by J. S. Marlo
Victor’s accomplice had struck him, then one of them had taken him for a ride in the forest. The only way for the two men to avoid being charged for assault and kidnapping was to make sure his body never resurfaced. The similarity between his predicament and Abbott’s fate didn’t escape him.
The rider swerved left. The rope cut through Avery’s coat and his right boot slid off the running board, brushing the snow.
His abductors had not tied his legs. While it might have been an oversight from their part, it was also possible they hadn’t anticipated he’d regain consciousness. In his current predicament, the element of surprise was about the only thing playing in Avery’s favor.
He carefully reeled his leg in without touching the driver.
The single headlight pierced through the dark stormy night, and a structure slowly emerged in front of them. Avery recognized Greta’s old cabin. Of all the places to ditch a body, the tunnel running underneath offered the best choice. No one would think of looking for him there.
His reputation as a heavy drinker made it easy for murderers like Victor to stage his disappearance.
Something banged to the rhythm of the wind, the sound echoing in the clearing. As Avery strained his ears to determine the origin of the racket, the snowmobile came to an abrupt halt in front of the swaying front door.
The engine died. Avery’s muscles tensed in anticipation.
As he stood, the driver removed his helmet. Avery crunched his abs, brought his knees to his chest, and kicked the guy in the lower back. The blow propelled him face down. The windshield shattered on impact. His kidnapper slumped on the hood, motionless.
A light shone from behind, and the engine of a second snowmobile grew louder.
Bloody hell. Avery didn’t sign up to get beaten or killed. Dying before he had a chance to tell Hannah where to find Rory wasn’t an option. For them, he needed to stay alive.
A knot in the rope rubbed against his left elbow. Through methodical twisting, he rolled the rope from his chest down to his belly, bringing the knot closer to his hands. Come on. A few more inches.
Steps crunched in the snow.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” The voice, muffled by the helmet, didn’t belong to Young.
The gun pointed at Avery’s chest—his service revolver—enforced the threat.
Avery strengthened his back. With his fingers on the knot and his best poker face in place, he stared into the black visor of his abductor. “You and Sleeping Beauty on the hood murdered Brent Abbott and old man Pike. If I die, the evidence will go directly to a task force in St. John’s.”
The guy took a step forward. “You have no proof.”
To call his bluff without denying the allegations resembled a bloody admission of guilt. “You want to bet?”
The rope snapped. Avery lunged at his assailant, grasping the hand wielding the gun. The guy yanked his arm back. Avery clung to his wrist. The forward thrust propelled them into the snow. They tumbled wrestling for the weapon. Curses worthy of a drunken sailor spilled from his adversary’s mouth.
A gunshot resonated through the night.
Sharp pain shot through Avery’s body, and silence befell upon the forest.
***
Too far to intervene, Hannah watched the fight unfold from where the tunnel exited into the forest. Tremors shook Snowflake’s body, intensifying her own apprehension.
The headlight of one snowmobile cast a yellow hue on the tall and stocky assailant looming over the two people lying immobile in the snow. He picked one of the bodies by its legs and dragged it inside the cabin.
Knee-deep in snow, Hannah trudged toward the scene. As she edged the tree line, the remaining body stirred near the snowmobile. Avery? The gusts of wind playing havoc with the falling snow hindered her ability to distinguish his features. Is that you?
The man propped himself on an elbow. She froze in place. Unlike Avery, he wore a helmet. He was the attacker.
The stocky man returned outside, alone, and rushed toward his buddy as he collapsed again. He carried him to the snowmobile with its light on.
They rode away in the stormy night.
Under her coat, Snowflake relaxed. Relying on her dog’s ears, gut feelings, and instincts, Hannah pulled a flashlight she’d taken from underneath Avery’s snowmobile seat and ventured near the cabin. The windshield of the other snowmobile had been smashed, and blood was splattered on the debris. More blood tainted the matted snow where Avery had battled one of his kidnappers. Tears blurred her vision. This is a nightmare. The light reflected on a metallic object partially buried in the crimson snow. She uncovered it with the tip of her boot. Avery’s gun.
Armed and short-tempered, she entered the cabin. “Avery? Are you—”
The officer lay sideways on the floor with a maroon stain seeping through the back of his jacket.
“Avery!” Discarding the gun on the floor, she removed a glove and pressed two fingers against his neck.
The erratic beating of her heart amplified the steady pulse coursing through the tips of her fingers. She released Snowflake from her coat and used one of the scarfs as makeshift bandage. The blood around the edge of the wound had started coagulating or freezing.
“I’ll go get the snowmobile. Snowflake, you stay here with him.”
As she slogged through the snow to where she’d hidden Avery’s snowmobile, the storm unleashed its fury on the forest. While only fools braved such conditions, the weather was a blessing in disguise. It would cover her escape.
On her return, she found Snowflake cuddled against Avery’s chest. It was obvious her doggie was fond of the man, and that he was attached to her son, making her wonder what kind of history existed between them.
“Snowflake, you’ll travel inside Avery’s jacket this time. You better be—” At the sight of the pen and notepad in Avery’s hand, good died on her lips.
His breathing was even and his eyes were closed. It didn’t look like Avery had awoken or moved, but she could have sworn he’d had his gloves on when she’d left the cabin. There was no way she could have missed the enigmatic handwritten note pinched between his fingers or the gun in his other hand.
rowan oreilly pei b&b buccaneer
“Avery?” Hoping for a reaction, she brushed his swollen cheek marred with cuts and bruises—and relished the cold, bristly texture against her bare hand. “It’s Hannah. Can you hear me?”
His eyelids flickered, and two chocolate-brown orbs stared at her. “Rory.”
From his lips, the name of her son mimicked a prayer. “Is that where I can find my son? At that Bed and Breakfast?”
He gave a slight nod. “Pink pocketknife.”
Pocketknife? And pink? As much as she raked her brain for other sound combinations, none made sense. “Did you say…pocketknife?”
“I gave Rowan a pink pocketknife.” A weak smile enlivened his beaten face. “Go to her. She’ll know I sent you.”
“I’m not abandoning you.” She’d believed him when he said Rory was safe with this Rowan. At the moment, that was more than she could provide her son. “You’re coming with me.”
“I have my gun back. I can fend them off. Just go.”
Leaving him at the mercy of these men wasn’t an option. She didn’t care if her old self had lacked character or run away from her obligations. This new Hannah isn’t shying away from responsibilities or duty.
“Swallow your pride, Stone, and drop the gun. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Parker…” He stretched his fingers, releasing the weapon. “You’re one stubborn woman.”
Somehow, had she been able to hear, she was convinced it would have sounded like a compliment. “I’m glad we agree.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The blow that had ripped through Avery’s flesh and set his nerves on fire shared a striking resemblance to the bullet that had shattered his life all those years ago.
Bloody thickhead. Young had plunged head first through a windshield. That should have
knocked him out for hours.
Some days, Avery just hated the perks that came with the job he loved.
His stomach was rolling and his upper back on his left side was burning, but it didn’t feel like a foreign object was stuck in his destroyed flesh. He’d retained full motion of his left arm, hand, and fingers, which he tested holding onto Hannah’s waist. Whatever instrument Young struck him with hadn’t caused as much damage as the bloody pain suggested.
He recalled a deafening detonation and the smell of a gun discharged at close range. This time around, the bullet had spared him but if Hannah hadn’t rescued him…
Sane women don’t steal RCMP vehicles. It’s a punishable offense. Hannah had not only managed to ride away on his snowmobile, she’d also confiscated his gun. The woman was as infuriating as she was smart, quick-witted, and resourceful. Becoming infatuated with a witness broke all the rules in the book.
Dawn had risen, but the storm blanketing the forest hadn’t abated. The longer it lasted, the better for them to elude any possible pursuers.
Hannah rode to a new stucco house built on a wooded acreage. Despite the curtains obscuring the windows, it looked unoccupied. She parked near a shed in the backyard.
Without turning the engine off, she turned to face him.
“It’s Freddy’s new house. He hasn’t moved in yet, but every night, he comes to check on the heating system. Everyone who knows him knows his routine. His visit won’t raise any suspicion, and he’ll be able to look at your injury.” Her ragged breath escaped in a cloud of white mist in the stormy winter air. “I can’t remember my brother, but I recall his schedule, his phobia of frozen pipes, and his keyless password. This is frustrating. My mind is a scrambled puzzle with half the pieces missing.”
As baffling as the mechanism by which her memory operated might be, it’d led them to safety. Weathering the storm in Freddy’s house gave them the option of resting while he figured out what to do next.
He raised his hand and gently brushed her cheek with the back of his glove. “We’ll work on that puzzle together, Hannah, but first, let’s park the snowmobile in the shed.”
Despite a frosty window to peek through, the shed offered the most convenient hideaway. With any luck, no one but the doctor will venture in the area.
***
The knife slipped from Roxette’s trembling hand and clattered on the vinyl floor of Vic’s bathroom. “I don’t know if I can do this, Vic.”
“Aren’t you a nurse?” Vic fed the stripper’s addiction, and he’d enticed her cooperation in exchange for her mounting drug debt.
“I ran out of money after my first year in nursing school.” Her pretty smile, pink hair, and bouncy boobs failed to gain his empathy. “He needs a real doctor.”
The bullet lodged in his friend’s thigh came from Stone’s gun. A doctor was bound by law to report any shooting accident and provide the authority with the bullet. Unfortunately for all of them, Vic’s blackmail list didn’t include any doctor, only a crackhead who’d bragged about being a nurse the last time he had sex with her.
“You get me the bullet, baby, and I’ll have a surprise for you. The kind you’re craving.”
Her eyes shone with greed. “Hold him tight.”
Regardless of his friend’s unconscious state, Vic pinned Matt’s pelvis and legs with both his arms. “Make it fast, baby. I need a drink.”
She retrieved the knife from the floor. Without cleaning it, she cut through Matt’s trousers and made a small incision at the bullet’s entry point. Some blood leaked down his leg, which she wiped with a towel. If his friend survived, he’d need a massive dose of antibiotic.
“That’s the tricky part.” She traded the knife for a pair of needle-nose pliers and plunged the instrument inside the wound. “If I nicked the artery, he’s as good as dead.”
His childhood friend hadn’t moved a muscle since Vic had carried him inside his bathroom. For all he knew, Matt might have died since Roxette last checked for a pulse. “Keep going.”
To his immense satisfaction, she presented him with an intact bullet coated with blood. “I did it!”
“You did great, baby.” He threw the incriminating evidence in the garbage, then patted her ass. “Go clean up in the kitchen, then you can look into the cupboard over the fridge. The bag labeled Cookie Cream is all yours.”
In his spare time, he’d been experimenting with different fillers. Cookie Cream was his latest concoction, one for which he hadn’t tested the potency yet.
Short on bandages, Vic wrapped a large towel around Matt’s leg and secured it with a belt. His friend was still breathing. “I’ll be back. Keep sleeping.”
Vic found Roxette sprawled on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge. With her eyes wide open and face twisted in a hideous grimace, she looked to have been the victim of a vicious nightmare. The lack of pulse confirmed she was dead. That’s one problem solved. Her accidental demise had saved Vic the trouble of ensuring her silence.
The bag of Cookie Cream was in her hand, barely missing a pinch. He took the drug and put it back where it came from. Killing clients wasn’t good for business. He needed to perfect the recipe before marketing it.
Once he settled Matt, he’d get rid of her. In the meantime, he put her coat back on her body before moving her by the door for fast and easy disposal. When he returned into the bathroom, Matt was moaning.
Some blood had seeped through the towel. Having read somewhere that keeping an injury above the heart reduced the bleeding, Vic propped Matt’s leg over the ledge of the tub.
“Vic?” His friend looked at him through glassy eyes. “What happened?”
“Stone shot you. No need to worry, I have the bullet. I’ll just run a short errand, then I’ll take you to the hospital.” Dumping Roxette shouldn’t take more than ten, fifteen minutes. “We’ll tell the doctor you shot yourself cleaning your gun and that you used your knife to remove it.”
In the fall, he and Matt had staged a similar scenario to cover up Foley’s murder. The Mounties had bought the accident. This was so easy.
Matt gripped his forearm and fought to sit, but Vic kept him on the floor.
“Where’s Stone?”
“Stay down, and don’t mind Stone. He’s trapped in the cabin.” Later on he’d go back and finish Stone off—if necessary.
“He’s set to expose the evidence against us.” Wincing in pain, Matt labored through the words. “You need to get him to talk and destroy the proof.”
But he’d already stabbed Stone. The officer was as good as dead.
Shit.
Chapter Forty
“You want to undress where?” Hannah hadn’t yet had the courage to tell Avery she’d lost her hearing, but at the rate she asked him to repeat himself, he’d soon figure it out by himself.
“Bathroom.” Except for his boots, which he removed in the entryway of the basement suite, Avery refused to shed anything else. “I’m not leaving a trail of blood on your brother’s floor and carpet.”
“It’s not Freddy’s, it’s…” An argument resurfaced in her mind, the words resounding loud and clear. “The basement suite is mine…kind of.”
“Kind of?” His face scrunched up. He unzipped his jacket and released Snowflake.
The dog retreated to a wolf skin laid on the living room floor in front of a wall heater.
“Freddy wanted me and Rory to move in with him.” Her brother’s insistence hadn’t matched her tenacity. “I refused to leave the cabin.”
“Why?” Crouched on the floor, he struggled to stand up.
She helped him to his feet, and with him leaning against her shoulder for support, she dragged him into the bathroom.
“I couldn’t stomach the idea of living in the same dwelling as his girlfriend, not that I told him that.” At least she hoped she didn’t hurt Freddy’s feelings by admitting the reason behind her refusal. With her cabin no longer standing, she might have to beg him for shelter.
One hand
on the sink, he shifted his weight from her shoulder to the counter. “Help me take my clothes off.”
Standing behind him, she slowly slid the clothes off his back. A three-quarter-inch-long slit punctured his jacket and work shirt. Back in the cabin, she’d been too busy patching him up to pay much attention to the details.
“It looks like he stabbed you with a knife.” The upper layer of the green and beige scarf showed no trace of blood. When she lifted it, it didn’t peel. “The scarf is stuck to the wound. If I pull on it, you’ll start bleeding again.”
Through the mirror above the vanity, she watched for his response.
His chest expended, outlining rippled muscles underneath sparse curly hairs. With his clothes on, he looked to be in his late thirties. Without them, he rivaled much younger men.
A brow arched over darkening brown eyes and a smile danced on his moving lips.
“Sorry, I…” Heat rushed to her face. She needed to rein in those wayward thoughts before they got her in trouble. “You were saying?”
He turned around and encircled her waist. “Take my pants off but leave the bandage until we’re in the shower.”
“What?” Stunned by what she read, she gazed past the bathtub at the frosty glass panel blurring a large ceramic shower. “You…you want me to go in the corner shower with you?”
“You have a son.” With his thumbs, he grazed the sensitive skin along the edge of her sweat pants, cooking up delicious sensations. “I’m sure you washed him hundreds of times. Just think of me as a bigger version of him.”
“Avery…” She could only recall Rory in her dreams, and the images her imagination dreamed up at this moment in time didn’t belong to a little boy. “This isn’t a game.”
“I’m not toying with you, Hannah. I can’t stand on my own.”
“Avery…” Under his ministrations, her pants dropped below her hips, then pooled at her feet. These weren’t the circumstances under which she’d pictured him undressing her.
“I need you under the shower with me.”
With her judgment clouded by the kisses they’d shared, she pressed her palms against his chest and gasped. His skin was warm to her touch—too warm. Something had spiked a fever, and she suspected an infection. She needed to clean all the injuries he sustained and check for any foreign objects in the wounds. Stepping under the water with him was the best way to achieve them.