Close To Danger (Westen Series Book 4)

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “I didn’t kidnap you.”

  “You forced me to go with you against my will. I’m pretty sure any lawyer would call that kidnapping. Oh, wait, I am a lawyer.”

  “I simply insisted you leave town for your own safety.”

  “So, your answer to my stalker problem is to keep me prisoner in some isolated place? Until when? He loses interest? Dies of old age?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, counselor.”

  She shrugged and looked out the window. “Right now, it’s all I’ve got.”

  The exit to the interstate was next. He forced himself to concentrate on making it off the ramp and onto the highway without sliding on the icy patches that had formed beneath the snow without landing them in a ditch, or worse, wrapped around a tree. The gusts of wind weren’t helping the descent on the exit ramp. Gripping his hands on the steering wheel, he fought to keep the car on the concrete and eased his foot off the gas.

  As the ramp curved downward in a half-loop the back end of the car fishtailed to his right. Keeping his vision focused on the road up ahead, he slowly turned the wheel in the same direction of the sliding rear of the SUV. On his periphery, Chloe grabbed the dashboard with one hand and the door grip with the other.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  The back of the car snapped back the other direction. He turned the steering wheel in unison. As the rear end slid back to the center, he straightened the wheel. Finally, the car was under control again and they’d gotten off the ramp onto the highway.

  “Whoa,” Chloe said on a long exhale. “Nice driving.”

  “The city salt trucks kept the roads and interstate passable, but now things are going to get dicey the further out into the country we drive,” he said a few minutes later, after his heartrate settled closer to normal.

  “Were they calling for blizzard conditions on the weather channel today?”

  He shook his head, checking the rearview mirror to see if anyone had followed them off the interstate, reassured when no headlights appeared behind them. “Not when I left Westen this morning. Only one to two inches this far south. Cleveland and Canton were supposed to get hit hardest.”

  “I think they need to re-think their prediction. This feels like a blizzard, not just a few inches.” She hadn’t released her clutch on the door grip. “How long until we get to your cabin?”

  He smiled inwardly. She’d figured out where he meant to hide her. “Normally about thirty to forty minutes once we leave the interstate. Tonight?” He shrugged. “Depends on the amount of snow that falls and the conditions of the road.”

  “And what if we get stranded?”

  “Not going to happen.”

  A powerful gust of wind picked that moment to hit the back of the SUV, lurching it forward and covering the windshield with snow like someone had emptied a dump truck on top. Wes took his foot off the gas and fought to keep the vehicle from skidding off the road into a ditch.

  At a complete stop, he took a deep breath, dropped the engine into a lower gear and started driving forward again. “Don’t say it,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.

  He chanced a glance her way, long enough to see her lips quiver. Not tears or fear. He was pretty sure she was trying not to laugh.

  For the next thirty miles their progress was slow, due as much to the wind swirling the snow so thick it was like trying to drive through New England clam chowder. The road was hard to maneuver, but since they seemed to be the only ones on the highway, he drove down the center of the two lanes, the headlights on bright, the windshield wipers keeping a steady rhythm. Inside the SUV, the only noise was the light jazz music and the occasional weather alert, advising people to seek shelter to wait out the storm.

  “Do you think we should get off the highway somewhere?” Chloe asked after thirty minutes had passed.

  “Nothing between here and the outskirts of Westen,” he said, rubbing his free hand over the tense crick that had formed in the back of his neck. “But we aren’t going that far.”

  “Where do we turn off the highway to your cabin?”

  “Keep your eye open for a sign that says cemetery,” he said.

  “Seriously? Cemetery?”

  “Yep. It will be on your side of the road after a forty-five degree turn.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to see it in this stuff.”

  “It’s green with florescent lettering so it can be seen at night.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Harriett’s.”

  “And who is Harriett?” she asked, sounding a little more relaxed.

  Glancing over, he was pleased to see her intently watching out her window for the sign. The woman might have a bit of a stubborn streak, as well as a sassy mouth, but she definitely knew how to follow instructions when they were important. That might be just the trait that would keep her alive if the stalker somehow found them.

  Before he could answer her question, she pointed up ahead. “There it is!”

  He eased his foot onto the brakes, giving just enough pressure to slow the SUV for the turn onto the road leading to the river cabins, but not enough to send them into another slide. Once they were on the road, he shifted the SUV from second to third gear, feeling a little more traction as they headed down the country road.

  “If it weren’t so scary traveling through a blizzard, I’d love how beautiful this is,” Chloe said, her voice almost whispery with awe.

  He had to admit he agreed with her. The road snaked through the forested section of the county that flanked both sides of the creek that fed into the Mohican River. The trees towered overhead, limbs almost bare of leaves, the snow and ice clung to them overhead, forming a tunnel up ahead, the only light coming from his headlights on the snowy ground. He prayed none of the trees had collapsed under the weight of the ice and snow, blocking the road before they got to his cabin.

  He slowed the SUV even more as they made the ninety-degree turn that marked the road to his place about fifty feet further down the road.

  “Almost there,” he said, stretching his fingers to relax the tense grip he’d had on the wheel.

  Florescent strips on a black post, shone in the headlight beam.

  “What’s that?” Chloe asked.

  “Marker to my place,” he said, easing the SUV into the drive and dropping the gear to second, hoping to get up the slight rise without slamming into any trees or the drop off on the side of the road. At least they were within walking distance if they did.

  “Let me guess, Harriett suggested that, too,” Chloe said.

  “Yep,” Wes said, maneuvering the vehicle to the right as the cabin visualized in the headlight beams. They came to a stop and he put the car in park. Exhaling in a huff as his body finally relaxed.

  After a few seconds, Chloe turned in her seat to smile at him. “I’ll have to thank this mysterious Harriett when I meet her. She must’ve been a girl scout.”

  Wes shook his head. “More like CIA.”

  “Really?” Chloe’s eyes widened with curiosity.

  “That’s the general rumor about town.”

  “Well, now I really have to meet her. What’s her story?” She smiled at him and the genuineness of it warmed him better than the heater in the SUV had.

  “How about we get you and our stuff inside the cabin. And I’ll tell you what I know.”

  * * * * *

  The slashed tires had done the trick.

  Strong was headed back to Westen. Back to his comfort zone. Soon, he’d get what he deserved.

  The wind and snow picked up. Time to find a place to wait out the storm.

  Laughter filled the car as it pulled into the motel just off the interstate south of Columbus.

  What was the old phrase?

  Vengeance is a dish best served cold.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Standing at the granite-topped island in the kitchen, Chloe unloaded the bags of sup
plies they’d hauled inside. Across the room Wes worked on building a fire in the fireplace. It hadn’t surprised her that he already had logs of firewood both in the fireplace ready to be lit and a basket of the logs on the hearth when they entered the cabin. She had a feeling he rarely was caught unprepared.

  The man had an efficient smoothness to his movements. Despite the black holster that stretched from one shoulder to the other where a gun was cradled just beneath his left arm, she could see the way his shirt stretched over his muscles, accentuating the power in his upper body. And then there was the way his jeans stretched across his thighs and ass as he squatted.

  “You getting warmer?” he asked, standing to rub his hands in front of the fire.

  Oh yeah. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the fire or him, but she was certainly warm.

  “Chloe?”

  She blinked, finding him staring at her with concern in his eyes. “Oh, yes. Definitely warmer.”

  “If you’ve got the cold stuff in the fridge, the rest can wait until tomorrow. What you need is some sleep,” he said, heading into the small room on the opposite side of the cabin.

  The bedroom. The only bedroom.

  The place she’d spent a night in two weeks ago, with him. The night about which she remembered nothing. Nothing except waking up in her underwear in his very rumpled bed.

  Would he expect them to pick up where they’d left off? Would he expect her to remember that night? Should she tell him she didn’t remember anything they may or may not have done?

  Her body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the fire. Nervously, she turned to the back counter and began organizing the boxes of little pods of coffee Wes bought for the coffee maker. Funny, he’d bought eight different flavors, none of them decaffeinated.

  “I wasn’t sure which kind you’d like,” he said from right behind her, causing her to jump back and into him. He caught her by the elbows. “I’ve got you.”

  “Don’t do that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see him staring down into her eyes, a different kind of fire in them.

  “Catch you or scare you?” His voice was low and husky.

  “Both,” she whispered, then licked her lips.

  The air around her thickened. She struggled to take a deep breath as his hand slid up her arms to her hands. He laced his fingers with her, pulling her up against his body and wrapping both their arms around her.

  “You’re safe, here Chloe. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered, his lips millimeters from hers. Then he lowered his mouth, capturing her lips. The pressure of his lips on hers was gentle, reassuring. He pulled back, their lips clinging for a second at the end. “We’ve had a long, stressful day. I think it’s time to get some sleep.”

  He released his hold on her and reached the light switch on the wall to click off the lights in the main cabin. Stepping back, he motioned her towards the lit bedroom. Her body and brain a jangled mess of nerves, she walked, straight-backed, ahead of him.

  Could she do this? Could she just climb into bed with a man she hardly knew? Consciously? Because she obviously could do it so drunk she had black out sex with the man. But if she went through with it this time, it would be because she wanted him, wanted to make love to him.

  At the door, he stopped her, with a hand on her shoulder.

  “What?” she asked, trying not to jump out of her skin at his touch.

  The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “After you change, open the door before you get in bed. That way the fire can warm that room, too. Otherwise you’re going to get very cold in there tonight.”

  Blinking, she peeked into the bedroom where he’d folded down one side of the bed and laid out a flannel shirt. Surprised, she swiveled her gaze back to him.

  “You’re going to need something to sleep in. I’d advise keeping socks on, too,” he said stepping away.

  “Where…?” She let the question drift off.

  “I’m taking the couch tonight.” Sitting on the couch he took off his boots and then took off his gun holster, laying it on the end table. He stood and reached for the button of his jeans, pausing to stare at her. “Don’t stand there tempting me, Chloe.”

  She practically jumped into the bedroom, shut the door behind her and leaned her back against it, sucking in air and willing her heart rate to slow. Her body relaxed and she quickly felt the change in the temperature inside the room. He was right. She’d have to sleep with the door open. Of course that was assuming she’d sleep at all tonight.

  Shivering, she stripped out of her work clothes and snatched up the wool flannel shirt he’d left on the bed. It was at least two sizes too big for her in width, but the tails of the shirt only grazed inches above her knees. Chuckling, she was glad she was tall. Bobby would’ve had this thing hitting her mid-calf. She pulled the white scrunch-style socks out of the Walmart bag and shoved her feet into one pair, sighing at the sudden warmth on her feet. A quick search of Wes’s closet and she found a free hanger to hang up her wool skirt and sweater she’d worn to work.

  Ready for bed, she opened the door, the only light in the other room from the embers in the now-banked fire. She could see Wes’s silhouette stretched out on the couch beneath a quilt. Shivering again, she hustled into the bed and burrowed beneath the sheets and layers of quilts.

  Suddenly weary, she drifted asleep, her last thought was whether she’d remember this night tomorrow.

  * * * * *

  “You’re open late, tonight, Lorna,” Deputy Sheriff Jason Clarke said as he slipped onto a counter stool at the Peaches ’N Cream Café, just after midnight.

  Pulling off his gloves, he laid them on the counter beside him, placed his cell phone on top of them where he could see it, and opened his heavy coat. Not warm enough to take it off just yet. As the youngest deputy in the department, he’d pulled night duty for the month. Starting his third week, he was glad the café was still open tonight. A hot meal would be way better than the peanut butter and jelly he’d packed this evening.

  “Figured we’d best keep a pot of coffee on and some soup on the stove in case any of the usual truckers make it to town. So far, only Jack and Clarence made it in,” she said, nodding to the two truckers who were working on their soup in a corner booth. She flipped up a coffee mug in front of him and filled it with hot coffee. “I’ve got some blankets and pillows in the office for them. Can’t have you finding them frozen to death in their truck cabs tonight.”

  He grinned at her. “I surely appreciate that.” As he took a drink of the coffee, he looked around the café. “I thought your new waitress—Hannah, wasn’t it?—was working the closing shifts this month. That’s what Glenna told me the other day.”

  “Girl called in sick yesterday and I haven’t heard from her tonight. Although it’s just as well. I’d have sent her on home before the weather hit, anyways. I’ve only got room for Rachel to sleep in my office. And Pete has the upstairs apartment now.”

  She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she passed with a pot of coffee in the direction of the truckers.

  Movement from the kitchen caught his eye. Pete, the main cook for the café, walked his way. The man usually had on one of the café’s signature tee shirts with an apron over top and his long, thin grey hair pulled back in a red, white and blue bandana. Today he also had a heavy cardigan on.

  “Evening, Pete.”

  “Evening, Deputy. Gotcha something to warm you up.” He placed a piping hot bowl of beef vegetable soup and a plate of fresh cornbread muffins in front of him.

  “Smells great, Pete.” Jason’s stomach picked that moment to growl in appreciation of the aroma coming from the food. Shrugging out of his uniform coat, he laid it on the stool beside him. He slipped his spoon in the edge, scooped up broth and meat, blowing on it before eating it. “Damn, Pete, that’s good. This sure beats the sack lunch I have back over at the Sheriff’s office.”

  “Well, my mama always said, when the weather gets bad, make soup,�
�� Pete said with a grin, then moseyed back into the kitchen.

  Jason buttered the muffins and ate his meal as he considered what he knew about Pete. The story was that Pete wandered into the Peaches ’N Cream about fourteen years ago, not long after Lorna’s husband had died. Lorna needed help in the kitchen since her daughter Rachel was only a toddler at the time. Pete picked up a knife, started cutting vegetables for a stew and never left.

  The man was old enough to have served in Vietnam, according to Jason’s boss, Sheriff Gage Justice. Gage’s father, the former sheriff, had dug into Pete’s military history, but kept the file closed, once he’d determined that the cook only wanted a simple life of working and living in the small town. Gage joked that his dad made the decision once he’d had a helping of his biscuits and sausage gravy one morning.

  “You certainly did that plate justice,” Lorna said, stepping back behind the counter once more and refilling his mug. “You planning on dessert? All I have is chocolate cake.”

  He glanced at his phone. No calls. No texts. “Might as well. I’ve already made the rounds of the shops on Main Street. Doubt anyone wants to loot anyone on a night as bad as this.”

  Lorna took a slice of cake from the glass enclosed desert counter and set it in front of him. “Did you happen to stop by the Baptist Church and see if old Earl was inside for the night? I sent a message with Wes this morning for him to talk to Pastor Miller about helping out for the winter. Sent a coat with him, too.”

  “Sure did,” Jason said, scooping up a forkful of rich chocolate decadence. “Pastor was packing Earl into his van and taking him home for the night. Told him he wanted extra help around the house with the storm, what with Ms. Suzie expecting their first baby and all.”

  Lorna snorted and shook her head. “Whatever could that old coot do to help with a pregnant woman?”

  Jason drank some coffee to wash the cake down before answering. “I got the impression the pastor wanted Earl at the house and not at the church in case the power went out there. I don’t think he wanted to come back tomorrow and find him frozen to death in the church. Helping at his place was an excuse to take him home.”