by Asha Daniels
“Batteries?”
“Aisle over. A little picked clean with the upcoming storm but you’ll find a few.” The old man gave him a once over. “You’re not a skier.”
“How can you tell?” Cutter smiled, pretending he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Pretty good judge of character.” He nodded a couple of times and glanced into the overhead mirror. “I’d say you were a tracker of some kind.”
The word was only used by those in the military or someone who’d been involved in law enforcement. He’d guess the latter. “CIA? FBI?”
Laughing, the old guy waved his hand. “Hell, no, son. I was a sheriff for almost thirty-five years. Saw my share of outlaws and trackers. You, are a born tracker. Who you got? Some serial killer? We had a couple hiding up here a few years back. Nasty fellows. The FBI eventually caught the guys after bumbling the case. At least if you ask me.”
Chuckling, Cutter glanced up at the same mirror in the corner, able to see the entire store. The man hadn’t wanted anyone to hear. Interesting. There was no one else inside. While he normally wouldn’t find this odd, he sensed the ex-sheriff had a thing or two on his mind. However, he was determined to get out and back fast. “No serial killer. Just wanted to get away for a few days. Honest Injun.”
“Uh. Huh.” The words pronounced, he grinned and looked away. “Let me know if you need anything else for your resting stay.”
“Thanks. A newspaper if you have one. Haven’t heard much news lately. Anything coming out of Richmond?” He remained guarded as he grabbed a small basket and searched for the batteries. There was no issue with his cover being blown, but he had the distinct feeling the old guy kept his finger in the well so to speak.
“Just some shit ass politician making an announcement from the city capital about running for President. Then again, the shithead we got up there is worthless. Pardon my French.” The gray-haired man didn’t laugh.
The news wasn’t a shock, but the timing was far too coincidental. This had to be Winston Rush announcing his candidacy. What the hell was the man doing with his daughter under siege? Cutter found the batteries and remembered the wine. He also tossed in a few other supplies before heading to the counter. “Well, you know politicians. They all seem to work on a hidden agenda.”
The old man gave him a slight smile. “You got that right. Here’s your paper. Heard the storm is going to be pretty bad. Kinda surprising for this time of year.”
Unfolding the paper, he took a quick look at the headlines. There was nothing about the Senator on the front page. Must not have made a good impression. He allowed his mind to wander. Was Daddy playing a game of his own? “Did you hear anything about a rock star being kidnapped?” He wanted to risk the question just in case there’d been any discussion amongst his customers.
Wrinkling his brow, the man shook his head but his eyes searched Cutter’s. “Not much entertainment news comes up this way. Now, if you ask me about skiing. The body is old, but I can tell you some stories.”
“I bet you can.” There also wasn’t anything on the front page regarding the attempt on Jasmine’s life. Old news. Such was the way of it. “Thank you for your help.”
“Son, just remember about the storm. A lot of shit gets cut off up here for a couple days if it’s bad so something to keep in mind.”
“I appreciate the warning.”
The man looked over both shoulders before leaning in. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “Careful, son. There are a lot of places to hide in these woods giving a real advantage, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, sir. I do indeed.” When he walked outside, he stood gazing at the sky, a chill racing down his spine. The fucker was searching for them and this wasn’t some crazed fan.
* * *
“Find a few implements. Right.” Jasmine had dared to defy him and walked out onto the front porch after he left. She needed the fresh air and perhaps an even fresher perspective. The yin and yang with him was almost too difficult to bear. Had something happened that he refused to tell her about? With Cutter, she might never know.
She studied the woods surrounding the cabin and hadn’t really thought about how desolate the area seemed. Rubbing her arms, she glanced at the white sky. Even the smell of snow was in the air, adding to the stillness. She didn’t like being alone, even though she knew it well. The time spent very much alone in her room as a child had allowed for her creative side to take over.
As well as her demons.
She wanted to call her father. She needed to call Tyler. She wanted to kick Johnny in the teeth. The little prince hadn’t even bothered to call her cell phone after the incident. He’d no doubt gone to a bar bragging about being in danger.
You will die…
Yeah, well, not today. She slammed the door and twisted the lock, fuming for a few minutes as she stood in front of the fire. But she had heard the words. There was no denying that Cutter had said them. She wanted them to be true. Even if they were, could they share a life? She groaned and rubbed both hands through her hair before storming into the kitchen. Even rock-hard security men could have a soft moment. Yeah, right. Cutter was all work. He craved the danger. She could tell that easily. And he required being in charge.
As if you don’t want that. You crave a firm hand, a strong man, punishment. Love.
The little voice would forever nag her, but the truth was there. She did want all of it but there was no such thing as a happy life. That, she’d learned from her parents.
She gripped the island as she tried to think about implements. What could she dig and find in this place? Snorting, she swallowed back a taste of bile. He was no doubt just giving her a useless task to take up her time, but she’d promised to obey, and she would honor his direction. She studied the cabinets, grousing the entire time. How was she going to get through to him? Directness. They both deserved that at this point.
Yanking out several kitchen drawers, she found a wooden spoon and as she wrapped her hand around the end, she shivered. Even her father had used one a single time, when he hadn’t been able to find anything else. Oh yeah, her father had been creative at times. She placed it on the counter, running her fingers down the cheap wood. The oversized spoon portion Cutter would like. She rolled her eyes. As if she knew. After searching through additional drawers, she found nothing that would be effective, unless you considered a metal spatula useful.
No way.
Maybe a brush. While she didn’t have anything appropriate, there had to be something in one of the bathrooms, maybe a dresser. She started with the master bedroom first. Finding nothing, she headed to her room. The drawers were empty. Same with the shared bathroom. She eyed the closed door leading to his bedroom. Invading his space. From what she’d been able to tell, he hadn’t bothered to make the area his own. He wouldn’t mind if she searched the drawers. Right?
After hesitating for another full minute, she walked inside. Nothing had changed. They’d ended the night on her bed, at least until the early morning when he’d disappeared once again, but other than maybe to change clothes, there was no sign he’d been inside. She glanced over her shoulder, even though she wasn’t certain why, before she opened one drawer after the other. They were also empty except for an additional blanket.
She turned her attention to the closet. The door was closed. Groaning, she finally resigned herself to looking inside. She remembered Cutter had brought in two cases. They were both on the floor. Bending down, she unzipped the one closest. There was nothing but clothes and toiletries. There were no magazines, no books and no paperwork. He didn’t need much in his life.
Including her clinging personality.
“Stop it!” She was shaking with anger, frustration and the kind of debilitating sadness that had destroyed her beautiful mother. She glared at his belongings, eyeing the crisply folded shirts. Everything was just so and had a particular place, neatly folded. Sliding her hand under yet another black shirt, she brought the material to her face,
drinking in the scent. Even though she gathered the fragrance of a recent wash, she could still smell a hint of the man.
All testosterone and brawn.
The thought gave her a smile. She rubbed her fingers back and forth until she realized she was being foolish. She placed everything back in what she hoped was the right position, closing and zipping.
The second case was heavy and the moment she unzipped the long canvas bag, she sat back. The interior was filled with guns, ammunition and knives. Pulling a leather sheath out into the open, she studied the carved design, the long handle on the knife. Her fingers trembling, she unfastened the flap, pulling out the weapon. Even the dim lighting flowing into the room highlighted the sharp edge of the blade. Dear God, the man meant business.
She’d seen enough in the news, had read enough accounts of military men to know Cutter had to have been specialized. Some special ops perhaps? What did she really know about Cutter at all? She’d been told to go with him and hadn’t questioned the order. Did her father know the man’s reputation as well as his background? She studied the knife before making a decision. Protection. She would provide some of her own.
A sliver of fear trickled down her arm. What if this was all a ruse? No. She’d made love with Cutter. Oh, fuck! Maybe she was far too naïve. She shoved everything else back into the bag and closed the door, panting as she tried to figure out what to do. There was a chance Cutter had been hired by the person trying to kill her? Then why hadn’t he gone through with the damning deed?
Because they’d fucked. He was just getting his jollies at her expense. A deep moan escaped her throat and she checked her watch. She had maybe ten minutes before his return. If she was lucky. He’d left his laptop wide open. She was no computer hack but if she could get to the internet, then maybe she could find out who or what he was about. That is, if he’d used his real name.
Taking the knife in her hands, she rubbed her fingers across the case, trembling. She’d never even thought about using a weapon on another human, but this was necessary. She listened for any sign of his return before heading into her bedroom, yanking her suitcase from the closet. Shoving the knife into the small side pocket, she put everything the way she’d left it, praying to God she’d never need to use the blade. A cold shiver spiraled around her spine, shooting down the backs of her legs.
She bounded down the stairs and immediately came to a halt. Had the blinds been left partially open? Light was streaming in through the cracks. Think. Stop and think. She had peeked outside earlier, no matter the rules. She was freezing to death as the fear became strangling, but she walked closer, staring at them before lifting a single slat. A glint caught her eye, a flash or a reflection. Backing away, she fisted her mouth.
What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t even call anyone. Not a single person. No one but Cutter and his boss knew she was here. Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck! Her anger flashed, roaring into her system. She moved back toward the door, unlocking and opening it as softly as possible. Oh, dear God. There were tracks outside. Fear unlike anything she’d known paralyzed her, creating a wave of nausea. Oh, no. This game had to end. Knife. She could grab the knife. And do what? Race out and hunt down the tracker. She darted another glance and sagged, a smile crossing her face. A deer and fawn were munching on underbrush. She could see footprints in the remaining snow, the track they’d taken to find food. Some courageous girl she was.
She closed the door and remained determined to find out about Cutter. The computer came on and there didn’t seem to be a security system that she could detect. At least she was able to get to the internet. Her fingers flying, she pulled up Google and typed in his name. At first, there was nothing, just the basic how to find him trash programs. But she kept scrolling.
And the clock was ticking.
She continued her search, finally finding a direct connection to the security service, although the information was minimal, but she clicked through, locating a couple of additional connections. The roundabout took her to a single piece of news, an article from four years before. As she began to read, her blood ran cold. “What?” She sat back and for several reasons, she began to cry. She dropped her head into her hands as she wept. “Oh, Cutter.”
“What are you doing?”
Lifting her head, she could see nothing but fury in his eyes. She’d remained in the chair, the laptop open, the article on the screen. “You lied to me.”
“What are you talking about?” Cutter dropped the bag onto the floor, but he didn’t advance. He simply glared at her.
Jasmine had no way of voicing what she’d read but if the article held any truth, the tortured man was also a killer. She was shaking as she tried to stand and managed to walk away, unable to look him directly in the eyes. “Take a look. I couldn’t figure out why you were hot and cold. Didn’t make any sense to me. Now, I know why.”
He didn’t make a sound as he walked toward the computer.
She could only hear the sound of her heart beating, thumping in her chest and she remained light headed. What was he going to say? What lie could he create to get out of this? What she expected didn’t happen. She heard the front door close and when she looked up, he’d left the room. Debating on whether to leave him alone, she refused. The man owed her a full explanation. Funny how she didn’t want to hear the answer.
The walk to the front door seemed to take forever. Her legs were as heavy as her heart, but she managed to walk outside. He was sitting on the steps, staring at the same tree line she’d been studying only minutes before. She had no idea what to say or if she should say anything for fear of his wrath. She walked down the length of the porch, sitting on the swing. Everything in her life was an ugly lie. This was just desserts, a way of righting the karma surrounding her.
Breathing out, she slipped her hands between her legs. Everything was so still because of the approaching storm. There was no wind, no call of birds or any other distraction.
They were utterly and completely alone.
“Is everything you told me a lie?” she finally asked. From where she sat, she could see his foot tapping against the stair.
Cutter shifted and rubbed his face. Taking a deep breath, he held it for several seconds before he began to talk. “Nothing I told you was a lie. I was enlisted in the Marines. I received specific training and was in a special operations unit. I was considered an expert in weaponry, so my skills were useful. I did two tours of duty, protecting the forces at any cost. I won’t tell you about the horrors, the bloodshed. I can’t describe the terrifying and humbling experience. There are no words that matter, no way of justifying the number of kills, no matter what the government led us all to believe. I was a good Marine, performing like the trained seal they needed.” He laughed, the sound laced with bitterness.
She swallowed and could see the veins bulging in his neck.
“When I left, I was sought after by the CIA and while the work I did with them is highly confidential, I can tell you that several of my assignments involved national security.”
She leaned forward, trying to listen to every whispered word.
He kept his face pointed toward the forest. “I did some very bad things during my time with them, things I’m not proud of, but I was following directions, just like in the military. Four years ago, I was assigned a case involving a woman who was the wife of a suspect, an international terrorist. I went in undercover. The CIA believed she was a target for retaliation, even though her husband had been killed.”
“This is the woman you fell in love with.”
He shot her a look, his dark eyes penetrating hers, before nodding. “I had no business getting close to her by any means, but she came to rely on me, considering me her personal bodyguard. All the while, I was collecting information for the CIA on her husband’s business associates. I was required to spend twenty-four hours a day by her side. With few distractions, I listened to her haunting words, a life she’d hated. Then we became friends. We talked for hours on end. The
re was little else to do since she was a prisoner in her own home.”
“What happened?” Jasmine whispered.
“I got too close. I let her into my very soul and I shouldn’t have. She awakened a man inside of me that I’d pushed away my entire life. After we began an affair, I realized that she was submissive. We shared our darkest secrets. She learned about every wretched proclivity I had, things I believed no woman could tolerate. And she accepted and nurtured that side of me. I don’t know how I could fall into the web, but I did.” Cutter shook his head several times.
“What was her name?” She could barely get the words out. There was no doubt he’d been very much in love with this woman.
“Anastasia Dumaine. Stacy.”
“Did she love you?”
He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “I believed that she did, but only when it was too late did I realize she was using me. She never cared for me. She simply found an opening and pried her way in. I’d been trained. Months of training. I knew better. And I fell into her trap.”
“So, she was killed on your watch by some assassins.”
He laughed softly. “According to the article. The truth couldn’t be told or there would be an international incident.”
Jasmine waited to see if he would finish. “Then what did happen?”
Cutter rose to his feet and walked toward her, his gait slow. When he stood two feet away, he gave her a longing look. “I killed her. I pulled the trigger and put a bullet in her head. So, you see, sweet girl, I’m a dangerous man and one you need to get away from.” He tilted his head, as if waiting for her answer or rebuttal.
She had absolutely no idea what to say.
He gave a curt nod and walked to the door. “I will do as I committed in taking this case. I will keep you safe. Once it’s over, you will never see me again.”
Opening her mouth, she wanted to reach out, to try and stop him, but there was more to the story and one he had to tell, but only when he was ready.