by Cindy Dees
“I’ll take the chance. I’ve got the place surrounded with cameras and trip wires. Nobody’s approaching without us knowing.”
She seriously hoped so. It really was an idyllic spot. She would hate to be the cause of its destruction.
They’d left Chloe with Wyatt, Bailey and a pair of policemen at the Crooked C, and she’d come up here with Liam in hopes of drawing out and exposing her would-be killer once and for all.
She followed Liam to the covered porch, where a rustic pair of rocking chairs labored under a foot or more of snow. She could imagine sitting in one of those in the summer, watching the sun set over the mountains across the valley below.
Only the sound of the wind whispering through the pines disturbed the silence. She fancied she could hear snow falling off the needles as the wind rustled the pine boughs.
“Come on in and make yourself at home,” Liam said. “It’s humble, but it’s warm and dry.”
The interior was perfect. From the pine plank floors, to the chinked log walls, to the river stone fireplace dominating one side of the main room, it emanated rustic down-home charm. A small kitchen opened off the back of the living room, and two doors to her right promised at least one bedroom and a bathroom.
“Are the pipes frozen at this time of year?” she asked doubtfully.
“No. The pipes are wrapped and heated. My dad was the kind of man who took care of all the details.”
She smiled at Liam. “So that’s where you get it from, huh?”
He looked startled for a second. “I guess so.” He added slowly, “I suppose I wouldn’t mind becoming like my father. He was a good man.”
“You’re already a good man, Liam Kastor.”
He turned, and she stepped into his arms as naturally as breathing. It was exactly where she belonged. Of that, she no longer had any doubt. Now, she just had to figure out if Liam was prepared to step into a ready-made family and raise another man’s child as his own. If it came down to a choice between Chloe’s well-being and her own happiness, her responsibility to Chloe would, of course, win out, no matter the emotional cost to her.
“I’m going to check on the cameras and carry in more firewood. The furnace works, but it can only do so much against this cold. If you want to get a fire started, feel free.”
She grinned at him. “How did you know I love starting fires?”
“I remember when you were a Girl Scout. Fox complained that you would never let him start fires after you learned how.”
She stared up at him. “Really? You remember something that trivial?”
“I remember everything about you. Always have.”
She smiled as his head tilted down toward hers. Their lips touched, and as always, everything else fell away, leaving just him and her, existing in their own private, perfect universe.
Liam pulled away, laughing ruefully. “We’re going to freeze to death if I don’t bring in some wood.”
She teased, “I don’t know. We generate plenty of heat when we’re together.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, kid.”
He left, still grinning.
Sloane explored, the dreamy smile taking a long time to fade from her face. A huge log-frame bed filled the lone bedroom, leaving only enough room for a small closet and a nightstand. The bathroom was small and old-fashioned, but spotlessly clean. The kitchen was the same.
The furniture in the living room was big and comfortable and half swallowed her when she tried out the armchair. Liam must have gotten his height and size from his father.
She knelt before the cast iron insert in the fireplace, opening the doors and carefully stacking kindling and braided grass knots over several pieces of fatwood. Using a long match, she lit the fatwood and watched it carefully, blowing on it as needed until the grass caught and the first twigs started to ignite.
The whole thing was burning merrily by the time Liam burst in with a gust of wind and crystalline particles of snow. He dumped a huge armful of split wood in the bin by the fire. She added a few of the pieces and then closed the doors and opened the vents.
“Are all your cameras in good working order?” she asked.
He moved over to the coffee table and opened a laptop computer on it. “See for yourself.”
She moved over beside him and saw the screen split into four views, one of the driveway, one of the front porch and two pointed at corners of the cabin, each one covering two sides of the dwelling. He tapped a key and four more camera shots popped up on the screen.
“There’s a circle of trip wires all around the cabin. I laid them down yesterday, and they’re buried under the snow that fell overnight. The hit man will never see them.”
“I can’t believe there’s an actual hit man coming after me,” Sloane muttered. “Let alone that Niall and Carol hired him.”
“Ivan didn’t become a colossal jerk in a vacuum,” Liam commented dryly.
Sloane smiled up at him. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel about my ex?”
Liam grinned back. “He’s the biggest idiot on the planet not to have seen what he had in you. He should have hung on to you with both hands and never let go. But, hey.” He shrugged. “His loss is my gain.”
“You think so, eh?”
His grin widened. “I know so. Come over here and warm me up.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know.”
“Why? Because I like cuddling with the prettiest girl this side of the Continental Divide?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer because apparently his lips were cold and needed warming up, too. Not that she minded one little bit. He was the best kisser this side of the Continental Divide.
They roasted hot dogs over the fire, and for dessert, Liam pulled out a box of graham crackers, chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows.
Sloane squealed in delight. “Ohmigosh! I haven’t had s’mores in forever!”
They ended up feeding each other the gooey sweet treats and getting marshmallows and melted chocolate all over their fingers. Liam took her hand and drew it to his mouth, sucking on each of her fingers in turn until they were clean as a whistle and she was having trouble drawing breath.
Her gaze met his, and his eyes were sultry, laden with a promise of more sensual delights to come.
Liam got up and brought back an armload of thick wool blankets, which he spread out in front of the stone hearth. Then he slowly stripped Sloane of all her clothes, kissing every bit of skin as he lovingly exposed it. Of course, she returned the favor. She never got tired of his big, muscular body, of his warm skin, or the way his breath hitched when she found a particularly sensitive erogenous zone.
Their lovemaking was slow and lazy as the silence and warmth of the fire wrapped around them. Sloane wasn’t sure where she ended and Liam began. He was a part of her, and she a part of him. Their smiles mingled as they kissed, and their gasps mingled as their lovemaking built in intensity.
Liam kissed away the tears she didn’t even know she had shed in the aftermath. She’d never known a man could treat her with such exquisite tenderness. It made even more tears come.
“Why are you crying?” Liam finally asked.
“You make me so happy, I can’t help it.”
He smiled, his lips pressed to her forehead. “Okay. As long as they’re happy tears, I won’t panic.”
“You? Panic? Mr. Calm-and-in-control? Never.”
He lifted his head to gaze down at her. “I lose my mind whenever I think something bad might happen to you or Chloe. You two are my Achilles’ heel.”
“I guess I can live with that, as long as you’re there to look after us.”
“About that.” His expression grew serious. Really serious. As in they were about to have a significant conversation. The conversation.
Butterflies erupted in Sloane’s stomach,
and she was suddenly so nervous she could hardly stay still.
Liam launched into what was clearly a prepared speech. “I’ve been waiting to say this to you for a very long time—”
A beeping sound came from the laptop on the coffee table.
Liam swore and rolled away from her, spinning the laptop so he could see the screen.
“I’ve got movement outside,” he bit out.
He jumped up and threw on jeans and his sweatshirt, and raced into the bedroom. He emerged wearing a coat and carrying a pair of shotguns. He jammed his feet into boots, shoved his arms into a coat and then—ominously—leaned one of the shotguns by the front door. “That’s loaded.”
She stared in dismay at the weapon.
“Lock the door behind me,” he bit out.
Quickly and quietly, he slipped outside into the gathering dark, leaving her alone in the cabin with the shotgun and her far too active imagination.
She ran over to the door, naked, and threw the dead bolt. It didn’t make her feel the slightest bit safer.
Sloane mimicked Liam, frantically throwing on clothes while watching the laptop. What had he seen that sent him outside like that? It had to be a person. And the only person who would be sneaking around outside the cabin had to be her hit man.
Oh, God. Terror tore through her gut, making her limbs literally shake with fear. A need to run, and keep on running, nearly overwhelmed her common sense. She was safest inside with these thick walls to protect her. Also, Liam knew where she was and could hunt her would-be killer without worrying about accidentally shooting her.
She picked up the second shotgun. As a kid, she’d shot her fair share of soda cans off fences, and the few times she’d been skeet shooting, she hadn’t been a half-bad shot. But she was no expert marksman. And she would hate to shoot Liam accidentally. Still, she felt better with the weight of cold steel in her hands.
She moved over to the window and waited beside it, peeking around the curtains into the darkness. Full night was falling fast, and what little light reflected off the snow only served to deepen the shadows and make the woods seem menacing and spooky.
She thought she saw a man-size shadow move once, but then she lost the shape in the dark. Crud. Was Liam safe? Should she call his cell phone to check on him? Or would its vibration give away his position and get him killed?
She pulled the laptop over to her side and alternated looking outside and watching the screens. With each gust of wind, she heard the crystalline whisper of snow falling from the branches. It was a cold sound. Lifeless. Like the death the hit man had planned for her.
All of a sudden, one of the camera views exploded with motion. Two men grappled on screen, wrestling over a shotgun. They were behind the cabin. Frantically, she enlarged the view and saw in horror that one of the men was Liam, fighting for his life.
He couldn’t die!
She leaped for the door, threw open the lock and raced outside. Momentarily disoriented as to where the camera was, she paused on the porch. Then, to her right, she heard a grunt of pain. The kind of grunt a man would let out if he’d been punched hard in the gut.
Shotgun at the ready, she ran off the porch and straight into thigh-deep snow. Running through it was like running through molasses, but she powered on, desperate to reach Liam and help him subdue the hit man. She rounded the corner of the cabin and saw tracks in the snow. She followed them into the woods, fairly certain she was paralleling the driveway. Her eyes adjusted to the low light, and she was able to make out two sets of tracks. She ran in them through the snow where the going was easier.
She made it perhaps a hundred yards beyond the cabin when she spotted Liam and the assailant struggling, well down the mountainside from her.
Liam was facing her, and even in the dim light conditions, she saw the grim determination on his face.
She opened her mouth to shout, in hopes of distracting his attacker, but instead, she saw a flash between the two men, and a deafening explosion of sound split the night.
Liam flew backward and fell on his back, disappearing into the deep snow.
No no no no...
He’d been shot.
The hit man turned to face her and charged toward her.
Belatedly, she remembered the weapon in her hands and raised it to her shoulder. Taking careful aim at the middle of the assailant’s chest, she pulled the trigger.
The attacker flew backward into the snow as the buckshot hit him.
Circling wide of the downed hit man, she darted left and ran into the open path of the driveway. She sprinted down the hard-packed snow toward where she’d last seen Liam, frantic to get to him.
Please be alive. Please be alive—
She had just about reached where she thought Liam had gone down and was starting to veer toward the trees when a voice came out of the dark.
“Gotcha. Stop where you are or I’ll shoot you.”
Sloane skidded to a stop.
“Put your gun down and turn around slowly, Sloane.”
She knew that voice.
“You?” She turned around and dropped her weapon. “You’re the hit man, Ivan?”
Her ex-husband stood behind her, a handgun held at arm’s length in front of him. It was pointed at her face.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
If Ivan wasn’t the hit man, that meant a second man was up here, somewhere, threatening Liam’s life. A whole new layer of panic tore through her.
“You’re coming with me,” Ivan bit out.
“No, I’m not. Liam’s shot and I have to get to him to help him.”
“You’re not helping anyone but me. I swear to God, Sloane, I’ll kill you where you stand if you don’t come with me right now.”
Indecision froze her in place. Ivan would, indeed, shoot her if she turned away from him. At this range, no more than a dozen feet, the odds were excellent that he would hit her. Maybe kill her.
In the time it would take her to raise the shotgun and shoot him, he would get off several shots. Nope. That was a gunfight she would lose.
Her only hope was to approach Ivan. Get the gun away from him, or get him to lower the weapon so she could make a run for it. She had to get to Liam.
“Drop the shotgun,” Ivan ordered.
She dropped the weapon.
“Walk toward me.”
She strode toward him rapidly, hoping to close the gap and get her hands on that gun.
“Stop!” Ivan barked.
Damn. She wasn’t within arm’s reach of him yet, and he’d backed away from her as she’d approached.
“You and I are going for a little ride,” Ivan announced.
“Where to?” She had to keep him talking. Get him to let down his guard. Convince him she wasn’t going to resist him.
“To get Chloe.”
“Why? You know you don’t want to raise a child by yourself, Ivan. I get that you want to punish me for getting custody of her, but there are other ways you can hurt me without sticking yourself with a screaming two-year-old.”
“Move.” Ivan gestured with the pistol, indicating that she should walk down the driveway. “And put your hands behind your head. Lock your fingers together.”
She did as he ordered and started walking down the driveway reluctantly. How was she going to get out of this? Maybe when they approached whatever vehicle he had up here, she could use it for cover and make a run for it.
Except Ivan stayed directly behind her as she approached a European luxury sedan, that damned pistol undoubtedly pointed at her the whole time.
“Get in.”
She opened the passenger door, climbed in and buckled her seat belt. While she twisted around to reach for the buckle, Ivan kept the pistol trained on her. Damn.
“Hold your hands out, wrists together.�
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She complied because that stupid pistol didn’t leave her any choice. With one hand, Ivan quickly reached out and fastened a zip tie around her wrists, then gave the end a sharp tug.
Well, crap.
He closed and locked the passenger door and then rushed around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“Hands on the door handle,” he ordered.
He leaned across her, the pistol’s muzzle jammed into her side, and used a second zip tie to tie her wrists to the door’s arm rest. It was awkward and uncomfortable, sitting with her arms pulled over to the right, and it severely limited her options for getting free and wrestling the weapon from him.
Soul-deep panic set in. Ivan was going to get away with this. And Liam was lying in the snow, God only knew how hurt. She had no idea if her shot had killed the man Liam had been fighting or not. For all she knew, the guy had survived and gone back to finish off Liam.
The idea of the man she loved being killed was almost too much for her to bear. Were it not for the gun pointed at her right now, she would have been completely incapacitated. However, that tiny black bore clarified the situation like nothing else could. It focused her mind down to a single pinpoint—survival. At all costs.
An image of Chloe came sharply into her mind, and she latched on to her daughter’s face.
She had to keep her wits about her. Had to figure out a way out of this. She had to live.
To that end, she had to keep Ivan talking. Convince him she was no threat. Conversationally, she asked, “Who was the guy you had with you up at the cabin?”
“What guy? I came alone.”
“The hit man.”
“What hit man?”
“The ones your parents hired to kill me.”
Ivan made a scornful sound. “My parents would never do such a thing.”
She opened her mouth to tell him Liam had them on tape talking to their hit man, but at the last second, thought better of it. The object here was not to enrage Ivan.
“Where are you taking Chloe and me? I assume you have a plan since you’re a thorough kind of guy.”