by Alice Sharpe
Except that took time and time was something she had precious little of. And face it, she was whisper close to being his adversary, or at least he would see it that way, and he didn’t appear to be the kind of man you wanted to be on the bad side of. If he’d just let her leave when she’d tried to, then she’d be on her way back to Reno and none of this would have happened.
You’d be on your way empty-handed, her racing mind reminded her, driving a stolen truck with this killer on your heels. And don’t forget, empty-handed means by this time tomorrow, you’ll be an orphan.
“You still with me?” Nate hissed when he paused behind a row of arborvitae. A shot went off, but it hit several feet to their left, over by a planter that would be filled with wildflowers in three months if it survived the night.
“I’m here,” she whispered, bumping into him as she scooted to pull her foot into the shadow.
“Listen,” he said, his voice very soft, his lips right next to her ear. He’d grabbed her shoulder with one hand when she’d tumbled against him and he didn’t release it now. His strong grip was oddly reassuring and his warm breath against her frozen ear distracted her for a second. “I’m concerned this could be a trap.”
“What do you mean?”
“There could be another gunman waiting inside the house.”
A serious shiver ran up both her arms, made a U-turn and raced right back down to her fingertips. That was exactly what Bellows would plan—a trap where she’d be forced to spill her guts. But how did you spill your guts about something you didn’t know anything about?
“The back door is locked,” he added, as if to himself.
“Not if you know where the key is.”
“And you do?”
“I think so,” she said, hoping it was still where her father used to keep it. She hadn’t lived in this house for eleven years. By now the key could be lost, the lock might have been changed... Who knew? “There’s a fake brick next to the steps.”
“Let’s go,” he said as he tossed a rock several feet across to the other side of the porch. It hit a drainpipe or something else metallic. A round of deafening shots galvanized her as Nate grabbed her hand and tugged her in the other direction, around the corner of the house. From the sound of things, Nate’s truck had just lost a window and a couple more tires, or maybe the shots had hit her father’s old beater.
They crawled behind the row of camellias her mother had planted in the far past. The snow was deep, but not as deep as in the yard itself, thanks to the bushes and the overhanging eaves. As a child, she’d had to be bribed to come back here to turn on the water or hook up a hose because of the spiders that lurked in the leafy darkness. Tonight, spiders seemed like a distant threat from more innocent days.
“It should be right around here,” she said as they scooted into a small clearing by the back porch. The snow covered almost everything and they both dug like harried rabbits. “I got it,” she said, her voice raw from the cold. She picked up a brick that appeared slightly smaller than the others. Her fingers were so numb she couldn’t discern the texture of the stone, but it felt blessedly light, as though it wasn’t really made out of clay. She wiggled the bottom and a panel slid open to reveal something that twinkled in the indirect light seeping through the window above.
“Eureka,” Nate whispered as she shook the key out into his hand. She remained crouched while he slowly got to his feet. A second later, she heard the sound of the key in the lock. “You stay here. I’ll go check,” he said, his face surrounded by a veil of condensed breath.
She didn’t respond, just followed behind him through the back door, closing it quietly behind her, ignoring his disgruntled expression when he turned around and found her standing there. No way was she staying outside alone. Besides, it was at least a little warmer in here and she was frozen to the bone.
“Did your father own a gun?” he whispered.
“He used to. If he still has it, it would be in that locked cabinet in the back of his closet.”
“And the key?”
“I didn’t have time to look for it.” Truth was, she’d been searching for that key when she’d heard Nate arrive.
“I’ll find it,” Nate said. He stared down at her, his features visible for the first time in what seemed a long time. His skin was slightly tanned, as though he spent a fair amount of time outdoors. His hair was long for a lawman, thick and dark, his lashes luxuriant, his gray eyes wary. She hadn’t noticed his dark eyebrows before, how straight they were and how they framed his eyes. They currently furled inward as he studied her. “Can I trust you to stay by this door and yell like a banshee if anyone approaches it?”
“You mean as opposed to running outside and taking my chances with a gun?” His eyes narrowed now and she could sense the lingering distrust. “Sorry,” she said, relenting. “Okay, I’ll act as lookout. Just hurry.”
He nodded once, quick and decisive. Arming himself with a knife from the metallic strip mounted above the cooktop, he left the kitchen and headed toward the entry hall without making a sound, although he did leave a trail of dirty melting snow behind him.
The knife struck her as an excellent idea, so she grabbed one for herself and slid the deadbolt closed. This time when she glanced at her watch, her heart all but stopped beating. The night was being gobbled up like Christmas dinner and she felt like the main course. For a second she considered dimming the lights, but thought better of it. She could still hear the occasional shot coming from the yard and figured the gunman must be shooting at shadows. No need to alert him the game had moved indoors.
How could she even joke about this being a game? Her dad was dead and it might very well be her fault, no matter how unreasonable he’d been. If she didn’t get real clever or real lucky very soon, then her mother would pay the price as well. Nope, this wasn’t a game.
A flash of light out in the yard, barely visible now because of the falling snow, caught her attention and she involuntarily jerked. The window in the door exploded and she hit the floor along with a shower of safety glass. Yelling like crazy, she scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the front hall, sure the gunman was seconds away from crashing through the door.
She ran right into Nate, who had managed to find a rifle. He immediately caught her around the waist and swung her behind him, then continued on into the kitchen while she clung to the faux paneling, the knife gripped in her white-knuckled hand. Her gaze followed him as he ran to the door and started firing shots through the broken window.
He knelt to reload, his concentration so intent on the gun and the ammunition that he might have been in a different world. He stood again and aimed, letting off a few rounds, then waited. It had grown ominously quiet outside.
Up until that point, Sarah had thought of Nate as part obstacle and part protector, a leader, but standing there, his jeans wet from melting snow, his taut body ready for action, he came into sharper focus as a fellow human being who had walked into a mess not of his own making and was now stuck.
She lowered her gaze. She knew he would do everything in his power to safeguard her, whether he trusted her or not. That should have reassured her. Instead, along with everything else, it made her stomach roll.
After several very long moments, he turned to look at her and their gazes connected like two hot wires with a spark in the middle. She drew a small, quick breath, surprised by the tension between them that suddenly leaped with awareness. It was almost as if he could read her mind and knew darn well that she was determined to leave this ranch as soon as she could.
“You look scared,” he whispered.
“And you’re not?”
“Nerves of steel,” he said, but he said it with a self-deprecating smile and a soft shake of his head.
“There’s nobody else in the house?” she asked.
“Nope, we’re alone.�
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She gestured with her head toward the broken window and the seeming emptiness of the backyard. “Do you think you hit him?”
“Either that or he’s circling around to the front.”
Sarah turned her head suddenly. “What’s that sound?”
He cocked his head and listened for a second, then strode toward her. “That’s a two-stroke engine,” he said. They both raced into the entry, where it was obvious the noise came from outside the house. They flanked the door and peered through the small inset piece of glass. At first there was nothing to see, then a light blazed on, wavering through the snow. “Headlight,” Nate said under his breath.
Sarah looked up at him. “Just one?”
“A damn snowmobile,” he said, lifting the rifle. “I should have guessed. How else would anyone get up here and away again? Okay, stay put, and this time I mean it!” He was out the front door and headed into the storm before Sarah could even react to his madness. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned into the room and recoiled as her father’s bloody body met her gaze.
There was nothing she could do to help him—or Nate, either, for that matter. What she did have was an unforeseen few moments alone to try to finish what she’d come for. Otherwise, in less than twenty-four hours, her mother would be dead. Sarah desperately needed to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
No, that wasn’t true. She needed two rabbits.
All she had to do was find two hats. And the only place she could think to look that she hadn’t already was the safe.
* * *
KEEPING TO THE SHADOWS and wishing like crazy he had a flashlight, Nate skirted the yard. The snow was falling so fast and furious it was hard to get his bearings. He could no longer see the dim house lights or a vehicle headlight, either, but he could hear the engine and so far it didn’t appear to be moving away. He just tried to follow the sound, but the wind roaring through the overhead branches made even that chore tricky.
Armed only with Mike’s six-shot Winchester saddle gun that was undoubtedly older than he was, Nate’s impromptu plan included tackling the gunman and subduing him. The bonus would be gaining control of the snowmobile, which could then be used to get to a place where they could summon help. Because it was obvious there was no way the truck could be fixed and driven in this weather. And that car of Sarah’s was a joke.
He wasn’t going to allow himself to think about Sarah and all the ways she confused him, at least not right now. There was something strange about her, but he needed to focus his attention on the matter at hand.
The engine pitch changed, and he knew his quarry was about to leave. The snow was too deep for him to run, but he slogged through as fast as he could, his plan seeming more naive by the moment. By luck, he bumped into what felt like a pile of rocks, and that at last gave him some semifirm footing. Using his numb hands and clutching the rifle with a death grip, he scrambled up on top in time to see the vehicle’s headlight passing to his left. He fired off a few shots, knowing this was a last hurrah, then threw caution to the wind and leaped toward the lights, reaching out to grab where he assumed the driver would be seated.
A sudden burning sensation flared in his left arm. His fingers brushed hot metal for a microsecond before he found himself facedown in the snow with a mouth full of exhaust. He still grasped the rifle and was kind of amazed he hadn’t shot himself, though his arm throbbed. As he sat up, the roar of the snowmobile sounded like evil laughter. The taillights had already disappeared. By the time he got to his feet, even the motor sound had been swallowed up by the night.
The gunman was gone.
He clutched his left biceps and wasn’t surprised when his hand came away bloody. He hadn’t wounded himself with his own rifle, but the gunman must have gotten off a parting shot.
So much for leaving the gun and badge back in Arizona. If he’d come armed with a decent weapon, this could all be over now, and once again, the inadequate feelings from being helpless during the mall shooting all but choked him. Why had he thought he could run away from being who he was?
He had to get back to the house, and that meant figuring out which way it lay, then getting there before hypothermia set in. This time when he questioned Sarah, she’d better say something worth listening to.
Chapter Four
By the time Nate finally bumped into his truck and stumbled the rest of the way to the house, he was experiencing an eerie sensation of being frozen and light-headed at the same time. His trusty jacket was more or less toast, but it had probably saved his life by maintaining his core temperature. Good thing he’d never had the opportunity to take it off.
He had no idea where or when he’d lost his hat, and his head was freezing. He loved the old Stetson, but hats came and went just like women.
All this was flittering through his mind while his light flashed over his truck, and he swore. He’d just finished paying the blasted thing off and he was no longer on the receiving end of a monthly paycheck. Look at the poor thing. The windshield had somehow survived, but the passenger window was gone, half the tires blown out, bullet holes down one side, and that was just what he could see in a glance. He swore again and felt like kicking something.
By the time he got inside the house, he was cold from temperature and anger. First thing to take care of was his arm. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to depend on Sarah to help him—so far she hadn’t struck him as the helpful type.
Where was she, anyway? Why hadn’t she been waiting at the door, anxious to hear the outcome of his mission? What was more important to her than staying alive?
Bypassing Mike’s body, he grabbed a bright throw from the back of a chair and started to drape it across the dead man, then stopped. The least he could do was preserve the crime scene until the experts got here. The camera on his phone had exploded with everything else, but maybe he’d find another one somewhere in with Mike’s possessions.
Which reminded him that Mike’s keys, wallet and cell appeared to be missing, along with his computer and who knew what else. Was this a robbery gone wrong or was it something more complicated?
He dropped the throw back on the chair and went looking for Sarah. He found her in her father’s room, poking into the now unlocked gun cabinet that Nate had opened by finding the key tucked away in the pocket of the hunting vest hanging beside it.
“What are you doing?” he said.
She turned suddenly, a bulging manila envelope in her hands. There were additional boxes and envelopes piled on the bed as well. Her eyes widened as though she’d forgotten he was there. Or maybe she was just startled he’d made it back alive. “Did you get him?” she asked. “Did you see who it was?”
“No to both,” he said.
She swallowed as she pushed her left hand down into her pocket. Was she holding something? The past hour or so had somehow honed her beauty into a grittier, darker form, enhanced by the dirt smudged on her jeans and across her cheek. In all honesty, it made her twice as sexy as she’d been, and that was saying something.
His head swam in the sudden heat of the room and he swayed a little. “What’s in the envelope?”
“Dad’s retirement stuff. I was looking for some old papers of mine.”
“Old papers,” he responded, his voice dry.
“Yeah. School papers, my diploma... Listen, it doesn’t matter. They’re not here.”
“Anything else interesting in there?” he asked, nodding toward the safe.
“No,” she said quickly. “Just genealogy stuff. Dad got off on that tangent a few years ago when he and Mom split up.” She stared harder at him, then gasped. “You’re bleeding!”
He followed the direction of her gaze to the torn, blood-soaked sleeve of his jacket and the red smears on his hand. “Yeah,” he said and sat down abruptly on the side of the bed.
She was there in fr
ont of him almost at once. “What happened?”
“Score one for the bad guy.”
“Oh, man, this is my fault,” she said, running to the adjoining bathroom and returning with a stack of clean towels. “Take off your jacket. Here, I’ll help you.”
She very carefully unzipped the front of his jacket, which put her head next to his, and he breathed in the scents of hay and snow, an odd combination and bracingly refreshing. Her hair brushed his forehead and he closed his eyes, not trusting himself to look at her. He’d always been a sucker for blue eyes and this wasn’t the time or place for that kind of thing.
“Easy now,” she coaxed and gingerly helped him get his good arm out of the sleeve. Then she began peeling away the other sleeve, which hurt like blazes, and he winced.
“Sorry,” she said. “Almost done.” She dropped the jacket to the floor. “We’d better get your shirt off, too.” That took longer and was agonizing for Nate as she freed his good arm from the heather-gray Henley and began the painstaking process of loosening the other sleeve from his injured arm.
“It’s stuck to the blood,” she explained.
He swallowed and nodded.
“Just a minute, okay?” She went back to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and bandages. “Maybe this will help,” she said and, using the towel beneath his arm to absorb the overflow, drenched the site with the peroxide, loosening the knitted material from the wound. A moment later she managed to slip the shirt over his head and he sighed deeply with profound relief.
She looked a little pale as she considered his arm but, to her credit, didn’t shy away. Instead she used more of the peroxide to bathe the site and peered intently at it.
Nate turned his head to try to get a good look. He was way too aware of her hand resting atop his bare shoulder, her fingers trembling as though her external coolness masked an inner repulsion at the sight of bloody flesh. The tip of her tongue flicked across her lips and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if his reactions to her proximity were an attempt to distance himself from his injury or because he’d have to be in far worse shape than he was not to notice her.