Whoever entered the house wasn’t exactly stealth. He watched Sam’s brow furrow when he heard the guy brushing snow off his jacket. It was so comical, he thought Sam would bust a gut, or bite through her lip.
As the person climbed up the stairs from the basement, Sam indicated low, and he would take high. When the red parka stepped out of the stairwell, Sam scissor kicked his feet out from under him, the intruder grunted, and started to tumble. Max helped the guy along giving him a shove between the shoulder blades. When he hit the ground, he was right there, pressing his 9-millimeter to the back of his head.
“Hands! Let me see your hands!” Max shouted.
The guy didn’t budge.
“Spread your arms and legs. Let me see your hands.” They slid out. No weapon.
“Check his pockets,” he directed Sam.
“Nothing.”
“Sam?” the guy queried from under the parka hood, his voice shaky. “Sam almighty, what the heck are you doing scaring the bejeezes out of little old me?”
“Jacks?”
“Damn it, girl! Have you gone plum loco? Get me up.”
“Help me,” Sam requested with waving hands.
Max took one arm, Sam took the other, and they hauled Betty Jacks to her feet. As soon as Betty’s feet hit the floor, she brushed the hood off her head, and whipped around to face Sam.
“Well? Have you gone mad?” Betty asked her husky voice angry, and still a little shaken.
“I’m sorry, Jacks. We didn’t know.”
“You should be.”
Sam shot Max a death-ray glare, but he kept on grinning ear-to-ear. It was nice watching someone take the tough-as-nails Samantha Spenser down a notch or two. When he couldn’t stifle the chuckle any longer, Betty spun in his direction. Her pale blue-eyed glower told him she was ready to tear some hide off his ass next.
Flashing his disarming smile, he said, “Hi, Betty.”
“You,” she accused.
“Yes, ma’am. Change your mind on marrying me?” he asked, leaning over to give her a peck on the cheek.
Betty beamed and swatted at him. “Slick talker. I see you found Sam Spenser.”
“Thanks to you.” Of course, she had no idea he had followed her straight to the ice shack.
“Since the two of you seem to be acquainted,” Sam chimed in, “can we sit and be comfortable?”
Betty started to slip out of her coat and Max helped her, and then hooked it over the back of a chair before taking a seat next to her at the dining table. Sam brought over a pot of coffee and three mugs.
“I think you better spike mine. Maybe I’ll get the ten years back you shaved off my life with that little trick.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam and Max apologized in unison.
Betty waved the apologies away. “Nothing a good shot of whiskey won’t cure.”
He chuckled. She was a tough old bird. “Tell me where you keep the liquor, I’ll get it.”
“Let Sam. You,” she pointed a bony finger at him, “Slick, can tell me what in Sam hell is going on.”
Samantha set the bottle of whiskey and a separate glass on the table. Betty poured two fingers and slugged it back. Then she poured another two fingers before adding coffee.
“Quite a woman,” he mumbled.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Slick.”
“The name’s Max. I’ll take a shot of that in my coffee too, if you’re willing to share.”
Betty poured them both a shot and set the bottle on the table. “Okay, you two, out with it.”
He exchanged glances with Sam. Taking a sip of his coffee, he contemplated what they should tell her, but before either of them could reply, Betty spoke.
“Does your father know you’re shackin’ up with him?” she asked Sam, aiming her thumb in his direction.
* * * *
Sam was not the only one who choked on Betty’s question. Max hadn’t managed to avoid the coffee from spilling out his nose. She would have laughed if she wasn’t trying to prevent her own coffee from dribbling out.
It wasn’t as if Jacks missed the mark. They had been shackin’ up, in a sense, okay, all senses. The woman was perceptive as hell. That may not be bad. If everyone thought she and Max were cohabitating then there would be no suspicion as to why they were together.
“Actually, we came up here to tell Dad about our engagement.”
Once again, Max tried not to spit coffee. Sam watched him bite his lip. He glared at her, a mixture of What-The-Fuck and amusement played across his face, his lips quirked to one side, and his brow knit in a crease. Then he shrugged, allowing her to take the lead.
That impressed her, a man who did not have to be in charge of every situation.
Betty got to her feet, pulled Sam to hers, and embraced her. “That’s so great. Congratulations.”
Next, she went to Max and offered him the same warm hug. “You take care of her, Slick, or you’ll answer to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a broad smile.
Yup, Max knew how to play the ladies. Sam figured with such a disarming smile, he had probably been a very good FBI agent.
“Your father must be thrilled. He didn’t even tell me.” Betty sat, crossed her arms, and pouted.
She reached over and laid a hand on Betty’s arm. “He didn’t exclude you, he doesn’t know. I would love to tell him, if we can find him. Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him in days. I don’t know if he’s mad at me or in a pickle. We got into a fight.”
Her father and Jacks rarely fought. She could probably count on one hand the number of times they had a disagreement.
“That doesn’t sound like Dad. What was the argument about?”
“Some FBI guy wanted to enlist Sam’s help, and I didn’t think he should get involved.”
Max sat straight up in his chair and leaned forward. “What FBI guy?”
Too anxious, she thought. She understood his feelings, but Betty would get flustered and forget stuff if he didn’t chill. She shot him a look, and hand signaled him to relax.
“He’s supposed to be retired and this guy shows up one day at your father’s door and asks him for some information. You know Sam. He can’t stay on the sidelines. He has to get involved. I told him he should stay out, tell the FBI agent what he wanted to know and go fishing. He blew a gasket, and we haven’t spoken since.”
“When was that?”
“Did you meet the FBI agent?” Max asked.
“Wait.” Betty tapped a foot, shifted her gaze between them.
Uh-oh. Jacks was not stupid. Her steel-blue eyes flickered in suspicion then narrowed.
“Why did Max have to search for you?”
Sam swallowed hard, the lump forming in her throat threatening to choke her. She hated to lie. Oh, what a tangled web we weave… However, she consoled herself that the lie would be in everyone’s best interest.
“I thought it best to tell Dad my happy news alone.”
“I disagreed.” Max reached over, took her hand in his, and kissed her palm. “I decided to follow and surprise her anyway.”
“Since Dad’s address isn’t in any public listing, he had to search. Dad wasn’t here anyway, and hasn’t been.”
“Samantha is concerned. When was the last time you saw him? Where?” Max asked.
“Let me think,” Betty told him, rubbing her temples. “It was Thursday. Do you think he’s okay?” she pleaded, grasping Sam’s arm.
Max patted Betty’s hand. “I’m sure he’s fine. You know us men. Sometimes we have to get away to get our heads straight, especially where women are concerned.”
He emphasized his comment with a wink in her direction. “Smartass.”
“Lover,” he crooned.
Sam rolled her eyes heavenward, and he chuckled.
Betty stood and reached for her jacket. “I think I’ll let you two be. When you do hear from your father, tell him I have flapjacks and a kick in the pants wa
iting for him.”
Betty’s words made Sam laugh out loud, thinking of how right her father and Jacks were together. He so deserved this woman. When she pulled herself together, she hugged Jacks and let Max walk her to the car.
Max had just locked the door behind him when his phone beeped. He checked the display.
“What is it?”
“A new email message.” He shrugged.
He opened the message and froze, unable to move or speak, only able to stare.
SIXTEEN
Max’s heart dropped to his stomach. Oh, no. Bile rose in his throat, threatened to choke him, but he could not take his gaze off the image on his PDA.
“Max? Max, what is it?”
He could not hear Sam through the blood rushing in his ears. He heard the sound of the Peanuts cartoons. “Owah. Owah, owah, owah, owah.”
“Max, you’re scaring me. You’ve gone pale, and you’re barely breathing.”
The fear and anxiety in Sam’s voice, the gentle touch of her fingers on his arm drew him back. Then he looked at her and saw her watching him, a look of pain in her eyes mirroring his own feelings.
He choked out the word “Kevin,” dropped the phone, and walked past Samantha. He had to sit before he collapsed.
Sam gasped. Max sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His brother was alive. For now. The message said, “For now.” The kidnappers emailed him proof of life. The picture showed his little brother sitting in a chair, his hands tied behind his back, today’s newspaper held up in front of his chest, and a gun aimed at Kevin’s head. Max pressed his thumbs against his eyelids, tried to push the image of his brother—gaunt, dirty, bruised, and bloody—out of his mind. It would not go away.
Sam sat next to him, rested her hand on his knee in a gesture of comfort. Max did not want to be comforted, and he flinched from the contact. “Don’t,” he snapped.
He regretted his cold tone and response when he saw Sam’s reaction. She blinked, and her head jerked back, as if he had slapped her. Then she removed her hand, and tucked it by her side. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t bear her touch. Not while his brother couldn’t be comforted. He wanted the pain. He wanted to be angry, and to find Kevin. Then he wanted to kill the bastards who hurt him.
Anger propelled him from his seat. “You said you wanted to help. Then help. We need to figure out where those diamonds came from and why someone wants them bad enough to kidnap Kevin to get them.”
Max whirled on Sam, tracked her like a cornered animal until he towered over her. “And your father. Where the hell is he? How is he in this?”
Silence. Sam struggled for a response and Max waited. The fists clenched at his sides demonstrated his fight to control his fury. Instead of replying, she swallowed her own frustration. He had every right to be angry, and she understood his need to lash out at whoever was handy. Lucky her.
He wanted a fight, so be it. She would give him one.
Prepared to exchange blows, Sam rose to her feet. “You sorry bastard. I am not going to stand here and debate my father’s actions with you. Again. I understand how you feel.”
“You don’t understand shit!”
“I know you’re hurting.”
“Hurting? Screw you, Lady.”
“You already have,” she shot back, her voice rigid with wounded dignity.
Ignoring him, she went on. “You’re angry enough to kill. I don’t blame you. Hell, I’ll help you.”
A mixture of shock and pain in his expression told her he still did not get it.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I saw the damn picture. It affected me, too.”
“Affected you?” Max’s arms flew out to his sides. She took a reflexive step back.
“He’s your brother.”
* * * *
Her quiet statement deflated him. He looked at her and saw the honesty of her words reflected in Sam’s face. Shaken, her face pale, her body stiff, green eyes glittered on the verge of tears. Yet, she had stood toe-to-toe with him. Sam had given him the fight that he had desperately needed. Hot air whooshed out of his lungs.
“Thank you,” he whispered to the floor.
She touched him then, and Max found he wanted her to. The feel of her cold fingers against the heat of his anger-flushed face cooled the remainder of his temper.
“Are you past the red?”
“For the moment.”
“Then you’re ready?”
“For what?”
The smile she gave him, full of sweetness with a touch of seduction, illuminated her whole face. Max could not take his eyes off her. At that moment, he made a decision. He never wanted Samantha Spenser to give away those sexy little smiles to anyone but him.
“It’s getting late. We have to figure out where we’re staying tonight, here or your place?”
He peered out the living room windows. She was right, it was already dark and he hadn’t noticed.
“We also need to take care of my rapidly growing hunger. And we should determine our next move.”
We. For the first time in years it felt good to hear someone say ‘we’. He only hoped he would not let this partner down the same way he had Lucy.
* * * *
Margaritas Mexican Restaurant hit the spot. The only thing that disturbed the meal was listening to some drunken punk with a foul mouth hitting on two young women. The benefit had been when Max got in the jerk’s face, and threatened bodily injury. It gave him an outlet for his residual anger. After that, they and the other patrons ate in relatively companionable quiet.
The sense of peace she experienced during dinner and the drive back shattered when a blinding flash of light, followed by an explosion rocked the ground underneath their feet.
A burst of orange flames kissed the sky toward Main Street, and propelled Sam to take off running in the same direction.
“No!” Max yelled from behind her.
She didn’t slow. A sense of impending doom tingled up her spine, and kept her feet moving. Max would keep up. Sirens wailed in the background as Sam made her way to town on foot, her path lit by the flashing lights of the local volunteer fire truck.
Her heart raced, pounded hard in her chest, and she was getting short of breath, but Max was right beside her, not looking winded at all.
“What’re we doing?”
“Going to help put out a fire. We only have a volunteer department.” She didn’t share the uneasy thoughts that skidded through her mind with Max, thoughts of his brother, and her father. She just silently prayed.
Up ahead, between two buildings she saw a frenzy of cars, a fire truck, and people. They were almost there when she noticed a suspicious figure running in the opposite direction.
Sam pointed.
“I’m on it.” Max spun away from her and after the runner.
Fear for Max gnawed at her insides as he went off after the runner alone until she saw which building was a blazing inferno. All concern for Max slid away, her gaze transfixed on the flames devouring her friend’s restaurant. For a second she stood there, not knowing what to do, tears welling in her eyes. Sam witnessed the destruction of a town monument.
She stared at Betty’s livelihood crumbling before her eyes. Betty! Holy crap, where was she?
Her feet, on automatic pilot, carried her forward until she hit the wall of heat from the fire. Frantic, she searched the area, desperate to find Betty’s face. She spotted her. Before she knew it, she was hugging her father’s lover, touching her, making sure she was in one piece. Betty looked haggard, covered in soot, but she did not appear to be burned or missing any body parts.
“Jacks, what happened? Are you okay?”
Tears streamed down the older woman’s face. “I don’t know. Just ‘boom!’”
“Was anyone in there?”
“I don’t know. It was the cook’s night to lock up. I was at home watching a movie when I felt the explosion.” Betty’s voice and hands shook. “I’m positive he would have shut ever
ything off. What do you think happened?”
Before Sam could respond, Max caught her gaze. Her eyes narrowed in question, and he shook his head. Damn! He hadn’t caught the guy.
“Stay here. Don’t move from this spot.”
Max stepped forward, laid an arm across Betty’s shoulders and squeezed. “Hang tough, darlin’.”
Jacks nodded. Then Sam and Max moved into the mêlée to volunteer and get a better idea of what caused the explosion.
Thanks to the volunteer firefighters, the blaze was finally under control a couple of hours later with only minor damage done to other buildings in close proximity. With the exception of the fire investigator and a few hard-core volunteers, everyone had gone home. An hour earlier, Betty went home with a neighbor. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but she and some of Betty’s friends convinced Betty she would be no good unless she got some rest.
While the investigator sifted through ashes and debris, Sam and Max stood to the side anxious to talk with him. She and Max agreed that the fire was no accident.
“Corpse! We’ve got a corpse.”
SEVENTEEN
Max regarded Sam. Her face mirrored his thoughts. There was a tightness in his chest, and tears pooled in Sam’s green eyes reflecting the pain. Corpse? Was it Kevin? Sam’s father?
“Max, you don’t think … I mean it couldn’t be…”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. We don’t know.” But, he would find out. “Don’t budge. I’ll introduce myself and see what the investigator can tell us.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned, and aimed for the scene.
He should have known she wouldn’t listen. Instead, Sam trudged up next to him. “Screw that. I’m not a dog you can command to sit, stay.”
He grinned. “How about rollover or beg?”
When they reached the arson investigator, Sam let him go ahead of her. She stood in the middle of the rubble, once known as ‘Flapjacks’. Peering down at the ashes, she thought about how the restaurant had been a community hang out and the best breakfast restaurant for locals and tourists. Rooted in the debris, she recalled the first time she went there late at night with some friends from school. It had been winter then, too. She and her friends had gone out sledding, and after climbing up the hill repeatedly, they were starving. They cruised back into town and went to Flapjacks.
Killer Bunny Hill Page 10
