“According to Nikolai’s lawyer,” Eric continues, “Nikolai bequeathed it to you.”
“His lawyer told you that?” So much for attorney-client privilege.
“His lawyer’s been working on our side for the past year.”
“And now that Nikolai’s dead, you’re taking over his cabin for your evil clubhouse?”
“More or less. For now, anyway. Until the Feds discover its existence.” He climbs out of the car while Evil Sidekick opens the door for me.
“You, out,” Evil Sidekick barks, waving his gun at me. I’m seriously thinking of renaming him Evil Asshole.
I slowly slide out of the car, glancing around the area that still reminds me of an Enchanted Forest. Nikolai and I used to pretend that magical creatures resided here. Some wondrous, like unicorns and hippogriffs. Others scary and devious.
My gaze shifts toward Evil Asshole. Well, I guess I know what category he falls under.
The cold air grips its icy tendrils around me, penetrating the light-knit fabric of my dress. I attempt wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill—not easy when your forearm is in a cast.
“Inside,” he-of-so-few-words grunts.
Not wanting to give him a reason to shoot me now, I walk up the wooden steps, pull open the door, and cross the threshold.
I’m rewarded with an interior that is as gorgeous as the exterior. The small foyer opens into a spacious living room. Against one wall is a grand brick fireplace, which Santa would never have to worry about getting stuck in. A huge wreath hangs on the wall above the mantel.
Nikolai loved Christmas as much as I did as a kid. From the looks of things, that never changed for either of us.
A giant Christmas tree stands in the corner, and the entire room has been decorated. Some of the ornaments I recognize. They once belonged to Nikolai’s family. The room has a cozy, rustic look I could easily imagine being showcased on the cover of an interior design magazine.
The house looks exactly as I remembered—beautiful and timeless.
“You go that way.” Evil Asshole shoves me toward a door with a deadbolt.
A deadbolt I don’t remember from the last time I was here.
I stumble forward.
He slides the deadbolt to the side, opens the door, and pushes me inside. The door closes before I can retort.
Not that I had a brilliant retort sitting on the tip of my tongue…or anywhere else on my body.
I look up to check the windows in case they aren’t locked—which is highly doubtful.
Instead, I find something I wasn’t expecting.
35
Chloe
“Tabitha? What are you doing here?”
I stare at the woman tied to the wooden chair between the two twin beds. The two beds that Nikolai and I slept on when our families stayed in the house.
“Not much. Just hanging around. And let me guess—you’re not here to rescue me?”
I stalk the short distance to the window and attempt to push it open. It doesn’t budge.
“Damn it.” I examine the frame, searching for a way to unlock it. Nikolai and I never had an issue with it before. It was how we would sneak out of the house to watch the stars after our bedtime.
I quickly come to the depressing conclusion that we won’t be escaping through it. It’s like the window’s been glued shut.
“I take it that’s your way of saying we won’t be leaving that way,” Tabitha says.
I don’t answer. There’s something I need to find out first.
I stride the short distance to her chair and work at loosening the knots in the rope. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. A few days.”
That gets me to stop what I’m doing, and my gaze flicks to her face. “How come this is the first I’m learning you’re missing?”
“Maybe because no one knows it. My kids are with my ex-husband for the week. I’d planned to do all my Christmas shopping and baking while they were gone, so I had no appointments for anyone to realize something was wrong when I didn’t show up for them.”
“But why are you here?” If Eric and his sidekick were hoping to lure me here with Tabitha, they picked the wrong person.
“Because I knew info they didn’t want you to find out.”
The knot I was working on finally gives up its battle, and I free her arm from the chair.
I start working on the other knot. “What’s that?”
“I should probably explain something first. I started dating Eric a few weeks ago. He seemed like a great guy at the time.”
I can see how she initially thought that. At first glance, he comes off as sweet and funny. Any sane, single woman would easily fall for his boyish charms.
“But then he became awfully interested in you,” she says. “He lives in the same building as you, which is how he knew who you were.”
“No, he doesn’t. His grandmother lives in my building. He was just visiting her there.” As the words fall from my lips, I realize how wrong I am. The odds of the grandmother of one of my grandfather’s enemies living in my building is pretty much zero.
“If that’s true, I have no idea where he hid her. I never saw her when I was in his apartment. And the place doesn’t look like an elderly woman lives there. There were no photos or anything else that you would associate with a woman who’s lived a lifetime.”
I remove the rope from Tabitha’s other wrist and drop it to the floor.
“At first, I was pissed at you because of what happened with my husband,” she continues. “I was sure the same thing was happening again, only this time with my new boyfriend. I must’ve had too much to drink one night and said some not-so-great stuff about you. He took that the wrong way and figured I was a vindictive bitch, which he thought worked in his favor.
“He confided in me, convinced me to help him out. But then I realized there was something seriously wrong with him, and I was planning to warn you. Oh, by the way, it’s never a good idea to let a man know about your intentions. Lesson learned.”
For a second, I digest everything she just told me. “Well, now I know why you weren’t returning my calls.” I straighten to stand and survey the room. “I’ve been here before. When I was a kid. My family stayed here a few times.”
Hopefully, Eric and the Evil Asshole haven’t explored this room like Nikolai and I did one day when we were supposed to be sleeping. We’d been positive we would find hidden treasure in the bedroom or at least a map to tell us where to find it in the forest.
I move the chest of drawers to the side, sliding it and the rug it’s sitting on across the floor. It’s not overly difficult—beyond the part where I’m wearing a cast. My forearm aches at the slight exertion. Tabitha helps as best as she can, her body sore from being tied up.
The movement of the rug slowly reveals the hidden trapdoor beneath it. The trapdoor I’m sure even Mom and Nikolai’s parents didn’t know about.
Please still work.
We position the drawers in front of the doorway. The corner of them accidentally hits the door with a soft thud, warning Eric and Evil Asshole we’re up to no good.
Tabitha and I freeze, the air in my lungs too scared to leave. We wait for several rapid heartbeats, listening for any sign we weren’t the only ones who heard it.
Silence greets us beyond the muffled sound of the two men talking nowhere near the door. I have no idea what they’re saying, nor do I care. As long as they’re too preoccupied to check on us, we’re gold.
Releasing the air from my lungs, I give Tabitha a thumbs-up, and what I hope is a reassuring smile.
I point to the trapdoor. She turns to it, and a soft gasp escapes her. She slaps her hand against her mouth.
The sound was barely more than a wisp. Nothing to worry about.
It’s the next part I’m more nervous for.
I grab the metal ring on the trapdoor and cautiously pull it open, willing the hinges not to squeak. They don’t listen. I p
ause, eyes wide, heart galloping. Shit, shit, shit.
Tabitha glances around the room, yanks the duvet from one bed, and covers the trapdoor with it. “On the count of three, I’ll make a loud distraction,” she whispers, “and you quickly open the trapdoor. Hopefully, between the blanket and me, they won’t hear the hinge.”
I nod. She raises three fingers. “Oh, and try not to take this too personally.”
Before I can puzzle out what she means, she has counted to one.
“You fucking bitch!” she screams as I yank open the trapdoor. “You stole my husband from me!”
I have no clue if her plan worked, but I do know I’ll be forever deaf. Her mouth was right next to my ear.
I carefully lower the door to the floor. Cold air rushes into the room from our new escape route. Tabitha peers in horror at the dirt ground, which is only about two feet below.
I mime that we’ll have to crawl to safety.
She mimes, What if there’s a bear down there?
I think that’s what she’s miming.
I shake my head and mime, There’s not enough room for a bear.
She mouths something else. I have no idea what. I shrug.
Which isn’t the answer she was looking for.
She mimes, There are spiders down there, and shudders.
I’m about to mouth “Fine, then stay here,” when the floorboards outside the bedroom door creak.
That’s the only motivation Tabitha needs. She swings her legs into the opening and drops with a soft thud to the ground. There’s barely enough room for her to lower herself to her belly.
She half crawls, half drags her body forward.
“Do you think they’re wrestling in there?” Evil Asshole says from the other side of the door, sounding a little too turned-on, if you ask me.
I don’t wait around to hear what Eric thinks. I jump into the hole and follow after Tabitha.
Neither of us is dressed for escaping kidnappers. Dresses and heels aren’t exactly the ideal survival gear. Dirt and debris that has blown under the cabin, scraps at my hands and legs and finds its way into my cast.
Goose bumps crowd my skin, and I curse Eric for not being considerate enough to kidnap us during the summer.
Or better yet—not at all.
I strain to hear any sounds to warn me our escape has been discovered. A scraping of the drawers in front of the bedroom door. The clatter of footsteps. Angry voices.
But the only noises I can hear are the pounding of my pulse in my ears and my rapid breaths. If we’re lucky, we’ll be long gone before they notice we’re missing.
Tabitha is pressed against the wall when I emerge from under the tight crawl space. A couple of her blouse buttons have come undone, and a few are now missing. There’s a small tear in one sleeve. Streaks of dirt are smudged on her face, and her pencil skirt is covered with mud and pieces of dried leaves.
I can’t imagine I look any better. But I’d be more than happy to put up with a lot worse if it means being far away from here…preferably in Landon’s arms (or at least his good arm).
I focus on the memory of how it feels to be wrapped in them. How it feels to cuddle with him on his couch while watching Christmas movies. It’s the memory of those two things that keeps me moving, that gives me a reason not to give up.
Love and hope, that’s all I’ve got keeping me going at this point.
It’s enough for now.
But if winter coats and boots should magically materialize, I wouldn’t complain.
“What now?” Tabitha asks.
Good question.
“The last house I saw when they drove me here was at least a mile away.” I point in that direction. “I have no idea if there’s anything closer the other way.”
Her face pales. “I can’t walk that far, not in these shoes.” She gestures at her cute red stilettos with white bows—like some sort of candy cane.
She’s right, though, especially with the amount of snow we have to walk through. If she doesn’t lose her shoes in the snow, there’s still the risk of a heel breaking.
Plus, our feet will freeze off long before we find help.
I shiver uncontrollably and attempt to warm myself up with my hands. That’s about as useful as opening a locked door with an ice cream cone. “Their car is parked out front. Maybe Big, Bad, and Ugly left his keys in the ignition.”
She takes a step forward. “Great, let’s go find out.”
I grab hold of her arm. “If they’re in the living room, they’ll see us. We have to be stealthy about it.”
Fortunately, I chose my dark-green knit dress for the concert and not my burgundy one. Tabitha’s neutral-colored outfit does a better job blending into the background.
Channel your inner pine tree.
In first grade, I was cast in the role of a tree in our school play. I was a fantastic tree, if you ask me. So, all I have to do is relive that moment…minus the song I had to sing.
We inch our way closer to the front of the house, listening for any sound to indicate our escape has been noticed.
Part of me—a tiny part—is curious why Eric and Evil Asshole haven’t already killed me. The FBI discovered there’s a contract on me. In my grandfather’s world, that generally means murder.
So why am I still standing?
Both great questions—that I can deliberate after we’re far, far, far away from here.
The car isn’t completely out in the open, but close enough. It also doesn’t help that the deciduous trees are naked. Foliage would’ve at least provided some shelter from watchful eyes.
We sneak toward the car, using whatever we can find to provide further cover. Every part of me screams to run the rest of the way. I ignore it.
The world around us is silent, as if nature is watching us with bated breath. I’m surprised the loud and rapid thub thub thub of my heart doesn’t spook an equally loud bird in a nearby tree—and send it squawking in alarm.
We finally make it to the front passenger door, and I slowly open it. It’s not locked, which I take as a positive sign.
Too bad it’s the only positive thing about this escape attempt. The key isn’t dangling in the ignition.
At the realization we’re screwed, it feels like someone hurled a boulder at my stomach, knocking me on my butt.
Double damn.
Okay, Plan A didn’t work. Now I just need a Plan B.
I glance up at the sky, in case Plan B is written there. If it is, the thick clouds and falling snow are obscuring it.
Keeping my head down, I search the passenger side of the car for anything that might help us. But there’s not much I can look through without drawing attention to myself.
Tabitha’s shivering uncontrollably. We both are. We need to go somewhere warm, or else we’ll be popsicles before we have a chance to get the hell out of here.
Once Tabitha and I have finished hunting through the car, I glance at the house, mentally inventorying everything I noticed in the living room during the short time I was in there.
“There’s a phone in the living room,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “But I don’t know if the landline actually works.”
“Are we talking about the same place where those two men are currently holed up?” She flashes me an irritated, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me scowl.
“That’d be the one. All we need to do is take them out of commission. Even for a short time. And tie them up.”
Right—that sounds easy enough.
The execution? That might be a whole different hockey game.
For the next few minutes, we brainstorm ideas until we narrow it to one strong possibility.
All right, it’s the only possibility we come up with. It’s getting too damn cold to think. And if we don’t act now, we might never have another chance. Our hands are turning into icicles.
Great, if we were Elsa from Frozen.
This situation is made worse because part of our plan involves making snowballs. We work
as quickly as possible, doing our best to ignore the cold.
I imagine I’m in Hawaii, building a sandcastle with the hot sand.
I’m sorry to say that visualization exercise is a bust.
“How’s your throwing arm?” I ask Tabitha once we’re finished.
“Pretty good. I used to be a pitcher on my high school softball team. I wasn’t the star pitcher, but I could hold my own.”
That’s good enough for me.
I can’t throw a baseball to save my life, and right now, that’s precisely not what we need.
She sets up in position, and I pick up a large branch from the ground. It’s thick with smaller branches and twigs poking in all directions.
I let out a hard breath. “Okay, you ready?”
“Ready.”
Cautiously, I creep through the deep snow to the porch, praying the men don’t spot me. I slowly mount the steps, hoping they don’t creak.
I listen for a brief moment to the sounds from inside, then channel my inner-Ninja-slash-world-series-winning-baseball-player self.
I nod at Tabitha, who gathers a snowball and hurls it at the living room window.
Splat!
I listen to see if that got the evil duo’s attention. Nothing. I nod at Tabitha to throw another one.
Splat! Splat!
“What the fuck?” a muffled voice grumbles from inside the house. The sounds of heavy boots clunking across the hardwood floor follow it. Both are barely heard over the rushing of the pulse in my ears.
I adjust my grip on the branch and take a slow, steadying breath.
You can do this.
The door opens, and Evil Asshole steps through the doorway, his gun in his hand.
Before he has a chance to spot me, I swing the branch with all my might. Like our lives depend on it.
Which they do.
Twigs and sharp branches hit his face, rendering him off-balance.
A loud bang splits the air, but I don’t have time to check where the bullet went. The follow-through of the branch causes him to fall backward, and his head hits the stone part of the wall, hard.
Hard enough to knock him out cold.
I don’t have time to appreciate my handiwork, though. Eric comes out to see what the heck is going on.
Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2) Page 26
