Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  With a lot of wriggling, like a fish on a hook, Max pulled himself out, and then reached back down in to help her. Using the pick ax, he pulled her up from their ice-covered hell. Sam was amazed at his upper body strength. Once he hauled her out, she collapsed on top of him, gasping for air, the thunder of his heartbeat pounding in her ear. She did not want to move. She didn’t know if she could move.

  Then she didn’t have a choice. A bullet slammed into the ice.

  “Run,” Max groaned. “I’m right behind you.”

  “The truck,” Sam told him as she sloshed to her feet. Another bullet hit a tree to their left.

  “Keep low and move quickly.”

  No shit, she wanted to tell him. Quick movement was easier said than done. The wet clothes added another fifty pounds of freezing material to her. They were the epitome of drowned rats.

  Reaching the truck, she opened the driver’s door, leaned under the front seat, and located the spare key. “Get in.”

  Before Max shut the door, the truck was in motion. As she slammed her foot on the gas, and gunned the vehicle forward, another bullet hit its mark.

  * * * *

  “Shit!”

  Max felt the truck slow. Sam had applied the brakes.

  “Don’t stop. Gun it!” She turned to look at him, lips quivering from cold. “I’m alright. It only grazed me,” he answered her concerned gaze. But it burned. Despite being only a flesh wound, his arm throbbed. At least it was his left arm.

  Pedal to the metal, his snow bunny did not play. The truck practically floated across the ground, wheels barely touched the snow-covered pavement. She had obviously driven in this kind of weather and terrain before. For all he knew she grew up in Northern New Hampshire.

  “Where did you learn to drive?”

  “My father took me to F1 in Boston to learn to drive fast and safe. My first car was an old Mustang Fastback, and I drove it on the back roads before I reached the legal age and before I ever hit the highway.”

  “You’re dangerous, but good.”

  Sam nodded. Which did she agree to, Max wondered. He started to smile, and then bit his lip as the sting in his arm radiated.

  She drove like a mad woman over the snow, never looked from side-to-side. She kept her head down and eyes forward. She fascinated him in a way no woman had in a long time. Who was this woman? Sam didn’t come close to a major road. To Max’s surprise, she made it to his cottage driving every back road that existed.

  “I’ll drop you here.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She opened her mouth, no doubt to object, but he clamped a hand on her wrist. “Where you go, I go. For some reason you’re in the mix of my brother’s disappearance and now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Sam paused as if considering. What? Telling him what she knew?

  “Do you want those idiots to follow our trail to here? I’ve got to ditch the truck.”

  “Fine. There’s a service garage at the condo manager’s office. We can park it there, hide it under a tarp, and walk back.”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off. “We don’t have time to argue. Just do it.”

  Max watched her mull over his words, then grudgingly she put the vehicle into gear and did as he requested. Less than a minute later, he helped Sam cover the truck, and headed back to the cottage, in silence.

  Max unlocked the door, ushered Sam through, and locked it behind them.

  “We’ve got to get out of these wet clothes. A hot bath will go a long way in getting us warm.”

  From beneath a thin veil of cinnamon-colored hair, stunning green eyes stared up at him in surprise, and Max took a step closer. He knew what she was thinking. Lifting one hand in his, he removed the sodden mitten and rubbed her fingers between his hands, bringing circulation back to the reddish flesh. Then he warmed her other hand. Both of her hands in his, he turned toward the bedroom, tugging Sam along behind him.

  In the bathroom, Max turned the handle and started to fill the tub. “Strip.”

  His voice must have startled her because she took a step back and hit her hip against the vanity. “Ow.”

  “Feeling must be coming back. I’m surprised you hadn’t screamed before now.”

  Emerald eyes blazed green fire from a face filled with annoyance. “I’m not a sissy.”

  He rolled his eyes, bent down, and started to untie her boots. She had double-knotted the laces after wrapping them around the ankles, obviously hoping that would keep them on her feet. Damn, the woman was creative. Was that something else her father had taught her? When he finally got them untied, he slipped them off her feet, and out of the double layer of socks. Her feet were cold, but didn’t look to be in any danger of frostbite.

  When he looked up, Sam was watching him through heavy lidded eyes, and fumbling with the buttons on the first flannel shirt.

  “I’ll get that.” He reached for the front of her shirt.

  “No.” She slapped at his hands.

  “I’ve seen you naked, remember?” Max asked, one eyebrow lifted, and a slight smirk across his lips. The comment worked. Sam dropped her hands so he could finish undoing the buttons. He stripped her to panties and an undershirt.

  “Let me help you in.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Leaning on his good arm, Sam stepped into the tub. He held her as she sank down into the warm water.

  She tilted her head back against the rim, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Mmmm.”

  Max stared down at the woman, his snow bunny. Water wrapped around temptation and sin. He wanted to wade in.

  Instead, he shook his head, and brought back some sense of reality. He needed to get dry and warm, and bandaged. Although diving in with Bunny would definitely get him heated up, it would not make his arm feel any better. Well, it would feel just fine, but only briefly. Instead of stripping naked and going snorkeling, he removed his socks, followed by his shirts.

  Standing in front of the mirror, he eyed the gash in his upper arm. Deeper than he expected, it appeared raw and angry looking. It stung like a mother.

  “You need stitches,” Sam suggested from her perch in the tub, staring at him.

  He looked at it, looked at her, and shrugged. “Nah. A butterfly should do it.” She was probably right, but he hated needles. It was okay for him to suture her wounds, but not okay for a needle to come anywhere near his skin.

  Sam stood and almost toppled over. Before she slipped and hit her head, Max grabbed her arms and steadied her.

  “Get me a towel and the first aid kit. I’ll clean up the wound and then you can use the tub.”

  “I don’t need…” He paused when the look she gave him clearly said she was not going to lose this argument. He knew when to retreat. He grabbed a large towel from the linen closet so she could dry off, and retrieved the first aid kit. Placing both of them on the vanity, he took a step back and leaned against the doorframe.

  Her emerald eyes locked on his, Sam removed the last of her clothing, T-shirt and panties …slowly. Torture. When she stood back up, her chin held in defiance, Max broke eye contact. His gaze fixed on the part of her that was still very cold. Blood rushed to his head, he felt flushed, and … he turned around. Damn! The picture of her pink perky nipples imprinted on his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to wash away the image, but it didn’t work. The vision of the naked woman, cinnamon-color hair on top and bottom, wearing nothing but a grin flashed through his head.

  “You can turn around now.”

  Before he faced her, Max shifted his stance to relieve the pressure, and hide his arousal. When he turned around, he saw Sam tucked neatly inside the terry cloth material. Maroon was a good color for her. Her cheeks rosy, hair towel-dried tousled, her skin glowed. Maybe it wasn’t the color of the towel. Maybe it was the thought of using the needle she held that made her eyes twinkle. She-devil.

  Max shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re not sticking me with that.”
/>   “Sit,” she commanded, pointing at the closed toilet seat. “Don’t be afraid of the itty—bitty—needle.”

  He regarded her with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think it’s the needle I’m scared of.”

  “You can’t be afraid of little me,” she sing-songed as she patted the lid. “Be a brave boy and not a chicken.”

  He sat. Not because he wanted stitches, but because he did not want Sam thinking he was a wuss. Besides, he would have her attention so he could ask some questions.

  Before she stabbed him, he looked up at her and asked, “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

  Max’s stomach flipped, nervous of her sly grin. It was only a tiny needle. But she had been very close when she tossed that pick ax at him. Raking fingers through his hair, he remembered she had almost given him a haircut.

  “You want me to warn you or just stick you?”

  “Warn—” She stuck him. “Shit, lady,” he hissed out through gritted teeth. “After you stick me, I get to stick you.”

  “Sorry.”

  Max glanced up into green eyes that glinted deviously. She wasn’t sorry. She was amused, but he would wonder about that later. Right now … “Who is Sam Spenser?”

  EIGHT

  Sam’s hands halted and reversed, her breath caught. Should she tell him? Could she trust him? He saved her life. He also led the idiots with the guns straight to her. Max’s gun tucked in the back of his pants, she determined he did not trust her.

  “And what do you have to do with my missing brother?”

  “Who?” What was he talking about?

  “My brother. Kevin Stone. He’s missing and his kidnappers or someone who is involved called and told me to find Sam Spenser.” Hard amber eyes pierced into hers. She stared back, unblinking, and he continued. “What do you know about it?”

  Her hands went back to working on his stitches. When she punctured the skin, he hissed and grabbed her leg with his other hand. His grip was strong. When she glanced at his whiskey eyes, they were even more intense.

  Before answering, Sam returned her gaze to Max’s arm and her handiwork. “I don’t know your brother. I don’t know anyone named Kevin.” Her lips pressed together, not reacting to the slight flexing of the hand on her thigh.

  “Then why would someone instruct me to find you? Come on, Sam.” Max’s voice coaxed as his hand climbed a little higher.

  When his fingers broke the barrier of the towel her heart skipped, and her moist lips parted slightly.

  “Max, I just got into town. I don’t know the answer.” It was true. She came at her father’s request. Gnawing at her lip, she remembered. He left her a brief voicemail, no explanation, just asked her to come home now. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even identified himself or ended his call with his usual, ‘Love ya, Annie.’ Her lips curved up in a smile at his nickname.

  When she had arrived, her dad hadn’t been around so she put her things away and went snowboarding. That had to have been the day Max found her, shot. Why her? No way could someone mistake her for her father.

  She tied the knot, and snipped the extraneous thread. “All done.” Tossing the needle in the trash, she went to pull away, when Max squeezed tighter, making her escape impossible.

  “You’re going to leave bruises,” she told him, her voice calm, but stern.

  His grip loosened, but he did not let go.

  “Then who wants you dead?”

  She didn’t know, but it had to be someone involved with her father. Was her father all right? Oh, my gosh! Her father hadn’t been home when she arrived. He hadn’t searched for her. If he had, he would have found her. She swallowed past the lump that formed in her throat. Could her father be dead? Is that why Betty was searching for him?

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit! Listen lady,” he demanded in a low voice, his hand sliding almost to ground zero.

  Sam placed her hand on top stopping any further ascent. When she looked up, Max held a pistol in his hand. At the sight of the threatening black steel, her body went rigid. Her stomach roiled with fear. Was he going to shoot her? Frightened, her heart raced.

  Frantic, she searched the room for a weapon. She had tossed the only weapon she had. Not that a needle was any match for a gun. She was desperate to put distance between herself and Max. Mad Max. He looked deranged. Amber eyes took in the perimeter of the room, but somehow still fixed on her. He was on point, muscles taut, movement calculated and controlled.

  Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. This was it. In an attempt to block out the angel of death, Sam squeezed her eyes shut, and shuddered. Flashes of a white house, lots of windows with black shutters, flickered in her mind. A slideshow played, picture after picture, a farmer’s porch, a bulls-eye stained glass on the front door, a huge apple tree, a rock wall. She had to think. She did not want to die. Think.

  “It’s not bullshit. I promise. I came home for a vacation. I haven’t been here long enough to see or meet anyone, including your brother.” She hadn’t taken a breath, and she was rambling, but maybe if she kept him talking he wouldn’t shoot her before she figured a way out. “You’ve got to believe me. I do not know Kevin, but maybe I can help you find him. I’m good at solving mysteries. Maybe—”

  Her next breath was stifled when Max’s mouth clamped over hers. What the hell? He was kissing her, no light peck, or tender, sweet kiss. It was a tongue-down-your-throat-make-your-toes-curl kind of kiss.

  Instinctively, Sam’s arms wrapped around his neck, and then glided down his smooth back. He was so hard. He felt so good. She wanted to inhale him. Before she had an opportunity, Max pulled back. His body heat gone, the warmth of his kiss lingered. Chest heaving in and out, Sam’s eyes flew open, and found her vision filled with Max’s unblinking stare.

  While she tried to calm her racing heart, catch her breath, and uncurl her toes, he leaned in again.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered. Warm breath stirred against her ear. “We have company.”

  What? Company? What the heck was he talking about?

  Then she heard it, the faint, unmistakable sound of metal clicking. She turned toward it. Barely audible, the sound reverberated and echoed against walls, resonated in her bones. Understanding struck. Someone was coming in the door.

  Sam twisted back and met Max’s gaze. He nodded in mute acknowledgement. Without a word, and in one fluid motion, he picked her up and dumped her over his shoulder. When her stomach encountered hard muscle, air hissed out of her lungs. Her ass hanging in the wind, he carried her naked body and the towel to the closet.

  Max opened the door in silence, bent to retrieve the ax, then closed it without a sound behind them, and followed stairs down into blackness.

  Stairs? There were stairs in a closet.

  * * * *

  Thank goodness, he always planned an escape route. Seldom had he ever used one, but on occasion, the preparation had paid off. It was hard enough to make an escape from a bad situation alone. It was near impossible with an injured and very scared woman.

  Sam was frightened. Fear had her holding her breath. Fear of making a sound, of someone catching them, of death. He appreciated her efforts. Her instinct for self-preservation amazed him. Under his hand, he felt her tremble. His fingers touched goosebumps on satiny skin.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Max listened for any sounds of the intruders. They hadn’t breached the bedroom yet. With quick, noiseless strides, he carried his snow bunny down the darkened steps to an even murkier corridor made of granite stones. When he arrived at the end, he stood silent.

  Reaching out the hand that held Sam on his shoulder, he depressed a tiny button set in the wall. Seconds later, barely able to make out the sound, except the snick of the lock, he knew the back of the closet had slid into place. Phase one complete.

  Phase two was a little trickier. Bending down, Max picked up a black leather duffle and put the handle in Sam’s cold fingers. She tapped his back, communicating her un
derstanding of what he needed her to do. The woman was incredible. Then, before inching the cellar door open, he pulled the towel over her exposed flesh.

  Leading with his Glock, Max hauled Sam across the threshold and into a gust of winter wind. Grateful because the breeze muffled any sound they made, he sprinted through snow-covered grounds and trees, dipping where he thought a branch would catch Sam. Their trail ended at a powder blue, early model, Ford Bronco.

  When he touched the door handle, the locks released and he gingerly dumped her inside. Her teeth chattering, Max removed the duffle from her red-tinged fingers, and tossed the bag to the floor. Reaching behind the front seat, he grabbed a parka and tucked her beneath it.

  “Two more minutes and you’ll be warm, I promise. I’ll blast the heater.”

  Shutting the passenger door, he rushed to the driver side, opened the door, and slid onto the bench seat. Blank eyes stared back at him, while purplish-blue lips trembled. His thumb stroked the icy mouth. Leaning down, her eyes locked with his, he kissed her. His warm lips pressed to her quivering ones, and when the vibrations slowed, he massaged her tongue with his. Then he ended the embrace, kissed her forehead, gazed into fiery green eyes, and told her, “Two minutes, I promise.”

  “Wh–What? Wh…? D–damn it, Max…”

  Her voice grew louder. He was afraid they would hear her. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Needing to keep her silent, he used the same approach he had in the bathroom when he first heard the intruders. He kissed her. He crushed his mouth to hers. Sam whimpered, and he became hot and hungry for the taste of her again. Wrapping her more tightly in his arms, Max’s tongue plunged inside her mouth and tangled with hers. He felt her tremble, and knew it was not from cold or fear. He desperately wanted to explore further, but not now.

  Max pulled back, turned, and shoved the key in the ignition. Twisting it, the truck started as he expelled a long breath. He flipped the heat and defrosters to full power. Sam was freezing, and he was burning up. Why had he kissed her?

  As he backed the Bronco out and drove onto the main road, he repeated the silent question. No logical answer came. When he looked over at her, he winked reassurance. “We’ll be someplace where you can get some clothes on soon. Are you getting warmer?”