Blizzard (BearPaw Resort #2)

by Cambria Hebert

  Good Lord.

  When I got the job as chef de partie, aka station chef, I liked to think it was because the executive chef thought I was a good fit for his kitchen.

  Everyone whispered, though. Hell, even I kinda wondered.

  Did I get the job because I deserved it or because of who I knew?

  In the last couple weeks, as I learned the kitchen and tried to win over the skeptical staff, I told myself almost daily this was just reality. Lots of jobs and doors were opened for people because of who they knew.

  It wasn’t fair. But it was reality.

  The difference was I knew I deserved to be here, and my God, I wanted to be. I was nearly bursting with passion every time I pulled up to the restaurant. My brain was overflowing with menu ideas, additions, changes, and specials. I kept a lid on it mostly, at least for now. I definitely didn’t want it to seem as if I were waltzing in and trying to take over.

  So, here I was staying late more often than I didn’t because I wanted to prove I wasn’t above hard work, and though I didn’t start at the bottom of the kitchen ranks and work my way up, I was willing to be a team player.

  Tonight, I was washing dishes. One of the dishwashers was sent home in the middle of his shift because he was throwing up in the bathroom, and that left the other dishwasher with a heavy load and no moment to breathe. When the kitchen was closed for the night and everyone was filing out, I stayed back and helped get the dishes down to something manageable. Then I told the poor exhausted girl to go home and I would finish.

  Between you and me, she looked a little green around the gills herself. I was thinking she probably caught whatever her partner brought into work with him.

  Lucky.

  I could tell when she left that her opinion of me was a lot less hostile than it had been before. It was just the same for the prep station women two days ago and the sous chef before that. I was winning them all over, and it felt good to earn their respect.

  All the extra work left me exhausted, though.

  I wasn’t about to complain. Not too long ago, there was a time in my life that I literally yearned for this.

  I was alone in the kitchen. All the other staff had already gone. For a few minutes, I wandered around the spacious, pristine work area, shutting off lights over certain stations and making sure the pastry section was closed up right. Afterward, I went back to the massive dishwashing station and gazed at the piles of dishes still needing washed and run through the industrial-size machine.

  Nearby was a radio, the old-school kind that didn’t need to be synced to a Bluetooth device I didn’t have. It didn’t even play CDs. Just the radio. I smiled to myself as I turned it on and fiddled around trying to find a station. It was just like years ago when I first started out in kitchens. I washed dishes and listened to bad music.

  A station came in playing some nineties music, so I cranked up the volume and got to work. I didn’t know how long I hand washed giant pots and pushed racks of dishes through the machine, but by the time I was nearly finished, my fingers looked like prunes and my shirt was damp from all the splattered water.

  When I shoved the last rack into the machine, I turned from the sinks with a heavy sigh. Maybe offering to do all this work alone wasn’t my smartest idea. My arms felt like wobbly noodles and my feet ached from being on them all day.

  I’d forgotten how much labor it took to work in a kitchen.

  Rubbing the sore spots on my lower back, I grabbed a water out of the staff cooler and twisted off the cap. Glorious cool water rushed down my throat and coated my stomach. Feeling it fill my belly, I wondered about the last time I’d eaten and grimaced with the realization I’d missed dinner.

  Cooking for other people left no time to feed yourself.

  Abruptly, the creepy sensation of being watched along with an inkling of anxiety curled my toes, and I froze, paralyzed by familiarity.

  I knew this feeling. I felt it that night in the grocery store in Chicago. Then again at my apartment later. I’d felt it enough times in the past couple years that I should be alarmed that I recognized it. I probably would be if I wasn’t suddenly so afraid.

  A faint click echoed through the kitchen, and everything shut down.

  Darkness enveloped the room, robbing me of sight, and the radio cut off abruptly. Even the incredibly loud dishwasher shut down midcycle. The sound of water circling down the drain was eerie in the absence of all other noise.

  Glug, glug, glug.

  Body and limbs still immobile, I forcibly lowered the bottle from my lips and slowly straightened away from the cooler.

  It’s probably just a power surge. The breaker just needs flipped. It probably happens all the time. I told myself all those logical things.

  I didn’t believe any of them.

  After everything I’d been through, it was basically an instinct to assume the absolute worst.

  The pounding of my heart was irate, and the water in the bottle sloshed around from the trembling of my hands. I wrapped one arm around my middle and stood there in the pitch black, knowing I needed to do something, but my feet were unable to move.

  A faint sound echoed through the kitchen. Or was it just my paranoia? Straining, I listened almost obsessively for any noise at all.

  Are all the doors out there locked up?

  Another thought had me blowing out a breath and sagging in relief. I’m probably not the last one here!

  “Hello?” I called out. “I’m working late, too!”

  No one answered.

  “Hello?” I called out again, walking forward a few feet.

  The silence ricocheting around the place did not help the anxiety gripping my windpipe like a madman intent to kill. I knew being afraid was useless. It wouldn’t change the way any of this would play out. All fear would do was hinder me from thinking clearly.

  But damn if I had a recipe for chasing away the feeling trying to control my mind and body.

  Fighting it back, swallowing past the tightness in my throat and ignoring the way my chest squeezed, I glanced around the dark room, eyes adjusting so I could make out some shapes. I didn’t know this kitchen as well as I would if I’d been working here for more than a couple weeks, but I knew it well enough.

  The breaker box was in the back, the phone toward the front.

  Before I could even decide which to make a run for, everything started up again, just as abruptly as it has shut down.

  Lights flickered on overhead, the dishwasher started back up again, and bad music that seemed so much louder than before blared through the tiny, staticky speakers on the radio. Jolting in surprise, I pressed a hand to my chest as water managed to slosh from the bottle and splatter my hand.

  Blinking against the sudden bright light, I set the water on a nearby stainless-steel countertop and used the hem of my T-shirt to wipe at the water on my hand.

  A laugh bubbled up beneath my breath because clearly it had just been some sort of quick power shortage that had managed to scare the shit out of me.

  “Get a grip,” I muttered to myself.

  That’s when I saw it.

  Right there in front of my face. Right there near my water bottle.

  A spider.

  Black, rubbery, and creepy as fuck. It was just like the one that had been left on Liam’s hospital bed.

  To my credit, I didn’t scream. Instead, my teeth slammed down into my bottom lip so hard a tang of metallic teased my tongue. My stare whipped up, searching around the well-lit kitchen, expecting, fucking scared to death, that he would be standing there.

  I saw no one.

  But I knew he was here. Just seconds ago, he’d been creeping around in the dark so close by he could have slashed my throat without me even knowing it was coming.

  Come to me said the spider to the fly…

  I have no idea where that quote came from, but it bounced around in my brain, making my skin crawl and my knees quiver.

  He was playing with me. I knew this. He’d done t
he same that night at the hospital.

  Glancing back at the spider, I blew out a breath and tried to rationalize this entire situation.

  He was probably already gone. Spidey got what he wanted—to send a message he was still lurking around, ready and able to kill me at any moment.

  How the hell can we live like this?

  Screw finishing the dishes. It was time for me to get the hell out of here.

  My fingers visibly trembled when I reached out for the spider. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t even want to look at it.

  I couldn’t leave it here.

  Just as the tips of my fingers brushed against the sticky rubber, the lights went out again.

  This time I couldn’t hold back the small scream that bubbled up. He’s still here!

  In the silence, my whispered name echoed.

  Forgetting all about the stupid spider, I shoved away from the counter and rushed backward, toward the closest exit. My body slammed into something hard and hot, and I screamed.

  Spidey chuckled as his beefy hands reached out and grabbed me. “You’re so fun to play with; it almost makes me not want to kill you quite yet.”

  Acting purely on instinct, I raised my foot and slammed it down over his shin and foot. He made a sound and loosened his grip just enough for me to yank away. As I stumbled, I turned to run, but he shoved me and I fell back into the counter. The sound of the plastic water bottle falling over and water spilling out gave me an idea.

  Blindly, I reached for it, the plastic crunching beneath my grip as I raised it and flung what was left of the water at Spidey.

  He cursed, knocking the bottle away as I threw it at him. I dropped down on hands and knees and scrambled under the counter, out the other side. My shoes slipped in the water on the ground, but I propelled myself forward.

  The sound of Spidey leaping right over the counter was not very encouraging as I rushed around the next station in front of me.

  A large, gloved hand wrapped around my flopping ponytail and jerked me backward as though I were on a leash.

  “No!” I screeched and grabbed the edge of the work station as an anchor. My eyes watered as he increased the pull on my hair, my entire scalp stinging, but I hung on to the counter. The cold metal was smooth beneath my fingers, offering nothing to sink my grip into at all.

  I kicked at him, connecting only once, and it made him laugh.

  The sound of my fingers streaking over the metal as he dragged me backward was worse than nails on a chalkboard, but I barely noticed.

  When he managed to get an arm around my waist and pull me against his body, true panic fully set in.

  “When I’m done with you, I’m going to that cabin of yours for your man,” Spidey whispered roughly in my ear.

  Eerie calm settled over me before the full threat was even out. Fear for my own life was indescribable… but fear for Liam’s?

  Oh, hell no.

  It wouldn’t happen. It was as simple as that. The idea that this man would lay a hand on the only man I’d ever loved was so reprehensible that my brain didn’t even panic.

  In a burst of rage, I shoved forward, even with his arm around my middle, and grabbed the handle to what I thought was a pan on the nearest counter. Gripping it soundly, I swung it around over my head and slammed it against Spidey’s face.

  He let go instantly, and I took off.

  The sound of his laughter followed.

  He’s laughing. He actually enjoys this.

  Maybe if I stopped fighting, his fun would run out.

  But then my life would, too.

  I had to stay alive because as long as I was alive, he would focus on killing me and not Liam.

  “There’s nowhere to run,” he taunted from behind.

  I slammed into the door leading out to the waitstaff area, but it didn’t give way. I shoved into it again. It held. Next, I tried the handle, but it was clearly blocked.

  I spun. Spidey’s bald held seemed to shine like a lightbulb in the dark and his teeth flashed with his approach. He didn’t hurry or run, which was scarier than anything else.

  He’d trapped me in here. He knew I couldn’t get away.

  Still clutching the heavy cast iron pan, I gripped it like a baseball bat and swung when he was close. He evaded the hit with a chuckle. So, using my noodly-feeling arms, I chucked the heavy pan as hard as I could right at his face.

  He dodged, but it still managed to hit him in the shoulder and knock him off balance. I rushed by, running back into the kitchen, deep into the room holding me prisoner. My shoes squeaked as I rushed around one of the corners, and it made me stop moving instantly.

  I couldn’t run. But I could hide. At least until I figured a way out of here. Being noisy was not the way to hide.

  “Bellamy,” he sang.

  I dropped down to the floor and ever so quietly pulled off my shoes and set them on the floor. Staying low, I crawled along the bank of cabinets against the far wall.

  Spidey made a sound on the other side of the kitchen, and I felt a tiny sliver of hope.

  Quickly, I scurried past the coolers and into the back room where the bread was made. It was a basic square with only one entrance/exit, but it was the only idea I had. As I crawled over the tile, my hand slipped into the drainage vent built into the tiles. My finger went right through one of the small circles, and pain made me fall back onto the tiles. Cradling it against my stomach, the pain ebbed in my hand. As I felt it gingerly, the warm stickiness of blood smeared around.

  With no other choice, I pushed aside the pain and crawled soundlessly around the large center island to a cabinet on the end. I stared up at the ceiling in silent prayer as I pulled open the cabinet door.

  Please be quiet. Please be quiet.

  I got it open just enough to slip inside without any sound to give me away. Before crawling in, I spied the knife block sitting atop the counter, so I snatched a large knife and took it with me.

  I barely fit inside the cabinet. There was an oversized mixer stored there, and it poked the side of my hip angrily.

  The sound of my breathing was loud and ragged. I tried desperately to get it under control as I also tried to keep my body from shaking so much it gave me away.

  Spidey called out my name again, and I squeezed my eyes closed, gripping the handle of the knife like a lifeline.

  A cold sweat broke out over my forehead and dizziness washed over me. Memories of that day two years ago assaulted me. The way my father shoved me between the drywall in that dingy apartment room. How I sat there, breathless and scared as hell, listening to the sounds of my father being beaten.

  I despised being trapped. Feeling helpless and terrified.

  I heard Spidey in the doorway. My breath caught, my lungs squeezing. He moved so quietly I had to strain to hear him, but I could. He was less careful now that I knew he was coming for me.

  He wanted to scare me. To smoke me out.

  One of the cabinet doors on the island opened. The sound of metal dragging on metal made me wince.

  Sweat dripped between my shoulder blades.

  He was opening each door… Eventually, he would get to me on the end. Leaning my head against the metal wall, I took a breath and formulated a plan. The second he opened the door, I would burst out, plunge the knife down in his shoe, and then run like hell. I could go out the window in the employee lounge even if I had to bust it open with something.

  A little of the terror inside me eased just enough for me to catch a full breath. I could do this. I had a plan.

  The cabinet door beside the one I was hiding in started to open.

  Loud banging from out in the kitchen brought my head up.

  “Bellamy!” a muffled voice yelled.

  A low curse close by gave me pause.

  “Bellamy!” a clearer voice yelled this time. “Girl, where you at?”

  Alex! Alex was here!

  Oh shit. Alex is here!

  “No!” I roared and burst out of the cabinet a
hell of a lot less gracefully than I went in. I fell out on hands and knees, the knife clattering against the tile. My sliced finger screamed as I gripped the knife and leapt up, brandishing the weapon toward where I knew Spidey was standing.

  He was gone.

  The lights came on for the second time, and everything came back to life.

  Everything but me.

  A dark figure came around the corner, and I jerked back and raised the knife. The wildness inside me was scary, but I used it.

  “Whoa, whoa!” Alex skidded to a stop at the other end of the island. He lifted both hands and held them out, palms up. “Is that any way to greet your ride home?”

  I searched around behind him and realized Spidey had gone. Alex must have scared him away.

  The knife clattered at my feet, and I sagged backward with a cry. I would have hit the floor, but Alex rushed forward and caught me.

  “Are you okay?” I worried as he supported me. I grasped the front of his shirt and searched his face.

  “I’m fine.” Alex assured me, stark concern taking over his features. He pressed a hand over mine where I gripped his shirt. “Tell me what happened, girl who got away.”

  My face fell and tears came so easily.

  Alex pulled his hand away from mine and glanced down at the blood smeared over his fingers.

  Everything about him changed. “What the fuck is this?” His voice was cold and toneless. “You’re bleeding!”

  I scrambled back, still holding his shirt for balance. “We have to go. We have to get out of here in case he comes back!” I said, frantic. “He didn’t come back before, but tonight he did.”

  “Who?” Alex bellowed.

  I shoved away and started to run for the door. My sock-covered feet slipped, and I went flying.

  Alex cursed loudly. His arms went around my waist and lifted. The next thing I knew, I was cradled against his chest.

  “We have to go.” I urged, tears spilling over my cheeks. “I don’t want him to hurt you, too.”

  “Ah, baby girl, the only person that’s going to get hurt tonight is whoever the fuck did this to you.” Alex walked out of the back room as he spoke, holding me as if I weighed nothing at all.

  My stomach clenched and nausea followed.