Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  What had she searched for? Max no longer believed the woman he had stitched up and doctored was innocent. She may not have walked out of his place on her own accord, but she hadn’t put up a fight. Snow bunny was one of at least two figures on the snowmobile.

  Then, she was out of his life. One less complication for him to worry about. He could go back to doing what he was supposed to be doing, saving his brother. If that was the case, he was a happy man, right?

  Then why did he feel like death warmed over? Raking his fingers through his hair, Max scolded himself for giving a damn about a woman who obviously had set him up. “Screw her.” He would deal with her and her criminal partner later, after he found his brother.

  Right now, he could focus on his brother. He should have been doing that instead of letting the snow bunny distract him. Well, that was over. His mind clear, he could concentrate on Kevin.

  First order of business, locate Sam Spenser.

  FOUR

  The boss was going to love interrogating her. That’s what she had overheard the two thugs dressed in dark snowsuits say just before they took off with her sandwiched between them on the snowmobile, making her feel like the cream center of an Oreo cookie.

  She had been sleeping off the effects of the painkiller when they snatched her from Max’s house. The banging had not registered in her mind until she felt someone’s hands on her chest. Then she opened her eyes and screamed at the masked man who was…dressing her? Her first thought had been rape, but then bad guy number one told the masked man to hurry up and get clothes on her. That was when they had gagged her and tied her hands in front of her.

  Fear and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Add to that the cold air of winter, and Bunny was awake and coherent now. Who wouldn’t be when the idiot driving the snowmobile hit every damn bump? She had to pee and swore he aimed for the bumps on purpose. Wouldn’t he hate it if she wet herself? Every time they went a little airborne, her brain rattled inside her head. Yes, they just hit air again. Didn’t the driver realize people fell off these contraptions when an idiot drove like a crazy person?

  With very little effort, Bunny loosened the rope that bound her wrists together. Not wanting her kidnappers to know she was lucid, she kept her head hung down and loose, but her gaze watched the snow-covered landscape, as she tried to determine her location and where she could make her escape. And she had to escape. Despite the pain in her leg and back, Bunny knew there was more danger ahead if the goons delivered her to their boss. A cold shiver crawled down her back. She would risk more injury on her own in the cold than at the hands of some man who wanted to interrogate her. For what? Not that it mattered. She did not intend to hang around long enough to find out.

  As they crossed over a roadway and entered another trail, she elbowed the guy who sat behind her. When he bent forward from the pain, and they hit another bump, Bunny used her head to crack his nose. Swearing, bad man in the back covered his face, and when he did, he no longer had a grip on her or anything else. The next bump and he went airborne off the backside of the snowmobile.

  Aware that his load just got lighter, the driver turned around in search of his partner. His mistake. He exposed his throat and Bunny clotheslined him. As he reached instinctively for his neck, she grabbed the steering, yanked it to the right, and watched the thug lose his balance. With a hard shove, she pushed him off the snowmobile.

  Before she dumped herself and the snowmobile over, Bunny grabbed hold of the other side of the steering and accelerated, her heart quickening along with the engine. The gun-toting assholes got off several shots. She sighed with relief when their aim missed. Either they were bad shots or they were in a lot of pain and it hampered their ability. She voted the latter, and the thought made her smile. She would hate to be them when they explained to their boss how an unarmed, injured, lone female had dumped their hineys in the snow and bested his goons. Oh, well. They deserved whatever they got.

  Dressed only in a flannel shirt, ugly gray sweats, and huge wool socks, Bunny was freezing her tail off. Before she got frostbite, she needed to get to some place warm and safe. She needed to go home. With caution, she gunned the snowmobile, steered it in a zigzag pattern, and headed out of the woods.

  * * * *

  Max had not expected to find Sam Spenser listed in the Yellow Pages. That would have been too easy. He had not expected him to be as difficult to find as Jimmy Hoffa either.

  If he had the resources of his agency, it would have been a breeze. Before two shakes of a pup’s tail Max would have not only known Sam Spenser’s whereabouts, but also his employment history, his bank accounts, and his sexual preferences. Instead, he was on his own, frustrated, and getting nowhere fast. Time was something Max did not have. He had wasted enough time with the snow bunny.

  His mind drifted to his snow bunny. He reflected on her cinnamon-colored hair, the way it brought out flecks of amber in her emerald eyes. The way the pink snowsuit fit her body, showing every supple curve. And…

  “Oh.” Max sat bolt upright, and shook his head in an attempt to wipe the sneaky woman from his mind. He did not need her invading his thoughts. He did not want her. A chill shimmied up his spine, and the itchy sensation of the little hairs on the back of his neck rising made him shiver. His snow bunny was involved in this mess, somehow. He knew it, but he didn’t have time to dwell on her, her perky breasts, or how he fell for the she-devil’s tricks.

  He shifted his focus back to his brother. He hadn’t received any more phone calls, and that worried him. Was that because Kevin was already dead and they no longer needed Max to locate Sam Spenser? Did they have the same trouble in their search and knew it would take Max some time? Who was Sam Spenser? What did they want from him? Was he involved in Kevin’s disappearance?

  Max had not given up. He sat in front of his laptop, fingers dancing over the keys, trying every possible name search engine on the Internet. He tried Sam Spencer, Samuel Spencer, even Sammy Spencer. He even tried a different spelling of the last name, Spenser. He found a Sam Spenser in Spencer, Iowa. The image of a farmer dressed in manure-covered overalls, standing in a wheat field, and smoking a corncob pipe came to mind and made him smile. He doubted the Iowa farmer was the man he was looking for.

  Max sat back, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. “What would Alex Rasmussen do in this situation?”

  He contemplated the question, and in the back of his mind, pictured his favorite fictional private eye. Alex Rasmussen would not sit on his butt. He would be out hitting the pavement, talking with people, and scheming a way for them to tell him where to find Sam Spenser.

  That was it. Max sprang to his feet, holstered his Glock, slipped on his coat and gloves, and headed out the door. He would start in town, visit the local shops, and see if anyone there could help him pay the money back he owed Sam Spenser. People responded to money, especially money owed.

  He hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, and he never had enough caffeine, so he started at ‘Flapjacks’ on Main Street. Max ordered, what else…pancakes, and coffee, and waited. Once he had eaten half his stack, and drained his second cup of coffee, Max engaged the voluptuous older waitress and owner in a friendly conversation.

  “Marry me, Betty. Any woman who can cook the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten has to be my wife.”

  Betty chuckled, and her large breasts jiggled with the vibration. “Slick talker.”

  “I’m serious. If you don’t marry me I’ll shrivel up and die.” Hand to his heart, Max shot her his best boyish grin.

  His mouth quirked up as Betty eyed him, skepticism in her narrow gaze, then walked away to wait on another customer.

  When Betty returned, Max was wiping the remains of syrup from his lips and settling back.

  As she poured his third cup of coffee, she asked, “What do you want, Slick?”

  “The recipe. I’ve got to know how you get those pancakes so fluffy.”

  “Uh-huh. Try again, city boy. I’m too old to fall for your shena
nigans.”

  “You aren’t old. You’re perfect for… ”

  Betty cleared her throat. “I love compliments, especially from someone so handsome, but not fond of bullshit. What do you want, son? You need a job? Can you cook?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, I can cook. No, don’t need a job.”

  “Then fess up.”

  Max laughed at her directness. “Okay. I’m looking for a friend of mine. I owe him some money.”

  “This friend have a name?”

  “Sam Spenser.”

  Max watched Betty, looking for any recognition of the name. Nothing registered, her expression didn’t change.

  “Sorry, never heard of him. You’d think if you owed someone money you’d know how to get in touch with him.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I appreciate your help.” Max scooted out of the booth and got to his feet. Betty was a tall woman, but he still towered over her. Taking her hand in his, Max lifted it to his mouth and brushed his lips against her skin. “Thank you, Betty. You really do make the best flapjacks. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

  Betty swatted him with a menu on his behind and told him, “Get outta here, Slick.”

  Max strolled away, but before he walked out the door, Betty yelled at him. “Come back next time you’re hungry. Good luck finding her.”

  Her? Maybe Betty was older than she appeared. Max smiled, saluted Betty, and walked out into the bitter cold. He made his way to the next shop, and the next, and so on. At every location, he received the same results. No one had ever heard of Sam Spenser.

  Either the locals were as tight-lipped as the government assholes his brother worked for, or they really did not know Sam. Dejected, Max got into his SUV and drove back up the mountain. He would try his luck at the resort shops and restaurants.

  * * * *

  Returning from a long day of nothing, he tossed his jacket on the sofa, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. After he swallowed a shot, he poured himself another to sip. Slouching in the chair seated next to the fireplace, he exhaled audibly. Head tilted back against the cushion, he squeezed his eyes shut, and listened to the wind whistling, swirling the snow.

  As his mind cleared, Max replayed the conversations in his head. They had all been brief and useless. The only exchange that had been remotely interesting had been the banter with Betty. But then, Betty may have been a little loopy, referring to Sam as her. “Poor woman. Good thing she could cook.”

  Then, Max was cursing and kicking furniture, hooting with laughter, when a sudden bolt of clarity hit him. Betty wasn’t whacked, loopy, or senile. She was brilliant, sweet, and his new best friend.

  Sam Spenser was not a man.

  FIVE

  As if an expert on a snowmobile, and trekked the woods all her life, Bunny traversed through the trees, crossed small creeks and came to a stop at the edge of a lake. Ice-fishing huts spread out across the frozen water. None of them appeared to be occupied. At this time of night, everyone should be tucked up snug in his or her bed at home. Bunny wished she were.

  Instead, she was running. From who, she didn’t know. She didn’t know why either, but she intended to find out. Knowledge was power, and the only way she knew of to keep herself safe. Goosebumps shivered up and down her arms, and Bunny rubbed at them in an attempt to chase away the cold and fear. Before she could investigate, she needed to get dry and warm.

  Looking out over the wooden shacks, one with a blue door caught her eye. It felt familiar and drew her in. With a steady speed, Bunny slowly crossed the frozen lake, and cut the engine in front of the hut.

  Manners and caution had her knocking on the door. When she received no response, she entered the small dwelling. On the inside, it didn’t appear to be so small. It consisted of a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Not exactly the Ritz, but pretty nice for an ice cabin. The seating area consisted of cushioned bench seats located in front of augured hole in the floor so the owners could fish in comfort. Yes, there was a propane heater.

  Igniting the propane, the heat warmed her skin instantly, and she took a deep breath. Almost immediately, sleep tugged at her, the cushions with their floral print inviting her to sit, and when she did, the movement caused a scream of pain in her leg. Her body must have been numb from the cold and pumped from adrenaline, because until now she had not felt anything. Now the fiery ache burned.

  In the closet-sized bathroom, Bunny located a first aid kit. Stripping out of the baggy sweats, she was happy to see that despite kicking the bad guys’ asses her stitches were intact. After cleaning the wound, and putting a new bandage over the top of it, she went in search of some dry clothes and found a pair of thermal underwear. Then she located a pair of woolen socks. In another drawer, she pulled out a large flannel shirt and baggy blue jeans.

  When she slid her arms into the sleeves of the shirt, Bunny caught whiff of an inviting smell. Old Spice, chocolate, and … familiar. The fragrance was comforting … safe, and an image of a balding man flashed in her mind. Then it disappeared.

  Taking a seat on the benches across from the propane heater, she eyed a pair of Gore-Tex boots, and a couple of parkas. They were both a smidge large, even with two pairs of socks on, but they were warm. That familiar scent hit her again. Tucking her fists in the pockets, her fingers brushed against something. As she glanced at the chocolate bar clasped in her hand, her lips curved up in a slow smile. Then her stomach rumbled.

  Curled up in the oversized clothes, Bunny leaned back, and nibbled on the gourmet meal of chocolate. While satisfying her hunger, she took in more of her surroundings. In one of the corners, she noticed a pick ax. The ax looked old and weathered, but sturdy. It would make a good weapon. She had an impression of her father using one just like it whenever he took her fishing. According to her father, great-grandpa had gotten the ax while in the war and kept it as a souvenir. Apparently, on one of his late night jaunts to the latrine he ran across a brown bear. When the beast started at him, his pants and weapon around his ankles, the only thing that had been handy was the ax. Without even trying to pull up his drawers, great-grandpa heaved the tool and hit its mark—dead center of the bear’s head. The brown bear stumbled like a drunk and then fell dead weight to the ground.

  In remembrance of his narrow escape with Mother Nature and death, her great-grandfather carved the saying ‘When bears shit in the woods…’ in the wooden handle. That pick ax had been handed down as a good luck charm ever since.

  Chocolate in one hand, she crossed the small expanse to the corner, picked up the ax, and examined it. When she flipped the handle over, her heart jumped. Carved in the handle were those words. Someone was watching out for her. And she was getting her memory back.

  “Thank you, great-grandpa.”

  Taking a pair of gloves from a hook, Bunny looked around the cabin, and tried to piece more of her life together. From the zipper lining of the gloves, she pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, she saw it was a note addressed to Annie. Fingers trembling, the image of her father, balding and handsome played in her mind. He always had a smile for her, even when she had been at her worst. But on the day she entered her first sharpshooters contest and won, her father’s grin shined brighter than the trophy she won. From that day forward, he gave her the nickname, Annie, for Annie Oakley.

  The note read, ‘Annie, remember our secret place.’

  Bunny heard an engine. The sound made her pause and stiffen. It was distant, but with the stillness of the cold, it was clear. They found her.

  Shoving the rest of the chocolate in her mouth, she zipped up the parka, stuffed the key and note in the gloves with her hands, and headed for the trap door with the ax. She made herself as flat as possible, and lay beneath the bench seats, waiting. Her breathing shallow, she held on tight to the wood handle of the ax.

  She closed her eyes, listening. Then she remembered. The snowmobile was parked right outside the cabin. Damn! Fear and cold had made her stupid. But she didn’t move, she didn’t da
re. If it was the two kidnappers and they came into the shack and didn’t see her, maybe they would figure she had moved on.

  As the engine continued to get louder, closer, Bunny prayed. She prayed she would get out of there alive. She asked for forgiveness for whatever sin she had committed to put her in her current predicament. She begged to remember, wanting the rest of her memories back, desperately needing them.

  Heart knocking in her chest, eyes squeezed shut, Bunny silently recited the words her father wrote in the note. ‘Annie, remember our secret place.’ She repeated it to herself, over and over, as she listened to the engine slow, and fade.

  Exhaling a breath of immense relief, she hit her head on the underside of the bench when someone pounded on the door. A kidnapper wouldn’t knock, would he? The muffled pounding came again. She was not going to find out. Instead, she stayed right where she lay, secure in her hideaway, pick ax clutched to her chest.

  She heard the door open, slam shut, and footsteps on the floor near her head. She held her breath and prayed to be invisible.

  * * * *

  Bundled in thermal underwear beneath denim pants, two pairs of wool socks inside winter boots, and a dark parka, Max stood in the cold, hidden near the metal trash bin outside the rear entrance of ‘Flapjacks’, waiting, watching. There was no doubt in his mind that when the restaurant closed, Betty would go see Sam Spenser. Friends, good friends, always warn each other when someone unknown is searching for them, or if something bad was about to go down. It was natural, a protective instinct he understood.

  In an attempt to get his blood pumping, and chase the chill away, Max stomped his feet, blew warm breath into his cupped hands, and recalled the friend he tried and failed to warn.

  Two summers ago, Max had been on assignment overseas rescuing some idiot diplomat who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up abducted and taken hostage. The government wanted the man back, but they did not negotiate with terrorists. That meant someone had to extract the diplomat and bring him home. Max and his partner were volunteered for the trip.