Killer Bunny Hill
by Denise Robbins
Published by L&L Dreamspell
Spring, Texas
Copyright 2009 Denise Robbins
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.
This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. Places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.
ISBN- 978-1-60318-131-0
Published by L & L Dreamspell
Produced in the United States of America
Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com
DEDICATION
Killer Bunny Hill is dedicated to those friends who sat with me on Thursday evenings to critique, brainstorm, and laugh at the story and its author.
David Daniel, Steve Sack, and Judy Murphy,
Thank you for your time, friendship, and support, not to mention the late nights, food, and quick-witted, engaging conversation. If not for you three and your nagging, this story would still be a work-in-progress. You all are the best!
Dear Reader,
I started writing KILLER BUNNY HILL on a flight out to Seattle from my home state of New Hampshire. I hadn’t planned on writing, but for some reason, I was compelled to boot up my laptop. As I flew cross-country, the poor passengers around me had to listen to me talk and laugh at my computer and invisible characters. At the end of my flight, I had the first chapter completed and knew all about my hero and heroine. What I did not know was the plot.
Doing some research on computer technology, I ran across an article talking about manmade diamonds. I read further and found out the manmade diamonds were used in more than jewelry. They could be used for computer chips and laser weapons. Diamonds were not just a girl’s best friend. The fascinating information led me to the plot idea for KILLER BUNNY HILL.
Have you ever had a monkey wrench thrown into your plans? Of course, you have! In KILLER BUNNY HILL, Special Agent Maximilian Stone’s plans to locate his missing brother get sidetracked when Samantha Spenser lands on his doorstep, shot and without her memory, but she does know how to handle a gun.
Denise Robbins
ONE
What the hell? A crack split the air and snow exploded up in clouds of white powder not two feet from her. Then another. And another. This one nicked the front edge of the snowboard. She couldn’t turn around to see the shooter. All she could do was keep her board aimed down the mountain. Using her heel and toes and the angle of her shoulders to direct her movement, she traveled in a zigzag pattern.
Heart beating so fast she felt the rhythm of it drumming in her head. She was sweating. She had to get down the trail, back to the lodge where there were people. It being dusk, she was mostly alone on the mountain. At least she had been. Bending her knees a little more, she leaned forward to pick up speed.
Who was shooting at her? Were they shooting at her? She should have carried her weapon. Damn it! Would she never learn? Another crack split the air, blowing white powder in her face, blurring her vision. “Pfft…pffft.” She spit out the snow she had inhaled.
“Yow!” she screeched and reached behind her where she felt a sharp pain and heat radiating from her thigh. Even though her extremities were numb from the winter weather, it hurt. She couldn’t believe it. Someone shot her in the thigh. Why?
Lights! She saw more lights. Her winter retreat sat just ahead. She would make it. Safety was just over the next peak. “Come on, you can do it,” she cheered and then cringed when she used her legs to steer her faster.
At the crest of the bunny hill, she took a deep breath, leaned further into her stance and—another blast came from behind her. This one shoved her over the ridge. The toe of her boot caught the edge and there was no stopping her fall.
Face first in the snow, she tumbled down the mountain, swearing like a sailor until she hit the plateau. Thanks to her recent snowboarding lessons, she stepped out of her bindings and released the safety strap around her ankle in a split second. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she tried to get to her feet using the patented style the cute instructor taught her. She couldn’t do it.
“Fine,” she muttered. She would get up another way. Flipping over to her knees to push herself up, she halted when she saw the red stain in the pristine snow underneath her hands. She hated the sight of blood. Especially her own. And there was a lot of it.
Forget about the blood. Get your ass up and get to the house. Now!
She moved. She ran as fast as she could despite the weight and awkwardness of snowboarding boots. Despite blinding spikes of pain shooting through her leg. Breathing through her nose, she scrambled across the flat terrain trying to keep out of sight. Not possible when the bright pink snowsuit she wore practically screamed, “See me. Hey, I’m over here.” That was the last time she listened to the sales clerk with the beautiful blue eyes who told her very few people could pull off the vibrant colors, but she had a bod that could. “Ha!”
Crack! Crack!
“Weave. Bob and weave.” What was she doing, boxing? She couldn’t do it anyway. Her leg gave out and she hit the hard-packed snow on one knee. “Oh, please,” she prayed and crawled. Get to the door. Only a few more feet. Heart pounding, blood pulsing from her thigh, she crawled. Finally, she reached the door. When she turned the handle, it resisted. Locked. The damn door was locked. Of course.
“Come on,” she begged. Fumbling with her gloves, she managed to get one off. With numb, shaky fingers, she stuck her hand in her pocket in search of the key. Not there. It had to be there. She felt inside again. Nothing. She tried every pocket. Nothing. Where else would it be? Peering over her shoulder at the abandoned snowboard ten feet away, she realized where the misplaced key was. Her heart sank.
She was going to die. She was going to die and she didn’t know why or who. In defeat, her body slumped against the door. Frozen like a Popsicle and bleeding, death was eminent. Closing tear-stained eyes, her heart and body gave up. Her butt hit cold concrete and her head hit hard wood.
The next thing she knew, she propelled backwards as the door swung open from the inside. Her head hit, made contact with the ceramic tile floor with a thud.
“Ow.”
Staring up into two pools of liquid amber, she wondered how someone with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen could be a killer.
As her eyelids drifted shut, she knew she would never know.
* * * *
A snow bunny lay on his floor. Answering the thump at the door had produced a very beautiful, green-eyed, bright pink, snow bunny. He must have been a very good boy for Santa to drop her off at his doorstep…early.
What would he do with his very own snow bunny? Was he nuts? It hadn’t been that long. Maybe it had, but he knew exactly what to do. Hell, ever since he got to the mountain and saw the other very shapely snow bunnies, he’d had several fantasies. If he wasn’t there in search of his brother, he would sweep any one of them off their feet, but this bunny was already off hers. He could adapt.
Holstering his Glock, he bent down and touched a cheek. “Um, Bunny, are you okay?” His fingers touched her cold but smooth face. He wondered if the rest of her skin felt like silk. He would like to find out. He would peel her out of the pink snowsuit, inch by inch. When she was naked and open to him, he would investigate. After all, that’s what he did. He investigated. He would run his fingers along every curve, familiarizing himself with all her hills and valleys, much as he did now. Except now,
he checked for body injuries ascertaining there were no broken bones.
Two fingers to her throat, Max checked for a pulse, and offered up a prayer of thanks. He thought of replacing his fingers with his lips. The heat of them against the pounding pulse, warming her, taking her higher. Then his mouth would follow the same trail as his fingers, tasting, teasing, arousing her, taking her to the peak and holding her there until he plunged them both up and over the edge. He groaned.
“Bunny.” His body was in a bad state.
No response.
He cleared his throat loudly. “Bunny.”
No response.
“I’m going to pick you up off the floor and get you some place more comfortable and warm.” Like his bed. He could sweep her up in his arms, carry her there, and when she laid on his bed, her reddish-blonde hair spread across his pillow he could fulfill his fantasy.
Sliding a hand underneath the snowsuit, he felt the warm, sticky liquid. One arm cradling her head and neck, he hooked the other underneath her knees and scooped her up. Kicking the door shut with one foot, Maximilian carried the snow bunny down the hall to his bedroom.
Pulling the covers back, he laid her on his bed. She did not stir. She hadn’t moved since she had stared up at him with brilliant green eyes and said, “Ow.”
Taking a step back, he stared down at her. “Ok, Bunny, I’ve got to get that suit off of you so I can see where you’re injured. Is that okay with you?” She didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected her to, but his gentleman manners prevailed.
The zipper was stuck. He could keep tugging at it, but he didn’t want to hurt her. There was no way to remove the suit without jostling her wounded body. Not wanting to do more damage to the beautiful woman sprawled on his bed, he determined he needed scissors.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
Max darted from the bedroom in search of his first aid kit. With it tucked under his arm, he gathered towels and a bowl of water before returning to the bedroom and the waiting snow bunny. She was still there.
Holding the scissors, he eyed the fuchsia outfit with regret. It was pretty and a snug fit. Hugging every curve, it outlined full breasts, toned arms, and long, lean legs of the woman inside. No choice, he had to do it.
Leaning over the unconscious woman, he whispered, “This is going to hurt me way more than you. But I’ll buy you a new one when you wake up.”
Max cut along the line of the zipper and as he did a taut white T-shirt exposed the full breasts he knew existed. Shit. Tearing his gaze from the perfect cleavage, his jaw clenched as tight as a fist. Max continued to cut a path past her flat tummy, bony but beautiful hips, and down one of the slender legs. Then he cut a course down her other leg and finally along the toned arms.
Stepping back, he eyed his work and the woman who still had not moved. Lovely. Sinewy legs, slight figure, pale skin, but the face did him in. Her heart-shaped face topped by blonde hair with streaks of red that reminded him of cinnamon. Pouty, raspberry lips invited his kiss, and boy did he want to accept the invitation.
“Santa was right. I have been a very good boy this year, too good,” he mumbled. “If I weren’t such a boy scout I’d be trying to play the prince and wake up Sleeping Beauty.”
Stop staring at the woman and get on with the first aid, he wordlessly scolded. As he peeled back the pink Gore-Tex material, realization struck him like a blow to his heart…only lower. In order to get to where he had felt the blood, Max had to flip her over. He had to touch her, the exposed parts of her. Didn’t that suck. In any other circumstance, he would be jumping for joy, howling at the moon, and thanking the gods. Instead, the gods were against him.
“A man can only take so much temptation.” Or torture.
With as little contact with bare skin as possible and a tenderness he did not quite feel, Max rolled the snow bunny over onto her stomach. His gaze landed directly on her ass and he found out she wore thong panties. The white material framed her shapely ass, reminding him of two firm peaches divided by a thin strip of cloth. Two juicy peaches he wanted to …
When he saw the blood trailing down the back and outside of the right thigh, his sixteen year-old, hormone-crazed, delinquent thoughts drifted away. Something had cut her beautiful leg deep enough to cause it to bleed. How the hell had she done that? Hamstring muscles bled like stuck pigs and this one was still bleeding.
Wanting to staunch the flow, Max wet one of the rags in the bowl of hot water and, wiped away the blood. As he cleaned the area, he got a better look at the injury. It looked as if something had skidded across her thigh, gouged a deep path. Max opened a sterile gauze bandage from the first aid kit, and placed it over the wound. He secured it in place with medical tape. The snow bunny would not be happy when she saw the damage, nor would she sit comfortably for a while.
That injury taken care of, his gaze widened in search of others and landed on a large red stain on the upper right quadrant of her white T-shirt. Shit! How had he not seen that? Had he lost it because some drop-dead gorgeous snow bunny had landed on his doorstep? He cringed. Drop-dead may not have been the best choice of words.
Snatching the scissors up off the bed, he none too gently cut the T-shirt away. The stain scared the hell out of him. It had a dark center that looked almost black, like a hole. Skin exposed, Max’s fear was confirmed. Damn, damn, damn.
The wound was exactly what he figured. A bullet hole. He did not remember seeing blood on the front of her or a matching hole to the one he examined. That could mean only one thing. It wasn’t a through-and-through. The bullet was still lodged in her. With a groan, he stood, running his hands down his face. “Now what?”
Should he call an ambulance or drive her to the hospital? No, he could not do that. Hospital personnel would ask questions, call the police, and he didn’t have time for that kind of scrutiny. Besides, he had no answers.
Before the snow bunny could tell who shot her and why, Max had to take care of the little issue of the bullet in her back.
An unconscious snow bunny sprawled in his bed. With a bullet in her back. Damn, this was not something he prepared for. This was not even a scenario he had played in his head when he made the decision to go in search of his brother. Alone.
His boss, Michael Augustson, had told him he would pass whatever information he received on to him, but he was on his own. Max accepted that, but it pissed him off royally.
He should call Michael. He needed to call Michael. However, his boss had made it perfectly clear that Max should only call in a dire emergency. As far as Max was concerned, this was a dire emergency. He doubted Michael would think the same.
It didn’t matter. Max had to get the bullet out of her back. The sooner, the better.
Max went back to the bedroom to check on his patient. No change. Taking the bowl of hot water, he went to the bathroom, emptied it, and filled it with clean water. Sitting next to the silent woman, he cleaned around the wound, getting rid of any residual blood. Luckily, the bleeding appeared to have slowed to a trickle.
Rummaging through his first aid kit, he came up with a bottle of antiseptic liquid. Carefully, he poured a small amount onto the open wound. The muscles around it twitched reflexively. If she had been awake, she would have screamed bloody murder. The liquid bubbled, fizzed, and blood oozed out of the opening. It gave him a better view of the actual wound and maybe the bullet.
As Max wiped away the antiseptic and poured more, he voiced his questions aloud. “Why, Bunny? Who shot you? Was it an accident? Were you caught in the line of fire by a deer hunter?” Max didn’t see how that was possible with such a vibrant outfit. “Or were you the intended target? What could you have possibly done that would cause someone to shoot you?”
Who could shoot a woman with hair the color of cinnamon and honey? He imagined the hair spread across his abdomen, silk gliding down his body as she made love to him. What could she have done to warrant a death sentence? All his instincts urged him to keep her safe.
> Then he stopped asking unanswered questions and worked on removing the bullet. For the next hour, his mind and the house remained silent as he cut, probed, removed, and sutured. Max cleaned and bandaged the wound then covered the sleeping beauty with a fresh sheet.
TWO
In the living room, Max drank coffee. He tried to think. He needed to understand why the woman had landed on his doorstep. Coincidence or not? He had never been a big believer in coincidence. He was not about to start now.
She landed at his door. Mountainside door.
Extracting himself from the chair, Max stood in front of the glass panes and gazed at the snow-covered mountain.
She had worn snowboarding boots. Where was the board?
Not with her. At least not that he observed. Even though he had been pre-occupied by his snow bunny fantasy, he would have noticed. So, if she did not ride it to my door, then where is her board?
Good question, he answered himself.
After setting his coffee mug aside, he opened the door, and stepped outside into frigid air. Walking a few feet up the slight incline, Max saw it. A bloody imprint of the woman’s lower half in the snow. Next to that were tracks. Ski tracks. More than one set.
That answered at least one question. Not an accident. Not deer hunters. Someone deliberately shot at her.
The other ski tracks pulled up alongside where the snow bunny had dropped to the ground, and then appeared to trail off toward the lodge. To be certain the shooters hadn’t pulled into a nearby cottage, Max followed the tracks down the slope and walked up to several mountainside doors. No fresh tracks at the doors, no lights on.
The lack of tracks did not reassure him. This time of year there should have been tracks, lots of them. Someone had covered their tracks.
Great. In his mind that meant professionals.
Maybe the shooters figured she was dead or dying. Maybe it was a scare tactic of some kind. A scare tactic that hit its target. Twice. He didn’t believe that.
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