Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  * * * *

  Sam nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She wanted to ask him why he kissed her. She wanted to tell him just because she was injured did not give him the right to manhandle and take advantage of her. Mostly, she wanted to tell him to turn down the heater.

  His kiss had thawed her all the way to her toes. She still felt the heat of his lips on hers. Remembering the sensation, she ran her tongue along her top lip, and shuddered as a chill ran through her.

  “Still cold?”

  Max affixed his vents closed and she received all the heat from the vehicle’s blower.

  “Wh…wh…where’re w…we going?” Guess the kiss hadn’t melted all the cold. Given enough time, she bet it could have.

  Max didn’t answer, his focus on the snow-covered road and the rearview mirror.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Were they being followed? By who? The person at the cottage? Someone else? Damn!

  Sam looked out the side mirror. She saw nothing, no one. No cars. No headlights. All she noticed was snow. White on the road, white on the houses, and more white coming down making the driving hazardous. It would be beautiful if she had not been scared down to her numb toes. Her heart raced, her hands shook, and an icy stream of fear traveled through her veins. She was running from someone. Who? She was riding in a car with a man she did not know, supposedly her protector. Was he? Or was Max the reason they were running?

  He turned again. Max had taken so many turns, her stomach felt as if it had been on an amusement ride, going in dizzying circles. It seemed to her every few feet he changed direction. At first, she thought it was a maneuver to avoid anyone who might be on their tail, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Maybe he wanted to confuse her as to their location, and the direction they traveled. She checked the mirror again. No one. No one in their right mind would be on the road in the near blizzard conditions.

  “Where are we going?” She repeated the question, this time with more fortitude.

  “The only safe place I know.”

  That told her nothing. Max was a master of a non-answer. Gnawing her bottom lip, Sam debated asking him again.

  “And that safe place would be where?”

  Without taking his eyes off the road or his steely grip off the steering wheel, he muttered a response.

  “Does it matter as long as it’s secure and you’ll be safe?”

  She would have harrumphed if she thought it would have done any good. “Max, I’ve been shot, your cottage was broken into, twice, we barely made it out of a frozen lake, and we escaped from some bad people through a secret tunnel. It matters. And to top it all off, I don’t know you. You may have patched me up and kept me safe, but I don’t know who you are.”

  The on-ramp for 93 South was straight ahead and Max steered their truck in that direction. Then bam!

  NINE

  Sam screamed. Glass shattered. Max tried his damnedest to keep his Bronco in control. The car seemed to have a mind of its own and was destined to go off the on-ramp.

  “Get down. Make yourself as small as possible and stay down until I tell you to move.”

  Another shot hit the mirror.

  “Someone is shooting at us,” she yelled from the passenger side foot well.

  “No shit, Sherlock. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. I can’t concentrate with you screaming.” Who was he kidding? He hadn’t been able to focus since she landed on his doorstep. All his energy had been in taking care of her, tracking her, wanting her. Not in finding his brother.

  “All we want is the woman!”

  Max peered at the woman balled up on the floor of his truck. What had the little lady done to warrant this? He couldn’t answer them back. If he could he would tell them, hell no. He would hand her over and then what? He knew what. She would disappear or turn up on someone else’s doorstep. Dead.

  “Pull over and let her go. We only want the girl.”

  Yeah, right. Did he look that stupid? His mama had not raised a dummy. If he pulled over, they would both be dead.

  “Max, give me your gun.”

  Max eyed her. “What?”

  “Give me the gun. You can’t drive and shoot in this weather. You drive, I’ll shoot.”

  He eyed her again. She wasn’t joking. She held her hand out, waiting for him to comply.

  “Okay.”

  After she slid her arms into the sleeves of his parka, he handed her the weapon, butt end first. “There’s no safety, you just have to—”

  “I know how to use it. I’m a damn good shot.”

  Her smile was knowing, and just a little teasing.

  He nodded. “Hang on. When I tell you, aim and fire, non-stop.”

  Max yanked the wheel to the left and the truck spun. “Now!”

  The Bronco faced the other vehicle. His Glock aimed directly at the driver’s head. Sam fired. She kept pulling the trigger as he wrenched the wheel again.

  Hot damn! She hit the target. Repeatedly. The other car fired back, but with their windshield in tiny cracks, it hampered their ability to get a clean shot off in return. Sam blasted another round at the chasing vehicle and an explosion rent the air. Before he hit the ramp at full speed, the other car was in flames.

  Max burned rubber. Adrenaline pumping, he hightailed it out of there. He did not want to stick around to explain the overcooked bodies to the authorities. Which was too bad because he would really like to know who they were, but he didn’t need any more complications. He just gave up a prime location for his fieldwork. He was taking her to the only place he knew would be safe. And he’d kissed her. Okay, so that may have been a mistake, but it did the trick and shut her up. He was bullshitting himself and he knew it.

  He regarded Sam. Snuggled into his coat, the heat on high, she still shivered. It could have been from the cold, but his instinct said it was more from fear, and adrenaline. When she peered up at him from the floorboard, something flickered in her green eyes. Guilt? Terror?

  Well, damn! Hadn’t she paid attention? They just kicked ass.

  At this very moment he’d rather she be chattering at him, asking him questions, than regarding him with pain-filled eyes as she ejected the empty magazine and handed him his weapon.

  “There’s another clip in the duffle.” Max nodded in the direction of the bag behind the seat. “Go ahead and load it. I hate to be unprepared.”

  She did, and handed it back to him.

  “So where were we? Oh yeah, you were saying how you didn’t know me.” His mouth tipped up at one corner. “Darlin’, my tongue’s been inside your mouth. I’d say that qualifies as knowing each other. And I’m going to get to know you a whole lot better before this is over.”

  Her mouth opened, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but no words came out.

  “I didn’t, you kissed…”

  Before Sam finished the excuse, Max cut her off. “It takes two tongues to tango, and you definitely kissed me back.”

  “Why…I…” she gasped.

  “You did.” He arched one eyebrow, daring her to deny anything. Daring her to tell the truth. To tell him something.

  “Don’t you ever give up?”

  “Nope.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “But you will. As I said, I am going to get to know you very well. Count on it,” he added with a wink.

  Max made one last turn, and then pulled up in front of a New England farmhouse. Pushing a series of buttons on his keychain, the door lifted, and he drove the beat up Bronco into the underneath garage. Engine off, he pushed another button and the door shut behind them.

  Grabbing his bag, he exited his side of the truck, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door. With the coat still tucked around her, Max gently lifted Sam into his arms, and shut the door with the heel of his boot.

  “Come on, we’re here.”

  “Here, where?”

  “Home.”

  Home? “Whose home?” she asked her voice tremulous.

  “Mine.
” He set her down.

  His? “What about the cottage? Wasn’t that your home? How many houses do you own?” Damn! Freezing her butt off, she stood in the mudroom with only Max’s parka covering her and rambled. She was exhausted, bruised, and starving.

  “The cottage belongs to a friend. This is mine,” he told her, pushing his way into a spacious eat-in kitchen with a wood stove. “I’ll get you some clothes and then get us something to eat.”

  The wood stove looked inviting. She wanted to curl up in front of it and never move.

  Max placed a chair facing the black iron, potbelly. “Have a seat. I’ll get a fire going then grab the provisions,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  * * * *

  As soon as Max left the room, Sam held her hands and feet in front of her as close to the fire as possible without getting burned. “Ahh.” Eyes closed, she let the heat seep through, and wondered when the nightmare would end. What was it all about?

  Why had her father called her so mysteriously? Where was he? Was he okay? Frustrated, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  When Sam cleared her eyes, she took in the kitchen. It was cozy, and surprisingly tidy. A cushioned-seat in a bay window overlooked a large backyard. She imagined curling up with a good book and watching kids play. The room, decorated with an apple theme felt warm and inviting. The canisters, cookie jar, even refrigerator magnets were all adorned with red apples. It was too nice for a single guy. Was Max married? Divorced? Widowed?

  As if her question had conjured him up, Max appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had changed into dry clothes. His jeans snug, the sweater clung to muscles that a short time ago she had run her hands across. The man exuded strength and sex. Instantly aware of her attraction to him, she turned back to the stove.

  “Any warmer?”

  Her face flushed. Uh, yeah. Overheated. “Much.”

  “I left a change of clothes for you in the upstairs bath, second door on the right. Towels are under the sink.”

  * * * *

  She came back down dressed in a pair of jeans only slightly larger than she. The belt Max left her kept the denim up on her hips. Underneath the green sweater that was obviously a woman’s, she had on a plain white T-shirt. Sam felt a tinge of jealousy at the woman who shared Max’s life.

  Before she could ask him whom the clothes belonged to, her nose caught a whiff of the wonderful aroma wafting through the kitchen, and her stomach rumbled.

  “Smells good.”

  “Comfort food,” he answered without looking at her. “Beef vegetable soup and corn bread.”

  Then he looked at her. She bit her lower lip, nervous under his scrutinizing stare.

  “Sit before you fall down.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow at him. He probably meant the direction as concern, but it came out as an order. She did it anyway.

  Placing a steaming bowl and a spoon in front of her, he set a plate of corn bread in the middle of the table and sat across from her.

  They ate in silence, listening to the wind whip the snow around outside. Several minutes later Max went to the fridge and pulled out two sodas, handing one to her. Watching his graceful manner, Sam wondered who the man was on the other side of the table. She needed to know.

  She broke the silence. “Whose clothes am I wearing? Wife’s? Girlfriend’s?”

  “Friend,” he snapped.

  Hm. More than a friend, she thought. “You’ll have to thank her for the use of her clothes.”

  “She’s dead,” he said in a broken voice.

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. She could feel his restrained emotion.

  “Me, too. And I refuse to lose someone else I care about so why don’t you tell me what you know?”

  “You’re referring to your brother?”

  “Yes, damn it,” he barked, glaring at her with barely controlled anger. “Why did those shooters want you? Why did the caller tell me to locate you? Who are you, Sam Spenser?”

  “Samantha.”

  Max blinked several times in rapid succession, his surprise obvious.

  “Samantha,” he repeated as if trying the name out.

  “Sam Spenser is my father.” It was risky telling him about her father, but she needed to gain his confidence. She needed him to share whatever information he had so she could locate her father and find out who wanted to kill her, and for what reason. Right now, he was her only lead. Him, and the note her father had left her.

  Sam watched Max swallow, watched the muscles move as he controlled his temper. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know a whole lot, lady. Or, you claim to know nothing,” he said, shaking an accusing finger at her. “But you see I’ve watched you. You handle yourself too well to be innocent.”

  “I lost my memory,” she told him, pointing to her head. “Or did you forget that? Oh that’s right, you don’t believe me. Damn, you must have been around a lot of liars. I feel pity for you.”

  His mouth opened to respond, but she didn’t let him. “I only started getting my memory back when those idiots kidnapped me. Then you showed up and I haven’t had a chance to think, let alone concentrate on what I’ve forgotten. It’s still not there, but it’s coming back.”

  Taking a sip of her soda, she continued, her heart pounding. “My father, Sam Spenser, called me. He left me a vague voicemail message asking that I come home as quickly as possible. When I arrived, he wasn’t there. I figured he went fishing so I went snowboarding. That’s when all hell broke loose and I ended up on your doorstep.

  “I don’t know who is shooting at me, or why. But I’m damn sure going to find out.” Her voice rose in intensity. “Someone wants one or both of us dead. I pray my father is still alive. But I promise you this, whoever attacked me will regret it. Now, you can work either with me or against me. Either way, I don’t give a damn. Either way, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Sam stood, her chair scraping loudly against the tile floor, and toppling over behind her. She wanted to get out of that room, get away from Max.

  She was at the door, inches away from her escape when an arm wound around her waist, pulling her back against a brick walled chest.

  TEN

  He held her pressed against him. Fury and anger vibrated off Sam, her body trembling.

  “Shh.” Max turned her in his arms, pulled her into his embrace. Brushing his hands down her hair, he wanted to soothe her, comfort her, and apologize to her, look after her. He could be such a bastard.

  His cheek rested against the top of her head. “I believe you. We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”

  With his finger, he lifted Sam’s chin, and gazed into eyes that were greener than he had realized, startlingly beautiful, and brimming with tears. Tears he knew she would not shed. She was too stubborn and strong. As he watched, the emerald pools deepened, drew him. Lost in their depth, he kissed Sam.

  He drew back, and when desire flickered in her eyes, it flashed through him, a sharp rush low in his stomach. He dropped his head and kissed her again. Her arms snaked around his waist, wrapping around him tightly. Kissing her, he took his time to taste every inch of her mouth.

  Sam groaned when their tongues tangled, and that was all the invitation he required. He lifted her into his arms, only winced slightly at the sting in his arm, and carried her upstairs.

  “Max,” she said quietly, “you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not letting you go.”

  She giggled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know you’re not,” he told her, his voice steely even to his own ears. He had wanted this woman since she landed on his doorstep in her vibrant pink, snug fitting, snowsuit.

  Now, setting her on her feet in his bedroom, he took a step back and looked at her. Seeing her dressed in someone else’s clothes and too big for her, Max realized he wanted Sam with an intensity he had never experienced with another woman. It stunned him.

&
nbsp; “Max?” She stroked his cheek. “Max?”

  He recognized his name, blinked her into focus. Her brow was furrowed. He had been staring.

  Sam stepped closer, if that was possible, leaving barely an inch of space between them. He caught her nape and tugged her into his body. His hands settled on her hips. Cautious of the stitches, he drew her tight against him, his arousal pressed firm and hard against her middle. At the contact, sparks seemed to ignite.

  He slid his hand up underneath her sweater and T-shirt, hand smoothing out over warm flesh, sliding a palm between her breasts. Cupping one breast in his hand, he tweaked a nipple, teasing it. When Sam gave a muffled cry of pleasure, the fire that had been barely contained exploded within him.

  With as much gentle force as Max could muster, he lifted the shirts over her head. He had to get her out of all those clothes, get himself out of his clothes. He wanted to feel her, skin to skin. His fingers trembling, he undid the buckle on her pants, slid them down narrow hips and strong, slender legs. Finally, Sam was naked.

  Sam’s skin glowed, angelic in the light that reflected from the hall reminding him of a dream. But she wasn’t a dream. She was a contradiction, soft and dangerous, silk wrapped around a steel blade. He was drawn to both sides of her.

  Cupping her face in his hands, Max kissed her lips. His fingers tangled in cinnamon-colored hair, he tilted her head back giving him access to more of her. He nuzzled her neck and trailed his lips down her collarbone, inhaling her scent. As his mouth traveled through the valley between her breasts, and he lightly lathed one rosy nipple, her fingers curled in his short hair, guiding him to where she wanted him.

  Who was he to argue with the lady? He grinned to himself as he kissed a path farther south. On his knees, Max held her butt cheeks firmly in his grasp. His breath brushed against sensitive skin between her thighs. Sam whimpered, and he peered up at her. Her lids closed, she looked to be floating, not a care in the world. He wanted to be there with her. He would be. Soon.