Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  Hiking back up the hill, Max noticed the blood on his patio. Before he did anything else, he got a bucket, filled it with cool water, and took it outside to wash away the red stain. He doubted they had seen the blood stain, but he still wanted to be cautious.

  Like I need a very beautiful, but very wounded snow bunny right this minute. He contemplated calling Jake, another operative and friend, to take her off his hands. Then he would be able to concentrate on the investigation of his brother’s disappearance, his reason for being on the mountain. His boss had given Max leave and offered to provide as much assistance as possible, but they had to tread lightly since another government agency was involved. That meant Jake would be a last resort.

  “Politics,” Max grumbled to no one.

  Until she gained consciousness and was mobile, he was stuck with her. Stuck might not be the best description. Not exactly a hardship to look at a beautiful woman whose hair was part fire, and ignited a flame of desire inside him. However, not now.

  Now, he needed to locate Sam Spenser. Sam Spenser, what did he have to do with his brother?

  Max sat in the living room trying to figure out how his world just got overly complicated. He really did not need the extra complication of the left-for-dead snow bunny in his bed. He had to find his brother, an undercover FBI agent. Since the FBI refused to be forthcoming with any useful information, nor would they take his offer to help in its investigation, it was up to Max. Alone.

  His head snapped up when he heard a moan from the back room. His Bunny was waking and she would be in pain and probably crabby as hell. At least he would find out her identity, who shot at her, and why. Then he would have one less mystery to solve.

  Entering the room, his gaze targeted right on her. She stirred, trying to get her bearings. He understood the feeling. Being shot sucked. Drugs, even if they were painkillers, sucked. They were great for dulling the pain, but they also dulled the mind, and made everything fuzzy. Put the two together, and you had the suckiest combination.

  When she started to move more, he feared she might pull the stitches in her back. “Whoa. Don’t move too much,” he offered in a soothing voice. “You may want to stay on your belly for the time being,” he suggested, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  At his touch, the woman jumped and surged away from him on the bed. Kicking her legs out as she went, she yelped.

  He cringed along with her at the pain.

  Leaning against the tan suede covered headboard, the snow bunny stared at him with emerald eyes, and tousled hair.

  His hands held in front of him, palms facing her, Max tried to reassure her, calm her, and let her know he was not a threat.

  “It’s okay. You need to be careful. You don’t want the sutures to come undone. If you’re in pain, I can give you another painkiller. Do you need anything?”

  Her eyes, wide as saucers, shot green flames at him, but she didn’t answer.

  “I’m Max Stone.” Extending a hand for a shake, Max continued. “Now that you know who I am, who are you?”

  * * * *

  With one hand, she clutched the sheet to her chest. The other hand steadied her. She was naked. Butt-naked. She huddled in a strange bed, and a very well built, unfamiliar man stood in the doorway staring at her. Who was he? Was she in his bed? Where was she? How did she get here? Her head pounded almost as hard as her heart.

  He walked toward the bed, long fingers attached to a large hand hung in the air waiting for her to take it. She eyed the outstretched hand with suspicion. Was it safe? Was he a nice guy? Looking up into his hard, sharp-angled face, she stared at beautiful eyes, the amber color of maple syrup. She ran her tongue across her lips. She loved maple syrup.

  “And you are?” he prompted her again, when she didn’t answer.

  Who was she? Didn’t he know? Why would she be here if he didn’t know her? Trusting the eyes, she put her hand in his, and, regarding him with caution, answered. “I…um…I don’t know.”

  “Excuse me?” His brow rose in surprise.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t know your name?” he asked, his tone dubious.

  Instinctively, she pulled her hand back. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know herself. Drawing her knees to her chest, an automatic protective posture, she shrieked. “Ow, ow, ow!”

  Pain shot through her leg and up her back. Tears streamed down her face. She felt as though she had been shot. “What did you do to me?” she demanded, narrowing her gaze on the beautiful-eyed stranger.

  “First, relax. I’m the good guy. I patched you up after someone else tried to kill you with a gun.”

  Wide-eyed, she stared at him. What was he talking about? She did not remember any gun. Any bullets. But she didn’t remember her name either. Who would shoot her? If he was the good guy, was she a bad girl?

  Head tilted back against the headboard, she lifted her right arm to her forehead, and screeched. Something tugged at her back and pain coursed through her muscles, agony made her want to vomit.

  “Oh, please make it stop,” she pleaded. “I’m dying and I’m gonna get sick.”

  Max left the bedroom and went into the bathroom. Pouring a glass of water, he came back in and handed her a pill. “Take this.” Then he set the trashcan from the bathroom next to the bed. “If you have to get sick use this. Don’t try and leave the bed, you’ll only hurt yourself worse.”

  When she continued to eye him, he shoved the pill in front of her face. “It’s a pain pill.”

  She took the drug from him, popped it into her mouth and swallowed. She handed him back the glass, careful not to make body contact, he noticed. Amused, Max made a point to touch her hand before taking the water glass and setting it on the nightstand.

  “Roll over onto your stomach and let me take a look at the two wounds.”

  “Not on your life,” she told him, pulling the pale blue sheet tighter to herself. He started to smile but thought better of it. Like that would be enough protection against any man.

  “Bunny, I’ve already seen your very nice backside. I stitched, and touched it. Just think of me as a big brother. You don’t want him to see you naked, but you know he has and it is really no big deal. Now turn over. Carefully.”

  “Bunny? You called me Bunny. You do know my name. Why’d you ask me?”

  “No, I haven’t a clue what your name is. You had no identification on you when you landed in my foyer. I just call you Bunny, short for snow bunny, because that’s what you reminded me of and I needed a name to refer to you.”

  “Oh,” disappointment tinged her voice.

  He felt for her. If she told the truth. It could be an act, and she just sought a safe haven. Well, he had news for her. If that were her game, she would be shit out of luck. He had more important tasks, and did not need to play nursemaid or bodyguard to some snow bunny that got her ass shot up. At the thought of her ass, his lip curved up.

  “Now, please turn over so I can check on your stitches.”

  With a sigh, Bunny grudgingly did as he requested.

  “I don’t have a brother,” she mumbled as she started to stretch out.

  “Whoa. What?” Snatching her arm, Max halted her movement, preventing her from getting all the way over onto her belly. “How do you know you don’t have a brother? I thought you didn’t remember.”

  “I don’t. I just know I don’t have a brother.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that crock? Come on, Bunny, what’s your real name?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Why would I lie?”

  Max had no clue. He might lie in her predicament. Safer until familiar with your enemy or captor. Maybe she still thought of him as the bad guy. Well, since whipping out his agency badge or telling her who he worked for was not an option, she would just have to keep thinking that way. On a mission, Max would not share his credentials with anyone until required.

  He released her arm, and she flopped onto her stomach. “So what do y
ou know?” he asked, staring at her backside. It really was a nice butt, he thought.

  “I know your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.” She rubbed at her arm. “You’re quite the bruiser aren’t you? I’m obviously not able to go anywhere so you could afford to be a little gentler.”

  “You’re giving me orders?” He laughed without humor. “You bleed all over my foyer and bed, I patch you up, save you from one or more shooters, and you’re giving orders.” Smiling behind her back, Max took a cotton pad, doused it with antiseptic, and then applied it to her leg wound. He waited. In two seconds, Max achieved the desired effect.

  “Yow! Holy shit! Get that off of me!” she implored, kicking her legs in an attempt to get his hand off her thigh. A new stab of pain pierced her back as she shot him a death ray glare over her shoulder. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t care. He was trying to kill her. “You bastard.”

  He shrugged without remorse. “Sorry.”

  Then he put a cloth on the pain near her shoulder. Like hell. Ted Bundy had more remorse than the brown-eyed, muscled man who tortured her.

  “Why?” she asked through gritted teeth, sucking in air between clamped lips. “Why are you trying to kill me? What did I do?”

  “I’m only taking care of my snow bunny,” he replied with no compassion.

  “Like hell,” she muttered, finally able to release the breath she held.

  “That should make you rest better. When you wake up we’ll talk again and maybe you’ll know more.” After covering her with a sheet, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  When she heard the click of the latch, the dam burst and tears streaked down her face. He was torturing her and enjoying it. Why? Couldn’t he just end it, end her life now? No need for torment. She didn’t remember anything, so what could she do to him?

  Max believed there was something locked inside her head. What did she know? What should she remember? It must have been crucial. Crucial enough to kill her? Could Max be her shooter? If so, why put bullets in her only to nurse her back to health? Was he the good guy or the bad guy? Who was Max Stone?

  THREE

  His cell phone vibrated against his hip. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the caller id. UNKNOWN.

  “I haven’t found him yet.”

  “Max Stone?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name isn’t important. What’s important is you know how to play the game.”

  Max could not tell if the person on the other end of the phone tried to disguise his voice. It sounded muffled. Hell, for all he knew it could have been the woman. Too indistinct.

  “What game? Is this a joke or a crank call? The refrigerator isn’t run…”

  “No joke. To play in this game you have to have stones. Meet me at South Peak Resort in one hour.”

  What was this guy talking about? South Peak Resort did not exist. It was the future site for a mountain hotel, homes, and trails. Until then it was a construction site.

  “Listen…”

  “Riddle me this, who was the singer in the movie The Fabulous Baker Boys?”

  “What the…”

  “Think about it. One hour. South Peak Resort.”

  “Why would I meet you?”

  The dial tone rang in his ear. “Shit!”

  Max snapped his cell phone shut. Why the damned cryptic message? Did the caller know something about his brother? What did a movie have to do with Kevin? How did he know who he was and how to get in touch with him? Did everyone know his number?

  It was not the same caller as the first one. Of that, Max was certain. Fury and frustration choked him.

  He had a naked, injured woman in his bed. She just happened to fall onto his doorstep and claimed not to know her identity, and now somebody calls him out of the blue and claims to know answers. What answers? Coincidence or a setup? He wondered, dragging fingers through his hair.

  It did not matter. Any possibility the caller knew something, Max had to find out. What was he supposed to do with the snow bunny? He couldn’t just leave her. What if she woke up? She could hurt herself if she tried to move. Well, he would make certain she could not move too far or get into any trouble.

  Max locked the bedroom door from the outside and pocketed the key. “Just in case.”

  Tucking his Glock in the back of his pants, Max assuaged his guilty conscience and reassured himself he was looking out for her own good. And his best interest.

  He had just given her a powerful painkiller, not to mention the fact that her body was recovering from her injuries. She would probably be zonked for the rest of the night. And he had to find out about his brother.

  * * * *

  No one showed up at the construction site. He waited thirty minutes and no one showed. Driving back to the cottage, Max deliberated over the phone call. The only people who had his cell number were intended to have it. The number was unpublished. That meant whoever called him had gotten it from Kevin, somehow. The thought curled in his stomach. Bitter bile crawled up his throat making him want to heave.

  His family and his job were all he had. If someone hurt the people he loved, Max would break him, piece by piece, bone by bone, until he begged for death. When it came to protecting family, he had a violent streak.

  Max shook his head. Why call him and not show up? The cottage. What if the caller wanted him out of the house? What would someone be looking for? Maybe it wasn’t a search. Maybe it was a trap.

  Oh hell, he thought, rapping his fist against the steering wheel. Somebody wanted him out of the house. Damn! He was a fool.

  Icy fear trickled down his spine. He stomped the gas pedal of the SUV and it accelerated with a lurch, his heart speeding along with it.

  “Come on car. Get there,” he prayed and punched the gas. He dared to push it to the limits on the snow-covered road, but he couldn’t lose control. If he did, they would both be dead. Him and his snow bunny.

  Finally, he swung the SUV in front of the cottage. Headlights slashed across the house, illuminating it. Movement. He sensed it before he saw it from the corner of his eye. With a flip of a switch, Max turned on the high beams. For a second the trespasser halted, caught, a deer in the headlights.

  Before Max could undo the seat belt, the black clad figure bolted toward the mountain. Swearing, shoving the door open, he released his Glock as his feet hit the ground, and took off after the intruder. Weapon gripped in two hands, sight at eye level, Max rounded the first corner.

  At the sound of an engine roaring to life, he forgot about procedure and precaution. He dashed through the snow, not like Santa, but a wolf on the hunt of its prey. Turning the corner Max was pitched into blackness. Except for the taillights of a snowmobile traveling too far and too fast. Before it moved out of sight, he made out two figures on the snowmobile.

  “Shit,” he cursed, kicking the snow with a boot. His heart kicked up in his chest. He tore off back to the cottage.

  Stumbling over the threshold of the open back door, Max stood and listened. He didn’t hear anyone or anything. Nothing looked disturbed. Still, he refused to take any chances. At the door to Bunny’s bedroom, he inspected it for wires, carefully ran his fingers along the frame, looking for booby-traps. Nothing caught his trained eye. He listened for noises, and checked the lock.

  Air whooshed out of his lungs when he opened the door.

  * * * *

  She was gone. The bed was empty. Blankets and sheets were rumpled, but the bed was void of a naked, injured woman.

  A light in the bathroom caught his eye. He checked it. No one. Then he saw the closet door ajar. His breath caught. Could it be? Had she hidden in the closet? With purposeful strides, Max crossed the small expanse of the room. His weapon trained on the closet door, hand on the knob, he jerked the door open, and came face-to-face with emptiness.

  Max’s heart plummeted, a lead weight in his chest. His snow bunny flew the coop. He’d blown it. He hadn’t protected her, anymore than he pro
tected his younger brother. Dejected, he sank down on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. Then he looked around the room.

  There were no signs of a struggle. Nothing looked out of place. It looked like someone had gotten out of bed, went into the bathroom to clean up, and walked out. On his feet, Max did a more methodical inspection of the room. He checked the windows. The locks were still intact. He opened drawers. Clothing had been shuffled and his favorite flannel shirt was missing.

  Max investigated the rest of the cottage. At a cursory glance, he saw no evidence of an intruder. But an intruder had been there. Barely noticeable, he was the only person who would have been able to tell. If he hadn’t seen the figure dressed in black running away from the house, and if he hadn’t been worried about the woman, it may not have taken him so long to recognize the sign.

  In his line of work, there were measures taken to signal a security breach. It didn’t take much. Socks placed in a drawer a certain way, neatly stacked quarters on top of a dresser, a knick-knack placed in a specific spot on a table. Michael Augustson, his boss, always left a duffle bag in a closet with the zipper closed to a certain point. His theory was if people were going to search, inevitably they would search closets. No trespasser would be able to resist the temptation of a closed duffle bag.

  Max’s trick was more subtle. He left articles of clothing at entry points, hallways, or walking paths in whatever house or hotel room he stayed. A pair of socks by the front door, a towel in the hall, or a pair of boxers by a rear entrance worked well. Max had found that most people assumed if underwear were on the floor, a slob lived there. A slob wouldn’t pay attention or notice if the clothing had shifted when they ran through it. They were wrong.

  Whoever had searched his place had been a pro. The mistake, almost imperceptible, was there. The front door to the cottage still locked, the towel he had placed on the floor in the path from the kitchen to the living room was now on the tile floor in the kitchen, bunched up against the wall. He bent down to pick it up. Dry. If someone coming from the snow outside had kicked the towel then the cloth would be damp.