I backed toward the door, but before I could get inside, a huge, hulking, furry creature emerged from the forest.
Chapter 3
“B ig Foot?” I asked.
“Who the hell are you?” The voice, which had a Southern lilt so far out of place in this land of ice and snow that I gaped, came from the depths of a fur-shrouded hood. Was that a wolfskin coat?
Nah. Couldn’t be legal.
He strode forward, and I shrank back, shoving the gun in front of me and waving it around a little. “Don’t move.”
Reaching out with longer arms than a person should have, he yanked away the weapon.
“Use it or lose it.” He turned the thing over in his hands. “How’d you get Joe’s gun?”
“He’s—” I wasn’t sure how to break the news about Joe, or even if I should.
I’d come upon the scene of a multiple murder, again, and now this guy had walked out of the woods. I should run for my life. Except he had the gun, and he’d probably just shoot me. Talk about being too stupid to live.
My neck had a crick from peering up at him. At five-foot-ten, I was a tall woman, but this…person had to top me by six inches and outweigh me by a hundred pounds. Or maybe that was just the coat.
With an exasperated sigh, the beast shoved past me and went inside, coming to an abrupt stop almost immediately.
“Shit,” he muttered.
My sentiments exactly.
The man pushed back his hood as he turned.
Hello.
Tanned, rugged, with hazel eyes that held more green than brown and tawny hair shorn close to his head, he was handsome in the way of cowboys and NFL quarterbacks.
“You’re the kid,” he drawled. “Phoebe’s daughter.”
“Who are you?”
He hesitated, then glanced at the bodies and shrugged. “Phoebe had a guard and a nurse twenty-four seven. We rotated in biweekly shifts. One week new guard, one week new nurse.” He scowled. “Gonna need a new one of both after today.”
“You’re her guard.”
“No, I’m the nurse.”
Sarcasm? I wasn’t sure. He knelt next to the woman and set his big, blunt fingers to her wrist, checking for a pulse. Damn, I should have thought of that.
“Is she—?”
“Definitely.” He switched his ministrations to the man. “Ditto. What happened?”
“I walked in; there they were.” I left out the extreme case of déjà vu.
“Phoebe.” He rose quickly to his feet.
“Not here. I checked.”
“Not good.”
“Because?”
“She’s either out there alone—and your mother doesn’t have the sense to put on a coat to take a walk, let alone grab one when she’s running for her life—or someone took her.”
“Why would someone take her?”
“You tell me. Daddy paid big money not only to keep your mother way out here but to keep her protected. Why?”
“He was paranoid?”
“I’ve discovered that most people who are paranoid usually have a good reason.”
“Really? I’ve found that most people who are paranoid are nuts.”
His lips twitched. I wasn’t certain if I’d amused him at last or merely annoyed him even more.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I wasn’t going to elaborate on what had brought me to Alaska. I barely knew the man. Instead, I gave the short version.
“I came to see my mother.”
He lifted one brow. “Good luck with that.”
God, he was annoying.
“What kind of nurse are you?” I demanded. “Army?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Since my bedside manner usually takes place in a war zone, I can’t imagine why.”
I wasn’t surprised to discover J.T. had hired an Army nurse—if this guy was telling the truth, and why lie?—just another case of overkill.
“What’s your name?”
“Dylan Shepard.”
Didn’t mean anything to me, but why should it? Until yesterday, I’d thought my mother was dead. I certainly hadn’t kept tabs on her guards and nurses.
“Where’d you come from?” I continued.
“Originally or today?”
“Both.”
“Alabama and my cabin.”
“Which is where?”
“South of Tennessee, north of the Gulf.”
“Funny guy.”
“I get that a lot.”
I gave him a long look.
“I own a fishing cabin about two miles from here,” he continued. “Sometimes I’ll stay there between shifts.”
“And the other times?”
“I fly to Fairbanks and get a life.”
“You’re a pilot?” My voice rose with excitement.
“No, but I can call one.” He frowned at the bodies again. “Right now, I think I’ll call the police.”
“With what?” I asked. “If there’s a phone here, I can’t find it.”
“Extreme security. J.T.’s orders.”
“What if there was an emergency?”
He lifted a brow. “Like this?”
I spread my hands.
“I have a phone at my place.” He headed for the door, and I followed. When he stopped, I rammed into him, then bounced back about three feet.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
“I’m not staying here.” I glanced at the bodies. “With them. I’m going with you.”
“Listen, Your Highness, just because you’re queen of Manhattan don’t make you the boss of me.”
“Actually, I think I am the boss of you.”
“How you figure?”
“J.T.’s dead.”
He didn’t appear surprised. “How?”
I motioned to the bodies. “Same way.”
“That’s…weird.”
I had to agree.
Suddenly, he tilted his head.
“What?” I asked.
“Shh!” He punctuated the sharp hiss with an even sharper hand gesture. Since I wasn’t used to being shushed by anyone but J.T., I was shocked enough to do exactly that. I still didn’t hear anything.
Shepard crossed the floor. Inching to the side of the window, he peered out cautiously, then yanked his head back just as the glass exploded inward.
“Dammit!” Ducking low, he raced for the door, snatching my arm as he went by and dragging me along with him.
“What happened?”
“Shut up and run.” He shoved me outside. “Fast.”
“Where?” All the trees looked alike, and there wasn’t a path that I could see.
Shepard shouldered past. “Try to keep up. Try not to get shot.”
“Gee, I’ll do my best,” I muttered.
I glanced at the house. Shadows flitted beyond the windows. They were inside, but soon enough they’d discover that we weren’t. I hurried after Shepard, who was already a hundred feet ahead.
I jogged every day, but there was a heap big difference between jogging on a treadmill with my fancy-schmancy sneakers and hoofing it through the snow, wearing someone else’s boots and fearing for my life. Nevertheless, I managed to cling to Shepard’s heels.
I didn’t hear sounds of pursuit, probably because all I could hear were my own panicked breaths and the terrified pounding of my heart. I started to get winded; I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.
We burst from the trees and into an open field. I cringed at the glare of the full moon off all that snow. We were sitting ducks out here.
I slid into the cover of the trees, but that only brought me closer to our pursuers, although I still didn’t hear anything beyond a few crunches of snow in the distance. Shouldn’t they be calling out to one another, thundering after us, making a racket? That they weren’t only made me more nervous.
“Over here.” Shepard jabbed a finge
r to our right, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me after him. Instead of running straight across the pristine white field, we skirted the tree line.
Unable to stop myself, I glanced back. The moon revealed shadows fast approaching. The angle of the light made them appear almost inhuman.
My hesitation drew Shepard’s attention. “They’re good,” he muttered.
I’d been thinking the same thing. Shepard knew the area; we should be farther ahead than we were. Sure, we’d left tracks in the snow, but in the thickness of the forest, tracks should be pretty hard to see. Unless our pursuers had freakishly good night vision.
“Get inside,” Shepard ordered.
A cabin had popped out of nowhere, reminding me of Hansel, Gretel, and the witch’s house—an unpleasant image, considering the fiery death at the end, at least for the witch.
Nevertheless, I ran up the steps. The front door wasn’t locked, and I tumbled inside, Shepard on my heels. He flicked the lights, revealing a one-room cabin—stove, bed, table, and chairs.
Shepard lowered a heavy iron bar across the door, then slammed wooden shutters over the nearest window. I followed his lead, dealing with the shutters at the back of the house and struggling with a similar bar on the rear door.
When we’d finished, we stood on opposite sides of the room, listening. Not a sound came from outside. They had to be out there. What were they doing?
A sudden burst of howling made me start. My heart, which had been slowing, leaped and thundered once more. It sounded as if a pack of wolves had encircled the cabin.
I figured our pursuers would shoot a few, then start shooting us, but the howls continued, rising and falling in a wild chorus. Then, just as suddenly as they’d begun, the howls stopped.
Shepard cursed. “Let’s go.”
Before I could ask where and why, the lights went out with a tinny thunk, suspending us in navy blue darkness.
“Oh, goody,” I muttered. “Trapped.”
“Relax,” he murmured. “We aren’t trapped.”
“We’re in an isolated cabin with wolves and bad guys all around us. Electricity’s out—no phone, no lights. Feels pretty trapped to me.”
A sharp creak was followed by a draft of cool air, a snick, and a faint beam of yellow light illuminating a door in the floor. Steps led downward.
“You’re not really a nurse, are you?” I asked.
The flashlight splashed across his face, revealing a slight smile. Though the expression did not reach his eyes, it did soften the harsh lines of his face. He appeared younger when he smiled, and I was tempted to ask him how young, but he turned and disappeared down the steps.
I had little choice but to follow, even though dark, musty, spidery, rat-infested basements are not my thing. Shepard perched a few steps below, holding open the heavy trap door. He indicated with a jerk of his head that I should continue down.
He was big, and I wasn’t exactly small; as I went by, I brushed against him, chest to chest, hip to stomach. If I leaned forward just a little, my lips would brush his throat. God, he smelled good. Like moon-shrouded snow and fresh-cut evergreens.
His smile faded; he appeared almost confused. Had it been that long since a woman’s breasts had been near his chest? I know it had been quite a while since these particular breasts had been near anything but a bra.
If we weren’t running for our lives, I’d be tempted to discover what lay beneath that fur coat.
All my life, I’d dated slim, rich, Yankee men whose muscles had been honed by squash or a personal trainer and whose pedigrees had been much bluer than my own. I’d been interested enough, but I’d never felt the longing for them that shot through me now. The bizarre desire to get naked and sweaty and rough with a man whose muscles were bigger than my head and had been honed amid fire and blood and death.
Logically, I knew my reaction was the result of an innate need to mate with someone stronger than me, to be possessed, then protected. As soon as I was safe again, all of the lust would go away.
Why, yes, I was a psychology major. A lot of people with insane parents were.
I finished sliding past, the speed of the movement only serving to rub myself more thoroughly against him. Remembering the Lycra shirt and my lack of a bra, my nipples hardened. Shepard glanced down, his hazel eyes appearing almost blue in the faint ray of light. I’d opened my coat in the warmth of his cabin, and what I felt pressing against my shirt, straining toward him, had to be visible even in this light.
I wanted him to touch me, to push me against the wall, cup my aching breasts in his big, hard hands, put his mouth over my nipples, and suckle as he unbuckled his pants, yanked down mine, and thrusted.
He gritted his teeth, tore his gaze from mine, and pulled the trap door shut behind us. My cheeks flooded with heat. What was wrong with me? I preferred my sex neat and tidy, no emotional attachments, no spending the night, the less muss and fuss, the better. But out here, with him, more things had changed than the weather.
When Shepard handed me the flashlight, his face had gone blank, as if the encounter had never happened. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or relieved. Maybe he was gay.
I preceded him down the steps to a small earthen room. An even smaller tunnel led away from it.
“How did you do this?” I tracked the flashlight beam across the walls, the floor, the ceiling. “The ground has to be frozen solid.”
“With enough money, you can do anything.”
Understanding dawned. “J.T.”
He lifted one massive shoulder, then lowered it. “Nothing but the best for Phoebe and her keepers.”
I frowned. That didn’t sound like J.T. If he’d cared so much about Phoebe, why had he sent her there? Why had he told everyone she was dead? Perhaps to keep something like this—blood, death, panicked pursuit—from happening?
Shepard began to root around a shadowy corner. Seconds later, he held out a pair of gloves and a really ugly hat.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m trying to cut down.”
He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the place for vanity, Highness. Without these, you’ll get frostbite, and I don’t have the time.”
“Thought you were a nurse.”
“You want your fingers and ears to fall off? That would not be a good look for you.”
“Fine.” I grabbed the gloves and the hat and put them on, while he grabbed a monstrous pack and slipped it onto his back, then headed into the tunnel.
The trip was a short one. I didn’t see a single spider. Not a rat to be had, which probably had more to do with the subzero temperatures than luck. My luck hadn’t been anything but bad since I’d stepped out of my apartment…had that only been last night?
The tunnel tilted upward, narrowing. By the time a lighter shade of darkness appeared, we had descended to our knees, Shepard removing the pack and shoving it ahead of him, as we crawled through a very tight space. I didn’t like it, but I doubted I’d like what happened if I turned around and went back any better.
“Once they’re inside,” Shepard murmured, “it won’t take them long to figure out where we’ve gone and follow. If we can get far enough ahead, we should be okay.”
I hadn’t heard sounds of pursuit, but I’d been too fixated on the possibility of spiders and rats to pay much attention.
We reached the exit hole. Shepard flicked off the flashlight and shoved it into the pocket of his fur coat. Then he made a staying motion with one gloved mitt and crept through.
I tensed in expectation of an outcry, a gunshot. When none came, he held out a hand and helped me from the passage.
We emerged much deeper in the forest, a place where the trees were so tall and thick you could barely see past them. In the distance, shadows danced—shadows that appeared more wolflike than human.
“You think they went inside already?” I whispered.
Shepard opened his mouth—and the world exploded into sound and fire and light.
Chapter 4
“
W as that your cabin?” I asked.
“Was,” Shepard agreed. He didn’t sound very concerned. “Guess they decided to do this the easy way.”
“Why is that”—I stabbed a finger at the brightly burning blaze—”the easy way?”
“No shootout, no storming the door. Just kaboom, and they’re done.”
“If it’s so damn easy to blow up a place, why didn’t they do that at the clinic?”
“Could be they wanted to make sure they had the right place, the right person—or anyone at all. Blow someone up, and you’re never quite sure.”
He had a point.
“What did I ever do to have people on opposite sides of the country trying to kill me?” I muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Someone tried to kill me in New York, too.”
“That might have been a good thing to share before now.”
“You think?” I mocked, then really wished I hadn’t.
I’d learned sarcasm at J.T.’s knee, discovered it was the best way to fight back against a man who had no use or affection for me. Being good at being a smart ass was my only measure of control in a world where I had little. The habit was hard to break.
Around here—I glanced at the trees, the snow, the acres and acres of nothing else—I didn’t have much control, either. Still, being Sarcasm Girl with the only person alive for miles who hadn’t tried to kill me yet was probably not a good choice.
However, Shepard’s face had turned thoughtful; he didn’t even react to my comment, which made it no fun at all. “Someone tried to kill you, then they killed your dad?” he asked.
“Not the same person, but basically, yes.”
“Then they came for your mom.”
“Also probably not the same person; they would have needed to have a plane waiting in order to beat me here.”
“Not so hard.”
True, but…“Everyone thought she was dead, including me.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Well, that explains why you didn’t call, you didn’t write.” He glanced away. “She cried for you.”
My throat tightened. I’d cried myself to sleep a lot of nights missing my mother; she’d done the same missing me. If J.T. weren’t dead, I’d be tempted to kill him.
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