Wed To A Stranger?

by Jule McBride

  Games. What kind was Nathan Lafarge playing? And would their lives depend on knowing?

  It was hard to say.

  Because this morning the man was gone.

  So was Hannah’s snowmobile. The snow had quit falling—at least temporarily—but the outside world was white as far as the eye could see. Hannah’s house had lost all shape—the porch amorphous, the windowsills shored up with sloping snow. The truck, which was left in the driveway during last night’s ordeal, was completely buried. The road had vanished, as had the trappers’ cabins that once dotted the mountainside. Color didn’t even peek from the icicleladen undersides of the evergreen branches anymore.

  There were only miles of white snow in an endless twilight darkness. Fritzi and the baby were trapped—with no phone, no radio, no transportation, no house in sight. And she could barely walk.

  Would Nathan return? God, she hoped not. In case he did, she’d hidden snowsuits behind a metal cabinet in the garage, so she and Malcolm could escape on the snowmobile if necessary. Should she barricade herself and Malcolm inside the house?

  Malcolm squealed again.

  Fritzi forced herself to smile, not wanting to communicate her anxiety. Just as Malcolm’s cries had awakened her, she was sure she’d heard a plane overhead. If it wasn’t the state police coming about the murder, maybe they’d come soon; maybe they’d identify the dead man she’d seen in the morgue from his few remaining teeth and fragmentary fingerprints. She hoped they’d start focusing on a suspect other than her. Then maybe Joe Tanook would listen if she told him Nathan wasn’t really her husband….

  Or should she tell him?

  She feared Nathan, but she supposed it was possible he meant to protect her from something—or someone. She had a hunch he was connected to Washington, somehow, if for no other reason than she’d seen that picture from the Hamilton Hotel. Nathan had saved her life, too. Because of that, and the exertion of the previous night’s ordeal, she’d actually slept.

  Not that she trusted him. When she woke in the night, she realized Nathan had opened all the curtains. He was sleeping in a chair between her bed and Malcolm’s cradle, his breathing restless, his intriguing face illuminated by the faint yellow light of the moon. It seemed as if he’d been holding a long, silent vigil at the window, watching over her and the baby.

  Then she’d seen the revolver—and her heart almost stopped. It was resting on Nathan’s thigh, his large hand loosely covering it, a trailing finger curled just a fraction from the trigger, the end of the barrel grazing his knee. Was it the gun Hannah had said was in the downstairs cabinet?

  Because she’d grown up with a high-ranking diplomat, Fritzi was no stranger to weapons. Nor did she fear them. But she didn’t want one in Nathan Lafarge’s possession. So she’d had to try to move it without waking him.

  Fritzi had lain quietly, letting her eyes further adjust to the dark—until she could see every detail of the man, Then she inched silently toward the edge of the bed—without rising, keeping her cheek pressed flat against her mattress, feeling positive Nathan would awaken at any second. If he did, she’d shut her eyes and pretend to be asleep. She sure couldn’t grab Malcolm and run—not with her injured ankle. She became extra-conscious of the night sounds—the wind whistling, the heater humming, the tree branches scraping against the windows. Even the silence became a sound.

  An eternity passed. Then she reached the mattress edge and slowly extended her arm. Just as her fingers brushed the long barrel of the gun, Nathan grunted.

  She froze.

  And waited. She waited so long her straining muscles ached. When Nathan’s breathing steadied, she stretched another inch, this time catching the gun barrel between her fingertips. Trying not to imagine the heavy pistol dropping to the hardwood floor, she began to edge it from beneath Nathan’s hand and then along his thigh….

  Suddenly, a shrill ring sounded. Fritzi started, her hand covering her heart. “The phone,” she gasped. It had been out for days and she wasn’t accustomed to hearing it.

  Her first thought was that she and Malcolm were no longer trapped. Her second was that David was calling, that he’d seen her ad in the Post….

  She snatched Malcolm from his high chair and swung him onto her hip, only belatedly realizing he was wet. Limping quickly for the living room extension, she clenched her teeth against the pain in her ankle and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  No one answered. The line crackled with static.

  Malcolm tugged her hair. Nuzzling his soft cheek, she raised her voice. “Hello?”

  Then she heard breathing. It was labored and barely audible. “Is he there?”

  Fritzi’s heart fluttered and her arm tightened around Malcolm. “Who…Nathan?”

  “David.” The raspy voice was impatient. “David Frayne.”

  She clutched the phone tightly, her heart racing. Whoever was on the line knew David. Was this long distance or a local call? Given the amount of static, the caller could be on the other side of the world. “Why do you think David’s here?” she demanded.

  A lengthy silence followed. All she heard was more static—and that spooky breathing. Was the man ill or was he disguising his voice?

  “Don’t hang up,” she suddenly said. Then she strained her ears, willing him to speak again. For a moment she thought they’d been disconnected.

  “Can’t you…” The voice dropped so low she couldn’t hear. “Is he in the house?”

  “No one’s in the house,” she nearly wailed. Then she wondered if she should have admitted that.

  But the man only grunted softly, seemingly not believing her. “Can you meet me?”

  She shifted Malcolm from one hip to the other, her heart thudding. This was a local call. “Who are you?”

  During the long ensuing silence, the line continued to crackle. Fritzi’s eyes darted helplessly around the room—taking in the cozy fireplace, the bearskin rug, the fringed black-and-gold throws on the red sofa. When she glanced into the candy dish on a threetiered rattan end table beside the sofa, she started—and looked guiltily to the stark white snow framed in the windows beyond.

  Finally the man said, “I think I have…information about David Frayne.”

  Her breath caught. Was she about to get answers she’d waited a year to hear? “What information?”

  “No, I’ve got some questions for you first…”

  Did the man think she was lying about David not being here? “Questions you can’t ask now?”

  “Yes. Meet me.”

  “You come here.”

  “No. Meet me. Alone.”

  She took the bait. “Where?”

  “You choose.”

  Her ankle was bruised and swollen. It was doubtful, but maybe she could ski to Abby’s and leave Malcolm. She’d have to try.

  “Meet me at the schoolhouse,” she said. “I don’t know when I can get there.”

  The raspy voice made the hairs at her nape prickle. “I’ll wait for you.”

  The line disconnected. Immediately Fritzi dialed Matt Craig’s apartment in Juneau, hoping to tell Hannah what was happening in White Wolf Pass. She’d barely managed to say hello to an answering machine before the line went dead again.

  Just as Fritzi replaced the receiver, her eyes trailed over the rattan end table again. It looked innocent enough, strewn with magazines and knickknacks. But on the underside, held in place with duct tape, was Hannah’s disabled.38 revolver. Last night, as Fritzi was creeping around in the dark, hiding the weapon, she’d thought she heard Nathan upstairs. She’d thrust the loose bullets into the candy dish, nestling them beneath the shiny gold-wrapped candies.

  If Nathan did come back, Fritzi was ready for him. She might not like guns, but she wasn’t afraid of them. And better yet, she knew how to use one. She could always shoot Nathan if she had to.

  Or at least she thought she could.

  After changing Malcolm, she glanced into the candy dish again. Wondering if she sh
ould find a better hiding place for the bullets, she looked through the window. Too late. Hannah’s snowmobile had appeared.

  Nathan was heading back up the mountain. And the damnable snow had started falling again.

  FRITZI CROSSED THE FOYER, mustering both her physical and emotional strength. A whole hour had passed since the phone call, the torturous minutes ticking by—and she still hadn’t confronted Nathan—or figured out how to get to the schoolhouse without him stopping her.

  Now she had to hurry. Especially since the only glimmers of daylight were fading fast under dark clouds. Whoever was on the phone might be her last hope for ever finding out what had become of David.

  She strode into the living room, ready to confront Nathan—but her blood quickened with renewed fear. Bags from JJ.’s general store were open on the living room floor, and spilling from them were various types of locks. Not to mention alarms, chains, dowels and smoke detectors. Nathan’s back was turned dismissively away from her, and he was moving from window to window, examining the locks.

  Fritzi gasped. “You’re turning this house into a fortress!”

  Nathan turned around—his expression blank, his navy thermal shirt pulling taut across his chest. Lamplight glowed in his flowing blue-black hair, temporarily streaking it silver, like bullets shooting through onyx.

  Fritzi forced herself to take measured steps toward the rattan table—and the gun. Breathe in, breathe out, she thought, harnessing her runaway breath. Was Nathan locking her in—or something else out?

  When she finally reached the table, Fritzi glanced down—and froze. A bullet was visible in the candy dish! It was only inches from her hand, in plain sight. Its coppery tip peeked from between two goldwrapped candies. Should she grab a piece of candy, burying the bullet as she did so?

  Fritzi eyed Nathan. No, it’s okay. From the windows, there was no chance he’d notice. Even up close, the bullet—so close in color to the candy wrappers—was barely discernible. Even she hadn’t noticed it was exposed until now.

  “What are you doing to the house?” she demanded.

  When Nathan’s already rocklike face hardened, she was glad she was on the other side of the room. But he wasn’t going to offer any explanations. Fury coiled within her, ready to spring. “I want to know if you’re trapping me—or protecting me from something. If you think I’m in danger, I have a right to know.”

  His gaze flicked over her. “What makes you think that?”

  “The way you were standing vigil at the window last night with a gun in your lap.”

  He shrugged. “Where is that gun?”

  Fritzi’s unflinching gaze held his. Two could play at the game of withholding information. “What gun?”

  “You know what gun.”

  Fritzi’s ankle was killing her, so she repositioned Malcolm on her hip and leaned her weight against the end table, which had fast become the safest place in the house. Her eyes darted near Nathan’s hips. There was no mistaking the bulge of the snowmobile key in his pocket. At least she wouldn’t have to relieve him of it. There was another key on the ledge above the door between the kitchen and garage. She’d checked this morning, to make sure it was still there. But how was she going to get away?

  With a start, she realized Nathan’s insinuating eyes were fixed on her. Her heart suddenly hammered so hard she could hear it beating in her ears. She tried to tell herself it was because he was fortifying the house—either meaning to trap her inside, or to keep out a dangerous intruder. But she knew it was more.

  From the second Nathan had stolen that kiss in the dark, a lawless fire had raged between them. Heedless of right and wrong, logic and reason, it was only following nature. Even this cold, wet landscape couldn’t stop it from running wild. Flaring a bright dangerous red in all this frigid snow and frozen ice, it was the kind of fire that was destined to burn out of control.

  Unbidden, his kiss came back to Fritzi then-the memory swift and tactile. A shock of touch. A crush of heat.

  Fritzi assured herself she’d only kissed him because she’d been so positive it was David. But at the touch of Nathan’s lips, hadn’t she quit trying to see his face? Suddenly Fritzi wasn’t at all sure.

  Nathan’s silken voice was reproachful. “Planning on going somewhere?”

  No doubt, bundling herself and Malcolm so warmly was a dead giveaway. But given the cold, she’d had no choice. “Can’t a girl get dressed?”

  “You tell me.”

  Glancing past him through a window, Fritzi’s gaze sought the snowmobile tracks, but new snow had already buried them. Nathan had driven the snowmobile inside the garage.

  You’ve got to make him think you’re not going to run for it, she thought, casually setting Malcolm on the floor. He chortled, looking pleased with himself, then suddenly lost his balance and tipped forward. Just as Fritzi righted him, she caught Nathan smiling at the baby. Straight white teeth gleamed in the man’s weather-tanned face, and she didn’t know which worried her more—her feminine reaction or her son’s responding grin.

  Then Nathan’s smile vanished. “Where’s the gun?”

  It took everything Fritzi had not to glance at the exposed bullet in the candy dish. Determined not to back down, she edged around the sofa, until it was safely between them. “Was it the gun you used to kill those two men in the Hamilton Hotel?”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you ever quit?”

  “No.”

  He looked as if he’d about had it. “The gun,” he said simply.

  “Where’s the envelope. I found in the cabin?”

  They’d reached an impasse—and their eyes locked like horns. Half a room separated them, but actual space meant nothing. They were nose to nose, toe to toe. His eyes stayed razor sharp, hers flinty. In the silent air only his deep breath was audible, his powerful chest rising and falling like a wave.

  “I’ll answer you,” she finally said, “if you answer me.”

  “No dice.”

  She shrugged as if to say it made no difference to her.

  Nathan’s eyes held hers another moment. Then, as quick and lithe as a dancing flame, he darted across the room, circling the table like a well-oiled machine, his muscles rolling beneath the tight blue shirt.

  Fritzi whirled around, instinctively clutching the sofa back, her knees buckling. She had a window of time—this splinter of a second—in which to catapult over the sofa back and dodge him. But before she could move, that window slammed shut.

  He caught her face in both his hands—his thumbs on either side of her mouth, his fingers trailing her cheeks, his hard body trapping hers against the furniture. Even if she could wrench away, his impassioned eyes would have pinned her where she stood.

  “I’m not telling you where that gun is,” she assured.

  He loosened his hold, his palms dropping and cupping her chin, his thumbs grazing near her lips in what he may have meant as a caress. “Oh, you’ll tell me.”

  But she was too conscious of his body to speak. Heat emanated from every muscular inch of him, seeping through his shirt and jeans, warming her chest and thighs. His breath feathered across her lips as deftly as a kiss. And just inches away, his eyes implored hers. With all her might, she fought against the huskiness of her own voice. “Why should I tell you?”

  His voice was a silken whisper. “Because I’m asking you to.”

  With him so close, it almost seemed like a good enough reason. She could swear his whole body bristled with integrity. Against her will, her eyes flitted toward the candy dish—and the bullet. Then she looked at him again. Heaven help her, but how could she resist those eyes? They were eyes she wanted to be lost in, eyes she wanted to believe. They melted like chocolate—and melted her heart.

  Suddenly his trailing fingers dropped from her cheeks to the slender column of her neck. And then, with no further warning, he kissed her, his agonizingly soft mouth warming hers with nothing more than slow, sweet pressure.

  “Tell me,” he whispered
against her lips.

  “Kissing me will never work,” she croaked. But it was a lie. How could she refuse to trust a man who could kiss so gently? “You can’t just kiss me because you want some—”

  Something in Nathan’s eyes stopped her. “I kissed you for one reason. Because I wanted to.” He stepped back a pace, but his eyes remained on her face. He licked at his lips, clearly still tasting hers, and his eyes drifted slowly over her.

  Her voice was a sudden wail. “Am I in danger?”

  His eyes fixed on hers again. She remembered last night—how, in all that snow and in spite of her terror—he’d made her feel flickers of warmth; it had been in the breath that came from lips so close he could kiss her and in his searing gaze that had touched her face in the dark like a flame.

  Swiftly she reached out, grasping his sleeve. “Tell me!”

  He winced, as if her soft hand on his forearm was more painful than he could bear, then his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he were about to speak.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He looked undecided. Then he said, “All right. You’re in danger.”

  Fritzi’s pulse leaped in her throat. Drawing in a sharp breath, she realized his seeming sincerity chilled her more than the words—and that she believed him. “From whoever killed that man in the river?”

  Nathan’s eyes became veiled again, as if he were hiding something. “Just trust me.”

  “Trust you?” she burst out. “Are you crazy?” Fritzi glanced toward the alarms and smoke detectors on the floor, wishing he hadn’t kissed her, wishing she’d somehow pushed him away. When her eyes returned to his, she felt dread settle at the small of her back.

  “The less I say, the better off you are.”

  “And you expect me to trust you? Just like that?”

  He nodded. “Just like that.”

  Feeling the strength emanating from him, she actually considered it. She was scared. And she’d never wanted to trust anyone more. Maybe not even David. But how could she be so drawn to such a mysterious man? “But you’ve lied and stolen things….”