Chill

by Stephanie Rowe

  He ran his hands over her body. The curve of her hips, her narrow waist…satisfaction rippled through him when her stomach trembled beneath his palm. She tightened her grip and pulled him closer. Her kiss turned frantic, answering everything he gave her.

  Luke grabbed her hips to haul her onto his lap, and he felt the bulge of the necklace in her pocket.

  They both froze, and Isabella pulled back. “I need it,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Kissing me won’t change my mind.”

  For a moment, he was tempted to give her exactly what she wanted. To be the man she wanted him to be. To stand by her side and help her get everything she desired.

  But he knew she was living in a fantasy world, and if he gave in now, he’d be standing over her grave within days.

  He couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t allow it to happen again. “I can’t.” He slid his fingers into her pocket.

  She clamped her fingers around his wrist. “Don’t.”

  He pulled the necklace free and twisted his hand easily out of her grasp. Her fingers slid away, and there was a look of such fury and betrayal on her face he felt it stab him. “I’m doing this for you,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

  “No. You’re doing it because you’re a bastard.”

  “Not going to argue that one.” He dropped the necklace into his pocket. “I’ll be ready.”

  Confusion flickered across her face. “Ready for what?”

  He nodded at the truck parked outside the plane. “For you to run.”

  Her mouth opened, then shut again.

  No denial.

  The battle lines had been drawn.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Isabella ignored Luke’s offer to help her as she climbed down from the plane. How could she have let him kiss her? She’d wanted to believe he was kissing her because he wanted to, but it had only been a ploy to get the necklace.

  He was there to strip away everything she cared about. So why did she keep responding to him? Dear God, she’d lost her only chance to get Marcus free, all because something about Luke touched her heart in a way no one else ever had.

  She knew why he affected her so intensely. She’d seen the pain on Luke’s face, the flashes of loneliness in his eyes, and she knew he understood what it felt like to be truly alone. He was a man whose soul wanted company as much as hers did. Something about the way he kissed her and held her made her feel cherished…

  Not that it mattered. Luke might understand her in a way no one else did, but how dare he try to take her choices away? How dare he try to tell her who was worth fighting for? And if he didn’t love his father because Marcus had made some bad choices, what would he think of Isabella and the choice she’d made the night her mother had died?

  Her stomach congealed. She hadn’t thought of that. Of course Luke wouldn’t be able to accept what she’d done that night. If he couldn’t forgive his father, there was no chance he’d have empathy for her. Dear God, she had to stop herself now. No more kissing, no more letting him under her skin. God, how she missed her mother and the unconditional love they had shared. Why could no one else love her that way? Was it too much to ask for—

  A faint melody drifted across the wind and Isabella spun around. “What’s that?” It sounded like a wooden flute, much like the one her mother used to play every night when Isabella went to sleep.

  She had entertained Isabella with it before she headed out for a night of work. Isabella would spend the night home by herself, lying awake all night, wondering if her mama would come home this time, or whether she would get one bruise too many and not get up.

  Isabella had sat up and played that flute for her mother every night, all night, using the music to call her mama home.

  And now…her heart racing, she frantically spun around, trying to pinpoint the music. “Where is that coming from?”

  Luke pointed to a cluster of trees off to the right of the shack. “But I don’t think we should interrupt—”

  Isabella was already running, desperate to find the source of the haunting melody. She slowed as she hit the woods, dodging low branches and fallen logs. The music seemed to drift in and out of the trees, ebbing and flowing, shifting directions. “Where is it?”

  Luke set his hand on her shoulder and turned her to the right. “This way.”

  She followed his lead. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “I can just tell.”

  No wonder he’d been so good at working for Marcus and doing his scientific studies. The man missed nothing. Why would he give all that up to fly around Alaska? What could Marcus possibly have done to warrant it?

  “Whoa.” Luke stopped her suddenly, and she looked up to find the barrel of a shotgun one inch from her nose.

  The music was gone, and staring at her with an utterly impassive expression was a man with dark, roughened skin and black eyes. The wrinkles on his face were crevasses of shadow and evasiveness, and his gray braids were like leathery whips hanging past his hips.

  “Ren.” Luke set his hand on her shoulder and ever so slowly began to pull her behind him. “She’s innocent.”

  The man’s eyes bored into her as if he could see the secrets of her soul. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was actually uncovering all of them. Every last one.

  One minute both hands were on the barrel of his gun, and the next moment a small wooden object was whipping through the air right at her head. She hadn’t even seen his hand move.

  Luke snatched it out of the air before she had time to react, and the tip of it brushed against her nose as he swept it away. He held up a wooden flute similar to the one her mother had had.

  Her mother’s had had deep etchings of flowers, and the only paint left on it had been occasional hints of blue and white on the blossoms.

  This one was a lighter shade of brown, and the paintings were vibrant and alive. No flowers. Crimson splotches the color of blood. Vines twisting around the wood, as though imprisoning it. Little flecks of silver that reminded her of daggers.

  She shuddered. No, it wasn’t like her mother’s at all.

  For a brief second, she’d felt like she was home again. But it was a lie. There was no home for her anymore. Maybe she was a fool for continuing to look for it. Maybe she should just give up having a place and a family. Go it alone, like Luke had. Stop striving for the kind of love her mother had taught her to believe in.

  But as she looked at Luke’s icy features, her heart sank. I don’t want to be like him.

  The man Luke had called Ren nodded at the flute. “Play it.”

  She tensed, not certain she could deal with the memories. But as she reached for it, Luke put the flute to his own lips and began to play.

  The melody was haunting and eerie. Chills ran down her spine, and she wanted to hug herself. It wasn’t anything like what she’d heard before. This was violent, dangerous and penetrating. Hearing the flute had, for a moment, transported her back to her childhood…but this spooky tune was what she should have played while waiting for her mother to come back from a night of selling her body to the highest bidder.

  Luke finished and handed the flute back. “I haven’t forgotten what you taught me.” His voice was quiet. Respectful. Cautious.

  Ren took the flute and shoved it into the deep pocket in the front of his cargo pants. He gestured with the barrel of the rifle.

  Luke took Isabella’s hand and guided her through the woods. Ren fell in behind them, keeping the gun pinned to her back. She started to look over her shoulder, and Luke squeezed her hand once. “No,” he whispered. “That will insult him. You need to show you give yourself over to his safekeeping.”

  “But I don’t!”

  Luke squeezed her hand. “Then trust yourself to me. Pick one or the other, but don’t doubt him.”

  Isabella swallowed, remembering what Luke had told her about the tribe Ren was from. Violent. Deadly. And she had stolen the object they killed to protect. What were she and Luke doing
here?

  They reached a small stream, and Luke sat down on a small patch of dried grass. He gestured for her to do the same, and she carefully lowered herself to her knees, positioned to bolt if she got the chance.

  This felt wrong. So wrong.

  Luke’s jaw was tense and his eyes alert, carefully studying everything around them, and she realized he sensed the danger as well. Was it the overly silent woods? The rigidity of Ren’s stance? She didn’t know, but she felt exposed and endangered sitting out on the grass mat.

  Ren sat across from them, his gun still pinned on Isabella.

  For a long moment, no one said anything, and Isabella couldn’t take her gaze off the black cavern of the gun aimed right at her heart.

  The silence drew on and on, and she sensed Luke growing restless.

  Finally, Luke said, “You’re stalling.”

  Ren said nothing.

  Luke swore suddenly. “Son of a bitch. You’re holding us for someone.”

  Ren nodded once.

  Luke inched closer to Isabella, thinking of his gun stashed back in his plane. Bloody fool he’d been to leave it behind. “The girl, or me?”

  “Both.”

  “Both.” Luke repeated the words, the grimness of his tone indicating that he’d just learned something monumental that was bad news for them.

  But what?

  Luke leaned forward, unwilling to leap to judgment until he had all the facts. “Do they want you to hold the man who is with Isabella, or me specifically?”

  Ren met his gaze. “They said Luke Webber would be coming.”

  Shit. How had they known he was with Isabella? The only ones who knew were Cort and Doc, neither of whom would talk. Yeah, he’d figured Leon would tag Ren, but this was faster than he’d imagined. They’d gotten to Ren first. And how did they know about him? And did they know Luke Webber was also Adam Fie, or not? “Who came to see you?”

  “A man. Red hair.”

  Red hair. Leon. Shit. He was in Alaska? The hair on the back of Luke’s neck stood up. “Why are you dealing with them?” It wasn’t Ren’s style to do anything for a man like Leon.

  Ren’s expression was unreadable. “I’m waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “Grandpapa!” There was a rustle in the woods behind Luke, and he spun around to see a teenage boy racing toward them. He had short black hair, and wore jeans and hiking books. His coloring was dark like Ren’s and he had the same mouth. He had the skinny, gangly body of a boy growing into manhood, but not quite there.

  “Dillon!” Ren leapt to his feet and embraced the boy as he flung himself at his grandfather.

  The hug lasted less than a second, and Ren broke away. He aimed the gun at the woods, surveying them carefully. His gun was no longer pointed at Isabella. His face was urgent, his body tense. “Get up. Let’s go. Hurry.”

  Ren’s hostility was gone, and Luke jumped to his feet as Ren tossed a rifle at him. “What’s going on?”

  “This way.” Ren broke into an effortless sprint. His grandson was in the lead, and they were hauling ass.

  Luke caught their urgency and grabbed Isabella’s hand, sending her first. She didn’t hesitate, running hard after Ren and his grandson. He appreciated that she didn’t waste time asking questions. She was ready to move, and he suspected that was a damn good thing

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “They said you were coming.” Ren slowed down to lope beside Luke, not even winded. “Took my grandson. Trade, you for them.”

  Luke swore. A child. Used as a pawn. Just as he had been.

  Isabella followed his gaze, and her face paled. “He’s just a boy.”

  Her horror was obvious, and she wasn’t faking her shock. How had she possibly maintained her sense of innocence being a part of Marcus’s world for so long? Dangerous naïveté or a survival mechanism? A tool she’d used to find peace in a world she was forced to live in?

  Something tweaked inside him, and he tightened his grip on her hand. He had a sudden desire to protect Isabella from the hard truth about Marcus, about that life. Which was stupid. He should be forcing the truth into her mind. It was the only hope she had to survive, but at the same time, he didn’t want to tarnish the innocence and hope within her. Her steadfast belief in the goodness of those she loved was exactly what he appreciated about Alaska. Isabella wasn’t only of his past. She fit into both his worlds.

  “I knew Dillon would get free,” Ren said. “But I had to wait.”

  Luke kept a tight grip on Isabella’s hand. “I understand.” Apology implied and accepted.

  “They were watching for your plane.” The path turned and Dillon took a hard right into the woods off the trail. “You’ll have less than five minutes.”

  Almost on cue, Luke heard the distant hum of another plane approaching. Son of a bitch. They would never outrun a plane on foot.

  They were sunk.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Smart bastards, not to leave their plane on the ground where he could see it. He’d done a flyby first to make sure there was no one there.

  “They’re coming!” Isabella tripped.

  Luke caught her before she fell. Shit. He had to get her out of there.

  “They told me you have the necklace,” Ren said.

  Luke urged Isabella to go faster. “I do. I brought it for you.”

  “No.” Ren held up his hand. “I don’t want it. It brings death. I don’t want to bring that onto my grandson. He’s the last of the tribe, and I don’t want him killed by a past that is about death. I have new ways and I want him to as well. The cycle of death must end.”

  Luke swore. “It’s yours.” He needed to ditch it. “Take the damn thing.”

  “No.” Ren shook his head. “I don’t accept it.”

  “Don’t make him,” Isabella panted. “We need it.”

  They headed down a steep hill, and Luke had to slow to let Isabella keep up. “For God’s sake, Isabella! Don’t you get it? The only answer is to get out. Ditch the necklace and leave.”

  “Like you did?” she snapped. “Abandoned your family? What did that get you? Loneliness? A changed name? No past, no present, no future? Is that a life?”

  “Yeah, it is, as a matter of fact. A damned good one.” But even as he spoke the words, he knew they weren’t entirely true. He wasn’t home. He didn’t have roots. Didn’t allow them. And he’d been feeling more and more like he wanted to put some down. Not in Boston. In Alaska. He wanted to be here. Isabella was making him want things he’d never let himself contemplate.

  And he couldn’t have them. It would endanger anyone around him.

  Because he hadn’t left behind Adam Fie. He never would. It pissed him off.

  “This way,” Ren said. There was a small boat tied to the river’s bank. It had a motor in it, old and decrepit. “In.”

  Luke lifted Isabella into the boat, and was surprised to feel her muscles trembling beneath his hands. Shit. She was barely recovered from her infection and bullet wound. This was too much for her. He swept her up in his arms, sat down and anchored her in his lap, enfolding his arms around her to support her.

  “Let me go.” She started to struggle.

  He tightened his grip on her. “You need to rest. Let me help.”

  She shot a wary look at him, and he recognized that expression in her eyes. The same one he’d seen before. The lack of trust, the inability to lean on someone, the refusal to let down her own guard and count on anyone but herself.

  She might have on rose-colored glasses about Marcus, but life had taught her the same lessons Luke had learned.

  In Isabella’s expression, there was only loneliness. Desperation. The hard realization that the only one she could count on was herself.

  He hugged her tightly and pressed his lips to her hair. “Just rest on me for now,” he whispered. “Take advantage of the moment. You can go on your own later.”

  “Just for now,” she repeated softly. The words seemed t
o relax her. Tension seeped from her body, and she slumped into him as she allowed the exhaustion consume her. He sensed the moment she stopped fighting, the instant she turned her safety and well-being over to him.

  It should have made him tense to have a woman counting on him to keep her safe from Marcus. It should have stressed him. He didn’t want to be responsible for a woman, especially one threatened by his father. Not again.

  But with Isabella leaning on him, it just felt right.

  He pressed his lips to her hair again and rested his chin on her shoulder as Ren launched them into the river. The frigid water lapped at the metal hull, and Luke eyed the sludge at the bottom of the boat. Slow leak? “Rest while you can,” he said quietly to her. “We’ll be on the run again soon.”

  She snuggled deeper against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, trying to imbue her trembling body with his heat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “For what?”

  She leaned into his touch, making him smile. “For the break.”

  He nodded. He knew what she was talking about. A respite to let down her guard. To rest so she could go back to battle. Isabella was a survivor, and he knew she was replenishing her tanks. She wasn’t giving up, she wasn’t abdicating her mission to take care of herself, and she wasn’t giving up her own strength. She was using his strength to bolster her own. She was smart, tough and beautiful.

  He grinned. Also stubborn as hell, but it kept life interesting. He nuzzled his face in her hair as he watched the sky. He could hear the plane getting closer, but he couldn’t see it. It sounded like it was approaching from the other direction, so, with luck, the aircraft would land at the campsite and the occupants wouldn’t see them on the river. But he knew they were short on time. “Tell me everything, Ren.”

  Ren nodded as his grandson steered them down the river. “A week ago, they came to me and said you might be coming. I was supposed to alert them if you did, and I refused.” Ren gave Luke a solemn look. “You stole from me, but you came to me for forgiveness. I saw you had changed your path, much as I was doing for myself. These men are the past you were trying to escape, and I wanted you to have the chance to let it go.”