McManus gave a side door a good shove. “This way.”
Ben hesitated at the doorway to a short hall and stairwell. “Where are we going?”
“The investigation is complete.” The governor turned and smiled. “We got her downstairs.”
“Chef Stone?”
He nodded. “My new security team detained her minutes ago, and they’re questioning her. We had to catch her red-handed, Ben, and that’s why I was so angry every time you stepped in to save me.”
That made sense, in a convoluted and stupid way.
“I want you down there for the questioning,” McManus said. “You have a vested interest in this.”
But not vested enough to know about the investigation when he should have been heading it. Something stunk… bad.
The governor gave him another nudge to the stairs. “Hurry, Ben.”
He did, but, hell, his gut was screaming loud and clear that something was wrong.
~*~
Monica Stone let go of Callie’s arm long enough to grab the handle and tug open the heavy door. Icy air blasted through thick, clear panels that hung in the doorway.
Just her luck, Callie thought. An abandoned pantry and the ancient freezer still worked.
“In there.” She shoved Callie forward, a vinyl panel in the doorway like a chilly slap in her face.
“Please.” Callie could finally turn and meet her enemy face to face. Eyes as cold as the freezer narrowed at her. “Please let me go.”
“You know too much.” She took a menacing step forward, the gun aimed right at Callie’s heart.
“I don’t know anything,” she lied.
“You’re with that bodyguard, that Bullet Catcher.”
“He’s my—”
The side of the gun slammed against the side of her head, stunning her with the impact and a fiery slice of pain that made the inside of her brain scream.
“Don’t lie, you little bitch. He’s figured out too much already.” She shoved Callie backward, this time with enough force to knock her onto an unforgiving pebbled floor.
Crouching down, the chef held the gun directly in the center of Callie’s forehead, her hand remarkably steady, her gaze unwavering as she reached into a pocket in the front of her chef’s apron.
“These have been rubbed liberally in beet root jelly.” She opened her palm to reveal a handful of Black Cherry petals. “If you eat them, you will die in your sleep, quietly and peacefully. If you don’t, you will die of hypothermia in an hour, frozen until your heart gives out. Either way, the world will think you were part of the assassination plot and it’ll be assumed you took the chicken’s choice of suicide rather than face attempted charges. Same end result, however you choose to die.”
Already Callie was shivering, her thin silk clothes no match for what felt like twenty below. “Wh… why?” she asked, trying to force her teeth not to clatter. “Why do you want to kill the governor?”
The woman stood slowly, a wicked smile curving her lips. “I’m not going to kill him, my dear. I’m going to marry him, once we get rid of his pesky wife. She’s going to be the victim of an assassination attempt gone wrong, and Roy, my future husband, will be re-elected on sympathy votes.”
So the governor wasn’t the target… he was the killer.
The chef backed up, the gun aimed at Callie’s heart. “Your manner of death is up to you.” She fluttered the petals on the cold steel floor. “Goodbye and thanks for the flowers.”
Death? Not if she lunged, dodged a bullet, and took this devil woman down by stuffing poison down her throat.
It was a plan.
She swallowed hard, scooped up the petals, took a breath, and jumped—
The gunshot echoed through the steel walls with a blinding flash of light and an impact that threw Callie backwards. The world went dark instantly and completely.
All she could do was pray that she died quickly.
Chapter Five
A gunshot—muffled but close—brought Ben to a complete halt. Out of habit and training, he seized the governor with one hand and drew his weapon with the other.
“No way, Governor,” he said, gripping his jacket even though the other man tried to wrench free and get to the door of a storage pantry.
“They’re in there,” McManus said.
“And so was that shot.” Ben let go, lifting his Glock and facing the door. He braced the weapon with his left hand, prepared for anything or anyone to come out.
“Governor McManus!” The shout came from up the stairway, and Ben recognized it as Brickman, the head of his security.
“Go,” Ben gave him a push toward the stairs. “Get up and get secure. I’ll go in here.”
“I’m on my way, Brickman.” He headed to the stairs, turning back to look at Ben over his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Youngblood. Too good.”
“Just stay alive so I can get my goddamn job back.”
He thought he heard the governor laugh, but didn’t take the time to analyze that. Instead, Ben kicked in the pantry door, ready to fire.
The room was empty, except for dry food supplies and stainless steel shelving. No other door or window. Just shelves and frozen storage.
Holding the gun, he turned the handle of the freezer, drawing the heavy door out to peer into the darkness inside. Wasn’t there a—
Whoompf! Kicked from the back, Ben went sailing into the cold space, gripping his gun as he caught his balance, instantly swinging around to fire, getting off a shot just as the door slammed shut, leaving him in ice-cold darkness.
What the fuck? He lunged at the door release, tripping over something soft as he threw his body on the lever.
And nothing happened.
“God damn it!” He shouldered the bar again, hitting nothing but frozen steel. There wasn’t so much as a sliver of light, not anything to help him get his bearings, but he moved on instinct, long ago trained for how to get out of situations like these.
Don’t get in situations like these, Lucy Sharpe would have said.
But where had that person been hiding? On top of the freezer?
Swearing softly, he started searching for an emergency lock release, no doubt a large mushroom cap that was required by law even in an abandoned freezer. He felt his way around the door, not bothering to dig out his phone for a light. His hands rolled over mounds of ice grown thick from a lack of defrosting. And with warm temperatures outside… that emergency release shaft could be frozen, too.
He found the smooth, round cap and slammed with all his strength. “God damn it.” Frozen solid. He punched harder. “Fuck!”
Shoving his weapon in the holster, he started back across the freezer, not even a low-grade panic building inside of him. He had to get out; he had to get to McManus—who already knew the assassin.
That was—
His foot hit the soft lump again, feeling a touch of warmth against his ankle. What was in this freezer that wasn’t frozen? He dropped to his knees and reached into the dark, landing on… a person. A female.
A lifeless female.
The minute his chilled hands touched her face and silky hair, he knew who it was. Then he really swore.
~*~
So this was death. Callie didn’t expect it to hurt so much once you were actually dead. Agonizing, stabbing, searing pain ricocheted through her head, clobbering her brain like someone was pounding her with a shovel.
And the cold. Bone-deep, bitter, biting cold seeped through her clothes and skin and felt like it was actually freezing her inside. Her lungs ached with each ragged breath, as though they’d been stripped bare and flattened in snow.
And… there was the light. Everyone talked about the light. Absolutely blinding white light, so bright she couldn’t stand to open her eyes to face it. At least she was headed in the right direction, going up to the Lo—
“Callie. Holy hell, Callie, wake up.”
Holy hell? After all the prayers she said? All the times she didn’t lie or cuss or cov
et a dang thing? After leaving Kentucky and giving up her dream of college because no one else in the whole family would move to Florida to help Granny Belle run her farm? That wasn’t enough to get her in—
“Callie, come on, honey, come on.”
Who was that? Whose voice was calling her? St. Peter? God Himself? Fighting all the pain and misery, she forced her eyes to open just enough and instantly the light moved away.
“Wake up, Callie. Please, wake up.”
She blinked again, the light distant now, ambient and far enough away so that she could see…
The devil. There he was, right in front of her, as black as she’d imagined. Midnight hair, inky eyes, shadows of evil over mean and merciless bones. He was so, so dark. And so, so… warm.
“Callie.”
The devil knew her name. And he lifted her, making the pain slice through her head and then his lips—his evil, satanic, black-hearted, hot lips—came down on hers, kissing but breathing, too. Breathing life. Breathing warmth. Breathing hope.
Nothing about this devil was exactly… hellish.
“You’re alive,” he murmured into her lips.
Was she? She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. Her mind was completely blank, her body ice cold, and her mouth… Oh, my, but her mouth wanted more of the devil.
Without thinking about how wrong or dangerous it might be or how much she hurt, she pulled herself into him, sliding her hands around his body, hungry for heat, dying for him.
She kissed him furiously, clutching with any bit of strength she had, her mouth open to devour the sweetness of his tongue.
“I’m alive,” she sighed into his mouth. So, so alive.
Slowly, he pulled away, stealing his warmth and that mouth she had to have more of.
“Did she shoot you?”
Did… she…
The gunshot. She remembered the gunshot. The noise and the cold and the shock sending her flying back to hit the floor. But…
She looked down, half expecting a hole in her heart, but there was no blood. Only pain in the back of her head and a dull throbbing in her temple.
“She hurt you.” He put his hand over her cheek and she flinched, sucking in a breath.
“I’m okay.” She was, wasn’t she? “Where am I… who are…?”
Wisps of memories started to curl around the agony in her head like fog over the farm on a chilly morning, teasing her as she glanced at her fisted hand. She opened her fingers slowly to reveal a handful of black petals.
“I’m Ben,” the devil said softly, still cradling her with strong arms and luscious warmth. “And we’re locked in a freezer in the basement of a hotel.”
It all came back, a punch of reality as hard as the butt of that gun that woman had slammed into her head. That woman… that chef woman. She was—
“Ben.” She almost pushed him away as she forced herself to sit up, corralling her thoughts, the relief of life instantly washed away by reality. “They’re in it together.”
Even in the narrow band of light from what she guessed was a cell phone, Callie could see surprise register, then he grunted softly as the truth hit. “I should have figured that.”
“The two of them are trying to kill Mrs. McManus and make it look like an assassination gone wrong.” A cold shudder shook her whole body on the last word, and he pulled her into his body, letting her arms slide under his sports jacket, desperate to absorb his warmth.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, reluctantly backing away. “Now.”
“We’re locked in.”
“What?” She jerked completely away from him. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He tilted the phone so it highlighted every feature on his face and the raw determination etched on the handsome lines.
Handsome? A minute ago she thought he was the devil. He tapped the screen. “And no signal. But we have a light.” He beamed it toward the locked door. “I can figure this out.”
“There should be an emergency release,” she said.
“Tried that. It’s either broken or frozen.” He stood slowly, stealing all the warmth.
“Please.” She held her hand up. “Don’t let me go.”
“God, what am I thinking?” He tore out of his jacket and draped it around her, helping her slide shivering arms into the sleeves with a tremble of quick relief, embracing her to add to the warmth. It helped a little, but not for long in sub-zero temperatures. How long would they be in here?
“There has to be an alarm,” she said quickly, blowing on her hands.
He started to move away, but she stayed with him, desperate for his body warmth. Together, the examined the wall around the door, using the light of his phone.
“Found it!” she exclaimed as she hit a red plastic square built into the stainless wall.
“Wait.” He grabbed her hand. “Not yet. Not until we have a plan. Not until I know you’re safe no matter who opens this door.”
They searched each other’s faces in the dark, eyes somewhat adjusted now, each thinking.
“I’ll pretend to be dead,” she finally said.
“What?”
“It’s what they expect, she told me that. If Stone or McManus is out there, I’ll be lying right there, as if I’d poisoned myself. They won’t know you know about him. You’ll have the element of surprise on your side.”
He didn’t say anything, his nostrils flaring with each tortured breath.
“You’re trying to come up with something better and can’t,” she said.
“True.” His eyes shuttered as he inched imperceptibly closer. “But mostly I’m trying to remember the last time I met someone as fearless as a little flower farm girl in the country.”
The compliment warmed her, or at least his proximity did. “I’m not little. And I’m not a girl. And, the minute I can sell that damn farm and move to a city, I won’t grow flowers anymore.” She managed a smile. “So one more insult, Youngblood, and you eat the roses.”
“Lie down and play dead.” He issued the order with a full embrace, pulling her so tight into his body that there was no way she could comply. “After I kiss you again.”
And there was no way she could not comply to that order, lifting her face, relaxing her trembling lips, and inhaling the taste of him when they kissed. His mouth was soft, his chest was hard, his tongue wet, and his arms like a vise holding her still.
Slanting her head, she took his kiss and gave back everything she had, her blood suddenly… thawing.
Finally, he ended the kiss, his eyes still closed. “Now you can play dead,” he said huskily, as affected by the kiss as she was.
“If I can walk.”
“From the cold?”
“From that kiss.”
He smiled. “There’s more for you, Daisy Duke. Let’s just get out of this mess.”
“Oh, take this.” She slipped out of his jacket and handed it to him. “Wouldn’t it be more believable if you’re in it?”
He shook his head. “Put it over you. I don’t want you really dead.”
She nodded, falling to the floor and covering herself with his sports jacket. She pulled the expensive fabric over her face, inhaling the last whiffs of his scent before it all froze off in the cold.
“I’m ready,” she announced. “Hit the button.”
She closed her eyes, squeezed her hands, and braced for the deafening scream of an alarm.
But all she heard was a click. And more cussing.
Oh, this couldn’t be good.
Chapter Six
For a moment, Ben’s mind went uncharacteristically blank. He just froze and not because he could now see his breath and the thermometer on the wall, which read a bone-chilling three degrees Fahrenheit.
Now what? Forget McManus and his chef partner in crime. And forget the governor’s wife who may or may not be dead right now. Ben didn’t give a shit about anything but getting Callie out of here alive.
“Don’t you have a gun?” she asked.
<
br /> “It won’t shoot through the steel and insulation.”
“Can’t you blow the lock off, like in the movies?”
He snorted softly. “Guaranteed to jam the locking mechanism and…” Write our death certificate. “That wouldn’t be good.”
“Is there a vent? An escape hatch? A drain? A back door? An axe?”
As her voice rose with ideas and panic, he mentally ticked off every possibility, turning with his phone light. “All good thoughts, but…”
“We can’t just die here, Ben.”
“We won’t.” He dropped to his knees to hold her, hearing the reedy note of fear through her chattering teeth and shivering body. Already her breath was slowing, her metabolism kicking in to increase the blood flow and oxygen.
She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten, and had nothing but paper-thin clothes on and bare feet in heels.
“Here,” he said, yanking open his tie to slide it out of the collar. “Wrap your hands. And take this.” He started unbuttoning his shirt.
“No, Ben, you’ll freeze without a shirt on.”
“You’ll die without it. Put the shirt on and my socks, too.”
She let him help her slide his black dress socks on her feet. Then, he put his bare feet back into his shoes before gathering up his jacket and helping her back into it.
Cuddling her into him, he took her tie-wrapped hands to his mouth, breathing on the tips of her exposed fingers, earning a soft sigh and closed eyes for the brief respite.
“We’re not going to die,” he promised her. “We’re going to get out of here alive.”
She bit her lip, as if willing herself not to quiver or cry, then nodded. “We have to think. I’ve been in a zillion flower coolers. There’s always some way out.” She squeezed her eyes shut, losing the battle against tears.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “Don’t panic. The worst thing you can do it stop thinking clearly. I have to look around.”
She grabbed him, horror in her eyes. “Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go, please. Just one more minute to get warm and then we’ll look together.”
Without arguing, he pulled her onto his lap, ignoring the agony of the freezing floor on his ass. He tucked her deep into his hips, folding his legs to envelope her more, pulling her into his chest, letting her nuzzle her cold nose into his neck.
Guns and Roses Page 5