Deadly Valentine

by Davis, Justine; Davis, Justine

  His cousin had a place up on the Olympic Peninsula. A little hunting cabin tucked way back in the woods. And Cousin Joe was the cussed type—didn’t like people knowing his business. Both the land and the cabin were registered to a corporation in the Cayman Islands. Joe always said that when the world order went to hell, he was heading for the cabin and everyone else was on his own. From Colt’s perspective, hell was already here.

  He drove straight through, stopping only once to gas up and buy a few supplies at a gas station convenience store, including a package of underwear that would no doubt mortify Layla when she saw it. He knew Joe had probably stocked the cabin with nonperishable food.

  Layla slept for much of the drive, which was just as well. It was best that she not know where he was taking them just in case the worst happened and the two of them got separated. The idea of being away from her was surprisingly disturbing to him. She gave him hope for fixing the mess inside his head that no one else had been able to give him. Not to mention, the lady was very easy on the eyes. Once, when Pete had been delirious with a fever, he’d raged at the fact that Layla couldn’t become a man he could truly love. Having met her now, Colt was abjectly grateful that Peter’s wish had never come true.

  They pulled into the cabin in the wee hours of the night. He woke Layla and she stumbled into the cabin without much curiosity. He guided her to the one tiny bedroom and she fell into bed straightaway. He put away the groceries and went to check on her.

  “Join me?” she mumbled as he tucked the covers up around her chin.

  He stopped, staring down at her. “You need your rest.”

  “I’ll sleep better with you close,” she murmured.

  Well, okay then. He kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket and climbed into the narrow double bed beside her. Immediately, she rolled back against him, snuggling her bottom against him in a way guaranteed to make him not sleep for a long time to come. Sighing, he draped his arm over her waist and held her warmth close. She tangled her fingers in his and pulled his hand close to the resilience of her breast. It was tantalizing against his knuckles. At least he’d gotten some sleep last night, because he damned well wasn’t going to get any tonight.

  Layla woke up slowly. She was encased in a delicious cocoon of warmth and safety that lulled her into lingering in this place halfway between sleep and waking. Her mind drifted lazily, gradually working its way to yesterday’s events and their panicked flight from the summit overlooking Sturgeon’s Corners.

  A tiny, annoying buzz of disquiet intruded upon her contentment. Slowly it took shape in her mind. Those men who’d surrounded their car had identified themselves as federal agents. They’d called her Colt’s “hostage.” Could it be true? Had he kidnapped her so cleverly that she didn’t even realize she was his prisoner? Was he the bad guy after all? She popped abruptly to full consciousness.

  Was it possible Colt had duped her? Was she so desperate she’d just thrown herself at the first sexy man ever to show a real interest in her? How was she supposed to know who was telling the truth—Colt or the men chasing him?

  Oh, my gosh. That heavy blanket was no blanket at all. It was Colt’s arm lying across her. And that was his torso pressed against the entire length of her back. Of course. If she were his hostage, he would need to sleep with her like this to make sure she didn’t sneak away from him while he was unconscious!

  Now what the heck was she supposed to do?

  She had to escape. Now. She eased out from under his arm by achingly slow inches, determined to get far away from him before he woke. Finally, she was free of his arm and eased to her feet beside the bed. She glanced down at him and jolted as his brown eyes gazed steadily at her.

  “Oh! I was trying not to wake you up,” she mumbled, blushing. Damn. Busted.

  “Bathroom’s in there,” he said, pointing at a closed door across the compact space.

  Maybe it had a window she could climb out.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Uhh, yeah. Fine.” Crap. He was suspicious. She’d have to wait for another moment to make her escape. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “At a cabin. In the woods,” he replied. “We’re miles from civilization. No one will ever think to look for us here. You’re completely safe.”

  Completely trapped, he meant. She cursed mentally. Miles from anyone else? So much for escaping. She trudged into the bathroom to take a shower and think up a new plan. If only someone knew where she was. Why, oh why, hadn’t she told a friend about her dinner plans at The Pleasant Peasant? She had no idea if anyone even knew she was gone, let alone in trouble.

  As she dressed in the sweat suit Colt had produced from a dresser drawer for her and left on the bed along with some women’s underwear—God only knew where he’d gotten that!—the silence of this place, wherever it was, pressed down on her. Talk about isolation. If only Peter were here. He’d help her. He was really smart. He’d figure out how to get her out of this mess. But he was gone and she was on her own. The next time Colt fell asleep, she would have to make a point of being awake and not draped under his arm.

  Energized by having a plan of attack, she headed for the main room and the mouthwatering scents wafting from it. The kitchen was tucked in the far corner of the space, and Colt stood in front of a stove shirtless, expertly flipping a pancake by tossing it up in the air. For a kidnapper, the man sure was handsome.

  “Hungry?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Starving.” Better build up her strength for the escape to come. Besides, she loved pancakes. She heard the sizzle of meat frying on the stove, and the scent was appetizing enough to make a girl reconsider being vegetarian. “That sausage smells amazing.”

  “It’s venison. I shot a buck two summers ago and my cousin had it made up into sausage and froze it. This is some of the last of it.”

  “You killed Bambi?” she exclaimed in horror. “And now you’re going to eat him?”

  He grinned at her as he set two plates down on the table. “Guilty as charged. I’m a born-again carnivore, honey.”

  Thankfully, her plate held only pancakes and no sign of sage-seasoned Bambi. She caught a whiff of real maple syrup and dug into the flapjacks with renewed enthusiasm.

  “In a hurry?” he murmured.

  She glanced up, startled. “Oh. Uh, yes. I want to get going on trying to figure out Peter’s puzzle.”

  “I really do appreciate your help, Layla.”

  Polite for a kidnapper, he was. And Lord knew, the man kissed like a god—she broke off that train of thought sharply. He could very well be the enemy. She mustn’t forget that.

  Colt pushed back his plate. He’d eaten as quickly as she had. “Any ideas on what your buddy was up to?” he asked.

  “He always loved games. Chess. Bridge. Backgammon. Anything that pitted his mind against other people’s in direct competition. He’d even get all hyped up by a game of gin rummy.”

  Colt shrugged. “You’re the expert on the guy.” He cleared the table, and then sat down across from her once more. She tried not to get flustered at the way Colt’s strong fingers riffled through the cards, nimble and clever. Enemy, Layla. Enemy.

  She amended. Hot enemy.

  The relatively simple gin rummy gave her time she desperately needed to think. She needed to let someone know where she was. That she needed a rescue. First time she was alone again, she would have to give her cell phone a try. It was the same cell phone Peter had declared a piece of crap four years ago. For once she regretted not having the latest in high-tech gadgetry. Her phone just had to work out here. She remembered hearing something about some cell phones having a GPS function that police could use to triangulate a phone’s location.

  She considered trying her phone in the tiny bathroom, but Colt would hear her talking for sure and flee with her before help could get here. Instead, she made a giant pot of soup for lunch and urged Colt to eat heartily. Sure enough, about an hour after he ate, he yawned widely.r />
  “Why don’t you lie down and take a nap?” she suggested. “I’ll grab one of the books off the shelf and read a little. You could probably use a mental break from everything.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I could use a little shut-eye at that. Didn’t sleep much last night—”

  Uh-huh. He’d been guarding her. Making sure she didn’t take off on him. She swore under her breath. So he was a kidnapper after all! She waited impatiently while he stretched out on the couch and fell asleep. But finally, he settled into a light snore. Time to go.

  She stepped outside. The cabin sat slightly above a small valley cut in half by a pretty little stream. Massive walls of granite towered in every direction. She briefly considered trying to hike out of here. But she calculated her odds of getting lost to be approximately one hundred percent.

  She flipped open her cell phone and wasn’t surprised when she had no coverage. She would have to get to higher ground. She examined Mount Olympus and its neighbors until she decided which one looked the least steep and formidable. Navigating turned out to be surprisingly easy. She simply headed up. She consoled herself with the thought that the way back to the cabin would be equally simple—it was down.

  She climbed the steep slope for perhaps a half hour. She had to be getting close to the summit. She panted for breath and her legs felt as if they were being slow roasted over a fire.

  Time to try the phone again. Nothing. Still no signal.

  She walked on, trudging up the mountain in between rest stops to catch her breath. The forest ended abruptly and granite outcroppings poked up all around her. It was a short walk to the summit after that. She hugged her arms across her chest as a sharp breeze cut through her sweatshirt.

  “Okay, kid,” she told herself. “Time to call in the cavalry.”

  She pulled out the phone and pushed the green telephone icon on its glowing face. She got a scratchy dial tone. She dialed and a male voice said, “9-1-1.”

  “Hello, I’ve been kidnapped and I’m on top of a mountain and I don’t know where I am.”

  “Ma’am…can’t understand…say again…”

  Damn! He was breaking up terribly. “I’ve been kidnapped,” she said slowly and loudly.

  “Can’t…” The line went dead.

  “I lost him!” she wailed.

  She walked all over the mountain top trying to get decent coverage, but always, a connection was tantalizingly just out of reach. Finally, as the battery was starting run down on her phone, she sat down dejected. She was never getting out of here.

  She would die hungry and cold and alone. Was this what Peter had felt like when his time came? She felt rotten that she hadn’t been with him when he died. She’d always imagined somehow that she would be with him at the end. At least Colt had been with him. The guy might be a psycho and a cleverly charming kidnapper, but any human company at the end for Peter had to have better than this awful solitude. Maybe Colt would find her in time to be with her when she died, too. It would be poetic irony.

  She had to quit feeling sorry for herself and think. If she brought a mirror up here she might be able to signal an airliner. But she would need a sunny day for that. She glanced up at the heavy blanket of gray overhead. No chance of that today.

  No way was she going back to that cabin and pretending to be all sweetness and light with Colt. She wasn’t that good an actress. Particularly after they’d come so close to what, in retrospect, truly would have been a disaster. And to think Valentine’s Day was tomorrow. She’d gone from possible hot romance to colossal mess in a single day. That had to be a new record for her.

  What would Peter say if he were here? He always had known how to make her feel better…or at least make her laugh. He would’ve made some snarky comment about having warned her that Valentine’s Day romances were all a big hoax. And then he’d have teased her about her proclivity for giving away her virtue to every guy who took her to Lovers’ Lane.

  She rolled her eyes out of general principles. And what would Peter tell her about her current predicament? Knowing him, he’d make some cynical comment about not everyone who worked for Uncle Sam being a good guy. Maybe those federal agents—and she didn’t even know for sure they really were federal agents—were the bad guys, after all. Maybe they’d said that stuff about her being Colt’s hostage just to mess her up and get her to stop helping him.

  “Thanks, Peter, wherever you are. Now I’m really confused!” she exclaimed to the rocks and sky around her.

  A strange metallic pinging noise rang off the rock behind her. A chunk of granite hit her in the back and, panicked, she dived to the ground. What was that? Two more pings sounded and chips of granite flew, making her flinch anew. Oh, my God. Someone was shooting at her!

  But who? Colt? Or the men chasing Colt?

  Chapter 5

  H oly cow. What did she do now? Clearly, she needed to get off this mountaintop. But which direction? She wasn’t qualified to make these sorts of life-and-death decisions. She looked around frantically. She probably needed to get away from this open space and into the trees so she could hide. One thing she knew for sure. If this wasn’t Colt shooting at her, he was going to kill her himself when he caught up with her for exposing herself to danger like this.

  She took a deep breath and headed off to her left. No bullets seemed to be coming from that direction. Not that she was in any way sure about that. She slithered along painfully on her belly, pausing every few yards to catch her breath. Maybe if she stood and pointed her finger at them like she had a gun they’d run away. Not.

  Funny how, in the midst of flying bullets and eating dirt and praying for the trees to come closer, her mind seemed to be working with perfect clarity. As if it had detached itself from her body and the insanity going on around her. She reached the first bush, a scraggly little thing, but better than no cover at all.

  A massive, dark shape flew at her out of nowhere, so fast she didn’t even have time to make a sound before it landed on top of her, smashing all the breath out of her.

  “You hit?” Colt growled in her ear.

  “You mean by a bullet? No.”

  Three more shots rang out. But Colt was lying on top of her.

  “I guess that means you’re not the shooter, huh?” she mumbled.

  “You thought I was shooting at you? Why on earth would I do that?”

  She started to answer but he cut her off in an irritated whisper. “Never mind. Tell me later. If we live.”

  If? Great.

  “Based on the trajectory of the last three shots, I’d say we’re surrounded,” he announced under his breath.

  “What do we do now?” she whispered, panicked.

  “You stay put. I’ll go take out one of the shooters and make an opening to get you out of here.”

  “Just like that?” she asked incredulously.

  He rolled his eyes. “I may be a head case, but I still know how to do my job.”

  “What if they know how to do theirs, too?” she retorted frantically.

  “Then may the best man win. If I die, all of this will be moot anyway.”

  Lovely. He melted away into the scrub, leaving her alone with only her scrawny, little bush for comfort. She cast her mind back to every military movie she’d ever watched—and exactly none came to mind. She did remember television soldiers smearing their faces with mud and crushed leaves, though. And mimicking them gave her something to do that didn’t involve running around like a panicked chicken and getting her head cut off.

  She finished the impromptu mud facial and strained to hear something, anything to give her a clue as to what was happening out there. Seconds ticked by, and with the passage of each ominously silent minute her tension mounted. Was Colt alive? Had they captured him? Dragged him off to some secret lab to rip Peter’s secrets out of his brain? Was she on her own out here in the middle of nowhere?

  It felt like hours had passed but her rational mind said it had only been a few minutes. Did she trust him
to protect her? Would he use her as a decoy to hold their attackers here while he snuck away and abandoned her? Somehow that didn’t seem his style. Even if she was his hostage, she doubted he would let her go that easily. He’d be the possessive type—as a lover or as a kidnapper.

  An apparition rose up practically right in front of her, and she drew breath to scream her head off, but Colt slapped a hand over her mouth again. Dang, he was fast.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered under his breath.

  He turned and raced into the woods, and she stumbled out from behind the little bush, following him as best she could. When she fell behind, he dropped back, took her right arm and bodily lifted her into a faster pace beside him. If someone didn’t shoot them, she was surely going to fall and break her neck at this rate.

  Without warning, he screeched to a stop and yanked her down beside him.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He pressed his finger to his lips by way of answer.

  She glanced around nervously. Was one of the bad guys close, then? How close? If she wasn’t mistaken, the daylight was going dimmer by the minute. Either the sun set a lot earlier than she realized, wherever they were, or bad weather was blowing in.

  Neither prospect sounded that great.

  After a few all-too-short minutes, Colt murmured, “Let’s get moving. I want to get off this mountain before it rains and we get soaked.”

  As if his words were the signal for it, the skies opened up in a cold, drenching downpour that reduced visibility to a few yards. If nothing else, it washed the mud off her face, which had started to dry and was becoming uncomfortable.

  “This weather is your fault,” she grumbled at Colt as they moved along in the deepening gloom. “You had to go and mention rain.”

  “This rain is good. It’ll mask both sounds and tracks.”

  She snorted. “And give us both our death of pneumonia.”

  “Nah. You’re made of tougher stuff than that. And I’ve been in a lot worse conditions than this and not gotten sick.”