by Katie Knight
He cringed at how he’d been unable to offer Logan the smallest bit of comfort. Yes, he was admittedly terrible with children, but it was more than just that. He was awful at dealing with emotions, just like he’d always been. There’d been a brief period when he lived with his foster parents, Justine and Jason Jones, when he’d thought he found his place—a home where he could stay. Jason made it clear he was living with them only for the monthly check they received and because they couldn’t have children of their own, but Justine was kinder.
Sometimes, she’d let him help her bake or read him a story at night, and he’d hung onto those threads of affection like a vise, so desperately craving any emotional connection with a mother-figure that he’d take whatever he could get. At night, he’d wish on stars outside his tiny box-shaped window that Justine would adopt him, and that once that happened, Jason would begin to tolerate him. He told himself that if he did well in school and stayed out of trouble, maybe one day Jason would even grow to like him. Then Jason had died in a car accident, and Justine found herself a wealthy new boyfriend. She’d thrown Ben back into foster care without a second glance, and went on to live a new life. That was the moment he knew that the only person you could count on was yourself. The moment you started to care about other people—started to count on them to care about you in return—you set yourself up to have your soul irrevocably shattered.
What was he doing letting the feelings he’d buried for Megan resurface? Of imagining what it would be like to have a son of his own with her? Those were dreams that weren’t meant for him. Dreams that Megan longed for and deserved to have…with someone else.
When Ben returned to the cave, Logan was calm and actually playing a game of hopscotch that Megan had drawn into the dirt. “Looks like more snow is coming,” Ben announced and added some sticks to the fire.
Megan left Logan hopping over the roughly etched squares and came to stand beside him. “How bad do you think it will be?” she asked in a low tone. If only he could get her and Logan to safety, he’d be content weathering the storm and finding his way toward civilization alone. He hated the fear that skirted around her words, and the worried glance she shot in Logan’s direction. She loved the boy, was petrified for him, and there wasn’t much he could do or say to ease her anxiety.
“Hopefully just a dusting, but I doubt the helicopters will reach us tonight.” Her frown deepened, and he reached out and gently touched her cheek.
She caught his eye and took a step closer. “Will we be safe?”
From the bomber remained unspoken, but Ben could fill in the blanks. “The snow will cover our footprints, which means no one will be able to track us from the plane. We’re as safe as we can be tonight.” He hoped that was the truth, that their night would be uneventful. If it weren’t though, he’d be ready to jump to their protection.
“Hopefully the snow will start soon then. I don’t want to think about someone hunting us.” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth and glanced toward the opening.
His fingers ached to reach out to soothe her, but she retreated back to Logan for another round of their game. It would be safer for both Ben and Megan if they kept the past where it belonged—behind them.
Chapter Eight
Megan held Logan close as he drifted back off to sleep, his lashes fluttered against his round cheeks, and his arms finally relaxed, loosening their grip on her. There was an ache in the back of her throat from struggling to hold back tears. How must he be feeling? This sweet little boy lost in the wilderness without his mother or father. Oh, Charles and Susan must be inconsolable in their grief, most likely thinking the worst. They’d seen too much pain and tragedy in their careers not to contemplate devastating scenarios. Megan smoothed her hand over Logan’s strawberry blond hair, then kissed the top of his head.
“Want me to move him?” Ben’s whisper echoed off the walls, and he tilted his head toward the temporary nest of sweatshirts and jackets.
She shook her head. “Not yet.” It felt good to hold him against her. She could have lost him today, and his solid weight was a reminder that they had overcome the odds and survived. Plus, if she let Ben put Logan to bed, it would be just the two of them sitting side by side in front of the fire, which was warm and wonderful despite the cold pressing at their backs. Ben looked rugged and just a little dangerous with his shoulders back and his frame taking up a large portion of space. His hair fell to the top of his sharp cheekbones, framing those incredible eyes that were so guarded. He took up most of the space in the tight quarters. If she only scooted half an inch toward him, their knees would be touching. She swallowed hard. Even the mere thought of being so close to him made her cheeks heat and nerve endings tingle.
“Hey, I know it’s hard not to worry, but I’ll be keeping watch all night.” Ben’s low voice sent a shiver down her spine. She was being ridiculous. Whatever connection they’d once shared had died with the abrupt, cutting end of their relationship. It was only wishful thinking on her part that made her wonder if there could be more. What would Ben think if she told him she wasn’t only worried about the dangerous surroundings, but the dangerous stirrings of attraction going on inside her?
“We should take turns. It’s not fair to put it all on you. You need to get some sleep, too.” She rested her cheek on top of Logan’s head, and his feather-soft hair tickled her skin.
“I’m used to going without sleep for long stretches. Or getting it where and when I can.” He took a water bottle out of the pack next to him, opened it, and offered it to her first. She took a sip, trying to ignore Ben’s darkening eyes on her, then handed it back. He took a gulp, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Ben was all male. Always had been, and the results were intoxicating. “Wouldn’t refuse company for a little while though.”
“Then you have it. I should be exhausted, but I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.” She took a hand off Logan long enough to swipe her hair away from her face.
“Might be shock. We’ve had a day neither of us is likely to ever forget.” Flames cast shadows over the angles and lines of his face, making him look like a Spartan warrior in their primitive setting.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Isn’t that the truth. Like being stuck in another one of Mr. Carson’s economics classes.” In their college days, they’d matched up their schedules as closely as they could to spend more time together—even if it meant settling for the crankiest professors who piled on essays and doled out exams each Friday. They’d each ended up with enough credit hours to get a minor in economics—and they’d also built a relationship that she’d thought would last long after all those boring lessons had been forgotten.
Ben threw his head back and laughed, and something brightened inside her at the ability to provoke that joyful sound. “He was awful, and yet we took his classes over and over again so we could ogle each other.”
“The other students knew to steer clear, but we didn’t care at the time.” She shouldn’t have brought up the memory, because now her mind had traveled back to Berkeley. In her mind, she was walking under the mint-colored archway of Sather Gate, hand neatly tucked inside Ben’s, as they embarked on a day of classes. They used to find it funny that two Alaskans had ventured over three thousand miles and found each other on a campus with thirty thousand other students. Maybe they’d stuck out like sore thumbs, both pasty pale from long winters amongst the sun-kissed bodies clad in bohemian shirts and shorts. She had always thought it was fate.
“We were too stupid in l—” Ben choked off the words, and her heart bounded into her throat. He’d been about to say they were too stupid in love to care about the classes they chose. He’d only uttered those precious words once during their courtship, on an otherwise ordinary night after they’d made love and she’d been snuggled close against his chest. She’d been on the edge of sleep, content as Ben caressed her hair. He must have thought she was asleep because he’d whispered, “I love you,” so quietly the sound was almost l
ost. “Too stupid in love to care about a tyrant of a teacher who assigned endless quantities of homework,” he said hoarsely.
The tension in the air thickened, his eyes sealed on hers. She focused on steadying her breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth. When their relationship had fallen apart, she’d spent endless hours wondering if he’d accidentally uttered those words for no better reason than because he was caught up in the afterglow of sex. Had wondered if maybe her larger-than-life feelings for him had been one-sided. But Ben had just casually admitted that they’d been in love. Whether it was their perilous situation or his time in the SEALS, Ben had grown and evolved enough to face his emotions in a way he never had before. He’d offered her a sincere apology on the plane, which was something that took guts. And he brought up past feelings, which was so completely un-Ben.
“Your arms must feel like jelly at this point,” he said motioning to Logan.
Her arms did ache from holding the boy for the better part of the day, and he was sleeping soundly now. “Yeah, they kind of do.”
“Let me take him then,” Ben said and lifted him out of her arms. He laid Logan gently on the padded floor and draped a thick red sweater over him. When he turned back to her, he narrowed his eyes. “You’re shivering.” Ben shrugged out of his heavy coat, crouched down, and wrapped it around her shoulders, helping her slide her arms though the sleeves. She held her breath as he found the zipper at the bottom of the material and pulled it up to her chin. “That’s better,” he murmured and shifted next to her, so their outer thighs were touching.
“W-what about you?” She tried to stop her teeth from chattering, but the cold had seeped through her skin.
“I run hot, plus I’ve got this sweater. It’s much thicker than what you’ve got on under your coat.” He smirked a little, but there was warmth in his eyes.
“You’re sweet to try and make me feel like I’m not a huge wimp.” She sent him a shy smile, even as the little heat she possessed rushed to her cheeks.
“A wimp?” He raised his brows and shook his head from left to right. “No way. Today, you were incredibly brave. Resilient.”
She glanced down at her hands folded in her lap. “Earlier, I was thinking how Logan and I could’ve boarded that flight with anyone.” Gathering her strength, she looked him right in the eyes. “I’m glad it was you, Ben.”
“Bet you weren’t so glad when we first boarded.” His cocky grin made her heart speed up.
“Not in the slightest.”
They both laughed, and for one breath, then two, their gazes locked as the fire crackled in front of them. His stare dropped to her lips and quickly came back up. There was a swirling sensation in her stomach, as she recognized the attraction in his eyes.
“But, really,” she said picking up on their conversation before something physical happened between them, “You took charge as the plane was going down, and again when we landed. You recognized there was still danger and brought us here.”
“You did the hard part—keeping Logan calm, soothing him when he was upset.”
“I guess that makes us a good team.” The moment the words left her lips, she cringed. They weren’t a team—not by choice, anyway. They were thrown together by an unfortunate circumstance and were making the best of it.
“So long as it turns out better than the three-legged race we tried to win at the school’s spring carnival,” he chuckled.
“We, in no way, were even close to winning.” She joined his laugh, remembering how they’d fallen into a heap in the middle of the field and had struggled to get back up.
“Who knew there’d be a huge gopher hole in the middle of the grass?” He smiled widely, his face instantly brightening at the memory.
“That hole was probably our saving grace. We weren’t doing so hot to begin with.” A gust of wind whooshed past the rocks, and she shuddered wishing for warmer weather. Trying to look on the bright side—and distract herself from the cold—she noted that although it was well below freezing, the night sky was glorious, like crushed crystal thrown onto pitch black velvet. There was a gap in the rocks where two boulders stacked against each other, leaving the sky visible from inside their temporary hideaway.
“You’re still cold.” There was concern in Ben’s eyes. “Maybe if we get a little closer, I can help warm you. Would that be okay?” He searched her face, waiting for an answer.
She swallowed hard, but nodded. “Okay.” The word had barely left her lips when he scooped her up as though she was feather-light, placed her on his lap, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. With the glittering stars overhead, the warm crackling fire in front of them, and the safety of Ben’s arms wrapped around her, she began to let some of the day’s tension melt away. Looking out at the sky made her feel so small, but also so much more connected to the man sitting beside her. Sitting close, chatting like this, felt like old times—and look where that led. Heartbreak. She didn’t want these stirrings rising up in her chest. Feelings she’d locked down long ago resurfacing.
“A little warmer now?” His breath tickled her ear and a long, liquid pull travelled to her lower belly.
“Mm-hmm.” Was all she could manage, and even that sounded strained and husky.
“Meg,” Ben whispered against her hair.
She angled her head so she could see him, and instantly recognized the mistake. His eyes had darkened, and he leaned closer, closer, until their lips brushed. The kiss was chaste, but it didn’t stop her blood from heating.
“We should say goodnight,” he said pulling his face away from hers slowly while still holding her steady on his lap. “It’s going to be an early morning.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze as if the poignant kiss from just a moment ago had already been forgotten. Part of her was glad he’d played the intense moment off as a quick goodnight kiss because she wasn’t at all comfortable with what that kiss could mean otherwise. In fact, the moment was best left forgotten.
Chapter Nine
Mark Slocum choked down on the throttle of his snowmobile, pushing the machine harder through the rough terrain. He needed to see the result of his plan. Needed to see some sign of the boy’s remains—or at the very least, the charred and destroyed plane—with his own eyes. Maybe then he’d stop hearing the sickening crack as Billy’s sled careened over a sharp angle in the ski slope. Feeling the weight of his eight-year-old’s limp body, heavy in his arms as he rushed through the doors of the emergency room. His boy was still breathing when he was wheeled away on the stark white stretcher and into the operating room.
That’s where they’d murdered his son. The wealthy anesthesiologist and surgeon. He’d never forget the sound of his wife, Marie’s, keening wail when the hospital staff told them Billy had died during surgery. Mark had vowed then and there, he’d take something from the people responsible for Billy’s death. The surgeon had no family of his own, so he paid with his life one evening when he went for a drive in his Lamborghini. The kill was unsatisfying, but Mark’s plan for the anesthesiologist was much better. By killing the man’s only son, he could watch him suffer as Mark had suffered—watch his life fall apart.
Mark threw his weight to the left, dodging a towering evergreen. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his nineteen-year-old son Carl made it through the turn. Pride swelled inside his chest. His eldest was ruthless. Carl was right behind him, keeping up with the break-neck pace, the vengeance gleaming from his eyes through the small slit in his black face mask. The plan had come together like fate, as if a divine being was giving its blessing to take the boy’s life. Mark had broken into the anesthesiologist’s house and placed a bug, then learned the doctor and his family would be traveling to Fairbanks for a medical convention. They booked their flight at the same airport where Carl worked as a janitor, and his son was able to aid him from the inside by stealing an ID badge from one of the offices to get him through the employee gate. He almost wanted to gloat over how simple it had been for him to slip into the ai
rport, find a quiet place to assemble the bombs, and then plant them on the plane. This time of year, workers were spending as little time as possible out in the frigid air and with everyone covered from top to bottom in protective winter gear, no one noticed that he didn’t belong there.
Originally, he had meant to kill the whole family, but the boy—Logan—had fallen ill before the conference and stayed behind for a few days to recover. It was then Mark realized that the anesthesiologist and his wife weren’t meant to die, but to writhe in agony when he took down the flight that carried their son and his nanny when they set off to join them in Fairbanks. Everything had gone according to plan. Now, all that was left was for Mark to see and bask in the fruit of his labors—even if he didn’t have time to bask for long. With the inclement weather, they had a small window of time to confirm the kill. Carl had discovered the rescue teams would begin their search before first light and left work complaining of the stomach flu.
As they got closer to the coordinates of the crash, Mark’s heart pounded like a war drum. He’d waited and plotted this moment for years. Those doctors had taken everything from him—not just his son, but his marriage, too, since his wife had left him shortly after they buried Billy. He’d lost his capacity to love, and could feel nothing but for pain. Carl had transformed from a happy-go-lucky boy to a sullen shell after his brother’s death, and for a parent, that was like having your soul shredded twice. Now the anesthesiologist—born to a wealthy family with a silver spoon in his mouth, an empire at his fingertips before he was out of diapers, a man who had received the very best education and learned the tools to ultimately kill Mark’s son—would have a taste of devastation. The poor and the rich shared the same capacity to bleed—and by God, Doctor Charles Hamilton would fall to his fucking knees and hemorrhage. Each morning he’d wake, and he’d sit up with a gasp as reality slammed into his chest—that his son died because he’d taken another child’s life.