Chill

by Stephanie Rowe

  But could he take care of her? And more importantly, would he?

  She knew he’d try to say no, but she wasn’t going to let him. He was her only option. Even a bad option was better than no option.

  Car headlights flashed behind her, and she tensed. She held her breath as the car slowly passed her, but it was a light blue Mini, not the kind of car Leon and the others were driving. A respite, but she knew they were tracking her, and they wouldn’t be far behind.

  Now at least she had a plan. Maybe a bad one, but it was still a plan, and she was still alive. Not the best odds, but she’d survived on long odds before.

  She’d had practice, and this time, the life of someone she loved was at stake.

  This time, she wasn’t going to fail to keep that person alive.

  This time, she was going to win.

  This one’s for you, Mama.

  She hit the gas hard and the truck leapt out into the night.

  Less than thirty-six hours after the water rescue, Luke stepped out of his plane with a new, much more gruesome cargo. He ground his jaw as he opened the rear door of his plane for the paramedics.

  “Out of the way!” The young medic shoved Luke aside, and Luke jammed his hands in his pockets as he watched the procedure. Nearly midnight, it was pitch black outside, and the only light came from the medics’ hats and the dim interior light in his plane.

  They were going through the motions, but Luke knew the female climber in the back of his plane would never climb again. She’d never do a damn thing again. The same storm that had nearly taken out his scientists had trapped another set of his clients on the mountain.

  Because he’d gone to get the scientists first, he’d missed the window to get on the mountain, and he’d had to wait for the storm to clear before he’d been able to get up there. A deliberate, intelligent choice. The climbers were experienced enough to survive a storm.

  But not a broken leg and a lost climber.

  And now she was dead.

  “Hey.” Cort clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Get a beer with me.”

  “Fuck that.” Luke couldn’t take his eyes off the action in his plane. Off the climbers huddled around the woman’s body. The grim silence.

  “Hey!” Cort punched him in the arm. “Cut the crap. I need a beer and you’re buying.”

  Luke scowled at Cort. “I—”

  Cort shook his head once. “Gotta let it go, buddy. It’s the nature of the job.” He jerked his head toward the bar just across the street. “You’re nothing but a stranger sticking his nose into their business. They want space to deal. Give it to them.”

  Luke let out his breath, then turned and silently followed his partner across the new snowfall dusting the ground. He zipped up his jacket, hunching his shoulders against the bitterness of the night. Fall was coming hard and fast to Alaska, and the nights were getting cold. Cold and darkness had come home, and they fit his mood tonight. He kicked at a tree branch that had been ripped apart by the storm, but said nothing as they walked into the dimly lit building.

  He dropped to his seat and let his head rest against the wall as he surveyed the patrons at Rick’s Tavern. Their favorite place was the Shed, a tavern in Twin Forks. But that was forty-five minutes away, and after a night in hell, sometimes the proximity of a beer was more important than the atmosphere.

  Like tonight.

  Cort dropped a couple of mugs of brew on the table, then took over the bench across from Luke. He also looked a little haggard. Cort raised his mug.

  Without a word, Luke lifted his and they clanked their mugs together.

  No words needed to be spoken.

  They both had felt Death’s rancid breath on the backs of their necks out there tonight. The storm had still been raging up on the mountain, barely abating enough to land. And then taking bodies back…four total. It had taken two trips for each of them, carting the frozen dead back to the airport, along with the shocked survivors and their gear.

  On the last trip Luke had lost his focus for a split second and nearly let a gust of wind take him into the side of a mountain. It was the closest he’d come to biting it in a long time, pretty much since the first time he’d soloed and crashed.

  His knee still ached from that mistake eight years ago, and he was glad. That ache kept him sharp, always a reminder of the costs of fucking up in the air.

  He took a drag of the beer. “Still tastes like shit,” he commented. The beer was the one thing he hadn’t been able to adjust to since moving to Alaska. He missed the sheer artistry of the local brews in Boston.

  Cort snorted. “You need to stop pining for beer that costs a hundred bucks a bottle. You’re in Alaska now, you pampered ass.”

  Luke wouldn’t trade his new life for the kind of beer he used to drink. Freedom was worth any cost. “I’m not pining. I’m just trying to get you backwoods cretins a little more sophisticated.”

  Cort grinned. “No chance. We’re a bunch of ruffians.” He checked his watch, and Luke knew he was thinking about getting home to his new wife, Kaylie, who was six months pregnant with their first child.

  Luke shifted, uncomfortable with the new relationship. Kaylie’s link with Cort put her too close to Luke’s circle. She could be caught in the freefall if all hell broke loose for him, and he didn’t like that.

  Roots were starting to form in Alaska, and people could get hurt. It might be time to move on.

  But fuck. He didn’t want to ditch this life, dead climbers notwithstanding. He liked it here. Liked the people, enjoyed the life, appreciated the fact that no one gave a shit who his daddy was or where he’d come from. All they cared about was whether he could be counted on in a crisis, and he’d made good on that promise repeatedly.

  A simple life. Good values.

  He wanted to stay.

  But not at the risk to anyone, and with Kaylie pregnant, the noose was tightening.

  Luke hunched forward in his seat and wrapped his hands around the mug. “Go home to Kaylie,” he muttered. “Get the hell out of here.”

  “I will.” Cort leaned back in his seat, his body relaxed. “In a minute.”

  The face of the dead gal from the last flight flashed into Luke’s mind. Her hair had been dark brown. Ponytail. Skin so pale. Reminded him of his mother. Of that god-awful day he would never forget—

  He swore and tossed back the rest of the beer. Jesus.

  “If you think about it, it’s incredible that this is the first body you’ve had to retrieve since you started flying,” Cort said. “Not sure how you managed to avoid it until now.”

  Luke knew how. He’d been freaking insane in his efforts to keep his people safe, and it had been by sheer luck that Cort had been the one to get the call each time it had been to bring back the dead.

  Until now.

  Cort leaned forward, his face intense. “First time I brought a body back I was eleven. The guy looked like a monster, frozen into a block of ice. Freaked the hell out of me. Had nightmares for weeks.”

  Luke had seen his first body when he was eight. And it had been his mother. And yeah, he’d had the nightmares, too. Still did sometimes. “Tough thing for a kid.”

  Cort snorted. “Hell, yeah. My dad was so embarrassed his kid was so soft, he chained me to a beehive for a month to toughen me up.”

  Luke laughed then. “Well, that explains your ugly mug.”

  Cort grinned. “Bees cured me of all corpse-related issues. It’s a little late in the season for bees, but I’m sure we could drum up something for you.”

  “Screw that.” Luke leaned back in his seat. “I’m fine. A corpse is nothing new to me.”

  Cort raised his brows, clearly sensing there was more than Luke was saying. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Luke turned his attention away from his friend. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t feel like opening doors with Cort that had stayed firmly closed during their long friendship. They’d been partners for eight years, but he’d hired Cort on several p
rior occasions when he’d come to Alaska to do research.

  Luke shifted in his chair as he surveyed the bar. The jukebox was blaring. A few pilots were hanging around. Some locals. Place was gloomy as hell.

  It had never bothered him before. But right now, it was jagging him big time.

  “I’m going outside.” He shoved his chair back to stand up, and then the front door opened. In walked a woman of the ilk he hadn’t seen in eight years, since he left Boston. Her dark hair cascaded down her back. Even in the dim light of the bar it was glistening. Looked as soft as the fur on a Husky pup.

  It reminded him of the kind of hair women shelled out a thousand bucks a week to maintain. The gal strode up to the bartender and began hammering him with questions. She was gesturing furiously, her hands flying around like she was agitated beyond hell.

  The bartender nodded in Luke’s direction, and she turned and looked directly at Luke.

  He immediately sat up, his body responding when he felt the heat of her inspection. Her eyes were black as the sky during a stormy night, but they were alive and dangerous. Sensuous and passionate. He knew instantly that this was a woman who ran hot, who didn’t hold back from whatever was in her heart. Sort of reminded him of how he used to be, before he’d realized living that way made too many people die.

  Her jaw was out, and she looked fiercely determined. Yet there was a weariness to her posture, and dark circles under her eyes, visible even in the dim light. She rubbed her shoulder and winced, her body jerking with pain.

  Made him want to get up and haul ass over there and offer her help.

  Her eyes widened at his expression, and a tinge of red flushed her cheeks. The she plunked herself wearily down on a barstool and gave him her back.

  Just as well. Luke still had issues when it came to women in need. Big fucking issues. The kind of issues that haunted his dreams and brought him screaming to consciousness, his body drenched in sweat.

  His skin began to feel hot, and it wasn’t just from the strip of smooth skin peeking out between the bottom of her sweater and the waistband of her very lowcut jeans…He peered closer and caught a glimpse of a bit of lacy black thong above her jeans.

  He’d seen that action on plenty of women, but on this one…shit. All his blood was heading south at full speed. Despite her attire, there was a level of innocent sensuality.

  He inspected her more closely, needing to assimilate as much information about her as possible, to explain his reaction to her. Her shoulder blades were strong, and her back narrowed into a trim waist and toned hips. The woman took care of herself. Yoga? Most of those wealthy women seemed to have so much time on their hands, they did nothing but spend hours in the gym to try to attract the powerful, rich men on whom they had set their sights.

  Was that her? It didn’t feel right. He narrowed his eyes, quickly tabulating all the data so he could make an accurate assessment. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but the sweater appeared to be cashmere. High quality, given its lines. He’d guess upwards of a thousand bucks for it. And her jeans…he recognized the designer brand on that fine ass of hers. His gaze dropped to her boots…heels were low and practical, but the leather was clearly soft and supple, and the seams had that extra bit of style he recognized from his own mother’s closet. In fact, she seemed to be wearing exactly the kind of outfit all his dad’s women used to wear, once he finished dressing them up like the Barbie dolls they were willing to be for a chance at his money and his power.

  From the brief glance he’d had at had her face, however, this woman was beautiful in a natural way. She didn’t need all the glam to look good, but she clearly did it anyway. She was refined, she was as far from Alaska and carnage as a woman got, and she was exactly what he wanted to bury himself in right now.

  She turned toward him suddenly, as if sensing his continued perusal. When she saw him watching her, she sat up straighter, and he saw in her something he hadn’t expected. The woman was a survivor. Not a weak female. She was strong, and that put him over the top.

  Weak, scared, defenseless women scared the shit out of him. Survivors? Hot. The cashmere? An escape from the Alaskan hell he’d been crawling in the last two days.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth, but then she quickly averted her gaze, shutting him out.

  “Too late, my dear,” he whispered under his breath. “Too damn late.”

  He shoved back his chair and stood.

  “You heading out?” Then Cort followed Luke’s gaze, and he grinned. “She’s a little too refined for these parts, isn’t she?”

  “Damn straight she is.” And then Luke headed right for her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Isabella hadn’t been prepared for Luke to look so much like his father. Or for him to be so handsome.

  Luke had the same dark hair as his father and the same radiant blue eyes, but Luke’s were compelling and warm, so unlike Marcus’s icy gaze. Luke radiated energy and power. His presence was so strong, she’d felt him even after she’d stopped looking at him, until she’d been unable to resist the lure and she’d looked over at him again…only to find him still watching her.

  Not just watching. Studying. Dissecting. Like he was picking apart every cell of her body and categorizing it in some system in his mind. He made her feel naked…and not in a good way. She felt exposed, as if he were trying to ferret out all the ugly things in her past so he could judge her by them.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath and stared down at the glass of water the bartender had set in front of her. There was no way Luke could learn anything about her, no matter how long he stared at her. Even Marcus didn’t know all her secrets, and he’d tried to uncover them. But Luke…the way he’d studied her made her realize he was exactly as the rumors had claimed: the relentless scientist born to unravel mysteries, to derive answers from the smallest clues, which was why he’d been so great at finding antiquities for Marcus before he’d left.

  She’d never gotten a straight answer on why Luke had left, other than that Luke hated his father.

  Which was why she was prepared to make Luke an offer he couldn’t refuse. But after seeing him in person…she had a bad feeling she was out of her league.

  A man moved in beside her, and Isabella jerked her gaze up to see Luke settle himself at the next seat.

  Heat shot through her body in response, but he didn’t even acknowledge her. He just propped his forearm on the bar, ordered a beer, and waited.

  The woman smelled like lavender, like a field of spring flowers. Like the scent of spring—alive, fresh and vibrant.

  Luke closed his eyes and breathed her in, allowing her fragrance to sift through his body, easing his tension. It was the scent of woman, of refinement, of understated sensuality lurking beneath the surface.

  She adjusted her position on her seat beside him, and her scent shifted. Still flowers, but he caught the faintest hint of perspiration, of the unmitigated scent of her body beneath the delicate fragrance. It told him that it had been a while since she’d gotten dressed. Maybe she’d tossed on some perfume before coming in here, but she’d been going hard for a while.

  And he liked that. He liked that there was more to her than this incredible aroma that made him want to bury his face in her neck and simply inhale. More than the cashmere and designer jeans.

  She cleared her throat, and still he didn’t open his eyes.

  Wasn’t ready to let go yet. Wanted to see what else he could glean from her scent.

  A light touch brushed over his shoulder and he froze, his body going hard at the delicate sensation.

  “Excuse me. You’re Luke Webber, aren’t you?”

  Luke’s eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice. It was soft and tentative, with a musical underlay unlike anything he’d ever heard. It rolled beneath his skin like a thousand drops of morning dew glittering in the Alaskan sun.

  Her accent was refined and perfect…utterly without inflection.

  But it wasn’t natural.
It had been learned.

  The woman hadn’t always been cashmere and designer goods. She’d been rough, and she’d cleaned it up.

  He turned his head slightly so he could look at her. She was white-knuckling the shoulder strap of her purse, and there were tension lines around the corners of her lips.

  He nodded once. “I’m Luke.”

  She swallowed hard, and he watched her throat work. Long and elegant, just like the rest of her…Then he noticed her necklace.

  It wasn’t the flashy bling he’d have expected—just a well-worn black leather cord from which dangled a small turquoise pendant encased in antique silver. Both the stone and the silver had carvings on them, designs he couldn’t decipher, but which appeared intentional. He’d bet his ass the carvings had significance and weren’t just designs.

  It looked old. Lots of scratches on the surface.

  The piece didn’t match her outfit at all, but she was wearing it anyway, fashion be damned. It wasn’t particularly valuable from a monetary perspective, which meant she was probably wearing it for sentimental reasons. It was significant to her. A woman who held on to her roots. He didn’t like that. The last thing he could afford was to widen the net of people connected to him. He would have to be careful with her. Keep her at a distance.

  Because he was keeping her. At least for the night.

  Tonight he needed to forget, needed to wipe death from his mind.

  She put her hand over the pendant, obscuring his view. “My name is Isabella Kopas.”

  “Isabella Kopas.” He rolled the name over his tongue, enjoying the sound of it. Exotic, exquisitely feminine, but the consonants gave it a harder edge, as he suspected the woman before him carried. “Where are you from?”

  She gave him a brilliant smile that went straight to his core. “I need your help.”

  He allowed her evasion of his question to stand. The fact that she’d avoiding answering it told him much, and he’d get the info later without her realizing she was even coughing it up. “You need a flight somewhere?” Her skin was dark, suggesting maybe a Greek or Italian heritage. Beautiful, if you liked that kind of look.