Black Ice

by Black, Regan

  “The FBI is grounded,” he said. “They can’t move until the storm passes.” He put a cup of soup in the microwave and punched the buttons, refusing to look at her.

  “No,” she said, suddenly understanding what he was considering. “You can’t go up against them alone.”

  He was searching the cabinets. “I’m definitely not taking you.”

  The arrogant tone lanced through her. All the warm intimacy of the past hours, his care and comfort, the sweet familiarity of having her best friend back in her life, soured. She’d lived here, invested her money and her soul in the community over the past eleven years. The robbery was a personal affront, Cordell and his crew a blight on the community. She wouldn’t let Wyatt leave her out now.

  A growl rose in her throat as he set the cup of steaming soup in front of her. With a show of wisdom, he backed away. “Evie, you passed out a few hours ago.”

  She spooned up soup, inhaling the savory aroma. “I didn’t have the right gear.” She sipped the broth, let the heat slide down her throat. “I was dehydrated. Both problems can be solved now.”

  “You’ve been through—”

  She cut him off with a sharp look. “Everyone’s been through stuff. Me. You.” She paused as he brought his own cup of soup to the small table. “Maybe some food will restore your common sense.”

  He frowned into the wisp of steam rising from the cheery red and white container.

  The silence wasn’t so friendly this time, the only sounds breaking the tension were the wind buffeting the building outside and the softer sounds of two people enjoying hot soup. Somewhere in the fog of her hypothermia, she remembered the touch of those lips against her hair, the delicate skin of her temple. He’d demonstrated such care after shocking her at the casino.

  “Without me, where would you have spent the night?” she asked.

  His lips twisted a grim resignation in his eyes. “With Cordell and Baker, wherever we could have survived until the meet.”

  “Wyatt, he held a gun to your head.”

  “He’s not the first,” Wyatt replied too easily.

  She tensed from head to toe, a far different kind of chill moving over her skin. How could he be so cavalier about his life? He meant something to her. Regardless of what tomorrow held, she wouldn’t let him throw his life away. “That’s no excuse to leave yourself open to a worst-case scenario.”

  “No room for worst-case. I’m here with you.” He drank more water, then set the bottle down, his face serious. “I’m thinking any reward money I get should go to you.” He leaned forward, determination in his blue eyes. “I could be the right investor for Cottonwood.”

  “Reparations?”

  He nodded, still not meeting her gaze.

  “So if you don’t survive an encounter with Tate and Baker, how does that work for me? I’ll just waltz into the nearest FBI office, drop the diamonds on the desk and tell them you sent me to collect?”

  “Actually, that could work,” he said with a smile. “With either the casino or the FBI. The casino security footage would support your claim. You’d have the money to invest in your business.”

  “Oh.” Her fingers dug into the blanket keeping her legs warm. She might wring his neck after all, if he didn’t give up this idea of becoming a martyr for her.

  She recognized this side of Wyatt. Should’ve expected this kind of reaction. When they were kids, he tried to fix his mother’s mistakes, to cover for her. He would throw himself into the sport of the season, apply himself to school work, or find odd jobs to keep himself busy. To make himself valuable, as if every good thing he did could erase the stain of her addiction and neglect.

  Until this moment, Evie had never felt like one of his projects. The grief of his sudden departure, the rejection and self-doubt she’d endured in that hollow aftermath was better than being put into a box for Wyatt’s higher purpose. She wouldn’t let him get away with doing it now. Not with her.

  He’d made choices and eventually life had brought him back to Deadwood. She’d dealt with her emotional roadblocks in his absence. It was time for them to clear the air and redefine how things would work between them now.

  “You can fix it all.” She was on her feet before she realized she’d moved. “That’s great, if you want to be the hero of the world—live or die—but don’t think I’m going to sit right here batting my eyelashes and being grateful.”

  That got his attention. He looked up, heat burning in his blue eyes. “You don’t have to be grateful. I don’t recall asking for your thanks.”

  “No, you didn’t ask for anything. That’s the problem.” With all the dignity she could muster in her current state of dishevelment, she collected her disposable soup cup and spoon and carried them to the trash. “You probably just assume I’ll give your damn eulogy.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  The word hung there between them. Now she was hot all over. Hot enough to probably melt the first foot of snow pressed up against the window if she touched the glass.

  “Caring about the welfare of someone I love is not overreacting. Think about it, Wyatt. You’re boxing me up and pushing me away. Again. It’s just another verse of the sad song you played eleven years ago. A man has a serious problem when he’d rather risk death than face his feelings.”

  He shoved back from the table and stalked over to her. “How am I the bad guy because I want to keep the woman I love out of harm’s way?”

  It should have been elation coursing through her at his declaration, instead it was a stomach-dropping dread. Eleven years ago he’d told her he loved her and he’d walked away without a word. He gripped her shoulders, his gaze drilling into her, through her. She felt more vulnerable with him right now than she had when the SUV had slid off the road.

  “The robbery, the crash, nearly killed me.” She felt the distinct pressure of every single fingertip as she watched him gather his thoughts. “Not the weather or the car or even Cordell’s stupid guns. You. You at risk, in jeopardy because of me. I can’t bear that again, Evie.”

  “Well man up,” she managed. “You need someone to watch your back. Someone who can navigate through a little snow.”

  He closed his eyes and his hands fell away. Then he tipped his head to the ceiling, exposing that strong column of his throat as he laughed bitterly. “Only you would call the worst storm in history a little snow.”

  Was he giving in? She couldn’t tell. It had never been easy to win an argument with Wyatt.

  Her fingers itched to touch him, not with anger or frustration. No, he made her long for the heat of his skin, the rasp of his whiskers and the sensual promise in every firm muscle of the man he’d become.

  “We’ll leave the diamonds here,” she suggested, pressing what she chose to believe was a momentary advantage. “You said Baker was injured. We can do this.”

  He shook his head and swore. “I forgot you had the diamonds. Once Cordell figures out his take is short he’ll come unhinged.” Wyatt’s eyes were full of worry again. “I know you want to help me, but you don’t know him like I do.”

  “He doesn’t know me either. He doesn’t know us.” She realized that having this discussion while she was wrapped in a blanket wasn’t helping her cause. She tossed the covering over the back of a chair and stalked down the hall toward the storage area. Although they didn’t carry a full line of outerwear for sale, she knew the Greenbriars kept the back room stocked for personal use.

  “You sure got comfortable with their operation,” Wyatt observed from the doorway as she helped herself to silk underwear, a sweater, two pairs of thick socks, water-resistant pants and better-fitting boots.

  “Part of the near-merger.” She kept her voice neutral as she wriggled into the warm clothing. “You used to like the Greenbriars.”

  “That was before I knew you wanted to marry one of them.”

  “Wanted is definitely overstating it. It was business.” She shot him a look, enjoying the thrill of the possessive gle
am in his gaze. “This stash is mostly for emergencies for staff, customers, or search and rescue efforts. You remember how those go.”

  “Yeah. I’d rather we didn’t add to those statistics.” He was at her back again, crowding her as he examined the supply closet. “You won’t even think of staying behind?”

  She turned within the framework of his arms, sparkles of need lighting her up inside. He may not want to admit it, but he needed her. Survive first, then deal with the rest of their unfinished business. “Did that approach work for you after the crash?”

  “That was different.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I believed you’d go for help.”

  She licked her lips. “Convinced yourself is more accurate.”

  His mouth crashed to hers and those big hands pulled her tightly against his hard body. She couldn’t decide if there were too many or too few layers between them. Her hands slid under his shirts, gliding over the defined ridges of his taut abs.

  Her blood positively sizzled in her veins. She’d missed this intensity, this intimacy so much. No one else had ever stirred her like Wyatt. Maybe this would become a closure kiss or a what-if kiss, but she didn’t care. It was a right-now kiss and she locked into the moment.

  What they’d been to each other as kids, the potential for more tempted her beyond reason. She wasn’t letting him go without a fight.

  He cupped her face, tunneled his hands into her hair, tipping her mouth to the perfect angle. She couldn’t resist him. Had never wanted to. They were good together, at school, at work, and at this.

  She smoothed her hands along his spine, her fingers digging in when he nuzzled that sensitive spot on her neck. With a chuckle, he brought his forehead to hers.

  They’d exchanged versions of ‘I love you’, words she’d never given to another man, and yet the ramifications had to wait until Cordell was contained.

  “Please stay here,” he whispered.

  “Only if you stay here with me,” she countered.

  “Mule.”

  “Ass.” She softened the insult with a fast kiss and a squeeze of his backside before she slipped out of his arms.

  She found a sweater and they both chose better cold-weather gear. Wyatt gathered a coil of rope and a hunting knife too.

  “Flare gun?” he asked.

  “No one would see it,” she reminded him. She emptied the pockets of Karl’s coat onto the front counter. “Here are the diamonds.” He walked up beside her and stared down at the massive Mae West Solitaire, giving a low whistle. Even the low light from the window set the gems on fire, the stones casting that fire across the walls and ceiling. Across his striking face.

  “They’ll be safer here,” she said, dragging her thoughts back on track.

  “We might need the leverage,” he said. “Above all, Cordell is greedy.”

  She believed him. “They sure dress up a space.” Her gaze followed the colorful refracted light. “How did he plan to liquidate them?”

  “I’m sure he has a fence lined up,” Wyatt said. “He paid me a few grand up front, and the rest was supposed to hit my account within a week of his escape. That’s all up to the FBI now. I just want him out of Deadwood and far away from you.”

  She tipped one of the larger stones from Karl’s stash back and forth on the countertop. “Would you have come to see me? Be honest,” she added, without looking at him. She didn’t want to believe their new connection was completely a coincidence or a byproduct of an attempt to stop a thief.

  Behind her, he sighed. “No. Yes. Probably no,” he amended. She caught him scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw and she wished they could go back to kissing. “I’d hoped to get in and out of town without seeing you,” he admitted. “But seeing you now, I know I couldn’t have left without checking in.”

  Love was a multi-faceted pain in the butt, she thought. Chip away at one side and something else emerged. She gathered up the smaller diamonds for safekeeping and zipped them into her pocket. Going back to the storeroom, she found another sock to protect the Mae West and zipped that outrageous stone into a different pocket.

  “I never wanted you to get hurt,” he said. “Then or now.”

  She nodded, once. “I’m sorry.”

  “What do you have to apologize for?”

  She shrugged. “The years we lost. My bitterness over it.” She met his gaze. “All of the very dark thoughts I’ve aimed at you recently.”

  He grinned. “Pretty sure I deserved every one of those dark thoughts.”

  “Oh, you did.” She laughed, then braced against the counter to get her boots on. “Tell me what you have in mind for corralling Cordell.”

  “Their only smart move was to go on to the mining museum. With luck they’re snowed in.”

  “We haven't checked.” She glanced toward the window. “Odds are good we might be too.”

  He grimaced. “We’ll find a way out, but how do we get to the museum without snowshoes?”

  “I was thinking we’d use the snowmobile in the shed.”

  “What?”

  “See?” She grinned at him, delighted to surprise him. “You do need me.”

  “Every damn day,” he admitted. “But I’m driving.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, stared him down.

  “Fine. You can drive, but only until we’re close. The best play is for me to go in alone, while you cover me from a distance.”

  “And what can I do from a distance?” she asked.

  “Keep watch, take pictures.” He handed her his cell phone. “Call it in if you can get a signal. There’s all kinds of ways to be helpful.”

  “Mm-hm.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll take that as an opening list. I reserve the right to step in as needed.”

  “I can’t talk you out of that?”

  “We’re a team or we’re not,” she said. She was zipping up her coat when she heard the whine of a snowmobile. “You hear that?” she asked. He nodded. “It has to be Cordell.” There wasn’t a single, legitimate reason for anyone to be out in this weather.

  Wyatt darted across the room to the front window, then peered through the side window that wasn’t covered with ice and snow. “No visibility,” he stated. “Are there any weapons stashed around here that you haven’t mentioned?” he asked.

  “There has to be a shotgun or rifle around here.” She dropped down to search the shelves under the counter while Wyatt searched the back rooms. “Nothing,” he said, coming back in. “I hate to think what that man did to get a snowmobile.”

  “Grab the keys,” she murmured. “The mining museum has undergone a facelift in recent years.” He’d know that if he’d ever come back. “A building remodel, new tours, maps and posters, along with equipment including, but not limited to, hosting a snowmobile club and garage. Really, my dad is the only one averse to progress these days. Everyone is doing cross-promotion.”

  “That’s how he found us,” Wyatt grumbled. “I didn’t know he could read a map without an assistant.”

  “Joke later,” she said. “Do we wait him out or what? He can’t be sure we’re in here.” Thank goodness he hadn’t built a fire. While the wind whipped everything into a blur, the scent of a fire out here would’ve made Cordell’s search easier.

  “I should’ve taken a look around earlier,” Wyatt chided himself.

  “And left tracks in the snow? That would’ve only clued him in faster.” She made sure the camp stove was cold and turned off the lantern. “Come on. We’ll take the back door,” she said with confidence. “It’s closer to the shed.” She tossed him the snowmobile keys.

  He caught them and led the way down the hallway. At the back door, Wyatt unlocked the deadbolt and stepped in front of her again. Did he expect her to step outside and invite Cordell to shoot? When would he get it through his thick skull that she didn’t want to see him get hurt either?

  They stood there together, listening as the snowmobile passed close to the building and around to the front of the store. The sou
nd died, followed quickly by heavy footsteps on the front porch. She supposed it was too much to hope they were wrong and the snowmobile was part of a search and rescue party.

  Wyatt scowled, his finger over his lips.

  Any hope that the visitor might be friendly was dashed when two loud gunshots reverberated through the building.

  “Jameson!”

  Hearing Cordell’s shout, Wyatt turned the knob and put his shoulder to the back door, but it didn’t give more than an inch. Snow sifted in around their feet. This exit route was blocked.

  Evie started for the window with the least amount of snow, backpedaling when a shadow approached from the other side.

  “It’s them,” Baker’s voice carried from the other side of the glass.

  Behind her, Wyatt swore.

  “Jameson, get out here. We need to talk.” Tate’s voice slithered over her skin.

  She pulled Wyatt toward the storage room. “Hold the door,” she ordered.

  Wyatt cursed. “We’re trapped, Evie.”

  She didn’t waste time with a reply. She pulled a rolling ladder into place and scrambled up to open the attic access door. “Hurry.”

  Wyatt followed her, kicking the ladder back as he ducked inside. “Really trapped,” he said as Tate crashed into the store, shouting and swearing.

  He tugged on his hood and twisted around to crawl after her. Being smaller, she had an easier time scooting around the boxes of seasonal stock and decorations toward the window at the end of the long, narrow space, but he stayed close.

  She covered her face and kicked through the glass, then threw herself outside.

  “Evie!”

  Wyatt’s shout followed her as she slipped down the roof of the covered porch. Baker was waiting for her, but she’d been counting on that. If they could make their stand here, somehow contain the thieves until the weather cleared, they might have a chance.

  Not just a chance to survive Tate’s revenge or the blizzard, but a chance to be together again. That hope propelled her as Baker tackled her, the force driving her into a deep snowdrift.

  She writhed beneath him, though there wasn’t much room with the snow pinning her in on all sides. Blocking his attempts to get his hands around her throat, she was grateful for the necessary gear that impeded his efforts.