The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  The sedan crumpled. The crunch of metal blended with Hugo’s pain-filled shrieks and then there was silence.

  She’d been holding her breath. She released it in a rush, the sudden surge pounding in her ears. She was alive. She repeated that thought and took another breath. Pain radiated from her right arm, leg and side. Her head hurt. When she lifted it from the seat back, her head swam and her vision grayed. Wind and snow blew in through the shattered windows. The cold air and wet flakes that struck her face revived her. She blinked quickly and fought back the blackness.

  She wanted to get out of the car but was pinned by the front seat. The sedan had struck an outcropping of rock and the front of the car had been pushed back on impact. Miles’s body was crushed. There was no doubt that he was dead. Given what she’d learned of his involvement with the twelve women, she wouldn’t regret his passing.

  Mallory shifted position carefully, testing how deeply she was wedged in. Not as tightly as she feared. Keeping her movements slow, but steady, she raised her arm. She gasped at the pain that shot through her, but took heart in the fact that she was able to move her arm at all.

  Gritting her teeth, she levered up on her uninjured arm to free her lower body. Her breath shallowed and perspiration broke out on her forehead as she continued the slow, arduous process of extricating herself.

  She was almost completely free when her ankle caught. Again, she cried out when she forced movement, but made another attempt, then another until her foot was clear.

  That slight exertion had left her panting. She bolstered her flagging energy. Her cell phone had been confiscated by Hugo before he’d tied her. There was no way to get to the phone the way he was positioned. But Miles also had a phone.

  She grunted and pushed the crumpled passenger door but it wouldn’t open. Averting her face, Mallory reared back as far as she could in the cramped space and with her uninjured foot, kicked out the few shards of glass that still clung to the rear windshield then climbed out of the car. Outside, the blowing wind was deafening. Miles and Hugo had nabbed her as she’d been leaving the club that morning at the end of her shift. She’d already changed out of the mini skirt and halter top that were part of her outfit while she tended bar and had put on her jacket. She was thankful for that now as the bitter cold stole her breath and burned what felt like a raw wound on her head.

  Her ankle balked at supporting her weight and she fell back onto the wide trunk. She needed support—a cane of some kind. Looking about wildly, she saw that improvising a cane wouldn’t be a problem. Thick tree limbs littered the snow covered ground and she retrieved one.

  Miles had landed a few feet from the car in a bank of snow that was red with his blood. As she crouched over the fallen man, she saw that his neck was bent at an impossible angle. He was clearly dead.

  In the short time since she’d left the car, her fingers had stiffened from the cold. She flexed them and blew on them, then began patting Miles down. She found his phone in an outer pocket of his jacket. Broken. Unusable. She let out a frustrated sigh. Her semi-automatic was no longer in the waistband of his trousers. Likely, it had been flung away when he was thrown from the car. She didn’t like being defenseless, but she was hardly in a condition to go traipsing into the snow drifts in search of it. It was all she could do to remain on her feet.

  The sound of a vehicle approaching rose above the roar of the wind and then a metallic blue van came into view, glowing like a beacon amid all the white. She knew that van. It was one of Billy’s from the bar. Her stomach clenched.

  The driver met her gaze and his eyes widened.

  Mallory’s breath caught. Staying on the road was not an option. The mountains lay beyond. He couldn’t pursue her into them with the van. He’d have to follow on foot and she’d have a chance.

  Heart hammering, she trudged into the mountains. Her boots sank in the snow. For an instant, the tracks marked her trail but then disappeared beneath fresh snow.

  The van slid to a stop. One door slammed. Then another. So there were two of them. Keep moving. Keep moving.

  Her jacket was red. The color would make it impossible for her to blend in with her surroundings. The men would spot her easily in all the white. Without breaking pace, she removed it. She wanted to turn the jacket inside out and wear it with the liner exposed but the inner lining was also red. Her long sleeved T-shirt, though, was white. She dropped the jacket into the snow. She was cold and wet in an instant. The T-shirt offered little protection against the biting wind or the icy snow that soaked through the thin cotton fabric and left her shivering.

  Snow crunched behind her. She glanced back. The men were giving chase, running toward her, overcoats flapping in the wind, slipping and sliding in their black loafers. The short distance she’d crossed had left her winded, but she increased her pace.

  She had nothing to cut the wind that screamed like a banshee or the snow soaking her hair, her clothing and clinging to her eyelashes. She tucked her hair into her collar for what added warmth it could provide then huddled in the shirt. Particles of ice struck her exposed skin. Some of the flesh on her hands was cut from the spray of glass when the car windows shattered and now ice bit like tiny needles.

  Another wave of dizziness struck her and she shook her head to clear it. She blinked more snow from her eyes and forced her protesting body to keep moving to increase the distance between her and her pursuers.

  She glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the men now, but she could still hear them behind her. Hoping to throw them off her trail, she changed direction, moving deeper into the mountains.

  Her side burned and each breath became harder to take. Her right leg had become a dead weight, forcing her to drag it and depend more heavily on the cane. Mallory suspected the reason she wasn’t feeling intense pain from her ankle was because she was knee-deep in snow and numb from that point down.

  She could no longer hear her pursuers. Hadn’t heard them for some time. It appeared she’d lost them. Her stomach unclenched in relief.

  She could not turn back and risk running into the men and she could not remain out here indefinitely. She needed to take shelter. She needed some time to think and she needed to find a way to communicate with the Bureau.

  Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she moved on. Eventually, she came to a cabin. Her body seemed to sway toward it, but she ignored the yearning. Entering a cabin could be dangerous. She shuddered, leery of ending up at Billy’s cabin. She would need to take some time to observe the place before approaching to ascertain that the place was not Billy’s.

  She needed to find out if the cabin was occupied. There was a large front window, but she couldn’t risk exposure from it. A window high on the front door, devoid of curtains, would give her a view of the inside.

  Her vision wavered. The snow looked fluffy, untouched up here, thick and welcoming like a blanket. The urge to just lie down on that snow, to sink into it, pulled at her. She shook her head. She blinked and took another step. She had to make it. Just a few steps more.

  An overhang kept the snow from falling onto the porch but the snow drift had built on one side and was as high as her thighs. She waded through it toward the door, but stopped short of it, flattening herself against the cabin, letting the sturdy structure take her weight. She rose onto her toes to peer into the window. Her eyes rolled back. She fell against the door then everything went black.

  Snowbound: Chapter Two

  What was that? Gage Broderick turned away from the frozen dinner he was nuking. Sounded like a knock at the door. Impossible. It was a blizzard outside, and he was in the middle of nowhere.

  But the sound nagged. Ignoring the beep from the microwave signaling that his meal was done, he made his way across the rough-hewn plank floor of the cabin to the equally rough door and opened it.

  A woman fell into his arms. Gage caught her against him as a cold gust of wind blew inside. Snow swirled in the air, the crystal flakes dancing then landing o
n the wood floor and instantly becoming puddles of water.

  The woman was unconscious, wet, and so cold, goose bumps rose on Gage’s own flesh from merely touching her.

  The last thing he wanted was company. He felt a surge of anger at the intrusion. He had an instant—a flash—of just leaving her where he’d found her. He went still. He closed his eyes. It was a near thing but he wasn’t that far gone. He hadn’t completely lost his humanity. Yet.

  He lifted the unconscious woman into his arms and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. With the door closed, the wind was gone. More than the absence of cold, the cabin was again quiet other than the sound of the clock on the mantel ticking and the groans and squeaks of the old wood as he made his way into the living room.

  He placed the woman on the leather couch and checked her pulse. Slow but steady. There was blood along her hair line. He parted her thick, brown hair gently and found a long gash at one temple that looked raw, enough to hurt but not severe enough to be life threatening. He probed further, but found no other cuts. He thumbed open her eye lids. Pupils were normal. Not concussed, then. He’d clean the head wound, but that was no longer his first concern.

  Her hair was tucked in the collar of her T-shirt. Oddly, she wore no coat. Her face had little more color than the white shirt. He had to get her warm.

  The snow on her skin was melting and droplets of water glistened on her face and in her hair. He got a towel from the linen cupboard and gently dried her skin, then moved on, drying her hair as best he could with the cloth.

  Tossing the towel aside, he made short work of one boot, dropping it onto the floor, but as he tried to remove the other, it held. He ran his fingers gently over her lower leg and felt swelling in her ankle. Broken? He needed to free her leg. He estimated that the woman had been inside with him for about three minutes. She hadn’t stirred in that time. Better that she hadn’t. The way her boot had molded to her ankle, when he forced it, it was going to hurt.

  With her boots off, he saw that her white socks were soaked through. He peeled them off carefully. Her right ankle was swollen, all right. Swollen but not broken, he judged and on its way to getting one hell of a bruise. He figured she’d had enough ice on that foot, thanks to the snow. Nothing he could do for it.

  Her jeans were wet. Her T-shirt soaked through. No help for it, he was going to have to remove them. By the time he’d taken off the garments, he’d broken into a sweat. Not the result of shifting her slight body weight the few times needed to remove the clothing, but from what had been revealed to him. A tight, sexy body now clad only in a lacy bra thing and matching bikini panties.

  Her underwear was also too wet to leave on and would have to go as well. Gage rubbed a hand that was no longer steady down his face then quickly finished undressing her. He yanked the thick blanket that was draped along the back of the couch and wrapped her in it. He rubbed her arms and legs to stimulate circulation, careful of her injured ankle. When her flesh took on a healthy pink tone, he cleaned her head wound and applied antiseptic. The bleeding had stopped so he left it to air dry rather than dressing it.

  She’d slept through his treatment. He debated rousing her, but decided against it. Her color was back. Her head wound superficial. Her breathing was deep and even. No doubt she was tired after walking up this mountain—and in a blizzard no less. The woman was lucky to be alive.

  What was she doing all the way up here? Gage shook his head. Didn’t matter. Not his problem. What was his problem was that she’d landed on his doorstep. He felt another burst of anger at that. Wrong time. Wrong place, baby.

  The cabin was deep in the mountain and no doubt after the trek she’d just had, she was worn out. He carried her to the only bedroom, placed her on the bed and covered her with the thick down comforter. He left the room, closing the door.

  What she needed now was rest. He’d leave her to it, let her sleep a few hours, then he’d get rid of her.

  * * *

  Mallory opened her eyes and groaned. Her head hurt. And her eyes. Part of the cause of her pain had to be the light streaming in through the uncovered window. Not bright sunlight, but daylight, and too bright for her nonetheless.

  She turned away from it and the movement sent another jolt of pain to her head. She raised a hand to her temple and closed her eyes again at the hurt that shot up her arm.

  Her head and arm weren’t the only parts of her that hurt. She hurt everywhere. The biggest offender though was her ankle. It throbbed as if there was someone inside banging to get out.

  Where was she? On a bed. An immense bed. In a room that could only be described as rustic. The furniture, the four huge posts of the bed, a dresser, and a chest of drawers were rough-hewn from knotted wood. The walls were a dark wood.

  How had she gotten here? Where exactly was here?

  She frowned. The last thing she remembered was stumbling across a cabin and making her way to the porch to check for occupants. She hadn’t entered the cabin in case it was the one that belonged to Billy. Someone else had brought her inside.

  She shifted position and then it struck her: Beneath the blanket, she was naked.

  Someone had removed her clothing. The occupants of the blue van? Had she been wrong in believing she’d lost them in the blizzard? Her throat closed. Perspiration broke out on her skin. Removing a captive’s clothing was number one as a means of intimidation.

  It was working. For an instant, her mind filled with images of the horrors Miles and Hugo had described would be done to her during her interrogation.

  She pushed her hair back from her face with a hand that trembled. Her brow was damp. Her heart was beating hard with fear. How was she going to get out of here?

  She glanced to the window where frost glistened on the glass pane. Too small for her to fit through. It would have to be the door then. She firmed her lips, firmed her resolve.

  She was alone. She didn’t know how long she had before Considine sent one of his people to check on her, so she had no time to waste.

  She sat up, then fought a wave of dizziness. She closed her eyes briefly, riding it out, then tossed the blanket aside. Goose bumps rose on her flesh in the chill air. Shivering, she left the bed. As she put weight on her right leg, she winced. She recalled being hurt in the accident. The leg could be a problem, particularly if she needed to travel a long distance on foot. Nothing to be done about that now. She’d do what she had to do.

  Her clothes were not in sight. If she was going to get out, she couldn’t do it wrapped in a blanket. There wasn’t a closet in this room but the chest of drawers was across from the bed. Gingerly, she made her way to it, keeping her movements slow and deliberate to keep from putting her foot wrong and losing her balance, and to keep from making any noise that might alert anyone else in the cabin with her that she was conscious.

  The clothing in the drawers was for a man or men and by the size of the garments, large men. There were a half dozen pairs of jeans all neatly stacked. She would need to fold the legs back several inches to be able to walk in them, but then she spotted a pair of sweat pants in a steel gray with a drawstring waist and elastic at the cuffs. These would serve better. In another drawer, she found a fleece-lined top and socks.

  Mallory dressed quickly. She looked around the room for her boots, but apparently those were gone as well. Nor were there any men’s shoes about. She went to the bedroom door in her stocking feet, and hoped she’d find her boots before she needed to leave.

  When she reached the door, she stood against it. She told herself her only reason was to put her ear to the wood and listen for sounds in the outer rooms, but as she satisfied herself that she heard none, she remained where she was. She needed a moment to collect herself. Her breathing was rapid. Her body had grown damp from perspiration brought on by exertion. She felt as wrung out as a wet mop. And that was just from the short walk from the chest of drawers to the door. She was going to have to do a lot better if she intended to make it out of here aliv
e.

  She couldn’t risk opening the door without knowing where it would lead. If someone happened to be in front of it, or was assigned to keep watch, she would give herself away. Biting her lip, she considered her options. She was in no condition to take on several men. Her only chance was to lure one of them in here. She needed more than her bare hands to take a man down today, and looked around for a weapon.

  A large, pot-bellied porcelain lamp sat on the nightstand by the bed. She picked it up and flung it against the mirror above the dresser. The mirror shattered. Dropping to her knees, she picked up a shard of glass that was the length and width of her hand. Back at the door, she stood to the side and waited for someone to investigate the source of the noise.

  The door was thrown open and a man ran into the room. She’d been right that at least one of the men in the cabin was large. Just her luck that it was a large man who was the one to respond.

  Mallory seized his wrist, squeezed the pressure point, and twisted. She drove his arm high up his back then pressed the tip of the glass shard to his right kidney.

  “What the—”

  “Move and it will be the last move you make,” she interrupted, keeping her voice low not to alert anyone else in the cabin.

  Though he didn’t utter another sound, his mouth tightened. She knew she was hurting him, but hoped her effort was enough to keep him subdued, because in her present condition, she wasn’t capable of more.

  “How many men are in this cabin?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she applied more pressure to his arm. “Answer me.”

  “I’m alone here.”

  “Where are the others? Where’s Considine?”

  “I don’t know any Considine. And, again, I’m alone here.”

  Mallory’s breathing quickened. “When is Considine getting here? How much time do we have?”