by Lori Sjoberg
To be honest, he was in no rush to leave. Yes, he looked forward to taking Ziegler down, but once that happened his time with Gwen would be over. The prospect pained him, so he shoved it aside, focusing on the job instead. “You forget we’re immortal, not invincible. Think you could do something about all this snow?”
Samuel arched a brow. “Sorry, not my department, but I’ll make a few inquiries.”
“Thanks. We’ll set out once it’s safe to travel.”
Chapter 18
If someone had asked her a week ago, Gwen never would have pegged Dmitri as a snuggler. She’d considered him too cold, too uncaring for something so intimate. But beneath the tough exterior was a passionate man, and the fact surprised and delighted her.
When she woke in the morning she was nestled against him, his muscular chest pressed against her back and his strong arm curled around her torso. The scent of their lovemaking clung to the air, and she inhaled, drawing it into her lungs.
Thirsty, she slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen for a glass of water. The air felt cool against her bare skin, making her miss the heat of Dmitri’s body. As she filled a glass with water, she noticed a small stack of papers on the counter that hadn’t been there before. No, not papers, but a folding map with a handwritten note on top. The immaculate penmanship was unfamiliar, but it didn’t take long to figure out whom it belonged to.
The location of your cabin is noted on the map. Follow the route indicated in red, and you should make it to town in less than three hours. Notify me immediately when you’ve acquired Mr. Ziegler.
Regards,
S
“Son of a bitch.” It creeped her out to know Samuel had been lurking inside the cabin while they slept. Or even worse, he might have been there while they made love again. The latter thought made her shudder. Finished with her drink, she grabbed the map and walked back into the bedroom.
Dmitri was lying on his back with one arm slung over his head. Days without shaving had darkened his jaw, making him look like a pirate. His broad chest rose and fell in a deep, even rhythm, his features softened with sleep.
Unable to tear her gaze away, Gwen stood at the foot of the bed and watched him. There was an ache in her throat, in her stomach, in her heart, so strong she couldn’t deny it. What she felt for him grew stronger every day. It was foolish. Reckless. And yet she refused to close her heart to the man who made her feel more alive than she had in decades.
She sat on the bed and gave his shoulder a shake. “Dmitri, wake up.”
A low rumble rose from Dmitri’s throat as he rolled toward her. Pulling Gwen close, he curled around her, his arousal pressed against her hip. “Mmm. Gwenya.”
“Wake up, dammit,” she said in a louder voice, even as heat pooled between her thighs. Any other time, she would have given in to temptation, but he needed to see Samuel’s note. Gripping his shoulder, she shook harder, and Dmitri’s eyes cracked open. He smiled, and her insides melted.
“Good morning, Gwenya.” His voice sounded rough from sleep. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before raising his arms to stretch. “You look rested.”
“What a coincidence. I feel rested.” He’d exhausted her so thoroughly the night before, she’d fallen into a deep sleep afterward. Even now, the memory of his touch echoed inside her, sparking a need for him all over again. But first… “I found this on the kitchen counter,” she said as she held out the map with the note.
The sleep in his eyes vanished, replaced with obvious irritation. “That little asshole has no respect for boundaries.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
Dmitri sat up and unfolded the map, spreading it out across the bed. A bright red asterisk marked the cabin’s location, with a thin squiggly line leading away. “It looks like we were going in the right direction,” he murmured. “We’re not too far from the road leading to Vickers’s house.”
Gwen glanced toward the window where a sliver of sunlight peeked through the curtains. Days had passed since she’d seen blue skies, and the sight almost looked unfamiliar. If the weather held up, they could leave today and be in town by afternoon. The realization left her feeling empty inside. Duty called, but a part of her didn’t want to answer.
“When do you want to leave?” she asked.
Dmitri didn’t answer right away. He stared straight ahead for nearly a minute, a scowl darkening his face. Apparently, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea either, and the knowledge touched her inside. “After breakfast,” he finally said.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that they hadn’t eaten in almost twelve hours. “What do you want to eat?”
He flashed her a wolfish smile.
“That’s not breakfast.”
“That’s open for debate.”
She tickled his ribs, and before she could blink, he pinned her between the semi-firm mattress and his rock hard body. Dipping his head, he nuzzled her neck, and her body lit up like a Christmas tree. But even though lust clouded her brain, her stomach still growled with impatience. “Dmitri, I’m starving.”
“So am I.” He palmed her breast and she instinctively arched against him. “Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work. You lie back and enjoy.”
True to his word, he did all the work. For the most part she just panted and cried out his name. After he finished, they lay in a heap of sweaty limbs and tangled sheets.
“Now can we eat?” Sated and smiling, she draped an arm over his chest.
“Absolutely. What would you like?” His fingers traced a line along the curve of her hip, and she stretched her body against him. “We’re down to three apples, and there isn’t much left in the pantry.”
Yes, she knew. At best, they could have lasted just one more day before their supplies dwindled to nothing. Then they’d have no choice but to leave the little cabin and continue their trek. Their time together was drawing to a close, and there wasn’t a damn thing either one of them could do about it.
Brushing the unpleasant reality aside, she rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him. “How about fish? If you catch it, I’ll cook it.”
His fingers stilled. “With the Old Bay seasoning that I like?”
“Mmm-hmm. With the Old Bay seasoning that you like.” Her hand slid down between his legs and he groaned. “Catch two, and I’ll do that thing with my tongue that you love.”
His deep blue eyes darkened. “Deal.”
He was dressed and out the door with a fishing rod in his hand before she had the chance to ask if he would bring in more wood from the shed.
She yawned and stretched, feeling more content than she could ever remember. After getting out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt and panties, she padded to the kitchenette and checked the pantry. The bag of rice was nearly empty, but it would be enough for a meal.
She retrieved the glass pan from the cabinet by the refrigerator and coated the bottom with cooking spray. Once Dmitri returned she’d clean his catch, spice it up with the Old Bay seasoning, and set it in the oven to broil. That would give them about thirty minutes to … well, probably that thing with her tongue that he loved so much. After all, a promise was a promise.
With a spring in her step, she crossed the main room and entered the bedroom. It was a shame she had nothing sexy to wear, but romance had been the last thing on her mind when she packed for the mission. Besides, Dmitri didn’t strike her as a sexy lingerie kind of guy. Actually, he seemed more like a nice-teddy-take-it-off kind of guy.
She froze when she noticed the curtains rustling above the bed. The window was open less than an inch, allowing cold air to seep into the room.
The window wasn’t open before.
Stock-still and silent, she scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Dmitri’s bag lay on the floor by the closet, while hers was between the dresser and the closed bathroom door. Wait, was the bathroom door closed before? She honestly couldn’t remember.
Heart pounding against her ribs, she debated
what to do next. First things first, she needed a weapon, but she didn’t want to risk getting too close to the bathroom in case someone was hiding behind the door. Going for Dmitri’s bag meant putting herself in the corner. Not good. That left retreating to the main room. Okay, that might work. There were all kinds of weapons in the kitchenette. She preferred her .38 revolver, but given the circumstances she’d settle for a knife or a skillet.
Or she could make a break for the front door. She wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of fleeing the cabin in nothing but her T-shirt and panties, but she’d rather freeze her ass off than get hurt. Knowing Dmitri, he probably took his Glock to the lake with him, so they wouldn’t be totally unarmed when they returned.
Decision made, she took a step back, and bumped into something solid. Correction: someone solid. Whirling around, her heart caught in her throat when she came face-to-face with Edwin Pierce.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
He stood at around five foot ten, with the wiry build of a man who spent hours doing physical labor. Dark brown hair hung an inch past his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. His clothes were dirty, dingy, and reeked of cigarettes, and his shoulder holster housed a revolver the size of a small cannon.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Gwen said as she stepped back.
“Ain’t no trouble at all,” he drawled, mirroring her movement. Years of nicotine stained his teeth, and when he smiled, it looked more like a sneer. His eyes roamed over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “We’re just gonna have a little fun before I take you to Patrick.”
“I don’t think so.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the front door. “Dmitri will be back any second. You don’t want to be around when that happens.”
“You think I’m afraid of that commie prick?” Pierce let out a derisive laugh as he rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin. “I’ve been itching to take that fucker down a couple notches ever since the day I met him.”
So much for that threat. Gwen backed up another step, and her legs touched the edge of the mattress. Pierce outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, was taller, and had a sadistic streak a mile wide. And what did she have on her side?
Well, the element of surprise for one. Obviously, Pierce wasn’t expecting her to put up much of a fight. If he had, he would have already drawn his weapon. Maybe he’d forgotten she knew how to defend herself and religiously kept up with that training. And because of her size, she also fought dirty. Real dirty. Biting, scratching, gouging, knee to the balls kind of dirty, and she held no qualms about it.
Running on the belief that the best defense was an aggressive offense, she flexed her knee as if going for a shot to the crotch. When Pierce’s hands shot down to protect his groin, she drew back and punched him square in the face. A satisfying crunch filled the air, and then blood poured from his broken nose and his eyes began to water. He staggered back, his head in his hands, and she took off like a shot toward the door.
She made it halfway across the main room before he tackled her. Pain flashed through both knees and the small of her back as she landed hard on the wood floor.
“Is that the best you got, bitch?” Blood from his nose dripped onto her chest when he flipped her on her back and pinned her wrists.
“Not by a long shot.” Adrenaline surging, she wriggled, and kicked, and bucked against his hold. She craned her neck and bit his wrist hard enough to draw blood. When she managed to wrench one arm free, she jabbed his eyes with her fingers.
Pierce howled. Lungs pumping, she fought even harder, squirming out from under him. On hands and knees, she crawled toward the door, desperate to escape. The doorknob was almost within her reach when he grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. Kicking blindly, her heel connected with the side of his head.
“Fucking bitch.” Raw fury blazed in his eyes as he pounced on her with surprising speed. He belted her hard across the mouth, splitting her lip and blurring her vision. In the second it took to clear her head, he yanked Gwen to her feet. One hand gripped her by the hair while the other wrenched her arm behind her back. With a grunt of exertion, he shoved her face-first against the wall.
The entire right side of her head throbbed. Panting heavily, she stomped on his instep with her bare foot, but his leather boots shielded him from the force of the blow. She swung wildly with her free arm, and her elbow connected with his stomach.
“Gotta try better than that, darling.” With a taunting laugh, Pierce wedged his knee between her thighs.
She fought like an animal, but couldn’t break free. He yanked up her shirt, and she felt cool air against her bare skin. No! Not like this. The worst-case scenario flashed through her mind and turned fear to ice in her veins.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Dmitri through the front window. He was walking toward the cabin with the fishing rod in one hand and a plastic bucket in the other.
“Dmitri!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping he’d hear.
Pierce pulled her back from the wall and wrapped a hand around her throat. “That’s enough out of you,” he growled. He jerked Gwen around so she faced the door, his body shielded behind hers. With one hand still wrapped around her throat, Pierce retrieved his gun from the holster and jammed the barrel beneath her jaw.
She froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. The sounds of footsteps outside drew closer. Up the wooden steps. On the front porch.
Silence.
“Come on in, commie,” Pierce called out. “We can’t start this party without you.”
The front door slowly creaked open, and Dmitri appeared and stood in the doorway. Not a muscle moved in his entire body. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His dark blue eyes locked squarely on Pierce, and his face was stripped of emotion. In his left hand, with the barrel aimed toward the floor, was his Glock.
Without saying a word, he projected a menace that raised the hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck. It reminded her of the way he used to look back in the days when he dealt death for the KGB. Cold. Ruthless.
Inhuman.
“Don’t come any closer,” Pierce warned. “Drop the weapon.”
“Not happening.” Dmitri’s voice sounded deceptively calm. “Let her go, and I won’t hurt you too badly.”
Pierce barked out a laugh as he pulled back the hammer of his pistol. “You’re in no position to make demands, motherfucker. Now drop the gun, or I decorate the ceiling with her brains.”
Terror set Gwen’s pulse to racing. Regardless of severity, reapers could survive almost any kind of physical injury. But there were limits where the mind was concerned. Years ago, she’d seen a reaper get his brains blown out by a stray bullet from a drive-by shooting. The bones had repaired and the tissues reset, but entire skill sets, learned behaviors, and a host of memories were lost in the regenerative process. If Pierce shot her, she would certainly recover, but there was a chance she could forget who she was or could lose what made her unique. And if she were rendered incapable of performing her duties, Samuel wouldn’t think twice about sending her to judgment.
That said, she had no intention of allowing Pierce to use her as a weapon against Dmitri. She’d rather take the bullet.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gwen snapped at Dmitri. “Quit screwing around and shoot this asshole.”
“Shut up, bitch!” Pierce’s grip tightened around her throat. “This is between me and the commie.”
“If it’s between us, then let her go.”
Pierce shook his head. “Uh-uh. I saw you giving it to her this morning.” His hand slid down from her throat to cover her breast, and it took every last ounce of her self-control to keep from shoving his hand away. “Once we’ve finished our business, I’m gonna give her something good to moan about.”
The thought came close to making her retch. “You might as well shoot me now because that’s so not happening.” Her unblinking eyes remained riveted on Dmitri. “Will you hurry up? We don’t have
all damn day.”
“I told you to shut the fuck up,” Pierce snarled.
“Yeah, like I’m going to listen to you. Shoot him!”
“God dammit—”
“I said shoot him!”
Pierce’s hand left her breast. He fisted Gwen’s hair and yanked her head back so hard it was a miracle her neck didn’t break. “Bitch, if I have to tell you one more fucking time—”
In the blink of an eye, Dmitri raised his gun and fired toward Pierce and Gwen.
The bullet shattered Pierce’s skull on impact. Blood, bones, and brain matter splattered the side of Gwen’s face and soaked her hair. Her mouth dropped open as Pierce’s grip on her hair released and his body fell to the floor.
Dmitri rushed across the room. He kicked Pierce’s gun toward the door before turning his attention to Gwen.
“You—you—you—” Her breath came out in short shallow pants. Spots danced in front of her eyes, her ears were ringing, and for a few seconds she thought she was going to hyperventilate.
“Are you all right?” He checked her head, her body, for signs of trauma. “Talk to me, Gwen. How badly did he hurt you?”
Eyes wide, she glared at him. “How badly did he hurt me? You shot at me!” Sure, she’d told him to nail the bastard, but she didn’t think he’d go for a head shot.
“No, I shot at him. I fired in your direction. Big difference.”
“What if you’d missed?” Even with the ringing, her voice sounded loud to her own ears.
He looked offended by the question. “I didn’t miss.”
“But what if you did?” Why couldn’t she stop her hands from shaking? She was a professional, for Christ’s sake, trained to deal with far worse situations than this. Panting heavily, she glanced down at what remained of Pierce’s head and felt sick to her stomach. “That could have been my skull … and my brains in his hair… .”
No stopping it now. She bent at the waist and threw up.