Chill

by Stephanie Rowe

  And he did.

  Yeah, he’d take her on as a client. Fly her to the backwoods? In the line of duty, he’d be willing to make the sacrifice. A slow grin spread across his face, and her cheeks flushed and she looked down at her hands for a moment.

  He waited for her to regain her composure, enjoying the effect he had on her.

  She recovered almost immediately, and her jaw jutted out when she raised her gaze to his. “I need your help for more than flying.”

  “More than flying.” Luke narrowed his eyes and studied her more closely. “Explain.”

  She hesitated, then pulled a handbag onto her lap. She winced at the movement and rubbed her shoulder again.

  She was holding her body stiffly enough to make him think it was a new injury, and it hurt like hell. What had happened?

  She unzipped the purse, drawing his attention back to it. The handbag was big enough to fit a couple of cats and maybe a horse or two, but he recognized the designer name on the blue striped flap. She had more labels on her than he’d seen cumulatively in the eight years he’d been living in Alaska.

  He hadn’t seen designer duds like that since he’d been spending time around his father…

  Oh, shit. He sat up suddenly, tension skyrocketing through him. Was that the rough edge of a Boston accent hiding beneath her cultured voice? A tendency to add r’s in the wrong places and drop them in others? He leaned forward, studying her more closely. No longer the leisurely perusal of a man who was enjoying absorbing a beautiful woman, but the measured analysis of a potential threat.

  Isabella slipped her hand inside the handbag, removed a black leather case about the size of a legal envelope and handed it to him. “I’ll pay you.”

  “Pay me?” His fingers brushed against hers as he took it from her, and she froze for a split second, then jerked her hand back and buried it her lap.

  He let her take her hand back, but he was surprised at how cold her fingers had been. Icy cold. Fear? Terror? Exhaustion? He inspected her face as he unzipped the bag. The bags under her eyes suggested exhaustion, but when she glanced over her shoulder for the third time since she’d sat down, he realized it was something more.

  Fear.

  Of what?

  He carefully scanned the room. He knew everyone in the bar, and no one was paying attention to her, other than curiosity about a stranger. There were no threats here for her, at least not at the moment. But he still did two extra surveys, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone. “Whoever you’re looking for isn’t here. You’re safe.”

  Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment, but that little gesture told him exactly how scared she was, and that his comment had eased her panic for just a minute.

  The bartender let out a whistle, and when Luke looked at him, he nodded to the case Luke had just unzipped.

  Luke looked down, and his gut hardened when he saw the wad of bills in the folder. He thumbed through them. All hundreds. It had to be upwards of fifty grand in there. Maybe more. Jesus. That was the kind of money people died for, and he knew that from firsthand experience.

  Shit, this thing tasted sour as hell of all a sudden, and he felt his skin crawl.

  This was the way his father operated.

  Swearing, he took another careful survey around the room, suddenly itchy. But Marcus wasn’t there. None of his men.

  Hell, he was getting paranoid. He needed to get out of there. He tossed the case back at her, and she barely caught it. “No thanks.”

  “But—”

  He leaned forward. “Listen—” He caught a sudden whiff of her incredible delicate floral scent. Regret that he’d have to turn her down flashed through him, but he quickly ditched it. He’d learned his lessons long ago, and self-preservation was as natural as remembering not to put his back toward the door in a public place. “I’m not interested in getting involved in anything where that kind of money is floating around. Go somewhere else.”

  “But I need you!”

  “Why?”

  She blinked and stared at him, and he felt her withdrawal.

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her close. “Why me?”

  She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he didn’t release her.

  He kept his voice a low whisper, and let a thread of threat tinge it. “What are you bringing to my doorstep, Isabella Kopas?”

  “Let go!” There was panic in her voice now, and he instantly relinquished her wrist.

  She cradled her arm against her chest, tucking it against her as if it were an injured wing. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

  He closed his eyes against the sudden hit of raw fury. Not again. “For that money,” he gritted out, “you can hire an expert.” He opened his eyes. “And yet, you sit here with me.” He clenched his fist against the urge to grab her again. “Why me?”

  She licked her lips. “Because I need your expertise. I don’t know my way around Alaska and—”

  “Bullshit. Tell me what’s really going on. Three seconds or I’m gone.” Luke inspected the occupants of the bar again. He was being careful. He was on edge, in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He met Cort’s gaze, and his partner sat up straighter. Cort raised a brow at him, and Luke gave him a single shake of the head. No action to take. Not yet. He returned his attention to Isabella. “Talk.”

  She cleared her throat and visibly summoned her strength. Her shoulders went back and she met his gaze without flinching. “Your father is in trouble.”

  Luke went still. Surely she couldn’t know who he really was. His skin went ice cold and a steel cage settled around his chest. “My father,” he repeated. “You mean”—he thought fast to make up a name—“Mike Webber?”

  She frowned. “No, Marcus Fie.”

  Luke felt as if he’d just been sucker punched in the kidney. Jesus. How had he been found? His mind started racing, carefully drilling over every move he’d made in the last eight years. No mistakes. He knew he’d covered his trail impeccably. What the fuck was going on? “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. My father is Mike Webber. Good luck with whoever you’re trying to find. Have a nice day.” He stood and headed for the door without another word. Had to get outside. Had to clear his head.

  How in the hell had he been found? Who the fuck was this woman, and how in the world had she tracked Adam Fie here? And who else had she led to him?

  He shoved the door open and stepped outside. It was in the twenties now, and the air bit at him. It felt good to be smacked in the face by the cold. To clear his head. A car roared by on the highway, and his senses jerked into high alert.

  His mind was racing with an intensity it hadn’t been forced into for eight years, as Luke rapidly dissected the scenery. No car out of place, except one white rental at the end of the lot that was probably Isabella’s.

  As far as he could see, it was empty.

  Had she come alone?

  “Hey!” The door slammed open and Isabella followed him outside. “I know you’re Adam Fie—”

  “No,” he snarled. The sound of his former name was like an ice pick being slammed right through his temple. How had she found him? Why? He turned on her, and glared her into silence. “Adam Fie?” he repeated, allowing himself to inject fury into his tone.

  He was humming with tension he hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t need this back in his life again. The brand on his wrist began to burn. “I remember that son of a bitch.”

  Isabella got a skeptical look on her face. “What are you talking about?”

  Luke nodded. “Adam came through here eight years ago. Worked on a couple planes for us. Stole some money and then disappeared. If you find him, I’d love to have a few moments alone with him to get my money back.”

  Isabella’s brows knitted. “Adam wouldn’t steal.”

  “No?” The woman was a fool. That was all Adam Fie had done. Besides knock off anyone who got in
his way. And the rest of it…Shit. He wasn’t going there. Another car roared past on the highway—a new pickup, and it didn’t slow as it raced by. Alaska plates. He’d forgotten what it was like to hear every sound, to notice every detail of his surroundings. He didn’t like it. “Why do you want Adam?”

  She eyed him. “You look exactly like Marcus, you know.”

  “Marcus?” Luke spat the name. It tasted like poison on his tongue. He caught Isabella’s wrist and pulled her toward him. Shit, her wrist was small. Her whole body was petite. She barely came up to his chin, and he was pretty sure he could span her waist with his hands.

  He had a sudden urge to pull up that cashmere sweater of hers and test his theory.

  Isabella bumped into him, and her breast brushed against his upper arm. Her eyes widened, and she immediately pulled back. “Don’t grab me.” She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  “Did you come alone?” He had to know. Had to get answers. Find out how bad the crack in his new life was.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Who knows you’re here? Who knows you’re trying to find Adam?”

  She frowned. “No one.” She looked over her shoulder suddenly, and he realized she was checking out how far she was from the front door.

  No one had been afraid of him in eight years. Out here, he was Luke Webber, affable guy, kickass pilot. Not someone people feared. He’d worked hard not to be that man anymore, and it bit deeply to see a woman recoil from him.

  But for right now, he was okay with that. Right now, he needed answers.

  If she were telling the truth and no one knew she was here, that was good. Very good. It meant she was the only chink in his shield. He squeezed her wrist, and she snapped her gaze back toward him. “You should be afraid of being alone with me,” he said quietly. “I’m very, very bad news to anyone who walks in my shadow. Alaska fucks with people.” But he knew the last part was a lie. Alaska had kept him sane. It was his old life that had made him so dangerous.

  Her face paled. “Let me go.” She tugged again, and still he didn’t release her.

  He wasn’t finished. “What made you think Adam was still in this area? Tell me what brought you here in search of him.”

  She yanked her hand again, and this time he allowed her to slip free. “Why do you care?”

  Shit. He had two choices. Admit he was Adam and drill her for information, or continue trying to keep his cover. Once he admitted it to her, he’d have to bury himself again, or kill her.

  He didn’t do the latter anymore, and he wasn’t ready to abandon Luke Webber and his life in Alaska.

  But he would watch her. He would track her down and learn every secret she had until he knew what was going on.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked again. There was no mistaking the challenge in her voice.

  He liked her attitude. He was impressed she’d recovered from her initial bout of fear and was pushing back. He admired the fire in her weary eyes and the way that cashmere sweater curved over that body of hers. A tragedy that she’d come here looking for Adam. He’d have liked a night in bed with her. But not now. Now it was about survival. So he forced himself to shrug. “Just wanted to know if I can find the bastard myself.”

  She cocked her head. “You look exactly like the pictures of Adam.”

  Of course he did. “Adam and I look so similar, he was able to filch my wallet, walk into my bank and clean out my account.”

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to decide whether or not to believe him. It all depended on how much information she had. He wanted to know what she knew.

  But now wasn’t the time.

  Now he needed to disappear and assess from the shadows. He would let her go, but he would track her. Find out what she knew. He caught her upper arm. “Isa—”

  “Ow!” She yelped and flinched, and he immediately released her.

  “Injury?” It had been more than a simple injury. His touch had been light and her reaction had been intense. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  She blinked back sudden tears and cradled her arm to her chest, as if trying to take the weight off her shoulder. “I’m fine.” Her voice was laced with pain.

  A total lie. He wanted to rip that sweater right off and see what she was hiding. He didn’t like the way she was hunched over, or the paleness of her face. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead, despite the steadily dropping temperature. Something was definitely wrong with her.

  But she was the enemy. She was trying to bring Adam Fie back to life. If he didn’t shake her, she would have to die.

  And that wasn’t his style anymore. “Good luck finding Adam,” he said, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice. “But be ready if you do. He’s a bastard.”

  Isabella frowned at him. “Luke, I still need your help. Please—”

  “No.” He realized she didn’t buy his denial. She still thought he was Adam.

  And that was very, very bad for her.

  Slowly, he leaned forward into her space. She straightened her shoulders as he closed the distance between them until there was less than an inch between their faces. She didn’t back up, and he was impressed with her backbone. Not too many people stood their ground when he got in their space. Under any other circumstances, he’d be all over the package she offered: courage, attitude and sensuality? Oh, yeah.

  But today it was a whole different ball game. Today, it was about trying to keep her alive. “Isabella Kopas, let me offer you some advice.”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t take advice.”

  “Well, you should in this case.” He brushed his knuckles over her jaw and he felt a smug sense of satisfaction at her quick intake of breath. “Forget about Adam Fie, and forget about Luke Webber. Death follows both of us, and you will get sucked in. Run while you can, sweet girl.”

  She snorted. “I’m not sweet, and I’m not a girl.”

  He let his mouth hover over hers. Felt her breath on his lips. “No, you’re not. You’re a sensual, gorgeous, strong woman, and you have an attitude that will get you killed. And seduced, if you’re not careful.” He cupped the back of her neck and grinned when she stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. He lowered his head and kissed her, a hard, deep kiss that gave him the taste of something so incredible that every fiber of his body sprang into alertness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After an initial moment of shock, Isabella began to kiss him back, a wet, hot temptation that made his fingers curl into the back of her neck. He kneaded the muscle there, felt the tension knots in her neck fighting him. He growled deep in his throat, wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her against him.

  Their bodies hit with a thump, and she yelped with pain.

  “Shit.” He released her instantly and she stumbled back, gripping her shoulder. Her face was even paler, and she started to sway.

  Luke caught her good arm and steadied her. She looked up at him, pain, fear and vulnerability etched in the deep lines around her eyes. Desperation pinched her full lips.

  It was then he knew Isabella Kopas was in real trouble. And the kind of trouble she brought was related to Marcus Fie.

  Memory flashed in his head, of a woman’s body sprawled on the ground. Covered in blood. First one face, and then it shifted to another. Two women. Both his. Both dead because of him.

  And Isabella would be number three.

  He released her and stepped back. “Get out of Alaska, Isabella. Get out and forget about Adam Fie and Luke Webber. If you don’t, I will come find you and make you wish you had. Run while you can.”

  He had to leave before he crossed that line with her. His instincts were screaming that he shouldn’t allow someone who could tag him to walk away.

  But the alternative was untenable.

  He couldn’t let another female die because of him. Not another.

  He leveled a hard look at her. “Do you
understand me? Forget you were here.”

  She stared at him, and then her hand went to the turquoise pendent resting between her breasts. “I understand,” she said quietly. “I understand secrets.”

  And he saw in her eyes that she meant it. Isabella might not know him, but she knew about survival. He saw it in the pain in her beautiful eyes, in the way she held her necklace. It made him want to ask questions. Find out what she had suffered. Take away her past the way he’d ripped himself from his.

  Not an option, but he sensed he could trust her with the secret he hadn’t acknowledged, with the question hanging in the air between them. “Then you can go.”

  He turned his back on her and stepped off the porch. He didn’t look back. No way could he afford to see that haunted look in her eyes, or the knowledge on her face that he had once been Adam Fie. She knew who he was.

  How the hell had she found him? And why?

  Answers he would figure out on his own. A leak he would repair without her. Getting her involved was too dangerous for both of them.

  The door shut behind him, and he knew Isabella had gone back inside. She wasn’t going to chase him down.

  He took a deep breath as he strode across the parking lot toward the planes. He’d done it. He’d faced down the anger and violence of Adam Fie, and he’d won. Isabella was walking away alive, and there was no fresh blood on his hands. But he could feel his edginess and a lifetime of instincts warning him not to leave her behind, despite his trust in her.

  Adam Fie would never have trusted anyone. He suspected the worst and acted first.

  Eight years in Alaska with good, honest people had taught Luke that some people were worth trusting, even with his own life. Cort had shown him that, and it was a lesson that had been extremely difficult for Luke to learn. But he’d also figured out it felt damn good not to watch his back all the time, and he’d be damned if he’d let a visit from his past take that away from him.

  Adam Fie was telling him not to trust Isabella and to let her go. Luke Webber was saying the opposite.