Holly scrambled to her knees and lunged for the ditch. She ducked her head down and crawled frantically for the safety of the van. But as she scuttled behind it, she realized it wasn’t safe at all.
A loud ping rang out as the next shot hit the bumper.
Someone’s trying to kill me! Her breath came in ragged gasps. She glanced around. Where could she go? She couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone to walk up on her. She jumped across the narrow ravine and plunged into the thicket. She batted away leaves and branches until she was deep within the woods, sheltered by darkness and trees.
What is going on? Why is this happening? Panic seized hold of her as she darted between thick tree trunks. The forest was dense and damp. The floor had escaped the season’s first snow. But the trees that had blocked the snow blocked light, too, and Holly could hardly see anything as she plowed deeper and deeper into the woods. Her heart galloped inside her chest. Branches stabbed at her, ripping at her clothes, her hair. She used her arms like a swimmer, ignoring the stinging cuts as she swiped desperately at the brush. Her toe caught a rock. She pitched headfirst into a void. White-hot pain exploded inside her head.
~*~
“What do you mean it didn’t happen?”
“Just what I said. It didn’t go down.”
“Are you sure?”
Colin Denton gritted his teeth as his headlights sliced through the falling darkness. “I was there almost two hours. He didn’t show.”
Silence on the other end. Colin glanced at the phone in the cup holder to make sure the connection hadn’t dropped.
“So what do we do now?” his boss asked.
Colin smiled ruefully, but of course, there was no one there to see him. He was alone in his pickup. He was alone on the road. He was alone in this isolated corner of Montana, as he had been for the past five months. Colin was a loner by nature, but the constant isolation was starting to get to him, and it wasn’t even full-on winter yet.
Next operation, he was thinking about getting a dog.
“I say we sit tight,” he answered, scanning the roadway for ice. It had gotten into the forties today, but the temperature was sinking fast and it had started to snow. “Hooks doesn’t get paid until he delivers the goods. Something spooked him tonight, but he’ll reschedule. Believe me, he needs the money.”
“And you’re sure you got the place right?”
“I’m sure.”
“And the vehicle?”
“A white Dodge van. I’m positive.”
The truck skidded as Colin hit a patch of ice. His shoulders tensed until he felt the tires grip asphalt again. He checked his rearview mirror, but no one was behind him.
In his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of metal. He glanced to the side as he sailed past the back end of a white van.
“No freaking way,” he muttered, tapping the brakes.
“What’s that?”
“I may have just found him.”
“Are you sure? What—”
“Call you back.”
Colin eased onto the shoulder and rolled to a stop about forty yards in front of the van. He checked the rearview mirror. He considered his hazard lights, but opted for dark instead. He slipped the Glock from his holster and climbed out of the truck.
Colin darted his gaze around as he approached the vehicle, which had obviously slid off the road—probably after hitting the same patch of ice as he had. At least, he hoped that was why it had gone off the road. Any other reason—assuming this van belonged to Hooks—was going to mean problems.
His boots crunched over the inch of snow that had already accumulated on the shoulder. It was really coming down now, and he could hardly see shit. He had a mini-Maglite in his pocket, but he made his way by feel, trusting his feet to tell him where the asphalt was. After ten paces, he paused to listen. No sound but the faint whistle of wind through the forest on either side of him.
Thirty more paces. He switched on the flashlight and aimed it at the cargo van in the ditch. He checked the driver’s window. No one inside. He studied the exterior. It was an old model—probably mid-eighties. The front end was crumpled against the embankment and a dusting of snow covered the hood, which told him the engine had cooled. He shifted the light and saw the guardrail that had once lined the curve in the roadway. Now it lay twisted in the ditch behind the van.
Colin’s phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it. He tromped around the back. He hadn’t seen any people, but more importantly, he hadn’t sensed any. His sharply honed instincts told him he was alone out here. Whoever had been driving this thing had been picked up by another vehicle or possibly gone for help—probably picked up, as going anywhere in this weather was stupid without a serious coat and a thorough knowledge of the area.
Colin stopped again to listen. He reached for the handle of the cargo door and was surprised to find it unlocked. Gripping his pistol in his right hand, he pulled open the door, making sure to stand behind it so it could act as a shield.
No sound. No hint of movement. He aimed the flashlight inside the van, where he expected to see a shit ton of firearms.
He saw flowers. Boxes and boxes brimming with bouquets. The perfume overwhelmed him as he stepped up to the bumper and shined the light over the sea of pink and yellow and orange blooms.
A noise. Colin whirled around. He recognized the snippet of pop music. It came again, and he spotted a faint purple glow beneath a layer of white. He picked up the cell phone and shook off the snow. The caller ID showed a Bozeman area code. Colin scrolled through the call history—all Bozeman numbers—and a text came in: Holly!! Where RU? Call me ASAP.
Colin tucked the phone into his pocket and re-holstered his weapon. He muttered a curse as he swung the flashlight around in an arc. No sign of Holly, and he hoped to hell she hadn’t tried to hike out of here in this weather. He returned to the front of the van and he noticed the dark smear near the door handle.
Blood.
He scanned the area, feeling both annoyed and worried. He should be tracking down his informant right now, not looking for a missing woman. But he couldn’t just leave her alone out here. Wherever she’d gone, she hadn’t bothered to take her purse—which meant she was either disoriented from her injuries or lacking common sense.
He combed the area with the flashlight beam and spotted a blue baseball cap on the other side of the ditch. Beyond it were some broken branches, as if someone had crashed through there in a hurry. Colin picked his way over the ravine and studied the trail, frowning. It didn’t make sense. Why head into the woods when the chances of flagging down help were much better on the roadside?
Colin’s voice shattered the silence as he called out her name. No answer. He trekked deeper into the trees and called it again. The trail was erratic, zigging this way and that, and the snow accumulating on the forest floor made it even tougher to follow. He remembered the Kaplan place about a mile back and wondered if she’d noticed it, too, and gone for help. Would have been easier if she’d stuck to the highway, but maybe she’d been dazed from a head injury. The thought chilled him as he moved deeper into the woods.
“Holly!”
A faint rustle as something scampered up a tree. Colin pushed on, plowing through branches until he entered a clearing. He moved the flashlight beam around, trying to pick up the trail.
The phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.
“Denton.”
“Was it him?” his boss demanded.
“Negative.” The skin at the back of Colin’s neck prickled. He glanced around. “Just a disabled motorist. Looks like she hit a patch of ice.”
“Are you sure it isn’t—”
“Yes. Lemme call you later.”
He stuffed the phone in his pocket and stood perfectly still, listening.
“How do you know my name?”
He pivoted in the direction of the voice. He swept the light around, but saw only trees.
Movement behind him. He turned around as
a woman stepped out from behind a tree.
Colin skimmed the light over her and did a quick assessment: five-eight, medium build, brown, blue. Blood trickled down her face from a gash on her forehead.
He stepped toward her. She stepped back. The fierce look in her eyes made him think of a cornered animal. He glanced at her side and noticed the rock clutched tightly in her hand.
He slipped her phone from his pocket. “I found this by your van.”
He stepped toward her. She took a wobbly step back and he saw that she was trembling. This woman wasn’t just disoriented—she was terrified. The accident must have been worse than it looked.
“You need a bandage on that cut,” he said.
“I need to call the sheriff.”
“We can do that.” He lowered the light so it wasn’t shining in her face. “But you know, this county’s the size of New Hampshire. There are four deputies. Odds of anyone getting out here in the next hour are pretty slim.” He held the phone out to her. She studied his face. Then she dropped the rock and stepped forward.
“Thank you.” She glanced down at her phone and then up at him again.
Colin shrugged off his jacket, taking care to pull his shirttail over his holster. No point in scaring her more than she already was.
“You need a bandage for that cut,” he repeated. “I live just up the road.”
He held the jacket out and saw the longing in her eyes. It was freezing out here and getting colder by the minute.
“Come with me,” he said.
For a moment, she just stood there. A shudder moved through her as she looked at him. Colin waited.
She took his jacket and slipped it on.
Chapter Two
Holly struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as they bumped along the gravel road. Just a few minutes in the truck, and already she felt the ache of circulation returning to her fingers and toes. She pulled the jacket tight around her to hoard every possible bit of heat.
Snowflakes whizzed against the windshield and she watched them numbly. Stumbling around in the woods as the temperature dropped had been terrifying. The combination of darkness and cold had given rise to a bone-deep fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced. How long could she have lasted out there on her own?
Holly’s teeth chattered, and the man behind the wheel pretended not to notice. She glanced over at him. She’d never taken a ride from a stranger before. Probably not a smart move. Then again, it was smarter than cowering in the forest and dying of hypothermia.
She looked out the window as he pulled up to a small A-frame cabin. As promised, it wasn’t far from the crash site. But the house wasn’t quite what she’d expected when they’d passed through fancy electronic gates to enter the D&D Ranch. The massive ranch had been purchased recently by some rich software exec, and Holly had heard about the deal all the way in Bozeman.
A yellow light glowed from the front porch. He parked alongside a neatly arranged stack of firewood and cut the engine.
“Gonna get cold tonight,” he said as they climbed out. He grabbed a few logs before tromping up the stairs.
“Wait.”
He turned to look at her. In the porch light, she saw that he was tall and broad-shouldered. He could overpower her in a heartbeat if he wanted to, and she was about to enter an empty house with him.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said.
“Colin Denton.” He gave a slight nod. “I’m the caretaker here, case you were wondering.”
She hadn’t been. That’s how frozen her brain was. It hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder what this man did for a living or why he happened to be out on the isolated stretch of highway where she’d crashed her van.
He arched his brows at her. “And you are…?”
“Holly.” Well, duh. He already knew that. “Holly Henriksen.”
The corner of his lip curved up. He stood there on the porch, not even shivering, in only a flannel shirt and jeans. He had brown-black eyes and a two-day beard, and it suddenly struck her how attractive he was—in a scruffy, lumberjack kind of way.
“You want to come in, Holly Henriksen, so I can see about that cut? Or we gonna stand here all night freezing our tails off?”
His tone was teasing, and something told her he was using it to relax her. It worked. There was something about his posture, his mannerisms, and his decisive response to everything that made her want to trust him. She climbed the steps and waited with her hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket as he unlocked the door.
The cabin was dark inside. It wasn’t freezing, though, and she guessed he must have had a heater going earlier in the day. He flipped on a light and she looked up to see a chandelier made of deer antlers. She surveyed the layout. A small living area, a large fireplace. At the top of a ladder was a sleeping loft, where she noticed a rumpled bed. Tucked beneath the loft was a kitchen with outdated appliances.
“It’s small, but it heats up pretty quick.” He switched on a space heater and then knelt beside the fireplace to stack the logs. “Hand me some of that newspaper, would you?”
She glanced at the wooden coffee table, where a paper was spread out beside an empty coffee mug. It was open to an article about drug trafficking along Interstate 15. It was the Missoula paper—Holly recognized it because she’d read the same article over breakfast with her sister. Was it really just this morning? It seemed like weeks ago.
Holly handed him the paper, and he made brisk work of getting the fire going. She edged closer as it crackled to life.
“Thaw out,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
She held her hands near the flame and closed her eyes as tingly warmth seeped into her toes and fingers. Even her nose stung. God, she’d thought she’d never get warm again, and the feeling of heat on her face now brought tears to her eyes. What is wrong with me? She never cried. But something about the events of the past hour had her emotions bubbling to the surface.
Someone tried to kill me.
Holly stifled a shudder and opened her eyes. She heard cabinets opening and closing, and soon, he was at her side again with a red first-aid kit and a wooden stool.
“Sit.”
She sat, which immediately seemed awkward because she was at eye-level with his waist. He crouched down and opened up the kit.
“Nasty gash,” he said, tearing open an antiseptic wipe. “There’s a cut on your lip, too. You hit the steering wheel?”
“I guess.” She reached up to touch her mouth. It felt swollen, and she remembered tasting blood as she’d climbed from the van.
“Fair warning—this’ll sting.”
Holly’s stomach fluttered as he rested his hand on the side of her face and tilted her head back slightly. She looked into the fire to distract herself.
“Your van doesn’t have airbags?” he asked, going to work on her injury.
“It pre-dates airbags. We call it the brontosaurus because it’s so old.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
She shifted her gaze to his and something sparked between them. She glanced away. Was it her imagination, or was he asking about her marital status? Probably her imagination. She had to look like roadkill. She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.
“My sister,” she told him. “We’re in business together.”
“A flower shop, huh?”
She smiled. “Heather prefers ‘floral studio.’ I guess you looked in the back?”
“Yep.” He dabbed the cut.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.” His gaze met hers. “You’ve really got some dirt in here. You fall on a rock?”
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t see, really.”
He looked concerned now. “Can you tell me what day it is?”
She took a deep breath. “Friday, November fifth.” It was engraved on her brain. The day she was supposed to collect the check that would save her floundering business.
“Count backward from a thousand.”
She shot
him a glare. “I’m not drunk.”
He waited patiently until she complied. After about ten seconds, he gave a nod. “Bend your head forward,” he said. “That hurt?”
“A little sore.”
He settled his hands on the back of her head and palpated her skull, right through all the tangles and leaves in her hair.
“Look at me.”
She did. His irises were nearly black and she could see the fire reflected in them. The moment stretched out. Holly’s chest tightened and her heart started to thud.
His gaze shifted to her cut. “You could probably use a few stitches. I’m not equipped to do it here, but I could run you to Bozeman.”
She just stared at him. She was new to Montana, but even she knew that would take at least two hours, given the weather.
“Ah, probably not worth it,” he said, rummaging through the kit. “It’ll heal up pretty good if you keep a butterfly on it.”
“Where’d you get your medical training?”
He looked at her. “The Army.”
Ah-hah. It made sense now. The posture, the mannerisms. Something about him had made her think cop, but now she realized it was the military background.
“You served in Iraq?”
“Afghanistan.”
“And you came home…?”
“Two years ago.” He snapped the kit shut, and his tone told her he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe the transition from soldier to ranch hand hadn’t agreed with him. Holly could relate. She’d always pictured herself a painter, not a florist. But as an artist, she’d been starving, and flowers paid the bills.
Most of the time.
A wave of anxiety hit her. “Listen, does your phone work out here? Because I really need to call the sheriff.”
“Like I said, they’re stretched thin tonight.”
“I need to call my sister, too.”
“Soon as I’m done, you can call whoever you want. You should use the landline. Cell phone coverage is spotty out here.” He dabbed at her face some more with the antiseptic and she watched the muscles of his neck move as he worked. She smelled wood and leather and a hint of male sweat. The combination was making her a little lightheaded. It had been ages since an attractive man had put his hands on her for any reason at all, and even though the reason was accidental, the situation was making her antsy.
Guns and Roses Page 9