Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  She finished the warm drink, calmer now. Her tears had stopped. She placed the empty mug on the bedside table and yawned as the sedative took effect.

  “Can you turn down the lights?” she asked sleepily.

  “Sure thing.” Troy stood immediately and walked over to the switch. The room plunged into darkness. Nikki shuddered.

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Hart. Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.” His voice reassured her as it had last night, and she relaxed.

  “Goodnight.”

  • • •

  They sit across from one another at a small café, one of her favorite places in San Francisco, and she’s happy, happier than she’s been in a long time. Her angel’s back. He’s going to take her away from the ugliness. He’s dressed in white, his clothing so bright it’s luminous. His wings are furled but everyone walking by stares at him in awe. His halo glows, and she can’t make out his features. She wants to see his eyes. She senses something’s wrong. She needs to know what he’s hiding from her. He reaches for her hand. His large hand always comforts her, but this time, instead of bringing warmth, it chills her.

  “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he says, but his voice is different, dictatorial. It’s a voice she remembers, but instead of consoling her, it frightens her.

  Feathers start to fly around them as he slips a heavy ring on her finger. She glances down and sees shackles around her ankles and wrists.

  “You’re mine. We were destined for one another. I’ve always known it.” She still can’t see the face of the angel across from her, but he’s no longer dressed in pristine white. His garments are dirty, covered in blood, even his wings, and he reminds her of a giant bird. He grips her left hand painfully and instead of removing the ring, his talon holds a bloody scalpel. The pain blinds her.

  She begins to fall and spirals through an unfamiliar darkness, Like Alice she’s falling into nothingness. Objects float by her—an easel, a baby carriage, a puppy, a large bouquet of red roses. Flowers from him are a punishment. She hates them, but he insists on sending them. They become an extension of his displeasure. She sees a baby doll dressed in a light blue romper. She wants it, but a little blond girl reaches for the doll as well, so she pulls back her hand. When she looks again, the child holds an infant girl. She lands heavily on her stomach on a sticky surface. She needs to keep her weight off her belly. She tries to stand, but she can’t get up. There’s something on the floor just ahead of her. She reaches for it, but her arm shrinks.

  The floor vanishes, and she’s standing in Chinatown amidst firecrackers and smoke. She’s alone and frightened. A huge blue and gray dragon materializes in front of her. The color is soothing, the creature playful. It opens and closes its wings to the beat of the music. The dragon’s face is bisected—one side fierce, the other benevolent. The dragon reaches out its claw and pulls her close to him. She feels safe, protected. She looks up at his large face, both sides blend together, recognizable for a second, and then not. The dragon dissipates.

  “Get rid of it or I will,” the two-headed demon yells at her from inside the swirling vortex in which they’re caught.

  One head wears Sam’s face, but the other is constantly changing.

  “I can’t trust you for two seconds. Who is he?”

  “He’s nobody. He’s just a figment of my imagination.” She’s lying, but she’s afraid. If he learns she went to the cliffs alone, he’ll only get angrier. And he’s cruel when he’s angry.

  “She used to be such an angel. I don’t know what’s happened to her. This is your fault.” The other head speaks, the voice unfamiliar, but the blurred face dissolves into her father’s. “She’s become willful and disobedient.”

  “Give her time,” the head with Sam’s face replies. “She’s mine now. She’ll come around, and if she doesn’t, I’ll make her obey.”

  Her father’s face dissolves, and Jason’s visage takes his place. His familiar voice is frustrated, and she watches the muscle jump in his jaw. “Be reasonable,” he says, but there’s iron in his voice, and she shivers. “It’s for your own good.”

  Now, she’s in a small dark place, pounding on the door. “Let me out. Please let me out.” Why has Jason imprisoned her here?

  “I’m sorry.” She hears his voice outside. “You have to fight to stay here. You can do it. You can survive.”

  Light fills the closet and the badly scarred demon with the diamond and finger necklace stands there, sneering at her as another faceless fiend moves closer to her. The door surface is suddenly covered in long, sharp nails that stab into her back, but she can’t pull away from it. She hears the unmistakable crunch of someone eating an apple. The demon raises the knife in his large hand, and advances toward her.

  “Kiss me.”

  “No, stay away from me.” He grips her left hand, and pain fills her. Blood drips from it. He pulls her tightly to him, too tightly. She can’t breathe. He tangles his fingers in her hair and tugs painfully. She can feel his erection. She has to fight. She has to get away. Her mouth fills with bile. She bites down on his lip as hard as she can and raises her knee. He groans and pushes her away.

  “You little bitch. You’ll pay for this.” She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes.

  “It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream,” says a familiar voice.

  Out of the void comes the angel, but he isn’t her angel.

  “Wake up, Mrs. Hart. You’re having a nightmare.”

  She woke suddenly, sweat-soaked, her breathing ragged, and her hand aching.

  “You were thrashing around pretty badly. It took me a while to wake you. I think you hit your cast on the rail.” Troy stood near the bed. He’d turned on the light. “That dream must have been a doozy.” He smiled reassuringly. “I’ve called the nurse for you. She’ll settle you again.”

  “Thank you.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. That dream had been far more vivid than any of the others. In the past, she’d recalled bits and pieces, but this time, entire sequences were clear in her mind. She’d seen Jason Spark, and the memory wasn’t a pleasant one.

  • • •

  Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin. Even San Francisco’s best pizza tasted like sawdust tonight. Of course it had probably tasted better a few hours ago. He glanced at his watch. It was after two. He needed to get back to the hotel and catch a few hours’ sleep before he had to face Nikki Hart’s father again.

  When Thomas Lincoln had insisted they pull the plug on Nikki, Jason had threatened him with a court injunction, and the man had backed down. That action had catapulted her father to the top of the pitifully small list of suspects. Covertly, he’d verified Thomas Lincoln’s whereabouts and checked into his known associates. Wanting his daughter dead didn’t qualify him for the “Father of the Year” award, but the last thing Jason wanted was the bastard screaming “harassment” and getting him thrown off the case. The man was powerful, filthy rich, and with friends in high places. Personal and financial information on the Lincoln family was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. The guy might be a jerk, but he’d been on business in Mexico when the attack occurred. An ironclad alibi. As well, try as he might, he hadn’t been able to link Thomas to any unsavory elements. According to what he could find, the man might as well be the patron saint of the city. Jason wasn’t satisfied. He distrusted the man—it was a gut feeling, one he couldn’t explain, but if his gut said the jerk was bad news, there had to be something there. Gut instinct had saved his life too often to be ignored.

  He picked up the folder with the evidence he’d compiled on Sam Hart. Surgeons weren’t paupers either, and the doctor had a healthy bank account as did Nikki. Her sizeable trust fund was administered by her father, which begged the question why hadn’t her husband taken over as administrator, but it could have something to do with trust laws. He knew very little about that stuff. He hoped Greg’s cyber digging would turn up something new. Now that he thought about it, the doctor was too good to be true. He d
idn’t smoke, gamble, play the ponies, or run around. He didn’t even play golf. If Sam Hart hadn’t been tortured and killed, Jason might have put him at the top of the suspect list.

  According to the hospital administrator at San Francisco General, where Sam worked before moving to Larosa. Sam had been offered a big promotion. He’d refused it and resigned. Go figure—you had to be damn sure of yourself to give up a quarter million a year job to work longer hours to stitch up itinerant local farmers, migrant workers, and tourists, or, now that he thought about it, if you wanted to stay out of the limelight.

  Those he’d spoken with had commended Sam’s skill as a surgeon, but he hadn’t had many friends—too wrapped up in his work for socializing, and, from what Jason gathered, his people skills and bedside manner had been lacking. He could be demanding and a perfectionist, but a man who played God every day was bound to be a little cocky.

  Trudy, Buck’s wife, had known the family better than anyone in Larosa, and she wouldn’t give you two cents for the man. As far as she was concerned, he was a controlling, manipulative bastard. She claimed he treated his wife and children like property, not people.

  So how’d a man like that manage to hook a prize like Nikki Lincoln? Trudy thought there might have been a submissive-dominant angle to their relationship. Sam spoke to his wife the way a domineering father speaks to a recalcitrant child. Nikki was shy and quiet. Her kids came first above everything else.

  What had surprised him, aside from the fact that their first conversation had been even more painful than he’d anticipated, was her absolute refusal to let him move her to a safer place. This wasn’t a meek, mild woman who’d do what she was told. No, she was a tigress determined to set her own destiny. Her words resonated with him: What was the motive? Every crime has a motive. Why come after us? Answer those questions, Agent Spark, and I’ll consider your request.

  He’d been asking himself that question for weeks. He thought he’d known the answer. He’d come back to the office tonight hoping someone had found new information to help him convince Nikki the danger was real. He took a mouthful of water and turned as Ivan came into the room. The Interpol agent looked as tired as he felt.

  “So is it him?” Jason asked. “Neither Nikki nor her father believe me.”

  Ivan nodded. “My source in Geneva just confirmed it. A contract was issued six months ago. Now that he knows she’s survived, he’ll go after her, after them. His reputation depends on it. No loose ends, no unfinished business. He knows how badly she’s been injured. The first place he’ll look, if he learns we’ve moved her, will be other hospitals, private nursing homes, and rehabilitation centers. She’ll be easy to find given the severity of her injuries, hard to hide with the child.”

  “This is one contract he won’t fulfill. No one’s going to hurt Mandy or Nikki. If The Butcher wants them, he has to go through me, but before I can move her, I need her cooperation. She’s made it clear she won’t budge without proof. Her father is dead set against it, and according to what I was able to learn, he says ‘jump’ and everyone asks ‘how high?’ How do I convince her to listen to me and not him?”

  Ivan smiled. He indicated the photograph on the table in front of Jason. “The ring is the key. Why keep something so hard to fence, as you say, and leave the rest of the jewelry and cash behind? Because it’s what he was sent to recover.”

  “If the damn ring is so special, why doesn’t anybody recognize it?”

  “Because, mon ami, they’ve all been looking at the forest and can’t see the tree.” He picked up the photograph. “On the tape, the man said his employer wanted it back. You’ve been looking for the ring, the way it appears in the photograph. It’s not the ring itself we should search for. It’s the red stone at its heart.”

  “Wouldn’t whoever cut the stone and made the ring recognize it?”

  “Does a dead man speak of his work? There are many fine craftsmen in Europe. Any one of them could have created the ring, but most of them would die rather than admit it. I suggest we get some rest while people in other places find the answers we need.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Brad came into the room. “Greg has every techno geek in the country digging into Dr. Samuel James Hart. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it. I’ve sent an agent to Larosa to get DNA from the body. Go. Get some sleep. We’ll meet here at half-past eight. With a little luck, by then we’ll have something to convince Nikki she’s better off out of San Francisco.”

  “Maybe you should talk to her, woman to woman, mother to mother. She’s a little pissed at me right now.”

  Brad laughed, “Why Jase, don’t tell me you were your usual diplomatic self? Let me guess. You dropped all this information on her and told her you were moving her. No schmoozing, just drill sergeant efficiency.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I know you feel bad about what happened. I’ve been to Larosa. I know how long it takes to get from A to B. You have to let it go. You’re no good to her if you’re on a pity party. Now, go back to the hotel and get some rest. You didn’t miss anything here—none of us did. We didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. Now we do, and we’ll make them fit.”

  • • •

  Nikki sat in the bed toying with the remnants of her breakfast. She was achy and tired. Her head throbbed, but she didn’t want to take the pain medication and chance falling asleep again. Last night had been a series of nightmares, each one more confusing than the first. She looked up as the door opened, and Agent Spark entered her room. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. He’d featured prominently in those dreams. Unlike last night, he didn’t ask her permission to enter, and that annoyed her even more.

  The man nodded at the tall, leggy blonde named Angie who’d taken Troy’s place as jailor of the day.

  “Why don’t you go and get yourself a cup of coffee in the lounge. I’ll be here a while. I’ll let you know when I leave.”

  “Sure thing, Agent Spark. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  He’d changed his shirt, and wore his Kevlar vest. His jacket was open, and his exposed weapon made her nervous. Angie must be armed, too, but wherever she kept her gun, Nikki couldn’t see it.

  The strange bits and memories from last night’s dream haunted her. He was supposed to be FBI, one of the good guys, but now . . . What if her subconscious was right? He was guilty of something, she could sense it.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so early, Mrs. Hart, but I have more information—information I think will convince you that we need to move you and Mandy as far away from here as we can.”

  She picked up the glass of juice on her breakfast tray. For a while last night, she’d been sure she could trust him. Now, she wasn’t so certain. How did she know he was who he said he was?

  “Good morning to you, too.” Her voice was snarky. “Welcome to my cell. Come right in. So, you’re still convinced this international assassin is after me?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can come back after you finish your meal.”

  His apology mollified her, and she regretted her boorish behavior. She’d had a lousy night, but her animosity wasn’t based on anything real. The man was trying to do his job, and she was fighting him every inch of the way. The least she could do was listen to him.

  “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well, and I can’t blame that entirely on you.”

  He reddened. “I’m sure what I told you yesterday would have affected your sleep. Interpol verified a contract had been agreed to six months ago.”

  “Who’d he sign this contract with? Who wants us all dead?”

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  Nikki snapped. “You don’t know this, you don’t know that. What the hell do you know?” Tears of anger and frustration ran down her cheeks. “You’ve given me no proof, no motive, and yet you expect me to trust you and go along with your ideas just like that.”

  He seemed as stunned by her outburst as she was. “Please let me
explain. I left out a few details yesterday to spare you, but I think you need to hear them. One of the reasons we believe the man after you is The Butcher is the fact that all of your husband’s fingers were cut off.”

  Nikki felt the bile rise and was afraid she’d be sick. My God, he’d said Sam had been beaten and tortured, but she hadn’t imagined that. “Who would order such a thing?”

  “In the past, The Butcher has worked for Vincent Scarletti, the head of the Sicilian mob. The man has a birth defect that left him with only one hand. Cutting the fingers off those who’ve wronged him in some way is his signature. Interpol knows this, and they’ve been after him for years, but they can never make anything stick. The Butcher works through intermediaries. A request is made. It’s accepted or rejected, and money is deposited in a Swiss account. The information he needs to fulfill the contract is sent to an email account which disappears as soon as the information is received.”

  She shivered. “So why is a Sicilian mob boss trying to kill me?”

  “Whoever hired The Butcher wants you all dead—not for anything you did, but because of Sam Hart. It’s a vendetta against him—the father’s sins.”

  “That makes no sense, Agent Spark. My husband was a doctor. Are you telling me he messed up in surgery and someone died because of it, so the mob’s after me? Why would anyone want to kill us because of that? We didn’t do anything.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, as if he were trying to decide what to tell her. She saw right through him.

  “If you want me to cooperate, then you’d better tell me the truth. Who knows, something you tell me could trigger a memory, and that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve been hoping for all these weeks?”