At Any Cost

by Mandy Baxter

  Excellent. Who said Nick couldn’t be a team player? He’d just used teamwork to get his neighbor out of a snowdrift while simultaneously making contact with the best lead on Meecum they’d had in years. Metcalf would be so proud.

  Nick waited while Livy moved her car back into the parking space and killed the engine. He hadn’t been entirely truthful with her, but he had a tendency to favor that lovely gray area between fact and fiction. He’d been a cop, a sniper on Seattle’s SWAT team, before he’d joined the Marshals Service. The job had been satisfying enough but it hadn’t offered the kind of gratification he was after.

  Livy stomped her feet as she climbed the steps up onto the front porch. “The place is sort of a mess.” She stuck her key in the lock. “And it might be a little chilly because I let the fire die.”

  “As long as the coffee’s hot, I’m good,” Nick replied.

  Inside the entry was a little alcove with a wooden bench lined with cubes for shoes, and hooks above for coats. Nick followed Livy’s lead and kicked off his boots and shucked his coat. “I’m pretty sure that you and I have way different definitions for what constitutes a mess.”

  The place was tastefully though not richly decorated. In the low light he made out a cream microfiber couch and two worn leather recliners that faced a modest brick fireplace. The walls of the cabin were rough-hewn wood that she’d decorated with black-and-white and color photos of landscapes and wildlife scenes. There were no personal photos anywhere in the living room. In fact, the entire house was fairly generic, as though it had been staged to look quaint and comfortable.

  Livy hung up her coat and gave him a sheepish smile. She reached up to snatch the hat off her head at the same time she flipped on a light. “Okay, it’s a mess for me.”

  Nick’s breath stalled in his chest. The house could have looked like something out of Hoarders and he wouldn’t have given a single shit. He was too preoccupied with Livy to care about anything else. Golden-brown braids hung down past her shoulders, the tasseled ends just barely brushing the tips of her breasts. Her eyes were bright hazel, greener than they were brown, and her lips were dark pink and full. A little on the pouty side. She wasn’t wearing any makeup but her face was fresh and dewy. She was like a delicate pale rosebud poking up through the snow. Even prettier in full light than she’d appeared in the dark of dawn outside.

  In a flock of black sheep like the Black Death MC, her fleece must have been as white as the snow falling outside. How in the hell had someone like her ended up with Meecum and his crew? Again, nothing seemed to add up.

  Don’t forget, looks can be deceiving.

  “Go ahead and sit wherever. I’ll get some water going.”

  For the first time since he’d left Seattle, Nick needed to remind himself that he was on the job. Sort of. It would be his ass if anyone at the Eastern Washington district found out that instead of taking the mandatory vacation his chief deputy had insisted on, he was hunting down a lead on Joel Meecum. The U.S. Marshals Service didn’t look kindly on deputies who didn’t follow direct orders. Then again, they were all a little wild. Crazy. Prone to making reckless and life-threatening decisions. Hell, the agency was founded on Wild West cowboy shit. And Nick wasn’t any different than any of the rest of those crazy bastards. He’d be forgiven, but only after he slapped the cuffs on that lowlife son of a bitch and crossed his name from their Top 15 Most Wanted list.

  Rather than sit down, Nick ventured into the kitchen. Livy was scooping coffee grounds into a weird glass pot. “Do you want cream and sugar?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He leaned against the opposite counter, careful to keep his stance relaxed. “Is Frank late this morning, or were you leaving early?”

  Livy’s brow puckered. “Huh?”

  “Frank?” Nick repeated. The best way to get information out of someone was to simply engage them in conversation. People often let things slip in a casual back and forth that they’d be more guarded about during an interview or interrogation. “You were yelling at him when you were digging your car out.”

  Livy’s face screwed up into a grimace and she let out a groan. Her voice was light and soft, feathers caressing his skin. “I was yelling at my shovel.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as though gauging his reaction as she crossed to the fridge and grabbed a container of half-and-half.

  “You call your shovel Frank?” Uncharacteristic laughter bubbled in Nick’s chest. He didn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he’d never met anyone who named their snow shovel before.

  “Yeah, and he’s a dirty, rotten jerk, too.” She set the cream on the counter along with the sugar. “I gave him some of the best years of my life and when I needed him the most, he snapped. I mean, where’s the loyalty?”

  Soft and shy with a sense of humor and a mouth that would make a sailor blush. Nick liked to think that he could read people fairly well. He’d been trained to. But Olivia Gallagher was a mystery. Was it a part she played? Maybe a new persona to match her new identity? Nick couldn’t let his guard down around her. He knew the type of people she’d kept company with. Joel Meecum was a piece-of-shit murderer and that was only one of his more unsavory traits. For all he knew, Livy was simply playing a part. Though admittedly, she played it well.

  “Does the coffeepot have a name? Let me guess . . . Carl the Coffeemaker?”

  “No,” Livy answered with a snort. “That would be weird.”

  Nick cocked a challenging brow but she met him with a wry smile that tugged at his chest. Damn it. Reminding himself of who she really was and why he was here might be harder than he’d thought.

  * * *

  A cop! Of course, he could’ve been lying. Or even crooked. She’d heard Joel brag more than once that he had cops on his payroll. For all she knew, Nick Brady was waiting for the chance to put a bullet in her head and take the evidence of her death back to Joel. God, Livy, morbid much? The kettle whistled and she poured the boiling water over the grounds in the French press. From the corner of her eye, she studied Nick. It couldn’t hurt to further vet him. Hell, he might even be a decent guy.

  Her earlier assessment had been correct. Under his heavy coat was a body packed with bulky muscle. He towered over her by at least a foot and his jaw seemed to be perpetually squared as though always on the cusp of anger. Dark stubble roughened his face, adding to his hard edge. His lips weren’t too full or too thin. Perfect in Livy’s opinion. He could easily have been a gun for hire, or even one of the members of the Black Death. Imagining him atop a Harley, decked out in leather, wasn’t much of a stretch.

  But his eyes . . . Wow. The brown depths told another story. One that Livy was curious to hear. On the outside, Nick was a rock. But beneath his tough exterior, she sensed something deeper. Further vetting was definitely in order. He could have lied about being a cop, but maybe he really was who he said he was. Having a cop next door could be a good thing. Being from Washington, he couldn’t possibly know who Joel Meecum was and Livy might feel a little safer having him next door. It would be nice to come home from work and not have to deal with the tension that perpetually pulled her shoulders taut.

  Shit. Work.

  Livy put the lid on the carafe and depressed the plunger. She technically didn’t need to be there until the lifts opened at nine, but she’d figured that the lift operators might’ve needed help clearing last night’s snow from the loading areas. She didn’t mind getting up early or doing extra work. Anything was better than sitting home alone, worrying.

  She poured two cups and slid one over toward Nick. “I need to call the mountain. Be right back.”

  “The mountain?” Nick’s voice called after her and Livy dug her phone out of her coat pocket. “One of Frank’s distant cousins?”

  “Uh, Brundage Mountain,” Livy said with a laugh. “I’m a ski instructor.”

  “So basically, you get paid to hang out at a ski resort all day? Sounds like a sweet gig.”

  As though she was some sort of lodge bunny
? Livy dialed the lift supervisor’s cell but only got his voice mail. “Hey, Tim. I’m snowed in so I won’t make it up until around nine. Sorry I can’t help you guys out this morning. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Livy clutched her cell tight in her hand and looked around her living room, at the pictures hanging on the walls. Photos she went out and shot in order to keep her mind off the gnawing loneliness that ate away at her. Nick was officially the first person to step inside her house in four years. The first to see the pictures. To have a cup of coffee. The first to have a conversation with her that didn’t revolve around her job. A knot of emotion lodged in her chest, but Livy forced herself to swallow it down. Lonely was better than dead. It had become her mantra, the single thing that kept her going day after day. Offering Nick a cup of coffee to thank him for pushing her out of a snowdrift didn’t change anything.

  “You okay out there?”

  The rumble of Nick’s deep voice broke her from her reverie. She never should have invited him in. Wasn’t he only here for a month, though? What could it hurt to share a cup of coffee or two? This was about her safety, too. She had to know that he was trustworthy. That he wasn’t one of Joel’s goons come to get her. If he checked out, he’d be gone soon enough, and Livy would go back to her relatively isolated existence.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Nick appeared at the archway that led from the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. “I left a message. I’m sure everyone is digging out right now. It really came down last night.”

  Livy took a cup from his outstretched hand. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted in it, so I took a wild guess.”

  She savored the creamy goodness as it rolled over her tongue. Not too sweet, and just dark enough to taste the kick of the rich roast. A cop and he could make a great cup of coffee? Nick Brady really did need a cape. “Are you cold? I can turn up the heat. It just doesn’t make sense to rekindle the fire when I’m going to be leaving in a couple of hours.”

  “Nah, I’m all right.” Nick walked past her and made himself at home on one of the recliners that faced the fireplace. She wondered if he made it a habit to hang out in strangers’ houses. He seemed comfortable enough in hers. “Are you a good ski instructor?”

  Comfortable and up front. Was it a cop thing that even the most innocent of conversations made you feel like you were being interrogated? “I guess. I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

  Nick studied her with an intensity that Livy couldn’t help but find both unnerving and a little exciting. As though he were trying to climb right into her mind and dissect every single one of her thoughts. Her stomach tightened as a pleasant rush jolted through her bloodstream.

  “Maybe I’ll come up and take a lesson. I haven’t skied since I was a kid. I could probably use a refresher.”

  Livy grinned. “I’m sure you’d be right at home with the group of four to six year olds that I usually teach.”

  “Yeah, in that case, I think I’ll stick to motor sports.”

  She could totally picture him as a motorhead. He was probably one of those guys who did hill climbs and took their sleds into avalanche country because that’s where the best powder was. “I didn’t see a snowmobile in your driveway. Is that why you decided to vacation here?”

  “I don’t own a snowmobile,” he said. “And I came here because the cabin was free and my supervisor told me to get the fuck out of the office before he threw me out.”

  “Suspended?” Livy sipped from her cup to keep her hands from shaking. This was why it was important to get know him. The last person she needed as a neighbor was a morally ambiguous cop who might not be opposed to bending—or breaking—the law.

  “Not exactly. I’m a little . . . intense. It gets me into trouble sometimes.”

  Livy didn’t doubt that for a second. The set of Nick’s jaw, the deep focus of his dark eyes, his brow that seemed set in a permanent scowl all indicated a personality that swung toward type A and obsessive. But how was he intense? “Do you shake down grandmas and coerce confessions from teenage shoplifters?” She was only half kidding.

  “I like to ruffle feathers,” he said without breaking eye contact. “And I don’t quit until I get what I want.”

  Livy’s stomach wrung into a tight twist and released. The dark edge to his words shouldn’t have excited her. She didn’t know anything about him, for shit’s sake! There was a certain appeal to a man who knew what he wanted and went after it, though. Then again, men like that were usually trouble with a capital T. “Do people typically do what you tell them to? No questions asked.”

  He answered without a hint of humor. “Yes.”

  A rush of heat spread from Livy’s belly, outward between her thighs. “So”—she cleared her throat to keep her voice from quavering—“I take it you’re a loner?”

  “Yeah. Always have been.”

  Livy stared into her cup. “Me too.”

  A forlorn meow came from the staircase to the left. Livy turned to find Simon perched on the post of the banister. Nick’s lips quirked. “Not entirely a loner.”

  Simon leaped in a graceful arch and landed on the back of Nick’s recliner. The large tabby stretched out, looking curiously at their guest before leaning in to boop Nick’s forehead with his own. He froze, as though unfamiliar with even base affection and Livy’s heart stuttered in her chest. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

  “No. I’m not much of a pet person.”

  “Don’t tell Simon that,” Livy remarked. “It’ll break his heart.”

  As though this hulking, stern-faced man was no more harmful that his favorite squeaky mouse toy, Simon continued to rub against Nick. And whereas Nick barely tolerated the affection, the cat reveled in it, evidenced by his loud, rumbling purrs. Simon licked the top of Nick’s head and his eyes widened a fraction of an inch as one brow arched curiously.

  “Okay, buddy, I’m pretty sure Nick doesn’t need a bath. You’re so needy first thing in the morning, aren’t you?”

  Livy set her cup down on the end table and reached over to retrieve Simon. He let out a yowl in protest as she relocated him to the couch. “Sorry. He doesn’t get out much.”

  “Do you?”

  The question left the opportunity for too many answers. Answers Livy didn’t want to give. Before she could respond, the loud growl of an engine followed by the scrape of a blade echoed from down the lane. “Plow’s here,” she said. “Looks like I’m going to work after all.”

  Nick’s expression fell but he quickly recovered the stern countenance that Livy assumed was his “relaxed face.” She’d hate to see what he looked like when he was truly angry, because he could be considered threatening while exchanging polite conversation.

  Nick stood and handed Livy his cup. “Thanks for the coffee, Livy, and be careful out on the roads today.”

  She wondered at the way he stressed her name and a shiver danced down her spine. “It’s always the other guy you’ve gotta watch out for, isn’t it?”

  “True.” Nick gave her a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he headed for the tiny foyer, put on his boots and coat, and grabbed his gloves. “See ya around?”

  Did she want to see more of him? His gaze locked with hers, warm and so intense that it sucked the air right out of Livy’s lungs. Heat swamped her. Yes, she definitely wanted to see more of him. “Sure,” she said with a tentative smile. “See ya around.”

  Chapter Four

  Nick stuffed a potato chip in his mouth as he studied the case file on Joel Meecum and the Black Death motorcycle club. Several notebooks were scattered across the table, his own notes that he’d taken over the past few months. Some guys hiked, fished, went to concerts in their spare time. Nick investigated fugitives.

  Outside, snow was coming down steadily. The second wave of winter storms that were supposed to be hitting the area over the next couple of weeks. Payette Lake beyond his dining room window stretched on for a couple of miles, the water hidden by a layer of ice and snow that
painted a pretty damned serene picture.

  But he hadn’t come here for the view.

  Nick’s phone buzzed, the vibration sending the device crawling across the table toward him. He checked the caller ID and swore under his breath. He could let it go to voice mail. He was on vacation, after all. Against his better judgment, he grabbed the cell and swiped his finger across the screen. “Brady.”

  “Hey. It’s Morgan.”

  Ethan Morgan worked the warrants squad and had several arrests under his belt, all of them from past and current Top Fifteens. Nick also suspected that he was the one who suggested to their chief deputy that Nick take some time off. He was a good guy, really. If Nick would have been better about forming any kind of relationship with one or two of his coworkers, the dude might’ve been cool to hang out with.

  Nick’s disinterest in camaraderie was only one of the reasons he’d been forced to take a break. “What’s up?” It’s not like Morgan was calling to see how his vacay was going. Might as well get down to business.

  “I’m missing a case file. Meecum. Have you seen it?”

  Shit. Nick knew that it would only be a matter of time before Morgan noticed that the file wasn’t in the stack on his desk anymore, but he’d been hoping that it would be after he had Meecum in cuffs. “I haven’t been there for a week. How would I know where it is?”

  “Come on, Brady. You’ve had a hard-on for Meecum ever since you came on. And it’s not like you haven’t borrowed case files from other desks before.”

  “Maybe you misplaced it. Getting forgetful in your old age?”

  “Fuck you, Brady.” Morgan was annoyed, but even so his words were spoken with a certain amount of humor. As bristly as Nick was, the Marshals Service was still a tight-knit group. As the new guy, he expected a little shade to be thrown his way. “Where the hell is my case file?”

  “Check with Courtney. He could have it.”

  “Nope.”