Ice Lake: Gone ColdCold HeatStone Cold

by Daniels, BJ; Daniels, BJ; Daniels, BJ

  But he did it anyway.

  He brushed his lips over hers and hated that it made the stakes feel even higher. If that were possible. They were already as high as they could get.

  Leah drew her weapon, adjusting it so it would fit in her hand despite the cast. Alex didn’t want to think about just how bad her aim would be. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to fire or respond. This was one scenario where he hoped the only thing she would be doing was waiting in the hall for him.

  He took out his own gun, and shoved the walkie-talkie into Leah’s pocket. If something went wrong, maybe she’d be able to call Winston for backup. After all, the manager was armed. Plus this way he could contact them if Harper left the storage room before they got there.

  “Let’s go,” Alex said, and they didn’t waste any more time.

  By now, hopefully Winston had made it back to his office to keep watch on the computer. And perhaps Harper hadn’t yet had time to set up everything he’d planned in the storage room. Alex just needed the man to be one step off. That was all. It would be enough to take him down.

  Thankfully, the halls and the stairs were clear. No guests. They should all be tucked away in their rooms with the doors locked.

  Leah and Alex took the stairs to the basement, trying to keep their footsteps light so Harper wouldn’t hear them coming. When they reached the bottom, Alex paused to look around. Listen.

  And to get his bearings.

  The hall was empty, but that didn’t put him at ease. After all, he’d expected it to be that way. The danger was inside the storage room.

  It was colder here than in the rest of the lodge. Probably not a high priority area for heating, since they were still on generator power. Alex saw Leah shiver, and he wished they’d worn coats.

  Reaching the wall switch, he turned off the overhead lights. As Winston had told them, auxiliary lights on the baseboards lit up, though they didn’t provide much illumination. Just enough for them to see where they were walking.

  So that meant Alex had a decision to make.

  When he opened the door to the storage room, the near darkness might not immediately alert Harper. That could buy Alex some time. But he didn’t want that little advantage if it meant putting Leah at greater risk.

  “I don’t want you in the dark,” he whispered. “In case someone else comes down here.”

  “I can see just fine,” she whispered back.

  Alex let his eyes adjust, and realized that was true for him, as well. He could see. Well, shadows, anyway. Maybe that would be enough.

  With Leah right behind him, he crept toward the storage room door. The only door in the entire hallway, thank God. That meant if Harper’s accomplice or someone else came down to the basement, they’d have to use the stairs, and Leah would be able to see them.

  “Stay put,” Alex mouthed to her, praying she would obey. He didn’t want to have to watch out for her while he was dealing with the devil.

  “Be careful,” she whispered back. Though it wasn’t necessary. He had to be careful, because the stakes were too high for him to take a risk.

  Alex pulled in a deep breath to steady his nerves, and got his gun aimed and ready. Staying low, he slowly turned the knob, trying not to make a sound. The door was heavy, and Alex pulled it open just enough so he could slip inside.

  Like the hall, the storage room was dimly lit, but humming with sounds from the generator and other equipment. The place was a tangle of industrial-size washers and dryers and wheeled laundry bins overflowing with bedding. There were plenty of places for a killer to hide. And be trapped. Plenty of places for an ambush, too.

  Alex let the door ease shut behind him.

  He waited, on high alert, trying to pick through the mechanical sounds to find if he could pinpoint Harper.

  Nothing.

  Bracing his right hand with his left wrist, Alex took a step, his gaze slashing from one side of the massive room to the other. Harper was somewhere inside. Alex was sure of that. But where?

  The question had no sooner crossed his mind than he heard a scuffling sound. Next to one of the dryers. He didn’t actually see the person, but sensed he was there.

  Alex went closer.

  He thought of Leah. Of her standing guard in the hall. She’d be terrified, and probably was having the mother lode of hellish flashbacks. She’d never admit that, of course. One reason why Alex wanted to end this as quickly as possible and get back to her.

  Another sound reached him.

  Alex still couldn’t make out who or what was causing it, but he eased closer, making sure no one sneaked up behind him.

  Then he saw the source of the sounds: Patrick Harper.

  But the man wasn’t ready to attack.

  Instead, Harper was on the floor, his hands and feet tied together. There was a gag in his mouth, but he was frantically shaking his head.

  What the hell?

  Alex braced himself for anything, but the sound still came as a shock.

  A hiss.

  A split second later, before Alex had time to react, a blast tore through the room. And through him.

  The force of the explosion slammed into Alex and threw him into one of the filled laundry vats. Somehow, he managed to hang on to his gun, but it knocked the breath from him. He fought for air. Fought to get back on his feet. He finally managed it.

  Until there was a second blast.

  This one was louder than the first, and came with a flash of blinding light. Alex automatically sheltered his eyes. And then he heard it.

  The door opening and then closing.

  His stomach dropped to his feet.

  The strangler had left the storage room and was in the hall with Leah. This couldn’t be happening! But Alex reined in his fear and tried to think like an agent.

  He raced toward the door, grabbed the knob and turned it, he pushed hard, but the door didn’t open. No! Someone had blocked it so he couldn’t get out.

  Alex tried harder, ramming his shoulder into the metal panel, hoping he could dislodge it. It gave way, just a little, but not enough for him to get through.

  Outside the door, he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice.

  Leah screaming.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GOD, NO. PLEASE.

  Those three words rifled through Leah’s head when she saw the man rushing toward her. For a split second, she’d thought it was Alex escaping the explosion, that’s why she hadn’t fired right away.

  And the delay turned out to be a mistake.

  A mistake that might cost her big time.

  Because it wasn’t Alex. Nor Patrick Harper.

  It was Joe Tarkington, moving like a man bent on murder.

  He rushed from the room, kicking the door shut. No cast on his leg. And he certainly wasn’t limping—the injury must have been a ruse.

  Tarkington planted his weight against the door, and in the same motion, latched on to her, dragging her against him so that her back was glued to his chest.

  Leah managed a scream. Barely.

  And then he had her by the throat. Not face-to-face like the last time, in the dead woman’s house. He was behind her now, his beefy right arm across her throat. But the new position was just as effective, just as deadly.

  He was squeezing the life out of her.

  Leah tried to rip his arm away, but he yanked her head back. The pain was instant, blinding—hard pressure against old bruises and wounds. He didn’t stop there. He slammed his left fist against her hand, just below the cast and her broken wrist.

  Pain shot through her. Too much pain. And he kept on punching her, trying to dislodge the weapon.

  He succeeded.

  Even though Leah tried to hang on, she couldn’t. Her gun clattered to the floor, and he squeezed harder. And harder.

  She fought for air. Fought him, too. But he was a lot stronger than she was, and the kicks she landed against his legs had no effect.

  Behind them, she could hear Alex shouting an
d banging on the door. He was trying to get out so he could save her, but Tarkington wasn’t budging. He’d wedged his body in place, anchoring the door shut while he murdered her.

  So, this was how she would die?

  That question managed to make it through the unbearable pain and the fear. It cut through everything she was feeling and doing. Or rather not doing. And then her question had an easy answer.

  No.

  She would not die without a fight.

  Leah had to act fast. A gray light was closing in, and she knew she had just a few moments of consciousness before she would pass out. Then she’d be an easy kill.

  She gathered what little strength he hadn’t managed to choke out of her, and forced herself to react. Tarkington was a lot bigger and stronger than she was. And he was fueled by a killer’s adrenaline.

  But Leah let her own adrenaline surge through her.

  She dug her fingernails into his arm, clawing at him, kicking harder. Doing anything she could to break his grip. She drew back her right arm and slammed the cast into the side of his ribs. Pain jolted through her again and threatened to rob her of what little breath she had left but she persisted.

  Finally, she got a reaction.

  He cursed and staggered to one side. Just enough that he was forced to ease up on his grip.

  Leah punched him again, and again. She battered his ribs with the hard plaster, and when he staggered again, she threw her weight against him.

  Both of them slammed to the floor.

  Just as Alex crashed through the door.

  He had his gun aimed and ready, and even in the dim light, she saw the fear and the determination on his face. But Leah also saw that Alex didn’t have what they needed most.

  A clear shot.

  Tarkington and she sprawled in a tangle, and despite her pain and lack of breath, she tried to scramble away from him so that Alex would be able to shoot him. But Tarkington grabbed her and managed to get his arm around her throat again. He then snatched her gun off the floor.

  And fired.

  At Alex.

  Leah hadn’t thought she could be more terrified, but she was wrong.

  Oh, God.

  Not Alex.

  The strangler couldn’t kill him.

  Alex dived to the side, but she couldn’t tell if he’d been hit. Or worse, if the bullet had been fatal.

  The flashbacks came. Slamming into her. Leah had to battle the fear all over again, but she had more motivation than ever when Tarkington took another shot at Alex.

  “I’m coming to help,” she heard someone call out. Winston. But he wasn’t nearby. His voice boomed over the intercom.

  The sound of it caused Tarkington to freeze for just a second—not enough time for Leah to get away. Tarkington dragged her in front of him, using her as a shield. He got her in a choke hold again.

  He hadn’t given up his plan to murder her.

  No surprise there. It was reasonable, in a twisted-killer sort of way. After all, they knew who he was. And he couldn’t possibly get away, with the blizzard raging outside. Which told her that he was willing to make this a suicide mission just so he could finish her off.

  That riled her to the core.

  And made her fight even harder.

  It wasn’t a tactic she’d thought she would ever use, but Leah bit into his arm and didn’t hold anything back. She dug her teeth into his flesh while she bashed her cast against any part of him she could reach.

  Tarkington cursed her, calling her a vile name.

  He fired again.

  Leah couldn’t see where the bullet landed, but it went in Alex’s direction. She didn’t give up. Couldn’t. She kept fighting. Kept biting and hitting at him. But he didn’t give up, either. He was hell-bent on murdering her tonight.

  She heard a feral sound, and it took her a moment to realize it had come from Alex. Leah tried to shout for him to stay down, but it was too late.

  Alex came rushing at them.

  Tarkington pulled the trigger again, the loud blast echoing in the narrow hall. But Alex still kept coming. He dived, crashing into them, so they all landed in a heap on the floor, arms and legs interlaced. But the danger was still there, since Tarkington had hold of the gun.

  Alex latched on to the man’s right arm. He drew back his own weapon and bashed it against Tarkington’s forehead. There was a sickening thud of gunmetal against flesh and bone, but their attacker still didn’t give up, or release Leah.

  She knew that as long as she was in the mix, Alex wouldn’t have a clean shot. She had to get out of the tangle. But how? She didn’t have many options. Since her right arm was numb from the pain, she rammed her left fist against Tarkington and finally wriggled free from the choke hold. She scrambled to the side, finally as far from the fray as she could get.

  Which wasn’t far.

  Trapped against the wall, she was less than two feet from Alex and Tarkington, but she got a much clearer picture of their situation. Both men were battered, bloodied and bruised. Alex was possibly shot, since there was a fair amount of blood on him. But that didn’t stop them from fighting. They were in a life-and-death struggle, and Leah had to do something to help.

  She looked around and spotted the fire extinguisher that Winston had used to hide the camera. It was a challenge to move, a challenge to reach for it, but Leah managed to rise to her feet and pull it from the wall.

  “Get down!” Alex yelled.

  It took her a split second to realize he was yelling at her. She turned to face him, only to see Tarkington swing the gun in her direction—and point it directly at her.

  Despite Alex’s desperate clawing at him, Tarkington pulled the trigger.

  Leah saw horror register on Alex’s face, just before the bullet slammed into her chest.

  The pain was instant. Searing. Blinding. Leah felt as if a keg of dynamite had exploded in her chest, and she couldn’t breathe.

  Her legs turned to rubber and, with no other choice, she dropped the fire extinguisher and sank to the floor, unable to move. Unable to do anything except watch. And feel.

  Oh, mercy.

  She could feel. Not just the pain in her body, but the pain in her heart. It was tearing at her, and she wasn’t sure she could take it much longer.

  Everything started to swirl around her. Not the flashbacks or the fear. But Alex. Just Alex.

  She’d tried to keep her feelings for him locked away. Well, that wasn’t working. The lock was off, and everything she felt for him flooded through her.

  He was risking his life for her. Ready to die for her. And yet she’d never told him that he’d been more than just her lover.

  He was the man she loved.

  Alex dropped his gun so he could use both hands and all his strength to grip Tarkington’s shooting arm. He rammed it and the man’s weapon against the wall, over and over again. Still, the gun didn’t fall. Tarkington’s face was twisted. Sick. And he laughed.

  Leah could only watch as Tarkington took aim. Not at her, but at Alex.

  Until that moment, she hadn’t known if she could move. But somehow she did. She pushed aside the pain and lurched forward to pick up the gun Alex had dropped. All her training and instincts became focused on the man who was about to kill Alex.

  She took aim.

  Fired.

  The recoil sent another jolt of pain through her broken wrist and her burning chest, but Leah didn’t take her eyes off the Big Sky Strangler. She held her aim steady in case she had to fire again.

  But it wasn’t necessary.

  The gun slid from the madman’s hand, and his head flopped back, bashing against the wall. His oily smile was still in place, though. Frozen on his face, as his lifeless eyes gaped up at the ceiling.

  Alex got to his feet and stood over Tarkington, looking very much like the agent he was. He was ready to act, but there was nothing left to do. The shot Leah had fired had gone directly into the strangler’s heart and put an end to his worthless life.

&
nbsp; “The Kevlar,” Alex grunted. He came toward her and started loosening her top. “You’re okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound certain of that at all.

  Leah wasn’t, either.

  Alex fumbled at her clothes, peeling off her top and then the vest beneath. With the release of pressure, the burning stopped almost instantly. But not the pain. It was still there, throbbing in the center of her chest.

  Leah looked down, terrified of what she might see. There was no blood. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the aftermath of the attack, but it took a moment for that to sink in. The vest had stopped the bullet Tarkington fired at her. Alex had insisted that she put the vest on, and because of his insistence, she was alive.

  She looked at him. No wounds there, either. Yes, there was blood, but it didn’t appear to be his. It had likely come from Tarkington during the fight.

  “You’re okay,” Alex repeated in a hoarse whisper. And this time, Leah believed him.

  “It’s over,” she managed to say, just as he gathered her into his arms.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALEX HEARD LEAH MOVING around in the bathtub, and he waited. While waiting, he paced, something he’d been doing a lot of since the start of her marathon bath session. He could do something else, but couldn’t quite figure out what.

  It had been only a few hours since Leah had killed a man and nearly been killed herself. He wasn’t sure how fragile she would be when she stepped from the bath and came back into her room.

  He certainly wasn’t faring well.

  His body was a tangle of nerves and spent adrenaline, and he was battling bad flashbacks. The strangler had nearly succeeded in finishing Leah off this time. If Alex and she had done one thing differently, one tiny thing, Leah might not be bathing in the next room, and he might be grieving her death. As it was, he was grieving all the pain she’d gone through, not once but twice, so they could nail this bastard.

  But by God, they had nailed him.

  The Big Sky Strangler would never kill again.

  Burney Novak, not Joe Tarkington, was the SOB’s real name. Alex had learned that when he’d done a search of the man’s room and found his driver’s license, plus a master key card that had obviously gained him entry to the dead woman’s room and the room where he’d left the tape recorder. Alex had also learned the cast was a fake, since Novak hadn’t been wearing it when he’d attacked Leah.