The Reed Montgomery Series Box Set

by Logan Ryles

  Banks jumped to her feet and dashed into the trees, shouting at Reed to follow. More explosions detonated against the hillside, throwing sticks and rocks around him as Reed fought to catch up with her. The grenade launcher continued to fire from the roadbed below, and each blast fell a little closer to home. Something sharp and hard tore through his pants and bit into his leg, and one more explosion blasted from above, sending a torrent of rocks crashing down over their heads.

  “Banks! Get down!”

  Reed slid to a stop behind a tree, Banks only feet away behind another trunk. He looked down the hillside and made eye contact with the black-clothed killer. That dancing smirk returned beneath flushed cheeks as The Wolf fed fresh grenades into the drum of the launcher.

  Shoonk!

  The grenade exploded only a few yards away.

  Banks shouted, then tumbled through the brush and crashed to the ground beside him. “Give me the gun! I’ll cap that son of a bitch!” Her eyes were consumed by wildfire.

  She’s crazy.

  Shoonk! Shoonk!

  “Run!” Reed wrapped his fingers around hers, and they took off into the trees. The slope beneath them was still gentle, but the frozen ground was slick, and they struggled to find footing as they crashed between the trees. The snowfall thickened as grenades detonated behind them, but the killer’s aim was obstructed by the forest. Footsteps pounded behind them, and then they heard a fresh noise—the hissing, popping snarl of a suppressed assault weapon. Bullets ripped through the undergrowth around them.

  “Who is this guy?” Banks screamed.

  Reed ducked behind a tree as a string of bullets ripped over his shoulder. He pointed the Glock back toward the shooter and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked over a bad primer and didn’t fire. Another roar of gunfire shredded branches and sent bark over their heads as Reed pulled back behind the tree.

  “Here. Give it to me!” Banks jerked the gun out of his hand before he could stop her, and with a quick twist of her wrist, she ejected the bad cartridge and pumped a new one into the chamber. She moved as though she were on skates and slid out from behind the tree, then raised the gun. The Glock barked, spitting hot lead through the trees, and a scream broke out from far behind them. The assault rifle fell silent.

  Reed stared with wide eyes at Banks. She lowered the gun and turned back to him, her eyes blazing with vicious fire. “What?” She tossed him the gun. “Never seen a girl defend herself? I’m southern, bitch. On your feet!”

  She offered her hand and jerked him to his feet. He fumbled with the gun as the two of them crashed down the hill, deeper into the shadows. The sky grew darker by the moment as the snowfall increased from a steady shower into a howling swirl. Banks panted as she ran beside him, and they stumbled over fallen logs and small depressions in the ground.

  Reed’s stomach twisted in panic. He could make out the shadowy figure of the shooter behind them a hundred yards back. He saw the rising muzzle of a rifle and the tilt of the killer’s head as he leaned into the stock of his weapon.

  A fresh string of gunfire tore through the forest. The ground gave way, and Reed tumbled backward, free-falling down a new hillside, rolling head over heels as Banks tumbled down beside him, scraping past trees and sliding through valleys of leaves. Snow and mud clogged his vision as he tumbled down the hill, rocks and fallen logs slamming into his shoulders as he slid and rolled toward the valley floor.

  The gunshots faded. He swung his arm to the left, and a rock tore at his hand as he tried to locate Banks, but she was gone. A splash and then a shriek from Banks came moments before the frigid water closed around his own shoulders—and then his face.

  Kicking and fighting to the surface, the chill from the wind was a distant memory as the immediate, cutting cold of the water sank straight to his bones. Frigid air whistled between his teeth as his head broke the surface. He kicked out with both legs, treading water for a moment before his head descended beneath the surface again.

  They had fallen into a creek. He couldn’t tell how wide or how deep as he fought to keep himself above the surface, but the saturating cold told him all he needed to know about their situation. They had only minutes to live if they remained in the water.

  No. I won’t die here.

  His head broke the surface again, and he struck out with both legs, kicking toward the bank. “Banks!” He pulled himself out of the water and back onto the mud, coughing up water and bits of ice.

  It was almost dark now, and he couldn’t see more than five feet ahead. The snow was a thick blanket, almost as impenetrable as fog. His whole torso was racked with violent shivers as his body fought back hypothermia. But there were no more gunshots.

  “Banks! Where are you?”

  Reed dug for the flashlight in his pocket. He knew the bright LED was little better than a flashing beacon, marking the killer’s target stranded in the bottom of the creek, but he didn’t care. He had to find Banks.

  Charging through the creek, he swept the light along the far side of the bank. Trees and bushes, cloaked in snow next to the water, were now ghosts in the darkness. Amid chunks of ice, a limb drifted down the creek and over a short waterfall.

  Then he saw her. Banks clung to a bush on the far side of the creek, not far from the waterfall. Gasping for air and kicking out with both feet, she fought the current as Reed launched himself through the water, fighting for footing as the powerful push of the creek dragged him toward the drop-off.

  “Hold on! I’m coming!” He clicked the light off and jumped for the creek side, ten yards upstream from Banks. Praying that the killer had lost them in the roar of the gathering blizzard, he grabbed a low-hanging tree limb and hauled himself out of the water. The snow that blasted Reed obscured his vision beyond more than a few feet. The killer couldn’t hope to track them in this soup.

  He clawed his way back onto solid ground, then ran toward Banks, who continued kicking against the water without screaming. She was smarter than that, he realized. The sopping wet blonde focused all of her energy on survival instead of wasting precious breaths on expressing her fear. Still, he could tell she was only moments from giving out.

  Reed scooped Banks into his arms and hauled her forward onto dry ground as she coughed. Particles of ice had formed on her nose and eyebrows, and patches of her face were flushed blue.

  “Hold on, Banks. I’ve got you.”

  She staggered to her feet and spat creek water out between blue lips. “C-c-cold,” she whispered.

  Reed struggled with the zipper of her jacket, then ripped it with a powerful jerk. She fought him, huddling closer into the sopping garment.

  “Take it off, Banks! Hypothermia will get you long before you freeze.”

  A fresh blast of wind tore straight through his body as he ripped off his own jacket. His torso felt frozen, and he pulled her close, rubbing her arms and back, and trying to keep the shirt from freezing to her skin. Nothing compared to the desperation he felt. Not the roar of gunfire snapping at his heels as he hurled himself off a cliff. Not the panic of the truck failing to start as The Wolf stared him down. Her life was here, in the balance. He would never let her die.

  Reed smacked her gently on the cheeks. “Banks! Stay with me. Focus!”

  “I can’t . . . breathe.”

  “Find a way, dammit. You wimpy Mississippi—”

  Banks shoved him back, spraying creek water over the ground. The whites of her eyes were laced with red around pools of perfect blue. “When you almost drown, you can’t breathe!” she snapped. “That’s how that works!”

  A hint of red returned to her cheeks—not enough to drive back the impending death, but enough to bring hope into his desperate heart. Reed stared a moment, his mind vacant.

  “What are you looking at?” Banks’s words fell over one another as though she were drunk, but she gestured toward the forest. “Do something!”

  Do something. Find shelter.

  Reed wiped his face and peered down the creek, into th
e whistle of wind and winter. Far ahead, nestled amongst the storm-torn brush, he caught sight of something mechanical.

  “This way!” He took her arm and pulled her close, dragging her wet jacket along with him as they started through the trees. “Keep moving.”

  They crashed down the bank while Reed held the flashlight at eye-level, spitting snow and feeling the tension grow in his body. He negotiated the side of the hill beside the waterfall. He had to find shelter immediately—a cave, or a recess between the hills—someplace he could build a fire and fight back the impending hypothermia. Banks wouldn’t last much longer as the temperature dropped and the snow gathered around her ankles. Hell, he wouldn’t last much longer. They needed shelter first, and then warmth. Without both, it would be less than half an hour before the forest swallowed them into the belly of the blizzard.

  Reed’s foot struck something hard, and it rang with a thunk. Momentary elation was drowned by disappointment as he shone the light down onto the object. It was an overturned canoe, left in the mud between the trees and bushes, and not wide enough to provide even a hint of shelter from the cold that sank into his bones and tore the life from his blood.

  We’re going to die. She’s going to die, right here in my arms.

  The cherry-red skin on her face was gone now, leaving behind a blue that was rapidly turning to pure white.

  No, dammit. Not here.

  “Banks, run. You have to run now!”

  Her eyes gleamed up at his. With a voice barely strong enough to carry over the wind, she said, “Where?”

  Reed pulled her closer to his side and shined light through the trees. Each second that ticked by felt like a drip of life flowing from his bones. Only moments remained. He searched between the trees for any hint of a path. Nobody leaves a canoe in the middle of nowhere. There had to be some kind of camp, or maybe a cabin nearby. As he peered into the snow, the outline of a narrow clearing between the trees appeared, leading away from the canoe and deeper into the storm.

  “This way,” he said.

  Sixteen

  The onslaught of the blizzard was overwhelming. Clouds of snow obscured the path, encircling them like the bodies of a million ghosts. Even with the bright LED, the path between the trees became harder to see with every step. The desperation overwhelmed his mind as he pressed forward, kicking through the bushes and crashing over small depressions. For all he knew, they were running in circles. At any moment, they might collide with a tree or run off the edge of a cliff, but he couldn’t stop moving. A moment lost in the single-digit temperatures could mean death for them both.

  “Hold on, Banks. Stay with me.”

  Banks shivered like a puppy stepping out of a cold bath. Her hands were frozen in place around his arm, and her face was twisted into a pucker of pain and fear. “Hell . . . of . . . a . . . third d-d-date.”

  Reed pulled her closer and turned a corner around a tree, tripping over something and feeling pain rip through his shin. He shined the light on his feet where a chunk of wood lay on the ground. It wasn’t a tree limb or a rotting log—it was a piece of firewood.

  The glow of the flashlight illuminated the swirling snow as Reed scanned the small clearing. He saw a splitting stump near the fallen firewood, and a little farther, a rusty steel park grill like the ones in a state park, planted in the hard clay, leaning to one side. Across the far side of the clearing, nestled against the trees and almost obscured by the blizzard, a cabin squatted under the storm as though even it were freezing beneath the blast of the wind. Snow piled against its walls, and debris battered its single wooden door framed between boarded-up windows. It was built of pine logs with a cedar shingle roof—nothing as fancy as Oliver’s A-frame, yet Reed had never seen a building look so beautiful.

  “We’re here. Walk with me, Banks.”

  As his heart thundered, he wondered if the cabin was locked. Was there somebody inside? Was the gunman still on their tail? Though none of that really mattered; he only cared about getting Banks out of the storm.

  The latch was locked. Reed slammed against the pinewood door, framed by thick pine boards and hanging on heavy iron hinges, and was met by stiff resistance. He slammed his hand against the latch, but still, it didn’t budge.

  “Stand here, Banks.” Reed placed her against the wall, then crashed into the door. Once. Twice. The blast of the wind tore so hard at his torso it almost pushed him off balance. Panic and a sudden overwhelming rage overtook his mind. It wasn’t going to end this way. He’d rather fall on one of those damn grenades than watch Banks die.

  Wood met flesh with a sickening thud as Reed slammed all two hundred thirty pounds of his body into the door. It crashed open with a splintering sound, and Reed fell inside onto the hardwood floor. His head smacked the planks, and the flashlight rolled out of his hand. He gasped for air, then rolled over and crawled back to his feet.

  Banks huddled against the wall, but there was a smile dancing at the corners of her lips. “Not bad, Sailor Boy.”

  Reed hoisted her up and dragged her inside, then slammed the door shut. An entire chunk of it was missing around where the latch had been, and there was nothing to hold it closed. It blew open again, and Reed cursed. Why couldn’t anything be easy? Why was every step such a fight?

  He picked up the flashlight and scanned the cabin’s single room. Dust clung to the stained surface of each post on a worn, four-poster bed. Black ashes covered two rocking chairs next to a fireplace. The floor creaked under each footstep, and as he shined the flashlight toward the left half of the cabin, the pool of light illuminated a short counter and two cabinets with doors hanging on crooked hinges. The only other articles in the room were a table leaning on uneven legs and a large chest with drawers hanging half open. Clothes spilled out, all dusty and old, like nobody had entered this place for years.

  Reed leaned against the dresser, sure it was loaded with bricks. He strained, and as it slid a couple inches, his back screamed in pain.

  Banks stumbled beside him and placed her shaking hands against the chest. “On three,” she whispered. “One Mississippi, two Miss—”

  Reed broke into a soft laugh. “Just push, Banks!”

  They slid the chest until it slammed into the broken door. The sound of the wind beating against the side of the cabin was muted now, even though the windows panes still rattled in their frames. The cabin was dark except for the glow of the flashlight, and now that the door was finally sealed, it felt strangely still inside.

  Reed panted and collapsed on top of the chest, his arms still trembling from the bitter cold. Banks slumped against the wall, and for a moment, they relished the peace. The relief from the wind was palpable. Reed said a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle of the cabin. He wasn’t sure if anyone was listening way up there above the blizzard. He wasn’t sure if he cared. He just knew he had to take that moment to protect himself against the vengeance of an unthanked heavenly power.

  The stone fireplace held a rusting metal grate inside a hearth about a foot deep. Next to a large stack of firewood was a can labeled “flammable.” He knelt on the hard floor and piled firewood onto the grate as a bug scuttled out of the stack. Reed tilted the can over the wood, and a clear liquid streamed out, splashing on the timbers and turning them a dark brown. From the first sniff, Reed recognized the acidic odor of kerosene.

  Banks rubbed her hands together over the hearth, as though crimson flames were already bursting from the fireplace.

  “Lean back,” Reed warned as he peeled off a strip of bark and splashed kerosene over one end. He pried the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it with his stiff thumb, but the flint ground with a squishy sound. The lighter was still sopping wet from the creek.

  Reed ground his thumb into the flint again. Once. Twice. Sparks flew from the wheel, then a flame burst from the mouth of the lighter. Reed waved it under the tip of the bark, gratified to see flames rising from the wood and sending a pale flash of heat over his face.

  The bark
found its home in the fireplace, and golden fire erupted from the grate, engulfing the logs and sending warmth rushing from the hearth. Banks and Reed huddled so close together that the flames almost licked their faces. Every tiny wave of heat was like Heaven washing over their bodies and pouring life into their frozen veins. Banks’s ice-encrusted hair dangled over the hearth.

  “Holy hell, that feels good.” Banks rubbed her hands together in front of the flames. A hint of red returned to her cheeks, ushered on by a growing smile. That smile ignited a warmth someplace deep inside of him that was stronger than any fire ever could be. He didn’t understand it. He had never felt it before. Even with Kelly and their whirlwind romance, it didn’t feel this way—this felt stable and deep.

  Reed watched as she combed the melting snow out of her hair. Each twist of her fingers around blonde waves produced new flakes raining down over the floorboards, there to melt under the rising temperature. She fought with a stick tangled in her bangs, and for a moment, the smile faded.

  Reed touched her hand, and she froze as her bright eyes met his. The flames in the hearth reflected in her crystal gaze, unbroken by the scourge of the blizzard.

  “Let me,” he whispered.

  Her hands fell away from the knot of hair, and Reed twisted his fingers against the stick. It broke, then hit the floor as her liberated bangs fell over a damp forehead. He lowered his fingers, still admiring her glistening face. She touched her fingers to his, and the lightning bolt that ripped through his body poured gasoline onto the warmth he already felt, turning a glowing ember into a raging fire. It numbed the pain and muted the wind, leaving only the beautiful woman kneeling on the floor beside him. It was a moment too perfect, too warm for any storm to break.

  Whoever is up there . . . thank you.

  Seventeen

  The Glock hung faithfully at Reed’s side, water dripping from the barrel. He unsnapped the retainer and dropped the magazine. Eight rounds left. The spare magazines were in the jacket pocket, somewhere outside, buried in the snow.