man, chill. They went east, toward the roadblock."

Roadblock.

J.J. was running before he consciously decided to move.

The ambulance roared to life, tires screaming as he tore out of the gas station.

They'd taken his mate. Arrested her while he'd been distracted by his goddamn phone.

He pushed the ambulance to one hundred, then one-ten, eating up the distance between them.

He was going to ram that patrol car off the road, rip the doors off, take back what was his.

J.J., stop.

Farrah's voice in his head nearly made him crash. A telepathy spell, weak but there.

I'm coming for you, he thought back, not sure if she could hear him.

I know. But there's a roadblock ahead. Eight patrol cars, spike strips, the works. If you try to ram through, you’ll be taken too.

He could see it now—flashing lights across the highway like a wall of law enforcement. Smokie's patrol car was slowing, preparing to pass through.

I can take them.

No, you can't. Not without killing someone. And that's not who you are.

They took you. The mental scream probably hurt her, but he couldn't help it. They took my mate.

And I need you to be smart about getting me back. Her mental voice was strained but firm. J.J., listen to me. Really listen. Smokie's taking me to a holding facility, not federal prison. I can talk my way out. I can manipulate the situation. But only if you're free.

I'm not leaving you.

You have to. Win the race. Get the money.

Fuck the money!

The money is the only thing that can save me.

Her mental voice was fading, the distance stretching the spell too thin.

Think about it. A quarter million gold buys the best lawyers.

Pays bail. Makes problems go away. But if you're arrested too, we have nothing. You have to win this race. Win for me.

J.J. watched Smokie's patrol car pass through the roadblock. In seconds, the opportunity would be gone. He could ram through—probably make it, given the ambulance's modifications. But Farrah was right. He'd be arrested, and then they'd both be trapped.

I can't lose you, he thought desperately.

You won't. I promise. But I need my clever orc now, not just my dangerous one. Be smart. Turn around now. Win the race. Use the money to free me.

The connection faded completely, leaving him alone on the highway, watching the wall of police between him and his mate.

Every instinct screamed to attack. To fight. To reclaim what was his through violence, if necessary.

That’s not what Farrah wanted, though. What she asked him to do.

Instead, J.J. pulled a fast U-turn and hauled ass in the opposite direction of the roadblock, heading towards the East Coast and the end of the race.

She wanted him to win the race for her. Wanted him to leave her in custody while he did it.

The decision felt like tearing out his own heart, but he made it. Not because the money would make him worthy. He understood now that wasn't how worth worked. But because the money was a tool, and right now, it was the only tool that could get Farrah back.

I'm coming back for you, he promised the empty air where their bond was stretched thin. Win the race, get the money, free my mate.

The ambulance's engine roared as he pushed it back toward the highway, using every back road and detour to avoid the police. He was still in the lead, still had a chance to win.

But victory without Farrah felt like ash in his mouth.

The only thing that mattered now was getting her back. And if a quarter of a million gold was what it took, then J.J. would win this race or die trying.

His mate was counting on him to be clever instead of just dangerous.

He wouldn't let her down.