The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  He watched for a moment, finding pleasure in her assured movements as she arranged the wood, then scraped magnesium shavings off a small fire starter and sparked the shavings, producing an intense flame that ignited the small twigs immediately.

  It took no time at all to bring the rest of the dead wood up to kindling temperature. The fire spread rapidly through the small bundle she had made. As she turned to put on more fuel, she saw him and smiled, a smile that included him in her life. A brave smile.

  He smiled in return, happy that she seemed to be weathering this latest setback. Mary was learning to overcome her fears. He gave her a thumbs-up signal, and headed back for more wood.

  As she watched Connor walk away, Mary hummed to herself, keeping her back turned toward Ramone so she wouldn't think about him. She enjoyed starting fires, watching the tiny flames grow into a life-giving entity. She added more wood, then more. The dancing flames heated her face and hands.

  She’d lead the men to some cabin out in the woods— it didn't matter which one— then when they had searched it, lead them out again.

  She frowned. After they ransacked the cabin, Judd would probably kill Connor, then turn Ramone loose on her.

  She stopped humming. She had to come up with a better plan. One that wouldn't get them killed at the end.

  But what? She was running out of options. Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she felt the wooden bear and brought it out to examine more thoroughly. It was compact, as wood carvings tended to be. It had a quizzical expression, as if puzzled with what was going on.

  She held it out on her open hand, a small figure just over two inches long, and wondered anew about Ira. Why had he given it to her?

  He entered the clearing, dropping his load of sticks near her but didn’t meet her gaze. She half-turned, almost bumping into Wes.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, and he nodded.

  Ramone stood next to him, and when he leaned toward the little bear, she held it out.

  With a smirk, he snatched it and tossed it into the flames.

  “No!” She reached for it, but he knocked her hand away, laughing at her distress.

  “What did you do that for?” she cried, then caught her breath.

  Ira stood five feet away. He had seen the destruction.

  26

  For a moment, Mary thought Ira would kill Ramone. The tall murderer shot the smaller man a glance of undiluted hatred before he turned to get more wood. But he did leave. Ramone laughed louder.

  With the little wooden bear burned beyond saving, Mary turned away from the fire. Distraught, she retreated to the middle of the clearing, her head bowed and her shoulders slumped. Ramone and his kind functioned far beyond her understanding.

  Where was help when she needed it? She looked beyond the treetops to the stars, sparkling in mass on the black backdrop of sky, making the snow glisten. Cold, deadly snow. Icy, frigid, chilling her soul and offering no comfort.

  The northern tribes claimed hell was cold. She could see why.

  This trip had taken away the joy of winter. She loved to ski and snowshoe, but doubted she had ever do either again. She shook her head, denying that thought. She’d find winter's joy once more. If she lived, she’d pick up her life and go on, to overcome what had happened, to put them out of her mind.

  Reap your experiences, she told herself, remembering the advice of the minister who had helped her after her father's death. Reap them and put them away to rest. Grow on them and make them your foundation, one that is sturdy and not shaky. Don't carry the baggage of the past. Examine it, mourn for it. Then put it away.

  She could do that. There was a time and a place for everything and right now the time demanded that she and Connor work at outwitting their enemies.

  Please, Lord, give me some direction. I really need Your help.

  She looked back at the heavens. She knew the constellations by name, each one familiar. She automatically found the constellation Ursa Major, then followed the pointers to the North Star.

  Mary could tell time by the position of Ursa Minor as it swung around the Pole Star, like a big clock in the sky, fifteen degrees every hour. It had moved a few degrees since she started the fire, so it should be around six. She glanced down at her watch and felt her confidence grow when she saw it was two after.

  Her skills gave her courage. She could survive out here. Judd's men couldn't. All she needed to do was escape with Connor.

  A white owl swooped by, a silent presence quickly gone. She followed its flight into the trees, wishing she could join it. Somehow, like the owl, she and Connor would fly away. That was the fact to hold on to. This time as she breathed in the chilled air, it cleared her mind.

  With a new sense of determination, she brushed the dry snow off her gloves. Time would continue on no matter what she did. She must stop wishing for something to happen and start making it happen. For Connor's sake she must fight back.

  What could they do that they hadn't already tried?

  Mary hugged herself and looked upward, her thoughts tumbling over each other.

  The North Star. With all the stars circling around it. Circling endlessly. Like her trail. She nodded to herself. All things had a beginning and an end— except the circle. If she looked up at the stars an hour later, they would all have moved around the North Star. Except of course, the earth was moving. It would move around and eventually circle back to where it had started.

  Back— to where she had started. A circular trail. Leading not to the cabin, but to the van.

  So simple. A circular trail, leading back to where they had started. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? Why had she been thinking “cabin” all this time? Her shoulders straightened. She lifted her arms and smiled at the dark sky.

  Had God guided her thoughts or not? How was she to know? Thank you, Lord, for helping me.

  She could reach the van in four days. The police had probably found the emergency locator, read the message on it, and set up a trap. All she had to do was lead Judd into it.

  It would’ve been pleasant around the fire that evening, Connor realized, except for Wes, surly as usual, and Ramone, whose eyes followed Mary wherever she went. He wanted to throttle the dark-haired man, but knew in the long run it wouldn't help Mary.

  Patience, Connor. Patience. Eat your pride for Mary's sake.

  He moved over to help her adjust one of the pans on the fire, deliberately putting himself between her and Ramone. She gave him a quick glance filled with gratitude and handed him the towel she was using as a hot pad.

  "Keep your eye on that one," she said, pointing to a pan of water. "It's too full."

  Using dried meat and vegetables— a little taken from each person— Mary cooked a big pot of soup, plenty for everyone. It was Connor's first good meal since they started. It lifted his spirits, easing away the mind-numbing tiredness that had taken over the last two days.

  He stirred the coffee she handed him, the dark liquid swirling within the cup. The dancing flames heated his face and hands while the food warmed his insides. He stared into the coals, watching the subtle shift of color within. The fire gave off heat and light as it burned up the branches.

  Everything had its good side and bad side. Connor wanted to cry out in rage at the men who had captured him, while at the same time he rejoiced at having found a woman like Mary.

  She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. He was drawn by the tender looks she gave him, and the excuses she made for him when he failed to perform as well as he thought he should. The power she had over him was something he had never before encountered. All she had to do was speak and he’d be on his knees to her.

  It seemed strange to find his soulmate in this desolate spot. He had searched the cities for her, and here she was.

  Darkness closed around them, and with the darkness, snowflakes. Large ones, drifting silently down. Not enough to put out the fire, but enough to dampen the men's desire to linger around the warmth and light, and head
for bed.

  After stacking the remaining dry wood under the tent flaps, Connor ducked inside with Mary. Her boots and coat were already at the door. He removed his and handed the pile out to Judd. A night-time ritual by now.

  "Ramone makes my flesh crawl." She shuddered, plucking at the knot holding her sleeping bag. Connor knelt beside her to help. "He’s so cruel. He reminds me of the soldiers."

  The fire cast enough light that Connor could see quite well inside the tent. He reached up to brush away the snowflakes that had fallen like tiny stars on Mary's lashes. She glanced at him with a wistful sort of smile, then looked back at the knot again. He wished he could brush away the sorrow she felt just as easily.

  "After the trial," she said, tugging at the knot haphazardly, "my father brought me back to the States—"

  "The trial?" He covered her hand with his, stilling her agitated movements. "They caught those men?"

  "Yes."

  She grabbed his hands and held on tightly, like a fallen climber grasping a rope. Her nails dug into his flesh, but Connor said nothing, letting her continue.

  "The same day. They still had Mom's blood on them. But later, facing them across the courtroom, trying to answer the lawyers' questions, it... it was like living it all over again. I couldn't bear it."

  "The soldiers? What happened to them?"

  She leaned forward so that her head rested on his chest, her hair tumbling across his arm like a silken net. "I don't know. I think they were executed.

  “As soon as my part was over, Daddy brought me back to the States. I clung to him like glue on paper. Wouldn't let go of his hand, for weeks. He’d sit by the bed where I slept, holding me. It was the only thing that enabled me to rest— from having those terrible nightmares."

  "You haven't had any since that first night at the farmhouse," Connor reminded her, and felt her grasp loosen, sensed her body relax.

  "No. I guess...." She paused, her body tensing in thought... a different tension than he had felt before. He waited for her to continue, his mind struggling to comprehend the terrible burden Mary carried. To have witnessed her mother's murder was bad enough, but to have to live through the telling and retelling of the events...?

  He shook his head in wonder. She was a stronger person than she knew.

  "Can you think of any reason why the nightmares have stopped?" he asked, curious.

  "It's because of you."

  "Me? Negative." He had been a total failure.

  "Yes. You." She tipped her face up to his and Connor saw the sweet smile that graced her lips.

  "I haven't done anything," he protested, and she smiled more broadly.

  Lifting his hands, she pressed her lips against his palms, making Connor's heart crash wildly. "I've had you next to me, every night," Mary murmured, gazing at him with a tenderness he didn't feel he deserved. "I've learned to trust you, Connor. I can feel you here, hear you breathing and know you’re with me. Your presence has stopped the monster who invaded my dreams."

  "I'm glad."

  Her lips were so close to his, he gave in to temptation and touched them lightly with his— a quick salute that acknowledged how much Mary had come to mean to him.

  She was so precious— her laughter, her smile, even her tears were precious. He’d walk off a cliff for her and never regret it.

  Her eyes flooded with tenderness and she kissed him back— a gentle touch, but filled with a sweet promise that captured his heart and sent the blood pounding through his arteries.

  He’d walk off two cliffs for her.

  With a shy duck of her head, Mary again fumbled with the knot, effectively breaking contact with him. This time she took hold of the "slippery" end, and it released as she tugged it sharply.

  Connor took her actions as a sign for him to back off. Reining in his charging hormones, he undid his bag and flipped it out onto the tent floor. He felt ready to explode.

  The cold air would help cool him down, so he stepped outside and began to add more snow to each of the three large pots that Mary had left on the coals.

  Using a small pan as a scoop, Connor soon had the pots refilled. Next he rounded up the fire, picking up the burning branches by their unburned ends and tossing them onto the coals, drawn to the subtle shift of color within the flames. The fire was like a living, breathing animal. A life-giver— and a destroyer.

  The snow fell steadily now, the flakes much smaller, more compact. During the entire time he had been out, there had been no noticeable motion within the other two tents. All was quiet.

  He hadn’t called out that he was exiting Mary's tent. Did they even know he was there?

  What would happen if he took several of the firebrands— like the ones in his hands— and threw them against those tents?

  27

  Connor stared thoughtfully across the few yards to Judd's two tents as the light from the campfire flickered upon their sides. A spark could easily set them aflame.

  He looked down at the foot-long firebrands he held, considering them as a weapon. What should I do, God?

  The tents would burn rapidly— unless they had been fireproofed— but the end results of his actions would probably just be two damaged tents. Even if they burst into flames, he couldn't count on Judd or his men dying. Ira would slice his way out, if nothing else.

  They’d probably shoot him, but they were going to do that anyway. It might give Mary the chance she needed to get away.

  He lifted the brands, then stopped himself. He had seen burn victims before. There was nothing pretty about them. The sight might throw Mary's mind into oblivion, although she seemed to have grown stronger, mentally, as they progressed.

  A movement in the woods, just inside his peripheral vision, caught his attention— and he froze. Wes, standing near a tree with the rifle in his hands, had shifted position just enough for Connor to spot him in the lightly falling snow.

  Fool! Connor berated himself silently. He hadn’t even glanced around. He should’ve known Judd would have seen the possibilities of a fire and set a guard against it. Evil men expected evil of others. It was the only thing that kept them alive.

  With a last glance at the burning sticks, he added them to the fire, then turned and stepped back inside Mary's tent, noticing for the first time that his feet were cold.

  He’d wait. Fire was something to keep in reserve. Not a first choice, but it looked like they were running out of options.

  Mary was curled up in her bag and had partially unzipped his for him. Shucking his outer clothes, he folded them and placed them inside the bag to use as a pillow and to keep them warm and dry. Then he crawled in, knowing everything would quickly warm up with his body heat. Once settled, he lay on his back, staring at the dim flicker of firelight on the tent wall.

  "Connor?" Mary's voice, tentative and worried, rose just above a whisper. His mind snapped to attention, ready to deal with whatever bothered her.

  "What?"

  "They gave me a four-day limit. I don't know if that means four counting today, or starting tomorrow."

  Inside he raged at Judd and his ultimatums, but he kept his voice level. "When you see Judd next, talk like you assume the four days start tomorrow morning. See what he says."

  "Okay."

  "It won't make any difference. Before we reach the end of whatever time is allowed, we'll have to make a break of some kind. So don't worry about it."

  "All right."

  "We could stop in the trees, like you did here, only where the wood isn’t so plentiful. It’d scatter the men out more, give me a chance to take them one at a time as they start to come in."

  "I’d thought, maybe—"

  "Yes?" he encouraged her.

  "Maybe, well, what do you think of— of leading them back to the van. The police might’ve set up a trap."

  "Hmmm." The idea had possibilities, but also some difficulties. It needed to be considered, that was for sure.

  "Good idea. I like it."

  "Really? It’ll take f
our full days to get there. At the least."

  "That's okay."

  "But what if the police aren't there?"

  "They probably won't be." Hearing her sigh of disappointment, Connor turned onto his side, facing her. It made him feel closer, even though he couldn't see her very well. "We can't rely on the police or the locator. We have to be ready to act for ourselves. Now let's hash over your idea."

  "I've been thinking about it all evening."

  "And...?"

  "I'm afraid they'll get suspicious as soon as we reach the forest-service road."

  "You're right. That wouldn't work. Could you lead us somewhat parallel to the road, cross-country?"

  "Yes. It’d be hard, but I could do it."

  "Sounds good."

  "We’d still have to cross our tracks somewhere. They'll be sure to see them, unless this snow keeps up enough to blanket everything. If it does, we can go back down the same trail and they won't notice."

  "You sure? Won't they recognize things?" Connor asked.

  "Not if we're going in a different direction. Trails never look the same when you're traveling the opposite way."

  "You don’t think they’ll know?"

  "Not with a new layer of snow on it. That's why so many people get lost. They don't recognize the terrain on the return trip. You must make a point to stop and look behind you as you travel, to see what it's going to look like on the way back. Judd's group has never looked around much at all, except at Mount Rainier."

  "Then we'll go for the van."

  "But we can only go in that direction when Rainier is clouded over or when I'm in the woods, like now. It may take us more than four days."

  "Fine."

  "But if we get there and there's no police, what’ll we do?"

  "Let's see." Connor thought a moment, then realized the obvious. "We won't lead them all the way to the van."

  "No?"

  "No. Plan your route so that we'll stop for the night just before we reach the forest service road, while we’re still in deep snow. We'll leave after dark, drop down to the road and run to the van."